And that, he suspected, was where the lines were drawn. The players had chosen their sides.
On Jorie’s was Tamlynne Herryck, now wearing his old black-and white Tampa Bay Lightning T-shirt over her sleeveless uniform top. Tammy, he’d dubbed her. But Jacare Trenat—Jack, wearing one of Theo’s Old Navy T-shirts—had sided with Kip Rordan. Theo didn’t speak a word of Alarsh, but he knew if he dubbed Rordan Pompous Asshole he wouldn’t be too far off the mark—though Uncle Stavros would probably call Rordan a malaka. Too bad he’d loaned Rordan his Bucs jersey. He hoped like hell he’d get that back.
Jack, it seemed, was doing all he could to get his nose far up Rordan’s butt. Though to be fair, Jack was young. Just a rookie. He had that bright, shiny look in his eyes that was a combination of a desire to please and a belief that he could save the world.
And Rordan, with his swagger, was just the kind of malaka a rook like Jack would admire.
Of course, saving the world—Theo’s world—was Jack’s job. If it hadn’t been his own world at stake, Theo might have found the entire situation amusing: intergalactic space commandos falling prey to petty office politics. He only hoped Jorie Mikkalah was up to the task of not only the zombies but whatever Rordan was planning as well.
He stopped for a red light. Jorie had been focused on her scanner gizmo since they’d left his house, but she looked up at him now.
“Ten minutes,” he said, anticipating her question.
She nodded. “I need to position Rordan and Trenat first before we remove your people.”
“And Tammy?”
“Tammy?”
He inclined his head toward the Tampa Bay Lightning fan seated behind her.
“Lieutenant Herryck and I will take the opposite position. You can return to your structure. We’ll meet you back there in about one sweep.”
“Whoa, wait a minute.” The light turned green. He stepped on the gas. The SUV stuttered, then surged forward. “I’m part of this mission, remember? And it’s a long walk—”
“We’ll use the PMaT to transport back to the ship when the juveniles have been dealt with.”
Peemat? Oh, that damned thing that spins your guts out through your eyeballs, then puts you back together again as you go from Point A to Point B. A thought struck him. “Why do you need me to drive you to the park if you have that transporter?” It was certainly quicker and more efficient, though nauseating.
“Zombies track PMaT,” came Rordan’s answer from behind Theo. Another glance in the rearview showed a slight smirk on the man’s face.
Yeah, okay, so I’m a stupid nil. Theo returned Rordan’s reflected smirk with one of his own. “Skata na fas, malaka,” he said under his breath. Eat shit, asshole.
“Because all PMaT transits are unshielded,” Jorie said, as if Rordan hadn’t commented. “Zombies have what we call a sensenet. Through that, they’re aware of surges created by unshielded tech. And they react.”
“But you said you’re going to transport back—”
“The zombies will be neutralized at that point,” she continued. “But to engage the PMaT in the proximity of a forming portal holds danger.”
Rordan said something in Alarsh, short and quick.
Theo saw Jorie shrug. Her answer was equally short and sounded—though he had no idea of the content of the exchange—casual, almost offhand. But her fingers were tight around her scanner.
He didn’t like not understanding their language. He liked it even less that Rordan understood his. He hoped this was just petty office politics and that they were all on the same side when it came to the zombies.
But he couldn’t be sure and he couldn’t ask. He could only remember what she’d told him earlier, denying—lying about—tampering with her tech to change what the zombies did. He gleaned from their conversations on her ship that’s what had turned Wayne, her agent, into a parchment Mr. Crunchy with moist eyeballs.
And here she was doing the same thing because Rordan—and intergalactic office politics—prevented her from saving lives at a crowded mall during Christmas week.
So Theo decided to do the only thing he could: tilt the balance in Jorie’s favor. He made his decision as he dropped Rordan and Jack at the far end of the park by the tennis courts, then Jorie and Tammy at the other, next to the baseball field. A quick trip around the perimeter announcing—via his PA system, with blue strobe going—the possible sighting of a rabid raccoon cleared away the few remaining joggers.
Theo pushed the traffic gates shut, then set the Park Closed sign in place. Jorie had told him to go home once the park was clear. But he was not going home until this batch of zombies was dead and that PMaT thing was spewing Rordan’s unworthy molecules all the way back up to the ship.
He turned the lumbering vehicle back toward the ball field, parked it just behind the row of low bleachers, and got out. Jorie trotted toward him, frowning. He leaned on the front of his SUV, arms folded across his tac vest.
“I’m staying.”
She glared at him. He glared back. When she flung her arms wide in exasperation and let out a now familiar-sounding string of Alarsh curses, he knew he’d succeeded. A mixture of elation and relief washed over him.
Which ended a split second later when a discordant wail erupted from the scanner in Jorie’s hand—and echoed out of one dangling off Tammy Herryck’s hip.
Jorie favored him with one last hard glare—partially obscured by her eyepiece—as if to let Theo know he was now edging his way to the top of her shit list. Then she thrust one of her small laser pistols into his outstretched hand.
“Opticals, remember?” she asked, teeth gritted. She swung her rifle around. “And legs. Stay with me.”
Opticals. Eyes. And legs. And writhing energyworms and long, flailing, razor-sharp extenders. He sprinted after her to where red-haired Tammy stood, rifle in one hand, scanner in the other, then stopped. Both women’s heads were bent over their scanners but, damn it, no one was looking around. Someone should be. He remembered the green glowing circle, the thing oozing out—impossibly—from its center. He turned, squinting through his sunglasses into the late-afternoon light.
Something slammed him from behind, crushing him to the ground. Grass, dirt, and gravel were pushed into his face, and he heard his sunglasses crack. Then, with sickening clarity, Theo realized he could no longer breathe.
10
Theo rolled onto his back, gasping, choking, eyes streaming. Pain radiated through his face and chest, but he kept both hands firmly on the laser pistol. Two words blared in his mind from years of training: failure drill!
He lifted his shoulders off the ground, arms outstretched, and squeezed off three blasts in under two seconds: two to center mass, one to the head of the monster looming over him. The zombie shuddered for one, two heartbeats, then lashed out with a long, tentaclelike arm, razor claws flexing.
Damn, not head. Eyes! He fired again, aiming for the thing’s eyes, aware there was no time to roll out of the way of the claws swinging toward him. But he hit something—one eye, definitely. There was a pow! pang! A flash of light like a huge handful of crazed sparklers streaked overhead, dissolving against the field’s backstop. Then a hard rush of air scraped across his face and scalp, something metallic glinting only inches from his nose. A high whine filled his ears, and his sunglasses were ripped from his face.
From out of the corner of his eye he saw the second claw coming. No time to scramble to his feet, nowhere to go. He squeezed off two more shots to the thing’s head, praying he hit the other eyes, then merged himself with the dirt beneath his back, his teeth clenching so hard his jaw ached. The sharp claw, descending, suddenly arched up, moving to his left, moving away…
“Theo!” Jorie cried.
He watched the zombie topple backward and land on the field with a muted thud.
He took his focus off the monster just long enough to glance to his right and see her outstretched hand. And, behind her, a small sickly green oval wavering into s
olidity out of nowhere, about where the shortstop ought to be.
He grabbed her hand, pulled himself to one knee, and fired past her.
She spun as he rose, the stream of laser fire from her rifle invisible except where it laced the edge of the glowing hole. He shot another burst at the opposite edge. The portal waved, fizzled, then faded with an eerie whoosh of air.
Damn.
Watch your six. Another rule ran through his mind, and Theo glanced over his shoulder—as sweat trickled down into his eyes and blood pounded in his ears—to assure himself the first zombie wasn’t moving. It lay in a grotesque, twisted heap. He remembered the one in his backyard exploding into nothingness. Why this one hadn’t, he didn’t know. And there was no time to ask.
Tammy was jogging toward them, shouting something. Jorie nodded, then grabbed his arm, dragging him backward.
“Double!” she shouted. “Twins!”
Twins?
Two circles, almost a figure eight, solidifying in the air in front of the pitcher’s mound, maybe twenty-five feet to his right.
Twins. And not the Doublemint kind either.
Shit.
Jorie and Tammy sprinted apart, blasting the figure eight in measured increments. Theo backed up, pistol still out, watching his and their six o’clock position, searching the area for more glowing circles while at the same time keeping part of his attention on the women working efficiently as a team. He felt more than a little stupid and out of synch. He’d think later about how close he’d come to getting himself killed.
The figure eight collapsed with an odd fooshing noise and—this time—a small flare of sparks.
Then there was silence, broken only by the women’s harsh breathing and the sound of his own heart thudding in his ears.
His gaze caught Jorie’s. She was sweat-streaked, with a few twigs caught in her hair, making him wonder if she too had been knocked to the ground. Her lips were slightly parted, her cheeks flushed. Cristos, she was gorgeous. And he knew he had to be totally insane for even thinking of that at the moment.
She’d also saved his life. He didn’t want to think on that at all.
“How many dead?” he asked. He had no idea how much ammo their weapons held or what lay ahead of them. In the distance, he heard the first rumble of thunder. A late-afternoon storm was on its way.
“Four.” She said something to Tammy, then added, “Rordan reports two.”
That meant six down, four to go, if her estimates were correct. He shot another look at the dead one behind him as thunder rumbled again. The worms had stopped undulating and now lay like smudgy ciphers on the thing’s skin. Even in death, it was butt ugly. “Including this one?”
She was nodding when he turned back. “This one we keep.”
That prompted more unintelligible exchanges between Jorie and Tammy, uninterrupted by any squeals from her scanner, so Theo used the moment to inspect the dead zombie again. It was smaller than the one he’d seen in his backyard. It lay twisted, but he guessed that up straight it would be maybe four or so inches taller than his own six foot three.
Then one of its four upper limbs twitched. Twice.
“Jorie!” He said her name quickly, harshly, keeping his laser pistol trained on the thing’s head. “It’s moving.”
She stepped over to him. “Stasis.” She pulled out her scanner and showed him a screen full of triangles and lines that meant nothing to him.
Then, as he watched, the zombie disappeared into thin air. “Where—”
“Ship.” She jerked her chin upward, and he caught the small smile on her lips. “First one in some bit of time, yes? Risk to transport, but—”
Two scanners screeched out a warning. Another green oval glowed faintly in the air. He raised his laser pistol, but Jorie held up one hand, stopping him.
Beyond the oval’s haze he could see two figures sprinting quickly in his direction through the outfield: Old Navy Jack and Rordan Pompous Asshole, wearing Theo’s Bucs jersey that—shit—now had a rip down one sleeve.
Jorie twisted a thin tube—mouth microphone, Theo guessed—up to her face and spoke rapidly into it. Tammy sidled next to him as Jorie suddenly jogged off toward the two men.
“Here. Do as me.” Tammy fired at the zombie portal in several short bursts.
He did as her, the thin glow of laser fire peppering the oval barely visible in the late-afternoon light.
“Up small space more,” she said, and he moved his line of fire above hers.
But this time the portal didn’t implode. It grew, becoming more solid by the moment in spite of his and Tammy’s barrage. He had no idea if he was doing something wrong, because he had no idea what he was doing. Other than firing an alien laser at something that had no business being on his planet.
Rordan’s voice reached his ears, sounding excited over the low hum of their laser pistols, but Theo didn’t know if it was a good excited or bad excited.
“Good? Bad?” he asked Tammy without taking his eyes off the portal, knowing her language skills were limited. But Theo needed to know what was going on. He fired off a few more charges.
“Good. Bad. Yes,” Tammy answered, telling him nothing. She let loose with a rapid series of charges, then murmured something under her breath that sounded nasty.
“Petrakos.” Jorie had returned and grabbed his elbow. “With me. Here.”
He moved sideways as Rordan came up next to Tammy, holding a weapon Theo hadn’t seen before: short and double-barreled but with thin blue lines pulsing up and down the stock. Rordan fired off three shots at the portal, which wavered, losing some of its solidity.
Then a loud screech behind Theo shot a jolt of adrenaline up his spine.
Jack’s scanner wailed in his hands, almost drowning the younger man’s short, hard words.
Rordan nodded quickly. Jorie dragged Theo even farther away.
Protecting him because he was a nil and didn’t know what to do. His own gun was still holstered, his assault rifle still in its rack. All he had was a weapon he didn’t fully understand against an enemy he understood even less. It was like being a rookie again, but a hundred times worse because this was his city, his planet. And the one thing that Theo Petrakos did not handle well was being helpless on his own turf.
When Jorie reached for the pistol in his hand, he couldn’t stop the bitter anger welling up inside him. “Damn it, just give me a chance—”
“Feeding frenzy is building.” She spoke as if he hadn’t. “You understand?” She turned his laser pistol over and tapped at the small indentations above the trigger.
To his surprise, she handed the weapon back to him. “Feeding frenzy? Yeah.” He nodded. “Uncontrolled. Crazy.”
“Very crazy.” She pointed to his pistol. “Now the G-One is set for herd-terminate. Now we finish what we came to do here. Yes?”
It took a few seconds for her words to sink it. His weapon hadn’t been set to kill. It had been set to…He had no idea what it had been set to, only that what he’d been firing hadn’t been at full power. That would explain his ineffectiveness. He suddenly felt immeasurably better and very pissed off. Did she think he would shoot himself in the foot or her in the back?
“You finally trust me with this?” He didn’t bother to keep the anger out of his voice.
She started to walk away, stopped, and turned back to him. “Trust?”
He strode up to her. “You set it to low power.”
She kept walking away from where Rordan, Tammy, and Jack stood. Things were quiet, but Jorie seemed sure a zombie feeding frenzy was about to start. Which meant it was the wrong time for him to be asking questions. He couldn’t help it, though, so he followed her, staying at her heels. “You should have told me that up front. I can handle—”
“Killing zombies? Yes.” She glanced up at him just as lightning flashed in the distance. A split second later, thunder cracked. “You and Rordan. Everything is kill. Understand me, Petrakos. Kill doesn’t give us answers. For answers, it�
�s capture. Not kill.”
Understanding dawned, and his anger, fading, shamed him. “I thought—”
“No, you didn’t think.” She stopped and faced him, waving one hand as she spoke. “You. Rordan. Hell and damn! I need answers. Not corpses.”
And dead zombies tell no tales. He looked at the pistol in his hand. The small lights that had been yellow now glowed bright blue. Full power. “And now?”
“A feeding frenzy.” She pulled her scanner away from her hip, eyes narrowing. “Count to ten, Petrakos. You’re about to join me”—her scanner screeched out a warning as another clap of thunder echoed over the trees—“in hell.”
Two green portals—no, three—popped into existence. The portals were small, but their color was stronger and their appearance more solid.
They fired in a pattern of short bursts, rising up one side of the oval first, then the other. It was the same pattern Tammy had showed him. He peppered the middle portal, switched to the one on the right, then back to the middle again. Jorie did the same, concentrating on the one on the left, then firing at the middle when he didn’t.
The middle portal fizzled within moments, but the other two—stubborn bastards—resisted.
A flutter of movement to Theo’s right made him dart a glance in that direction—Tammy, Rordan, and Jack. Green ovals had popped out there too, like some kind of airborne measles. But far more deadly.
And silent. Other than the sizzle of the laser fire against the portals—and the increasing rumble of thunder—their battle was waged in relative silence.
Until Jorie’s scanner gizmo squealed again. And so did she.
“Theo, down!”
He dropped, rolled, keeping his pistol firmly in his grip as a rush of air passed over his scalp. He came up on one knee, not thinking, just reacting, sensing, and there it was, maybe ten, fifteen feet away, opticals pulsing with a red glow. A long clawed arm shot toward him.
He targeted the eyes, fired. The zombie jerked as one eye flared out.
The Down Home Zombie Blues Page 14