by M. Lorrox
SWAGGER
DIMINUTIVE
SKEPTICISM
CHILLING
COHERENCE
BRAINWASHED
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They all read the words, glance at a keypad, then check the timer. Eddy groans. “This could take forever to figure out. Why didn’t Gerard mention this?”
Sadie sighs. “I don’t know, maybe there’s a way to bypass it.”
Enrique glances out the door and notices that next to the gigantic zombie that Eddy killed, a key on a long chain sits in an expanding pool of blood. He jumps out to get it. “I see a key. Is there a keyhole in there?”
At first glance, Eddy can’t see one. He pries on the corners of the screen and keypad in case they flip out, but they don’t. “I can’t find one…”
Enrique lifts the key from the blood, then pulls the chain from around the dead zombie’s neck. He steps behind the desk. “Found ’em. It looks like it can be operated from here.”
Sadie glances from the elevator to the desk. “Activate it then come on over, but hurry in case these doors close faster than the others did.”
Enrique shakes his head. “I don’t think it works like that, there’s labels for each thing to do: open door, close door, descend, and ascend, and underneath each label is a separate keyhole.”
Eddy bites his lip. “We need to keep going. Enrique should operate the elevator.”
“No.” Sadie shakes her head. “We are not leaving anyone here.”
“You two need to go, I can stay here—there’s a monitor where I can watch the elevator. When you come back, I’ll bring you up.”
Sadie sighs. “Who knows what will happen later? Right now, I don’t want to leave you here. There must be another option.”
Eddy looks at the elevator’s ceiling. There, he sees what looks like the bottom of a rescue hatch, like in normal elevators. “I think there is; I think he can follow us.”
Charlie blasts up the shoulder of an on-ramp to the beltway. Cars honk at him as he passes, but usually once they see that what they’re honking at is a guy in a military uniform on a dirt bike wearing a battle-pack with a samurai sword strapped to it—they release their horn, smile, then honk in rapid fire while cheering out their window.
Charlie smiles. This is a fun little bike. Nothing like Black Betty, but still.
The traffic is barely moving, and he doesn’t merge. He cruises down the shoulder, and although the vibration from the knobbies is tiresome at highway speeds, he’s sure glad for them. He runs over a large bolt and sends it flying behind him. Man, there’s a lot of crap on these roads.
He approaches where cars merge in from the right, and where the shoulder he’s on ends. The cars in the merging lane are all crammed together, and there’s no path past them. Charlie’s smile fades as he comes to a stop and looks around. As far as he can see on this road—before it disappears beneath an overpass—the traffic is jammed. He looks to the opposite side of the divided highway. There’s heavy traffic, but at least it’s moving.
Fine.
He puts the motorcycle into neutral and hops off. He reaches to flick the engine kill switch, but then remembers that it’s electric, and right now, it’s just sitting silent. He bends down, finds good hand-holds on the motorcycle’s frame, and lifts it up over his head.
Cars honk as he zig-zags his way between them, crossing the road while carrying the two-hundred-and-eighty-eight-pound motorcycle upside down, above him. He glances at the driver of a shiny sport coupe as he crosses in front of it. The woman in the driver’s seat, wearing a low-cut tank top, is smiling at him and biting her lip. She raises her brow while lowering her sunglasses, watching him pass.
He responds with a confident smile, then turns away from her. Eyes on the prize Charlie, eyes on the prize.
When he reaches the median, he crosses it. He sets the bike down, facing against the direction of the other traffic, and he hops back on.
A car blares its horn at him as it approaches, then passes. The driver yells out the window, “Wrong side dumbass!”
Charlie listens to the pitch of the horn change as it recedes from him. Damn, the Doppler Effect is interesting… He chuckles. Dumbass.
As Charlie crosses over the Potomac river and into Virginia, he notices a lot of movement along the roads in the distance. At first, he assumes the traffic is just better, but then he notices a car moving near the other objects.
Those aren’t cars… What in the world?
Charlie looks back to the road, exits off an on-ramp, and ignores a few cars that honk at him. He notices something small moving on the other side of the road, and he smiles. Ah-ha! Dogs!
Katlyn Bergström pauses near an ancient skeleton of a prehistoric fish and pulls out her phone. “Hello?”
“This is Captain Sarkis of the Council Guard. We need to cut your field trip short.”
Katlyn sighs and leans against a pane of glass. “I don’t understand, we—”
“Zombies. Here in DC. We need to get you all back to the hotel immediately.”
Zombies? “We just split up a minute ago; the chaperones won’t have everyone back together for about fifteen minutes.”
“Then make an announcement. Get everyone to the bus as soon as possible.”
“Alright.” Katlyn sees Jennifer with her son Tommy and waves them over.
“I’ll be headed your way to escort the bus back. When you’re all on the bus, give me a call on the radio. I’ll expect it in five minutes.”
“Well, I will make an announcement and—”
“This is an emergency. We have casualties. Get to the bus and radio me.”
-click-
Katlyn lowers her phone. A week of planning for an hour of exhibits.
“What’s up? Everything alright?” Jennifer heard a bit of the conversation, but asks out of politeness.
“Unfortunately, no. We need to return to the hotel immediately. I’m going to make an announcement to have our group assemble in the lobby.”
“Can I help?”
“If you see anyone in our group, call them over to you, and meet me in the lobby.” She walks off and starts to send a text.
Tommy holds Herbert in one arm and tugs on his mom’s shirt with the other. “We can’t leave yet! We just got here!”
Jennifer sighs. “How long have we been here, would you say?”
He folds his arms across his tiny chest. “Five minutes.”
She smiles at him and sighs. “You have no concept of time, you little cutie. I promise I’ll bring you back to see the rest of the museum soon.” She grabs one of Herbert’s turquoise-blue, stuffed doggy paws and starts walking. “Come along now, boys.”
-Knock, knock, knock-
No response.
Rod unlocks the Costanzas’ suite and opens the door a crack. “Hello, this is the bellman... Is anyone there?”
Still no response.
He opens the door all the way and steps in. “Someone called? …Rusty? Are you here little guy?” He pokes his head into the bedrooms, and when he doesn’t find anyone in the suite, he turns to leave. As the door closes, he flips the security latch’s swing arm into the doorway, and slowly closes the door against the brass arm—leaving the door propped open a half of an inch. He walks down the hall, and as he passes an intersecting hallway to his side, he glances to a group of people huddled against the wall. He tips his hat and continues walking.
Lorenzo Bernardi nods back before whispering over his shoulder, “We go now. Put your gloves on.” Li Chen, Madeline, and Steve—the punks who call themselves the Red Fangs—slip on their gloves and follow the chubby man around the corner.
Li Chen smiles. A connection of a connection gave his number to Lorenzo, and he’s sure glad Lorenzo called with this job. Dude’s dropped so much cash in the last hour.
.. Play the cards right, and this score will be huge.
Once they’re all inside the suite, Lorenzo, wearing a pair of black leather gloves, pushes the brass swing arm back into its proper place and shuts the door. He turns to Li Chen. “Remember, triple your money if we find the ring.” He scowls. “You won’t be able to sell it for nearly that much, so DO NOT cross me.”
Li Chen nods. “Wouldn’t dream of it, signore—”
Lorenzo jumps at him and throws his hands in front of Li Chen’s mouth. “No names!”
Li Chen rolls his eyes. “What, think it’s bugged?”
Lorenzo fumes. “You can’t be too careful.” Amateurs.
Madeline walks up next to Lorenzo and whispers into his ear while holding onto his arm. “But isn’t there a little thrill about maybe getting caught?”
He pulls away from her. “Not in this game.”
She laughs and walks past him, brushing against him again, then steps toward Skip and June’s room. “I’ll start in here.”
Steve heads to the Costanzas’ bedroom. “I’ll take this one.”
Lorenzo motions to the kitchen. “Check everything, you never know—”
Li Chen tisks his finger at Lorenzo. “No, no, no; I stay with you. Remember our deal. We get paid triple if the ring is found.” He takes a step toward Lorenzo and towers over him. He curls his lip and runs his tongue against one of his filed canine teeth. “Not that I don’t trust you, but what if it jumped into your pocket without me knowing? Wouldn’t that be unfortunate?”
Lorenzo pushes him away. “Back off, punk. What do you take me for, a thief?” He slips a grin onto his lips.
Li Chen laughs.
On the screen embedded into the security station’s desk, Enrique watches Eddy and Sadie. -click-
He looks at the panel—the key was locked in place as the elevator descended, but now, it snapped back into the unturned position. They must be at the lab. He pulls the key out and places it into the slot labeled OPEN DOOR. He turns the key and watches the elevator doors open on the monitor. He watches Eddy and Sadie step out of the elevator and into a hallway.
He lets go of the key. It stays in the turned position, and on the monitor, he sees the doors stay open. He counts a full thirty seconds, watching and hoping, and the doors remain open.
He turns and stands, looking back down that mysterious dark, glossy passageway they all entered through, and there’s no sign of any zombies. He checks the monitor. This will work.
Across from the desk, the doors are closed to the elevator shaft. He pries them open a crack with a titanium neck knife he wears, then he pushes the doors open with difficulty. He groans with the exertion. “¡Dios mío!”
He gets them open, but a safety mechanism wants them to stay closed. He looks around for something to hold them open with, but there’s nothing close enough for him to grab. Sighing, he lets the doors close back together, but he leaves the titanium neck knife in the gap. He limps back to the desk, grabs the chair, and pulls it to the elevator.
This time, when he pries apart the doors, he tips the chair over and jams the opening with the chair’s backrest. He steps onto the middle of the backrest and faces the large elevator’s shaft. Toward the back of the shaft, there’s a bundle of about a dozen elevator cables. Above, there’s space and then motors. Below—darkness.
He glances at his palms. Gloves would have been good today. Oh well. He leaps the distance to the bundle of cables and grabs onto them with his whole body. As he hugs the bundle, his face is squished sideways against a pair of oily steel cables. Just climb, dude, just climb.
One hand at a time, he finds a cable to hold on the sides of the bundle. He pulls his face away. Then, he begins descending slowly, squeezing with his thighs against the bundle, releasing and moving his hands down, then gripping with his hands as he releases his thighs and slides his legs down.
After inch-worming down the cables for what he gauges to be twenty feet, he realizes that it doesn’t particularly feel good to have his particulars pressed against and sliding along the steel cables. He pauses and looks around while resting. There’s barely any light in the shaft, and he can see another fifteen feet of the cables beneath him until their dark, gray metal disappears into the black emptiness of the elevator shaft. He wants to shake his legs out, so he grips hard with his hands and allows his legs to drop.
He wiggles them around, then accidentally kicks his toe against one of the cables. Hmm. He presses his boots flat against the outsides of the cable bundle—along the same cables he holds with his hands—and he loosens his grip with his hands. After he slides a few inches, he grips the cables again, and he stops.
Worth a shot…
He lets go, slides about a foot, then grabs and stops. He repeats the same action a few more times, and it’s working. It doesn’t hurt his hands; he’s not squeezing when he’s sliding, and the cables have a bit of oil on them. He tries dropping farther—first two feet, then four, then five.
Each time, when he’s paused between slides, he wiggles the fingers on one hand at a time and stretches if he needs to. He looks down. Emptiness. He sighs, replaces his hands on the cables, and drops again.
The cable his right hand is on has a single steel wire frayed from the side of the thick cable. This would never—by itself—pose a threat to the elevator it supports, but it does pose a threat to him. His boots slide against the outer edges of the cables, and because this frayed wire points toward Enrique’s body, his right foot slides along the side of the cable and past the frayed steel.
There is no gap in his loose grip, however, and as his husky weight slides down, right as he’s about to grip to stop his momentum, the steel wire slices a quarter-inch deep tear from the pinky side of his palm straight across and through the webbing beside his thumb.
When the flash of pain hits him, without a thought, he lets go of both cables. His boots still press on the sides of the bundle, and the resistance from them causes his upper body to pivot away from the bundle as he falls and picks up speed. He’s nearly horizontal when he loosens the pressure on his boots—so he doesn’t keep pivoting and end up upside down. He grabs for the cables, but he can’t reach them. Then, he screams while he hopes for a soft landing on the hard surface that he knows awaits him.
He has a little while to hope.
When Charlie arrives at the Pentagon, he steers the electric motorcycle toward a series of tents that have been set up as a headquarters. Outside them, he’s greeted by two Military Police Officers.
“Stop your vehicle!”
Charlie decides it best to not run into the young men with the lightweight motorcycle, so he stops and sets it on its kickstand. “Who’s in charge here? Is Riley here?”
One of the MPs holds up a gloved hand. “Sir, you can’t go any farther without approval.”
Charlie clears his throat. “I’m Charlie Costanza, Colonel Charlie Costanza.” Jeez that sounds weird.
“I’m sorry sir, but—”
Charlie notices the general and another man walking. They’re a distance beyond the MPs that block him. “RILEY!”
The MPs cower at Charlie’s loud yell. Riley pauses and looks at him, then starts walking again with the other man.
Charlie takes a quick breath. “I have a message from Zaman!”
Riley pauses, says something to the man he was walking with, then approaches Charlie. “Let him through, boys.”
Charlie pushes past the MPs.
Riley stops and lets Charlie walk to him. “What’s this all about?”
Charlie shakes his head. “Yeah, I don’t have a message for you. I just need to talk to you.”
Riley burns his gaze into Charlie. “Colonel, I’m a little busy for chitchat right now.”
“I know.”
“Then what do you want?”
“I need to get inside.”
/> “No.”
“I said I need to get inside.”
“I said no.” Riley places his hands on his hips.
Charlie takes a step toward him and speaks quietly, “Listen: you have tens of thousands zombies in a building and nothing to do but stand around like dumbasses for the media.”
Riley frowns and glances around. From high vantage points all around him, lenses focus on whatever eye is closest to the camera. He looks back at Charlie.
“That doctor, Melgaard, is responsible for all of this. He’s inside, he’s up to something, and I can get him.”
Riley straightens his jacket. “You intend to climb in like the others and make this even more of a sideshow?”
“No. I thought you and your boys might want to get in on the action and take some credit for protecting the nation’s capital from this threat.” Charlie points loosely toward the huge building in the distance.
Riley studies Charlie’s face before responding, then he smiles. “I’m listening.”
As Charlie jogs across the large parking lot toward the Pentagon, at first one, then a dozen, then a hundred dogs run behind him. One runs up alongside him, and he looks down. He smiles. “Rusty!”
-Bark!-
Charlie glances over his shoulder. HOLY SHITBALLS!
A mass of fur strides behind him. There are dogs of all sizes and breeds, some with manicured coats and fancy collars, and some that look wild, mangy, and hungry.
Charlie looks back at Rusty. “I see you’ve made some friends.”
-Bark!-
A camerawoman recording the scene from an overpass loses it when the man and the dogs following him enter her frame. “Mark, turn around! Do you fucking see this?”
Mark turns and looks, careful not to block the camera. “Tell me we’re still rolling!”
“Totally dude! What the shit, man!”