Boston Under Siege (Book 1): Virus:

by Willson, Fisher

  “The thing isn’t right on my system,” Ami said, chewing a stick of jerky like a cheroot. “I'm looking at your stupid-ass instructions for changing the app in C++, but I don't have time for this crap. Trips is at Sand and Gravel and I need it now!”

  “I'll send you the source code.”

  “I can't freakin’ do the conversion!”

  “Have you been drinking?”

  “What?”

  “You're being belligerent.”

  “Am not! Give me the thing!”

  “Ami, I've got to go.”

  “Ich, don’t hang up.” Ami tried not to whine, but she knew her voice was getting pitchy. “It’s too little on my phone, Ichiro.” She squirmed under the covers, her feet pedaling. “When I pinch the view the pings are too hard to read. C'mon!”

  Ichiro growled, “I'll send you something,” and hung up.

  Ami hopped out of bed and made another cup of tea. Ooh, he makes me mad as a hornet! He can see the logic and construction in any computer language he comes across. Not me. I’d have to pour over books and look at message boards before I could even attempt to code my way out of a paper bag. Goddamn it, I hate him, sometimes.

  The phone chirped. It was a source code file from Ichiro. Within a couple of keystrokes Ami was reinstalling the program, but the MD5 hash and the password were in separate messages. What a pain in the ass he is. It’s been so long since we’ve exchanged encrypted crap I’ve forgotten how to do it. His encryption is his own variant of the NSA's Skipjack. What else…think.

  She drummed her fingers on her lip and looked up her notes. “They’re encrypted. Figures.”

  After running several converters, she found one that asked for a key. Bingo! She was in. Ichiro’s GPS app successfully installed on her laptop. She celebrated with some butter cookies and a shot of whiskey. Rubbing her hands together, she twisted her back getting ready. It’s going to be a long night.

  Ami pulled up Ichiro’s list of hacked closed circuit security cameras and loaded the upper and lower deck of I-93. It was grainy, but she could see activity in the parking lot beside the highway. She switched the view to see creatures crawling out of the dunes under the lower deck. So, is that where they’ve been putting them? At Boston Sand & Gravel? In the center of Boston? Ami tapped her finger on her lips. “That’s too weird.”

  The zoom on the hacked cameras was poor, but if she put the streaming video through an Ichiro enhancement program she got a clearer greenish night view. It’s a start.

  On the computer screen GPS, Ami zoomed in looking for the avatars of Trips, Dewey, and Snake amid the chaos of troops, couriers, zombies, and vampires fighting around heavy equipment at the ready-mix concrete company. Then she switched back to video. She could see under Route 93, in the heart of Boston, zombies rising from the sand dunes that ran under the highway. The conveyer belts for the gravel silo separator along the north bound road lifted the creatures from the dunes and dumped them flying into the fight. Who turned on the silo separator in the middle of the night? How did the zombies get there?

  Skirmishes were everywhere she looked. Creatures were being processed through the compactors, tied down on conveyor belts. Zombies trundling up the three-story silo separator and fell off into the mass of writhing bodies on the ground. Couriers were getting squashed under heavy equipment as trucks loaded and unloaded vast numbers of undead and troops mowed down everything in their path.

  But where’s Trips? Where the hell are they? Ami tried to slow her breathing, as a cone of white light over took her vision. A high-pitched tone erupted in her ears. She massaged her temples which made her nauseous. A migraine headache was coming on fast and furious as she squinted at the black boxes obscuring her view. No, no, no. Get out of the way! I can’t see!

  Panting through a series of keyboard strokes, she opened different camera angles to record the activity. Unable to search any longer, she lay still. Hours passed in hazy time-lapsed increments.

  Ami dosed, trying to get the aching light out of her head. Suddenly, she sat up and crunched a dry cookie. Her hands shook as she gulped down a glass of the wretched watery powdered milk. The vampires are blocking off I-93 with a fortress of tractor trailers full of zombies!

  She munched cookies, forcing them down. She retched as she picked up her phone. Looking from one screen to the next, she confirmed it. They’re sending the zombies into the parking lot.

  She blinked the light splotches from her eyes and switched the view to the upper deck. A long stream of zombies made their way from the tractor trailers into Sand and Gravel. She viewed the dunes. Those zombies are joining the others.

  “Oh, my God, it’s so obvious! They aren't working together; the vampires are controlling the zombies.”

  A new zombie horde swarmed toward the fight. Ami replayed the past few hours’ video at high speed. Couriers were dying, dismembered by thousands of undead. Time-lapsed images showed cement trucks driving out of the warehouse plowing through thousands of creatures.

  Ami held her breath and checked the GPS. Her friends were not in the trucks. They were not in the parking lot. They were deep inside the warehouse. “That’s nothing but wall-to-wall zombies!”

  She bent over, her stomach in knots. She swiped at sweat on her forehead with slick hands, her vision hazy and her ears buzzing, there was nothing she could do. She couldn't see. She couldn’t breathe. She curled around her computer and fainted.

  * * *

  Nearby, Ami heard a rasping sob. There was silence for a moment, and then another series of coughing cries. She bolted upright, slid out of bed and padded across the darkened living room to the bathroom, listening at the door. Not a zombie or the cat.

  “Trips? Baby, you in there?” Ami opened the door.

  Trips was hunched over the sink, his fist in his mouth. Tendrils of saliva glistened from the light streaming in through the kitchen window. A fist jetted out and blocked Ami from opening the door wider. She yelped, retracting her foot, just as his other fist slammed through the hollow core door. Ami’s eyes watered from the force of the door slamming in her face.

  Trips worked his fist out. His voice was hoarse and unfamiliar. “Get out!”

  Ami peeked through the hole as he crumpled into a ball on the floor. She stuck her hand through the hole and unlocked the door and pushed it in. He was blocking most of the small space.

  She stepped over his body to reach his face. He clutched his throat, and shook his head violently, urging her to stay away. She squatted down and rested a hand on the back of his neck, stroking his sweat-dampened hair. Slowly, his breathing calmed, and he released his throat. He lay still and quiet.

  Ami whispered, “Come on, sweetie, I can't lift you.” She tugged his hand. “Baby, please.”

  Trips stuttered a breath and whispered, “Back up.”

  Ami got up.

  Trips lifted himself off the floor and sat on the edge of the tub.

  She held him, pressing into the tattered red rocket tee-shirt. “Let's get you out of this.”

  He didn't resist as she pulled off the shirt and peeled back the armor, revealing a map of bruises on his flesh.

  Ami hissed when she got to his battered rib cage. He took over, delicately sliding the Kevlar off his purple flesh as Ami filled the tub. It didn’t matter if there wasn’t any drinking water tomorrow. Afterwards she led him to the bed, his body shivering. She covered him with a quilt, but he continued to shiver. “Are you cold?”

  “No idea,” Trips said, as he curled around her. Finally, he stopped shivering and sighed.

  Ami closed her eyes hard. His breathing sounded familiar, and she noticed her headache had eased. In the blue night-glow of her laptop she studied his chiseled face and held him until he was fast asleep. They slept until mid-morning. When she got out of bed, Trips jumped up. “Trips, it’s okay. I'm going to make us something to eat, okay?”

  He nodded and fell back into bed.

  Ami stood in the kitchen stirring the red gelatinou
s glob of condensed tomato soup into some water, then sprinkled yellow curry powder into the mix. Memories of the video and Trips injuries commingled in her mind. He can’t go back.

  Trips was asleep when Ami set the mugs of soup on the bedside table. He awoke from the noise and sat up, looking sleepy as he bolstered himself with pillows. She turned to him, their eyes met as she handed him the soup; he took a tentative sip. He looked away, his eyes welling up and whispered, “Haven't had curry in forever.”

  “What happened out there?” Ami asked. Her chest ached. She found it difficult to watch someone she loved in pain. Especially someone who she knew thought he wasn't supposed to cry.

  He pressed his fingers into his eyes. “Can you grab my phone?” he asked, his voice still gravelly. “I should make sure those guys got home.”

  Ami put her mug of soup on the bedside table and found Trips’ phone in its holster. She fondled it, holding it to her chest. God, I want to tell him that it’s okay if he cries. To say, I know men have a hard time of it. That it isn’t fair. She passed back into the bedroom. No matter how accepting society is, boys don’t cry is still the rule, but damn it rules are meant to be broken. She held the phone out to him but looking into Trips’ eyes she couldn’t bring herself to say it.

  “Thanks.” He twitched a smile.

  “You all right?” Ami asked, picking up the cat.

  “Yeah,” he said, sliding the screen of his phone to the GPS app. He nodded. “Okay, all copacetic.” He stroked the cat, then sneezed, causing the cat to spring away. “Sorry, allergic.”

  “I might have something for that. So, you going to tell me what happened?”

  “Ami,” he coughed, “I want to tell you, you know?” He plugged the phone into his charger on the bedside table and slid under the covers then picked up his mug of soup. “But I don't even know where to begin.”

  “I know some,” Ami said, placing the laptop on his lap. “Let me get you an antihistamine. Take a look at this.”

  “What am I looking at?” Trips called squeakily from the bedroom, as he coughed to clear his throat.

  “You don’t have to talk. You can be quiet, you know.” Ami dropped two tabs of Chlorohistol into Trips’ palm then leaned on the door jam in tree pose, cuddling the cat. Trips made a duck face, sucking in his cheeks and pouting out his lips. “I know, novel.” Ami nodded at the computer. “What you see before you are screen grabs of where you guys were. If you go to the browser, you'll get a current display, but all you’ll see is a bunch of black blocks because they’re building a fortress out of trucks and wrecking my view.”

  Trips arched an eyebrow studying the screen as he rubbed his coppery stubbled face. Finally, after viewing everything, he said, “How did you...? Wow, I never would have thought of this. You've reconned the recon.”

  Ami laughed, and picked up their empty mugs to refill them in the kitchen. “Yeah, well, unfortunately, I fainted watching you.”

  “Sweetie, what you've done is amazing!” Trips croaked.

  Ami entered the bedroom with another round of soup and set the mugs down on the bedside table. She sat next to Trips on the edge of the bed. The cat jumped into her lap. “Cat fur is not good in soup. No, it's not,” Ami said, in a baby voice.

  “I like your lap beasty better than mine. What's his name?” Trips asked, as he slouched down into the bed, taking his mug from her.

  Ami adjusted the screen so they both could see it. “Miss Kitty.”

  “But he has little furry balls!”

  “He's very progressive.”

  “Phhh, I think his name should be General Annoyance,” Trips said, stroking the cat. “Do you like that General Disappointment? Mm? Kitty?”

  “Don't be rude.”

  Trips slid farther down under the blankets. “He's trying to steal my woman!”

  “He is not. He helped with Mrs. Needlebaum.” Ami rocked the cat and dissolved into a baby voice. “Didn't you? Didn't you?”

  “Show me more.” Trips rolled his eyes, waving at the laptop. Ami put the cat on the floor and snuggled in next to him. He muffled a moan, and slid away. “My side, careful.”

  “Let me see.” Ami tried to move the sheets for a look, worried that her healing abilities might be diminishing.

  Trips waved her away. “C’mon, later. Show me the thing.”

  “Look.” Ami said, her eyes darting from his to the laptop.

  He eyed her, a crooked half smile growing on his face.

  “Not at me, at the screen.” Ami rolled her eyes, leaning back into the pillows. The cat jumped up then rubbed against the laptop, leaving cat hair on the side of the screen. Trips growled. The cat ran. “First, check out the maps. This is over the course of the evening and, well, weeks of data, actually. From the maps you can see that they've cleared out of lower Allston past the stadium into Fresh Pond and Mount Auburn Cemetery. You saw they've blocked off 93. You saw that, right?”

  “No. I don’t know. I didn’t see anything.” Trips shrugged, sipping his soup.

  “You're out-flanked on opposite ends of the city. All Joint Forces is doing is holding them to the east. See? They know about the stadium,” Ami said, plucking cat hair from her soup.

  “What? How do you know that?”

  “Well isn't that the plan?”

  “Well, yeah, but...”

  “Look it's simple,” Ami riffled through the screen shots. “See? Armored trucks go in, messengers out. Smattering of vampires trying to escape, troops following in the same direction. Just look at the map.”

  Trips yanked on a dreadlock.

  Ami sat back. “Whatever. That's the plan. Corral 'em to the playing field and then use flamethrowers or chem crap, I guess to get rid of them. But I think the vamps want to use them to subdue the East Coast. I think they can control them.”

  “What? Yeah, well, you’re right about one thing, there are troops training in the lower labyrinth.” He set his mug and laptop aside.

  “So that's how they're doing it. An underground.”

  “Mm-hum,” Trips hummed, wrapping around Ami’s waist, his head on her shoulder.

  “I'm glad you're home.” She stroked his shoulder.

  Trips inhaled. “We're AWOL. It isn’t good. But I’m just so fed up. We just fucking split. They wouldn’t let us get them out! First Mouse, now this.”

  “Mouse?”

  “Kid lost his arm in the North End. The army is building him a new one, but he's kind of a mess. I barely got out with my own skin intact.” His jaw clenched under his grizzled amber beard. “I don't know if half of them are dead or alive. This time the SWAT team pulled us out before we could get to them at all. Dewey was with Amanda, and Mark was right behind me.”

  “Who's Amanda?”

  Trips shifted looking up at Ami. “Amanda Blowhardt? The tall drag queen, Caucasian, you know, the white guy, with the feathers at the thing? Remember at the recruitment?”

  “Okay, Yeah, the boa. The New Yorkers. We had words after you left. So, they were with you?”

  Trips grunted as he sat up, and then pushed back into the pillows, trying to get comfortable. “What do you mean you had words?”

  “It was nothing. Stay on topic, but first,” Ami got up, “let me tape your ribs.” When she returned from the bathroom with first aid tape, Trips was positioned fully on his side. “Okay, what happened next?”

  “So, they'd instructed us to go do recon for the next hit. Right? So, Dewey is with her, Amanda, okay? And Mark is right behind me. But besides them there were a lot more. I don't know like fifty of us. You with me?”

  Ami nodded, sheering the tape with her teeth. “He’s the one I had words with.”

  “What? Who?”

  “Mm, your friend. Keep talking. I’ll tell you later.”

  “Okay. So, I'm broken off, following them. But this last time they didn't let us have bikes, saying it was too dangerous with the sand and salt and all. What? That's our freakin’ thing? You know? And these stupid electroshoc
k guns. They didn’t work well. They shocked us more frequently than the Zs. Then some guy scored some guns. Totally wrong!” Trips shook his head, counting on his fingers. “They backfired, didn't fire at all, hammers stayed down. They were useless! Snake killed his shoulder on one.” He made eye contact for emphasis. “We were in there totally on our own. It was a madhouse. I'm telling you, Ami, any orders I gave were belayed through radio relay. It was a total cock-up. There was no Armed Forces backup whatsoever.

  “Well, there were some.”

  “Well, not enough. Fifty of my guys deployed. My guys!”

  Ami nodded. “Yeah.”

  “Normally it's twelve at a time, one section is a two-man unit, with bikes and backup that makes four to six. Anyway, this time it's Dewey, Snake, and me with twelve guys each, but I’m on point. So, it's on me! We’re supposed to recon. We're supposed to locate, assess, evaluate, and move on. Maybe, maybe, draw them out, but never engage. Do not engage. That’s the rule. But we had to! I’m telling you, inside? There was no backup! They left us hanging.”

  “Told you. Hate to say it, but I told you so.”

  Trips narrowed his eyes and gave her a hateful look.

  “So what about Amanda, Dewey and Mark?”

  “Whoosh, swept away. Dewey made it out. I saw him. The others? I don't know. Complete chaos. Then they held me forever. I thought I'd see the Colonel straight away. You know? Get my ass handed to me, but they didn't even ask for my report. I finally found Dewey and Snake, and we just beat it the fuck out of there. We left a false signal at the base. I'm gonna catch hell for this.”

  “In their eyes, you’re expendable.”

  “Yeah, well, like I said, they just shut me down.” He got up folding the sheet around his waist.

  “What are you doing? Where you going?”

  “Can I get a drink?”

  “Water's right here.”

  “I want to add a little scotch, okay?”

  “I'll get it, just, sit down.”

  “Ami, I can't even get my head around it,” Trips collapsed back onto the bed. “The zombies engulfed us – like it was planned. I don't know – it just all went wrong.”