by Ben Reeder
“So, are these the people you were talking about?” Morris asked. The corpse in the box looked at us and nodded, her face splitting into a sickly sweet smile.
“Yes, the Nephilim!” the alpha cooed. She let out a giggle that sent ice cold claws down my spine. “Thank you, Maddie.”
“Why did you want to see them?” Morris asked.
“Because the closer they are to me, the stronger I get. In a few minutes, I’ll be able to get out of this box and kill every last one of you.” She looked expectantly at the Secret Service members in the room, then shook her head. “Well, aren’t you going to kill them? It’s the only way to stop me.” Morris shook her head.
“No, Sarah, we’re not. I kept my end of the bargain. It’s time for you to keep yours. Tell me what you know about them.”
“Well, the scruffy looking little primate is the Survivor. He’s been a bad little monkey. The little girl with him…she’s his apprentice, his protégé if you will. We haven’t decided what to call her yet.” Beside me, Amy bristled, but she kept her mouth shut when I put an arm out in front of her.
“Were they in Springfield?” Morris asked pointedly.
“The Survivor was,” zombie Sarah said with a pout. “He hurt poor Deacon.”
“What about Kansas City?”
“Oh, they were both in Kansas City. They killed so many of the Necromancer’s children. He’s quite the artist, you know. Such a waste. Are you sure you won’t shoot just one of them for me?”
“Are there other kinds of infected?” Morris asked.
“Oh yes, Maddie,” the alpha said. “More than we could ever hope for. Even at our height, we never dreamed that we had such potential. The sad thing is, you pathetic little monkeys perfected the Asura by mistake!” The last two words turned into a bitter sounding bark.
“What do you mean?” Morris demanded, her face a little pale now.
“I mean you awakened the Asura, Maddie,” the dead woman said, her voice low and frosty, “Something that your ancestors never wanted to see the light of day again. You woke it up, and then you started trying to tamper with it. You tried to tame something bigger than you, and you forgot that sometimes the unknown is hidden for a reason. And now…now we’re killing you. We’re killing you better than we ever did before, and you made it all possible.”
“I’ve heard enough,” Morris said. “Dr. Parsons, put her back in the box.” Parsons, the woman who had brought us, nodded and went to the gurney that supported Sarah. Morris gestured for us to follow her and went across the hall to an office. She led us past the outer room to a second office, this one with a faded Presidential Seal painted on the wall behind the broad, wood desk. A carpet had been laid out on the concrete floor and some fairly new couches and chairs had been moved in, but none of them seemed to belong, either in the room or with each other. She motioned to a pair of chairs, then moved to the love seat. As she sat, she pulled an ashtray from the center of the old wooden coffee table toward her and reached into the right breast pocket of her coveralls to retrieve a pack of cigarettes and a lighter.
“Madam President,” I started, but she waved me to silence as she lit up and took a deep drag.
“Ugh,” she muttered. “I’m down to menthols. I should have started with those. But I guess this will make it easier to quit.” The smoke went almost straight up and disappeared into one of the vents overhead, which kept the worst of the smoke from Amy and me. After a couple more puffs, she turned to us. “Please, Mr. Stewart, call me Madeline, or Miss Morris if you have to be formal.”
“So, where did you dig her up?” Amy asked, pointing back toward the door with her thumb.
“Washington,” Morris said. “Her name is…was Sarah Bach. She was a state representative in Texas. Before she turned into that, she was one of the most decent human beings I’d ever met. Raised her kids on her own after her husband died in Iraq in ’04, got her real estate license, started her own business, even sang in her church choir. The sad thing is, I don’t even know why she was in Washington when the outbreak started. But I’m curious. You weren’t surprised when she called you Nephilim. I take it you’ve been called that before.”
“The alpha zombie in Kansas City said it was one of many names that ‘people like me’ had been called through the years. But Nephilim are supposed to be the offspring of fallen angels who married human women.”
“Genesis 6:4,” Morris said somberly. “The Nephilim were in the Earth in those days, and also after that, when the sons of God came in unto the daughters of men, and they bore children to them; the same were the mighty men that were of old, the men of renown.”
“My parents were hardly fallen angels, and I’m not exactly mighty,” I said.
“But you can tell when alpha zombies are nearby. And I think people like you scare them a little. I definitely want Dr. Parsons to take some blood samples from you.”
“Great,” Amy muttered. “More needles.”
“Someone else has taken blood samples?” Morris asked.
“A doctor we know who was researching the Asura virus,” I said. “So, Mad-…Miss Morris, why trust us now?” I asked, wanting to change the subject.
“Because until ten minutes ago we were completely out of our depth. Do you know how many people I have working for me, aside from the fifteen people you saw when you arrived? None. I’m the president of a little bunker with a staff of ten Secret Service members, four analysts from Air Force One and one person with a doctorate in virology. That’s why I haven’t declared myself. Shaw would stop at nothing to kill me if he knew I was still alive.”
“What’s changed?” I asked. She took one last drag off her cigarette and crushed it out in the ashtray, then walked around to the desk and opened a drawer. When she came back, she was carrying a thick folder that was covered in red classification stamps. The lowest one I could see was Top Secret.
“More than you could imagine,” she said as she laid the folder down in front of me. “This was the information Col. Schafer sent you for. Project: Home Shield. A plan to help reclaim the United States should the Asura outbreak come to pass. It made use of evac plans to safe zones, Special Forces teams inserted to help pockets of survivors create their own safe zones, seaborne resources, you name it. Even this bunker is a part of it.”
“Why show me this? This shit’s so classified that even if you ARE cleared for it, you probably aren’t cleared for it.”
“Because, Mr. Stewart, your books were the pebble that started this avalanche.” She smiled as I gaped at her.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I said.
“I wish I was, but the truth is, if it wasn’t for the books Reid had you write, no one outside of SOCOM would have known about the threat the Asura virus posed. Or the threat Monos posed. When Reid went public through you, he set off a shitstorm in Washington. The Department of Defense and the entire intelligence community wanted him to suffer an unfortunate accident. Once word of that got back to the White House, the President started a quiet investigation, and from that, Home Shield was born.”
“Okay, you’re welcome, I guess,” I said. “I’m glad I’m not the only one who thinks Monos had something to do with this.”
“They certainly knew this was coming. We believe Dr. Lennox drew the right conclusion in Iraq, that the people who confiscated the Asura samples and his research were from Monos. We suspected that they knew this was going to happen, but we didn’t know how. Sarah’s little speech in there about tampering with it makes me wonder if…” She let the sentence trail off, her face stricken.
“If Monos set it loose on purpose?” I supplied.
“I doubt that,” she said with a shake of her head. “There is no return on it. I don’t know exactly what Monos’ role in all of this is, but I’m fairly certain that they didn’t intend to unleash a zombie apocalypse.”
“But that still doesn’t explain what changed today.”
“Until you showed up, I thought the Project was completely off
line, and that all of its assets were compromised. Shaw has been trying to claim control over any Special Operations assets he can, but shortly after Springfield fell, all the special operations teams went dark. The regular military hasn’t been much more cooperative, aside from a few units that the DHS already had some operational control over, like the drone pilots out of March Air Force Base. The problem is, sometimes we don’t know if a unit’s been destroyed or if they’re just not responding. Sarah just confirmed almost everything you told me, and gave us a lot more than she thinks.”
“So, you think the spec ops teams went dark because they don’t know who to trust,” I said. “Let’s say you can get Schafer on board, then what?”
“Then we activate whatever’s left of Home Shield and start trying to save as many people as we can. Beyond that, you’re not cleared to know.” Her shoulders slumped as she said it and her head drooped.
“So, you want me to do what?” I asked. “Call Schafer and tell him to put the word out to the good guys that you’re the real deal or something?”
“Something like that,” she said. “Contact the colonel, and let me handle the rest.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I said, letting a little sarcasm creep into my voice. “But you’re gonna have to wait a little bit. My next scheduled check in isn’t until later tonight.”
“I’ve waited this long, I can wait a few more hours. In the meantime, you might as well take a shower and get something to eat. Agent McGregor will show you where everything is.”
“Thank you, ma’am,” I said as I got to my feet.
“Before you go,” Morris said as she picked up the file, “You were a sergeant when you got out of the service, right?”
“Staff sergeant, yes ma’am.”
“Thank you, that’s all for now. Let McGregor know when you need to contact Col. Schafer.” Our Secret Service agent led us to a dorm with separate men’s and women’s showers.
“This place was stocked with stuff from the seventies,” he said as he pointed to a table stacked with towels, toiletries and clothes. “We found some better stuff, though.” Amy and I helped each other out of our armor, then went to the table. The towels and wash cloths bore the name of a nearby hotel, and some of the shirts bore the Mt Rushmore image on them and still had price tags from the park’s gift shop. The pants were mostly the dark green of Park Ranger uniforms, though a few pairs of jeans had made it into the mix as well. I grabbed a fresh t-shirt and pants, the broke into a package of fresh briefs that looked like they were about my size before I grabbed a towel and loaded it down with stuff for the shower.
Standing under the stream of hot water washed away what felt like years of wear and a semi-permanent feeling of grime. The last time I’d been able to take a shower had been the day everything had gone to shit. I’d availed myself of sponge baths at Heartland, but beyond that, swimming across the Kansas River was the closest to actual bathing I’d come since the start of the zombie apocalypse. At first, all I could do was stand under the shower head and let the hot water run down my skin. But, after a couple of luxurious minutes of that, I doused my head with shampoo and took the repeat option on that before I scrubbed myself down twice, being careful of my new battle wound . Once the water started to cool down, I reluctantly got out and toweled myself off.
Finally, I faced myself in the mirror, and found myself forced to do something that grated on my adult sensibilities: agree with a teenager. Amy was right, I definitely needed a shave and a haircut. My hair was just brushing my shoulders, and my beard had gone beyond stubble and was just starting to get past the unkempt stage on me. At the moment, only one of those could be taken care of. I debated keeping the beard, but I figured there would be plenty of time to grow it out later. Without clippers, it took twice as long with the cheap disposable razor to scrape my face smooth but the result was worth the minor nick. With my jawline and chin once more exposed to the world, I stepped out looking and feeling like a new man. Amy was waiting for me by the table, wearing Ranger uniform pants and a Mt Rushmore t-shirt with a red, white and blue design on it. I’d opted for the larger blue shirt.
“Dinner’s in a few minutes,” McGregor said with a pointed glance at his watch. Not needing to be told twice, we slipped on a pair of souvenir flip-flops and followed him back down to the cafeteria, which was now brighter and more occupied, even if it wasn’t close to full. Covered pans filled a small buffet line and there were small pizzas under a warming lamp next to it.
“How much are we allowed to get?” I asked as Amy and I grabbed plates.
“As much as you want,” McGregor said.
“Aren’t you rationing this?” Amy asked.
“Rationing?” McGregor laughed. “We can’t eat this fast enough. All of this is from the restaurant up top, and they average about five thousand people or so a day through the park. We’re trying to go through it before it goes bad.”
“What about after?” Amy asked, mirroring my own concern.
“This place has enough supplies to keep three hundred people fed for five years,” McGregor said as he ladled something thick and brown into a bowl. The aroma hit my nostrils like a brick, and my mouth watered. Since rationing wasn’t a concern at the moment, I grabbed a bowl and a plate and hit the buffet like a linebacker. Amy did almost as much damage as I did, but I figured she was just pacing herself. Once I made it to the table, I started with a slice of pizza, and while it should have tasted a little bland, my tastebuds were in heaven.
“I’ve been craving pizza since all this started,” I mumbled around my third bite. Across the table from me, Amy was half way through a bottle of Sprite, her eyes closed as she savored the taste of sugary lemon lime soda.
“I’m taking like a case of this with me,” she said after she lowered the bottle.
“You two act like you haven’t seen real food for weeks,” one of the analysts said to me.
“MREs and camp food,” Amy said as she grabbed a slice of pizza of her own and bit into it. “The last real meal we had was the beef stew Mom cooked at Sherwood.”
“Well, we had the meatloaf when we were at Nevada,” I said.
“That was like, Marine food,” Amy countered through a bite of pizza. “Totally doesn’t count.”
“What about the meals at Heartland?” I asked. She shook her head quickly. “You’re right. Camp food.”
“Dorm food,” she countered. “But that fried chicken the other day was pretty damn good.”
“Except for the bowl of psycho we had for dessert,” I said. We both grimaced and nodded at that. After that, an uncomfortable silence fell for a few moments. We managed to ignore it by eating like starved refugees. Finally, Simone took a quick breath and opened her mouth.
“So, you two have been on the move since Z Monday?” she asked.
“Pretty much,” Amy said.
“What’s it like out there?” the analyst next to me asked. We paused for a few moments, and the look on Amy’s face told me she was as unsure of how to answer that as I was.
“It’s fucked up out there,” another Secret Service agent said from further down the table. “You don’t have to ask them to know that.” He stopped to shovel another forkful of food into his mouth from the stack on his plate before he spoke again. “Ask our damn pilots, or the agents we had to put down out there what it’s like. They’re nothing special. All they are is a couple of civilians.” All eyes turned toward him and he shrugged. “What? I’m just being honest.”
“You’re being a dick, Landry,” Simone said. She turned to us and lowered her voice “Don’t mind him. Living underground turned him into a troll.” Amy managed a brave attempt at a smile and nodded. We ate in silence after that, and I watched as Landry got up a few minutes later.
Something about the man bugged the hell out of me, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. I followed him with my eyes as he went behind the counter and set his plate in the rack on the commercial grade dishwasher. On his way back up front, he opened a gl
ass fronted refrigerator and pulled out a clear plastic container and a bottle of cola, then stopped to grab a couple of bags of chips before he came back around front. He was big, like most of the Secret Service agents, with a standard DC buzz cut in issue brown. Brown eyes lingered on Amy for a moment, then he crossed behind me. His left arm slid between the analyst and me a moment later, and he leaned in close to her.
“The invitation’s still open, Danielle,” he said softly enough that almost everyone could hear. “Best offer you’re gonna get.”
“Answer’s still fuck off,” Danielle said, her tone actually pitched low enough that I could barely hear it. “And that’s the best you’re gonna get.” Landry shoved the table a couple of inches forward as he straightened, then stalked off without another word. As he left, I noticed Amy’s head turning to follow him as well.
“Asshole,” Amy said as the doors swung closed behind him.
“You have no idea,” Simone said. “It never goes much beyond a little posing and a few crude jokes, though. He’s mostly just a harmless jerk.” By then, I’d made my way through everything on my plate. I hadn’t even left the crust of the pizza. I took my plate in the back and set it in the same rack Landry had, then stopped to grab a package of mixed fruit and another soda.
“I’m gonna go rack out for a little while,” I said to McGregor. “Is there an alarm clock or something I can use to make sure I’m up by midnight?”
“I’ll make sure you’re up,” Simone said. “Maddie wants to be there when you make the call anyway.” I nodded and stumbled for the door. Really full for the first time in a couple of days, my body reminded me I had been on a motorbike for most of the day. I made it to the barracks room and kicked the flip-flops under one of the bunks and crawled under the wool blanket. The bed was the softest thing I’d ever felt, except maybe for the pillow under my face.
I took a deep breath and let my body settle into the mattress. Seconds later, something grabbed my shoulder and I came up off the bed. My feet got caught up in something and I hit the floor hard. When my hand hit my waist and didn’t find a knife, I didn’t waste time looking for it. Instead, I scrambled to my feet and looked for my attacker. Sudden light blinded me, and I heard voices nearby.