The Down Home Zombie Blues

by Linnea Sinclair

  Theo waited until they’d rounded the corner of his house before letting his shoulders sag.

  Zeke stepped back, his hands splayed in silent apology. “Theo—”

  Theo waved away whatever his friend had to say. Words couldn’t change things at this juncture. Only action could, and he wasn’t sure what action to—

  A blur of movement on his left and the sharp sound of a fist against flesh. Theo spun to see Rordan stumble backward, eyes wide, and land on his ass on the ground with a grunt. Jorie stood over him, eyes narrowed, rubbing her knuckles.

  “What’s going on?” Theo asked quickly, his right hand resting on his gun’s grip as Zeke shouldered up next to him.

  “Get up, Commander,” Jorie ordered tersely. “In the residence. Now.”

  “What did he do?” Theo watched Rordan rise stiffly, a reddened patch on his jaw. When Jorie’s hand shot out again, Theo thought she was moving in for a second punch, but, no, she was pointing to Rordan’s scanner.

  The man held on to it for a moment, then, with a brusque movement, yanked it from its holder on his belt and shoved it into Jorie’s waiting hand.

  She said something short and hard in Alarsh. Rordan answered, equally short. Then he strode off toward the rear door.

  “What did he—” Theo repeated, but Jorie waggled the scanner in front of his face.

  “That zombie,” she said, “was not sent by the Tresh.”

  “Rordan did something to the scanner so the zombie would attack? But why?”

  “How?” Zeke put in.

  “That,” Jorie answered as Theo fell into step with her, Zeke trailing behind, “is what we are now going to find out.”

  27

  “What do you mean you did it for me?” Jorie hated questioning Rordan in Alarsh. She was all too aware of Theo’s strained look as he sat at the head of the small galley table, arms folded and unable to follow the conversation. She was all too aware of Martinez’s nervous, narrow-eyed stare from where he leaned against the refrigeration unit. But she couldn’t afford any miscommunication right now between Kip Rordan and herself. His life, quite honestly, hung on what he said.

  “We’re surrounded by nils,” Rordan replied easily. Her punch to his jaw didn’t seem to hamper his speech, but then, for all his annoying qualities, Rordan had never been one to whine about physical discomfort. “Inexperienced, dirt-sucking nils who have no comprehension of the seriousness of the situation that faces them. I decided to show them.”

  “You decided.” Jorie cut the rest of her sentence short, reining in her temper because she knew she was tired and she knew she was stressed. She also knew—in a way she didn’t want to face—Rordan was partially right.

  But his method was so very wrong. “That zombie could have killed Theo’s superior officer.”

  “With both you and me on the scene? The nil and his associate were also armed. I assume they’ve had the same training Petrakos has. And we’ve learned their projectile weapons can be somewhat effective. Given those factors, it was an acceptable risk.”

  “A risk you took without consulting me.”

  “I didn’t foresee your cooperation.” Rordan touched his jaw gingerly. Then, to her surprise, a wry grin played over his mouth. “You pack a good one for a lightweight.”

  “This isn’t the time for levity, Commander.”

  A trilling noise came from Martinez’s direction. Jorie angled around and saw him pull out the small communication cell phone, then place it against his ear. “Sir,” Jorie heard him say. “Yes, I…yes, sir.”

  With a nod toward Theo, Martinez sidled out of the kitchen and into the main room, his conversation muffled.

  Theo rose halfway, then settled back down. Jorie had a strong suspicion he didn’t want to leave her alone with Rordan.

  “Jorie.” Rordan turned his hand toward her, palm open. “I’m trying to remind you I’m not the enemy here.”

  “Pulling that stunt—”

  “We need to establish our dominance. I can see you allying with the nils. You’re forgetting that we are the Guardians. This is our mission. If terrorizing the nils a little gains their cooperation, then it’s worth it. They need to remember who and what we are.” Rordan paused, then the hard edge dropped from his voice. “You need to remember who we are.”

  Jorie waited for him to say it—you’ve turned grounder—but he didn’t. Perhaps he had no desire to experience another lightweight punch. Or perhaps, and more likely, he knew she already heard his condemnation.

  “We,” she told him, “are out of our element and outnumbered. Utilization of available resources is not only a recommended but a sane course of action.”

  Rordan leaned back in his chair. “Have you ever seen a nil society react to a Guardian—or to any what they call ‘extraterrestrial presence’ before?”

  She knew what he was getting at. Rordan had been part of the rescue unit assigned to recover a Guardian research team from the nil-tech settlement on Borangari. She’d viewed the official reports and more than once listened to Rordan’s stories over a pitcher of ale.

  “No one’s lashing us to boulders and pushing us off a cliff as a sacrifice to their god,” she said.

  “Goddess,” he corrected. “No, they’ll do things a bit differently here. But our presence will cause problems, and we will not be easily accepted.”

  “So you suggest what? Sit by and let the Tresh take over this world? Let them breed zombies so they can control the Hatches?”

  “We risk that if you let Petrakos’s people control this mission. They might decide—and they will—that we are as much of an unknown as the zombies. I’ve been going over Wain’s notes. Plus, Petrakos has a number of printed periodicals in his residence. You know I read Vekran better than I speak it. Everything points to a culture that is highly xenophobic. They classify as fiction the fact that sentients populate other star systems. We are the very things their nightmares are made of.”

  Jorie knew that. She’d read Wain’s notes too. And she was trained in nil-tech contact procedures, almost all of which she’d violated in the past several days. Even since Sergeant Petrakos has ceased to be a nil and become Theo—colleague, friend, and lover—to her.

  “So you add to their nightmares by dropping a live zombie in their midst.” She shook her head. “And you add to mine by making me question your motives, your allegiance.”

  “I intended to warn you. It just appeared more quickly than I anticipated. I don’t quite have your touch when it comes to that kind of thing.” He hesitated, his eyes darkening. “You can’t possibly still think I’m working with the Tresh?”

  “I can think of a lot of different scenarios, Kip.” She hefted his scanner. “For now, this stays with me. Your G-One too.”

  She saw the flash of anger in his eyes. So did Theo, apparently, because he shifted position, watching but very obviously coiled for action.

  Not for the first time, Jorie felt torn between her upbringing, her training, and what experience was now teaching her. By all elements, Theo Petrakos was a nil. But he’d meshed so completely with her style, picked up so intuitively how Guardians operate, and she felt so comfortable with him.

  But he was a nil.

  Then why was she so much more attuned to him than to Rordan?

  Because she loved him? Her silent admission shocked her, but even as she considered the truth behind the words, she knew what she and Theo had went far beyond the boundaries of the bedroom. She’d never felt so secure. And so afraid. And with so many larger problems looming over her.

  Like Rordan’s misguided loyalty—and ego. “The G-One,” she repeated to Rordan, hand out. “Because, yes, I am a Guardian. And you know you’d do the same thing if the situation were reversed.”

  He slid the weapon across the table toward her, clearly not happy, but the tension that had surfaced in him was gone. Theo evidently sensed it too, relaxing somewhat. But not completely.

  That was something else she’d noticed about Theo Petr
akos. He never really relaxed. Even when she’d found him sleeping in his reclining chair, he’d lunged out of it, pinning her within seconds.

  “But I will give you an assignment,” she continued, pushing away the memory of Theo’s body against hers. “We will be dealing with the local security force. And I fully believe their xenophobia will come into play. Finish that research. Build out from Wain’s notes. I have no intention of sacrificing you, Tamlynne, or myself to their fears.”

  It took a moment before Rordan nodded. Then he arched one eyebrow. “And I’m supposed to stop them when you take my weapon away?”

  “We’re going to deal with them with an even more powerful weapon. You can terminate ten, twenty sentients with this.” Jorie raised the laser pistol. “But with knowledge, you can control thousands. And that, Commander Rordan, is what we have to use if we have any chance of survival.”

  She waited until Rordan left the kitchen and was several steps into the main room before she eased her forehead down on her arms, folded on the tabletop. Hell’s wrath. She physically ached, though she knew part of that was the result of another nightmare episode she remembered only snatches of.

  Snatches of feeling so safe with Theo’s arms around her…the same arms that—after a short scrape of chair legs against the floor—encircled her now.

  Jorie leaned against him for a moment, then let him pull her to her feet. She rested her face on his chest and listened to the sound of his heartbeat. Martinez’s voice flowed into the room every few moments, a low exchange of sounds.

  “So what’s happening?” Theo asked quietly.

  Too much, too fast, she thought. She pulled back slightly but kept her hands resting on his chest. She needed his warmth. “Rordan does not play subordinate well. He triggered the zombie’s appearance, believing to do so would insure your chief’s cooperation with us. With the Guardians,” she amended. Theo was not “us.”

  “That was incredibly stupid.” Theo’s voice went hard.

  “Not to Rordan’s way of thinking.”

  “You’re sure he didn’t do it to help the Tresh?”

  “One hundred percent? No,” she admitted. “Ninety-nine percent? Yes.”

  “You took his gun away from him. And his scanner.”

  “Because I don’t want him trying to play hero again. And he will. It’s in his nature and—”

  “He wants you.”

  Jorie raised her chin and blinked hard, not sure Theo had said what she thought he did.

  “Rordan wants you. Wants in your pants. You understand the expression?” Theo asked, eyes narrowing for a moment as if he contemplated something unpleasant.

  She nodded. She did understand.

  “He’s never told you?”

  “He—not exactly, no.” Their conversation in her office had held those overtones. But she’d tried hard since then to convince herself she was wrong. “He’s Lorik’s best friend.”

  “Goes after his buddy’s girl, does he? Wonderful guy.” Theo brushed her hair away from her face.

  “But he was my friend too. For many years. I think you’re misreading—”

  “He warned me away from you. I’m not misreading anything, Jorie.” He paused. “He knows I’m in love with you.”

  She stared at Theo, at that now-familiar face. Heat flared, blossomed. Fear spiked. Theo loved her. She wanted desperately to kiss him. She wanted desperately to push him away, so she could run and never have to face the consequences of loving him too.

  “Theo—”

  He covered her mouth with his, turning his name into a kiss that was heartbreaking in its gentleness.

  “I know, agapi mou,” he said after he pulled back slightly. His breath fanned her face. “My timing sucks. But I had to tell you in case something happens. I love you, Jorie. I don’t care what planet you’re from. I don’t care who created the zombies or why. I don’t care that I’ve never seen a gravripper and you didn’t know peanut butter existed. I love you. I believe in you. And if need be, I will follow you into the jaws of hell, without question.”

  “Theo.” Her voice wavered. She almost said it, almost told him she loved him. But fear kept the words from crossing her lips. Instead, she kissed him fiercely, far too aware that following her into the jaws of hell might be exactly what she’d have to ask him to do. Far too aware that loving Theo was also a hell of its own for her.

  A noise made her suddenly pull back.

  Martinez, clearing his throat. She sensed his disapproval and realized in some ways he wasn’t unlike Kip Rordan. He was here to remind Theo who he was and what he was required to do.

  “Sanders has scheduled a preliminary meeting for oh-eight-hundred tomorrow,” Martinez said. “Information sharing, he calls it. Informal, but I take it DHS will be there.”

  Jorie tried to place the acronym and failed. But she guessed it was another government entity.

  “I didn’t tell anyone about Tammy,” Martinez continued quickly, with a slight nod to Jorie. “I thought you should know that. Suzanne and I discussed it. Tammy’s vulnerable. Can’t defend herself verbally. We thought…” Martinez shrugged and glanced at the floor for a moment. “You and Theo can protect yourselves. Commander Rordan’s tough. But Tammy’s not.

  “If I’m wrong, boss, tell me,” Martinez added, looking at Theo. “But we thought if Jorie knew Tammy was safe, it would be one less thing for her to worry about.”

  An unaccustomed tightness formed in Jorie’s chest. Nils—Rordan’s xenophobic nils—weren’t supposed to act like this.

  Theo seemed equally touched. “And if the brass finds out?”

  Martinez shrugged, though a corner of his mouth quirked slightly. “Then we’ll both be singing ‘The Down-Home Unemployed-Cop Blues.’”

  After Martinez left, Jorie returned to the floor of Theo’s bedroom and the reassembled Hazer that still fought accepting the dart program. If they couldn’t get the dart to infect the C-Prime, then the only choice they’d have would be to initiate a full-scale hunt. But how, on this world, with herself and Kip Rordan being the only trained Guardians?

  Granted, Theo’s projectile weapons were efficient for termination. Granted, it seemed as if Theo’s government might be a workable problem—there would be questions, distrust, but there would be cooperation. Eventually.

  But people would die while they tried to put all this together. And, worse, the Tresh would grow stronger, armed now with zombies capable of closing the Hatches. Those living in the outer colonies—like her brother—would be the first to be cut off. Trapped. Stranded.

  Some colonies could survive off the planet’s natural resources. But others could not. And the stations, like the one she was raised on, would be forced to evacuate to the nearest habitable world. If there was one.

  Or worse—they’d be forced to bargain with the Tresh for their lives.

  She went back to working on the Hazer with renewed determination.

  “Jorie.”

  She started, turning at the sound of Theo’s voice. Her back complained in wrenching spasms. She had no idea now long she’d been bent over the rifle. She stretched her legs out slowly, carefully. Painfully.

  Theo folded himself down on the floor beside her and ran his hand down her leg. “It’s past dinnertime. Cramp?” he asked, massaging a knot in her calf.

  His ministrations hurt so much they actually felt wonderful. She locked her arms and leaned back, nodding.

  “I brought David up to date,” Theo said, dragging her other leg onto his lap and continuing his delicious massage. “Had a small talk with Uncle Stavros too. Both asked a lot of good questions, many of which I can’t answer as well as you can.”

  She didn’t want to answer any questions right now. She wanted to let Theo’s fingers continue their exquisite torture and then reward him in kind. She sighed. Duty first, then pleasure. “What kind of questions?”

  “Zombie breeding cycles, most vulnerable areas. Things like that. I told David about their heart and also the i
mportance of hitting the eyes. But some of the details he wants I don’t know. Like their life span.”

  “If David will be at tomorrow’s meeting, I can answer everything then.”

  Theo shook his head. “At this point, no.”

  “Then why involve him now?”

  “Because a good cop always appreciates backup. It has nothing to do with whether I think Chief Brantley is capable of handling this. He is. It’s just that—”

  Her scanner emitted three short, sharp trilling sounds that were duplicated by the T-MOD in front of her. Her heart stopped, then pounded a frenzied beat in her chest—a sound as loud as the thumping of Rordan’s boots in the corridor.

  She pulled her legs from Theo’s lap and swung forward, her fingers flying to the T-MOD’s screen. Rordan burst into the room.

  Theo’s “What? What is it?” was almost drowned out by Rordan’s demands for coordinates and herd size.

  She didn’t answer either until she was absolutely sure.

  “The C-Prime,” she said, surprised at the calmness in her voice. “The C-Prime has scented a craving, a feeding frenzy.”

  “Where?” Theo asked.

  She dragged over a paper map he’d used earlier and pointed to a T-shaped finger of land jutting out into the bay. The words—in Vekran or English—read Fort Hernando. “There. And we have less than one sweep, one hour, in which to get in position before it arrives.”

  Rordan pointed to the Hazer. “Working?”

  She shook her head, anger and frustration suddenly roiling inside her. “I finally have the program loaded. But the Hazer is only recognizing half the command string—”

  “It loaded?” Relief was obvious in Rordan’s voice. “I think I can fix problem.”

  Theo was already standing. Jorie accepted his hand and let him pull her to her feet. “We’ll handle the hardware,” he said. “I want every weapon checked. We’re not going to get a second chance.”

  No, they weren’t. This was a mission riddled with errors, plagued with missteps. This one thing—infecting the C-Prime—had to unfold flawlessly. Because there was no option for an emergency transport if things went wrong.