The president, however had such a strict no-nuke policy that, from his first day in office, he had refused to even carry the plastic card around on his person as every one of his predecessors had done since Eisenhower. He told people that he counted on “smart diplomacy” not on arms to keep peace in the world. So far that “smart diplomacy” had taken the form of ignoring anything threatening and hoping that nothing truly awful would happen while he was in office.
Now, the president gave a glance behind him at Oliver whenever the latest bit of bad news came.
With each glance, the twin pit-stains under Oliver’s arms advanced. He was appalled at the very notion that this windbag who was leader of the free world simply because he had won a popularity contest in which he had promised the most “freebies,” could order a strike that could obliterate half the eastern seaboard.
The latest news had Oliver almost shitting himself.
“Are they terrorists?” the president asked after a quick backwards glance at Oliver. The president had this strange fear that the man in control of the nukes, as he thought of Oliver and the others like him, would be suddenly gone right when he was forced to use the big bombs.
Marty Aleman shrugged. He was so tired that he could barely lift his sagging shoulders. “It’s hard to tell. Their demands aren’t in keeping with what one would expect from traditional terrorists. If I had to guess, I’d say no.”
“But they want to bring the virus here!” the president cried, his voice shrill. He had been going back and forth in the last few hours, from a frightened boy to a screaming tyrant. Now he was a mixture of both. “Surely only a terrorist would suggest such a thing.”
“Or they’re desperate,” Marty replied, picking up Anna’s handwritten letter for the fifth time and for the fifth time, he went through it line by line.
To Whom it may concern,
Because the military has not been able to control the spread of the “zombie virus,” my comrades and I do not believe we are safe on Long Island. By chance we have access to “zombie” blood and have used it to create a dozen infected persons. Each of these persons is being held in separate homes behind locked doors, but as you know, doors and locks will only hold against them for so long, meaning you are on a time crunch to respond.
Our demands are simple, we would like to have safe passage arranged for the ten of us. You will provide two helicopters for our use. The first will convey a small group of us to Washington D.C. where we will be freed at a destination of our choosing. Once the first group is safe and outside of government control and surveillance, the second will follow.
Yes, each of us will have the virus on our persons and yes, we will make zombies within the capital. None of this is open to negotiations. Once we are safe, the location of each zombie will be released.
We do not wish to spread the disease any further than it has been. Our only goal is survival. Our safety and the lives of twenty million people are in your hands. If you agree to our demands broadcast the words: Lord Abraham’s Revival on ISR channel 12 in the following locations: Garden City, Brentwood, West Hampton, and Riverhead. We will reply with Morning Glory Blinders and instructions for the first pickup. It is advisable for you to hurry.
Yours,
Professor X
“Professor X?” Marty mumbled. “Why on earth would they sign it Professor X?”
Three seats down from the president was the useless FEMA director, whose agency had done nothing but get in the way of everyone. “Maybe they’re trying to impress us with the fact they’re in academia.”
“Maybe they are comic book nerds in over their heads,” suggested the Secretary of Health and Human Services.
“Maybe it doesn’t matter,” General Heider groused. “We have ten people on Long Island threatening the lives of millions. We don’t have time to play junior detectives or for guessing games. This message is twenty two minutes old. We need to decide right now if we’re going to give in to their demands or if we’re going to put our efforts into finding and killing them.”
Everyone looked to the president who quailed under the weight of the eyes on him and turned quickly to Marty. The chief of staff touched the clean paper that had been printed minutes before, his fingers barely caressing it. “Are we sure it was a zombie that was found?”
Heider nodded. “Completely sure. We have seven eye witnesses, all of whom saw the thing get shot five times without flinching. The area for a mile around has been cordoned off.”
Marty blew out a breath and took in the FBI director’s hard-lined and heavily browed face. “If we go after them, how long before you can get men on this?”
The director didn’t hesitate. “In a New York minute, but I wouldn’t expect a miracle. Even if the person who wrote this left fingerprints, what would it matter? It’ll be hours before we could give you a name. In the meantime, what do we have to go on? The only description we have is of a dark man, possibly hispanic, dressed in black. It’s useless or perhaps worse than useless. If it gets out that we’re looking for a ‘dark’ man on an island crammed with people on the edge of panic, there’ll be blood in the streets.”
“So you suggest letting them go?” the president asked. “You suggest letting the virus come here?”
“I’m saying you might not have a choice about letting them leave Long Island, but it doesn’t mean we can’t track their moves once they’re here. We have at least a dozen drones we can station around the city. We can be on them in no time and track them without their knowing. Once we have all of the terrorists together, we can swoop in and snatch them.”
Marty liked the plan, however the president looked like a confused child. “But the virus…here!”
“It seems like our only choice,” Marty said, soothing the great man. “If the virus gets out on Long Island where there are an estimated fifteen to twenty million people…I don’t think the army would be able to contain them.”
“I know we can’t,” Heider told them. “My men in the New York area are already spread thinly. If the virus spreads there as fast as it’s spread everywhere else, there would be only one option.” His eyes darted to Lieutenant Colonel Manzetti.
“Oh God,” the president groaned.
Marty patted him on his liver-spotted hand. “Don’t worry, sir. We are going to put that off as long as possible. I think we can all agree on that. Okay, it’s agreed, by the president’s order, we will allow the perpetrators to leave Long Island and we will catch them here.”
The president wavered for a second and then nodded. Immediately, Heider picked up a phone and said: “It’s a go on two. Repeat: it’s a go on two.”
A heavy silence followed this as everyone at the table began to visualize the dreadful possibilities of bringing the virus to Washington. Eventually, the president broke the quiet by asking in a timid voice: “When do we…you know.” He jerked his head at Manzetti.
Heider looked puzzled by the question. “You aren’t even letting us use air power to its fullest and you’re talking nukes? That doesn’t make the least bit of sense.”
“Maybe Heider’s right,” Marty said. “Maybe it’s time we let loose the dogs of war completely.”
“Okay, sure,” the president said, caving in on his principles, “But what about the nukes? At what point do we let them loose?” He made it sound as if they were caged dragons apt to turn on their master if he wasn’t careful.
Marty and Heider shared a look, each hoping the other would answer. Heider had more to lose and so he sat back with an expectant raised eyebrow that said: Go ahead, be the bearer of bad news. Marty hid his sneer as he turned back to the president and said: “General Heider believes that the time is not far off. Please, tell him, General.”
Marty had danced aside and now the president’s unpredictable glare was back on Heider. Slipping a smile on his face to hide his anger, General Heider said: “Mr. Aleman and I have decided that the time for nukes is dependent on whether the lines hold in southern Massachusetts and t
he eastern Pennsylvania border, with the Penn border being the more important of the two. If it falls, there’s no major force or natural barrier for a hundred miles.”
He went to the monitor, enlarged Pennsylvania and tapped the capital: Harrisburg. “We’ll lose half the state, with our fall back point here along the Susquehanna River in the south and our ass hanging wide open in the north.”
“And our army? Where the fuck are they?” The president’s voice was like ice. “We spend trillions every year on them and for what? Where are they?”
“You know where they are,” Heider said, slapping the monitor with the flat of his hand. “Right here you have units from as far away as Virginia and Indiana and it took a colossal effort to get them here in the time it did. We’ll have more units in place tomorrow and more the day after that, but if you look at this fucking map you’ll see how huge an area they’re covering and if we lose the Penn border that area is going to double.”
The president’s anger perished like a soap bubble, leaving behind only the slime of fear that coated his mind. “Then we use the nukes. We have to.”
“Not just no, but hell no!” General Heider said. “We have to give our soldiers a chance to win.”
“What about the rest of us?” the president asked, once more glancing back at Manzetti as if he were a devil perched on his shoulder, tempting him with the power to end all of the mess in one go. “Where’s our chance?”
3—The Hartford Quarantine Zone
They ran to live. They ran, going light with two rifles between the three of them and only 28 rounds of ammo.
Thuy had a few odds and ends, a knife, a lighter, some string. What weighed her down was the anchor of her conscience. Chuck and Stephanie. Young lovers, dead because she wasn’t as smart as she had always thought she was. She’d made mistake after mistake and as a result the corpses were piling up in the millions.
Her feet stumbled. Deckard caught her, moving as quick as a cat. “We’re almost safe.” He was being kind which was why she didn’t call him a liar. They weren’t anywhere near being safe. They had escaped the city of Hartford, not the much larger quarantine zone that surrounded it, which teemed with the undead.
The beasts were everywhere, dark shadows that moaned and moved, seemingly always coming right at the three as if drawn in by a giant magnet. Time and again, they broke away from a suburban street, dodged through back yards and climbed fences, only to find themselves in almost the exact same position.
“We need to get indoors,” Deckard said.
“No!” Courtney hissed, her eyes huge, like twin lamps. “We’ll be trapped just like before.”
Thuy didn’t have an opinion. Inside or outside didn’t seem to matter. Sooner or later, they would die like everyone else. Deckard didn’t wait for her input. Ignoring Courtney, he grabbed Thuy’s hand and headed right up the front steps of a ranch house. With a crash, he threw himself against the front door.
Listlessly, Thuy followed him in. She thought she was beyond caring or even surprise, but when Deckard flicked on the living room light, she stopped in her tracks, and was knocked into by Courtney who was staring at the chandelier that hung from the ceiling in utter horror.
“Turn it off! Turn it off!” Courtney was almost blubbering.
Deckard calmly said: “No. We want them to come. In fact…” He began flicking the switch up and down like a toddler making the mental connection between the switch and the light coming from the ceiling fixture. Deckard flicked a good twenty times until he heard the moans drawing closer to the house.
Leaving the light on, they slipped through the house to the back door and then ghosted out into the night. Another fence was hopped, but this time they didn’t go on. They leaned against it, listening to the zombies tearing up the ranch house, looking for the people.
The light and the noise made by the rampaging zombies only attracted more zombies. Soon the yard was filled with them. Deckard grunted out a: “Let’s go,” and began crawling through the grass. He kept low when he reached the front of this new house, but did not cross the road where he could be seen.
Using parked cars and low fences and whatever else they could for cover, they went up the block to the corner house and paused in front of it. “Stay here,” Deckard said. “I’m going in through the back door…”
“Why go in at all?” Courtney said, interrupting in a voice that carried in the night.
Angrily, Deckard shushed her. “Are you trying to get us killed?” he hissed. “I’m getting the keys to this vehicle.” He patted the dark hunk of metal that Thuy leaned against. “Stay here and be quiet for fuck’s sake.”
Courtney mumbled: “Sorry.” Unlike Thuy, she didn’t sit back. She squatted with her M16 held to her chest, as her head went back and forth, looking up and down the block.
Thuy didn’t bother looking. “I failed them,” she said in a whisper. “Just like I failed everyone else.”
Unexpectedly, Courtney grabbed the jacket of Thuy’s torn pantsuit and growled into her face: “Shut the hell up. You don’t get to be like this. You need to be…I don’t know, focused or something. You got to keep it together and help get us out of here.”
“I don’t know if I can,” Thuy answered in a voice so low that Courtney could barely make out the words from four inches away.
“Yeah you can. All you got to do is concen…shhh! What is that? Oh, it’s Deckard. Oh, thank God.” Thuy saw that Courtney was shaking, and every once in a while, when she turned her head, the tears on her face could be seen glistening.
“Get in,” Deckard said, easing up to the vehicle—a 2011 RAV4—and opening the passenger side doors. Once the women were in, he scampered around to the other side, hopped in and flashed a grin when he saw the fuel gauge in the green. “Where to?” he asked as he started the car.
Next to him, Thuy only shook her head. She was normally beautiful but so reserved that her beauty seemed more like a picture an untouchable one held behind the clearest glass. Now she was beautiful, but broken. “I don’t know where to go,” she said. “Someone else is going to have to think of something.”
Deckard began driving. He went straight, not knowing where to go or what to do. Normally he thought of himself as resourceful. Right there on that dark street, drifting at a steady fifteen miles an hour as they passed dead houses and dead people, he could think of nothing…or at least nothing that constituted a workable plan.
Driving out of the zone was impossible. And so was walking or riding a bike. A boat sounded nice except he was sure they had all been taken, just as he was sure the Navy and Coast Guard were patrolling the shores looking for any stragglers.
If there were a plane around, Deckard figured he had an even fifty-fifty chance of getting it airborne, but landing it was a pipe dream that would end in a crash and an explosion. And even if he could land one, he was sure that he wouldn’t be allowed within ten miles of an airport. The Air Force would shoot them down.
What about parachuting out of the zone? he wondered. It took very little training to pull a rip-cord. Anyone could do it.
“I need a map,” he said, leaning well over Thuy and digging through the glove box. “We can fly a plane out of the Zone and then parachute to safety.”
Courtney’s excitement flared up and died in the course of seconds. “That won’t work.”
“It’s not all that scary,” Deckard told her. “Especially after everything you two have gone through. Sure the landing won’t be the softest, but…”
“It won’t work because there aren’t any planes,” Courtney said. “The order came from FEMA. I heard it yesterday morning. The government ordered all planes within the Zone to be…what’s the word, not seized. Scuttled? I don’t know, but they were to be destroyed.”
Deckard sat back behind the wheel and began coasting again, unsure what to do or where to go. A bank would be a good place to hide out in unless the power went out and the air stopped circulating. They would be safe right up until they die
d of asphyxiation. And what would they do for food? And what about water?
Deckard drove for thirty minutes and the car’s engine was the only sound. Thuy stared out her window without seeing anything, her eyes completely blank. In the back, Courtney fidgeted and tried to come up with some idea to get them out of the Zone. Although she still had contacts in the outside world, she had no way to reach them and even if she could, she didn’t have any leverage. She had no reward or threat that was compelling enough for anyone to risk letting them out of the Zone.
Eventually, Thuy spoke: “I deserve this.”
“You don’t,” was Deckard’s knee-jerk response.
“Then why is everything so hard? Why can’t we ever get a win? If I don’t deserve this then how else do you explain Chuck and Steph…” She broke down, fat tears rolling down her high-arched cheekbones. “All of this is my fault, and I suppose, our current situation is apropos. I should be fated to endlessly drive through the hell I created.”
Deckard immediately pulled over. He opened his mouth to tell her that there was no such thing as fate when he spied the pink balloons tied to a mailbox, not three feet from Thuy’s window. A sign in the front lawn read: It’s A Girl! His eyes tracked up the sidewalk of the house—he cringed at what he saw: blood across the battered in front door, shattered glass in the flower bed, and something small and pink cast away in the lawn.
He pulled his eyes away from the small pink thing, hoping to God that Thuy hadn’t seen it. Her eyes were dead on it.
“That’s not your fault,” Deckard said, in a voice gripped with emotion. He put out a hand to pull her face away, but she bared her teeth and stormed out of the RAV4, heading for the pink bundle. “Thuy, no,” he said, in a whisper as he jumped out and rushed out after her.
She beat him to the bundle and fell down in front of it, her sobs loud in the night. Courtney, who had come up behind, took one look at the bundle, and had to choke back her own tears.
The Apocalypse Crusade 3: War of the Undead Day 3 Page 37