by Ike Hamill
“And the zombies?” asked Gregory. “Where did they come from?”
“That I don’t know,” said Andrew. “Maybe ask the Madman about that one. They don’t seem to be hurting anyone, and a lot of people are thinking they’re somehow connected to you, so for the moment they’re only helping your cause.”
“Until they start tearing people apart and devouring brains,” said Gregory.
“Unless and until,” said Andrew.
“Okay,” said Gregory. He pushed on his knees and rose to his feet. “So what’s the schedule?”
“You’re in the box for another twenty hours and then we’ll pop you out for the event,” said Andrew. “I’ve got the best people we know on every highway and all the rest stops between DC and here. I think we’ve got a lucky break with the zombies. She’s probably going to want to stick to big roads or else she’ll get too close to the cemeteries. I’d say we’ve got a sixty percent chance we’ll dart her up before she’s within fifty miles.”
“What’s the other forty percent?” asked Gregory.
“Two percent she squeaks through, and thirty-eight she kills every last person she comes across in Virginia, Maryland, and Pennsylvania. Pretty hard to stop her if she goes bat-shit insane, but I don’t think she’s got the stamina for that kind of burn.”
“But you don’t know,” said Gregory.
“That’s right,” Andrew frowned and shrugged. “But I’m right here. You can bet your ass that I’m doing everything I can to save my own life. We’ve got guys in boxes just like this but with video cameras all along the route. If she goes on a spree, we’ll know about it before the first stiff hits the pavement.”
“Okay,” said Gregory. “Well, thanks for everything.”
“You don’t have to thank me,” said Andrew. “Not with what you’re paying me.”
“Still,” said Gregory. He put out his hand and fixed his eyes on Andrew’s. “And you’d better get me an audience with the Madman. He’s been on-the-money so far, let’s find out why he didn’t give us any advance information about this whole zombie uprising. Do you think you can swing that?”
Andrew nodded slightly and took Gregory’s hand. They shook twice. Andrew stepped over to the door and waited for Gregory to dial in the code that would let him into the airlock. The door slid open and Andrew stepped into the small space.
“Andrew?”
“Yes, sir?” asked Andrew. He was formal again, now that he was in front of the cameras.
“I know what I said,” Gregory said, “but do what you have to.”
“Certainly, sir,” said Andrew.
Gregory closed the door.
“I JUST WISH WE COULD HAVE GOTTEN SOMETHING HIGHER,” said Lynne. She circled the bed and poked her head into the motel’s tiny bathroom. Next, she looked behind the mirrored doors into the closet.
“We’re lucky we could even get this place without a credit card. I had to pay the guy triple just to get a room,” said Carol.
“How is Billy’s money holding out?” asked Lynne. She pinched the corner of the bedspread and pulled it back gingerly.
“Fine,” said Carol. She shut the blinds and put the chain on the door. “I don’t think that higher is necessarily better. At least here if someone comes to the door we have a decent chance of jumping out the back window without killing ourselves.”
“Yeah, it just feels so vulnerable being this close to the ground. That’s where they come from,” said Lynne.
“The news said…” said Carol.
“I know,” Lynne interrupted. “But two days ago nobody could have predicted what’s going on now. Just because they haven’t seen any of the grave crawlers venturing outside their cemeteries doesn’t mean they won’t do it. We need to be careful; not take any chances. Somehow we’ve got to make it until tomorrow and get to the appearance in one piece.”
“That reminds me,” said Carol. “We were going to try the news to see if we could get any information about those people attacked in DC.”
Lynne reached over to the nightstand and tried to pick up the remote control. It was affixed to the table—she had to turn on the light to figure out the buttons and get the TV started. It came on to a twenty-four hour news station. Lynne muted the sound so they could read the headlines until the story came up.
“At least when I was kidnapped Gregory put me up in a four star hotel,” said Lynne.
“Oh shit, that’s you,” said Carol. “Turn it up.”
Lynne fumbled with the buttons before she restored the volume.
“… Gregory’s staff,” said the reporter. Over her left shoulder, a box framed in a decent picture of Lynne.
“Shit,” said Lynne.
“He asks you to either contact local law enforcement or call his tip-line at 1-800-G-R-E-G-O-R-Y,” said the reporter. “Despite the recent undead activity and the threats from Ms. Benson, Gregory says his speech at Schenley Park will continue tomorrow as scheduled.”
“Where did they get that picture of me?” asked Lynne.
“Probably sometime after they kidnapped you,” suggested Carol. “Maybe they took it on the boat?”
“I guess,” said Lynne. “Looks ten years older than me though.”
“That’s a good thing,” said Carol. “We’re trying to not get recognized, remember? Wait, what’s that?” she pointed at the TV.
“… when the dead awoke,” finished the anchor. Over the anchor’s shoulder, the picture of Lynne had been replaced by one of Marta. “That footage suggests that this woman, identified by authorities as Marta Duncan of Fryeburg, Maine, was one of a handful of people physically attacked by the undead, but authorities suggest that she may have instigated the altercation. Police seek to question her to discuss her possible role in the awakening. If you have any information at all about this woman, you’re encouraged to alert the local law enforcement immediately.”
“Christ,” said Carol. “I know that woman. I have to go find a laptop or something. I’ve got to get to my accounts.”
“Why?”
“Because I have her phone number back in my home email,” said Carol. “We met at the OBGYN. She was pregnant when I was pregnant with Donna. That’s a little coincidental, don’t you think? What if she’s our third?”
“Third? Like the other corner of the triangle?” asked Lynne.
“Yeah,” said Carol. “I mean, look, she was attacked by zombies, and I knew her when I was pregnant. That’s a slam-dunk, right?”
“I’m not convinced,” said Lynne.
“Well it won’t do any harm to call her from a pay phone, right? Then we’ll know for sure,” said Carol.
“I guess,” said Lynne. “Doesn’t really make sense to me though. If she was pregnant then what happened to her kid? You wouldn’t be running around trying to hunt down Gregory if you had a kid, would you? What kind of mom would do that?”
Carol turned away from Lynne’s question.
“Oh, sorry,” said Lynne. “Your circumstances are different, you know?”
“I’m going to get that number,” said Carol. “I’ll get us a prepaid phone, too. You better stay here. Your picture is all over the news. Ten years older or not, people will recognize you.”
“Yeah, okay,” said Lynne.
HE EXPELLED A LUNG-FULL OF AIR with a chuff. His forehead was red and sweat dripped from his temples. The little man tucked his hands into his sleeves and tilted his head back until he was looking Gregory in the eye. He adjusted the folds of his loose, white robe, but made no move to get up off the floor.
“Nothing,” he said.
“Huh? What do you mean?” asked Gregory.
“What do you mean?” asked the man they referred to as Madman.
Gregory turned to Andrew and raised his eyebrows.
Andrew explained the situation—“You seem to be at a loss. We’ve just never seen you at a loss. You’re whole job is to always get an answer. This time we’re desperate for an answer, we flew you in, and you’re jus
t sitting there. Frankly, we could have gotten that for free.”
“This is not an exact science,” said Madman. “It’s an art. I go into my state, I get my visions, and then I interpret them for you. If it doesn’t happen then it doesn’t happen. There’s nothing I can do about it.”’
“I need a better explanation,” said Andrew. “With the money we’re paying, we need to know that you’re not making up what you want us to hear.”
“Okay,” Madman regarded Andrew with thinly-masked contempt. “I’m going to give you some of my process so you can understand where I’m coming from. Yeah?”
He took a breath and then let it out—“Most people don’t listen to the signs around themselves. These could be tiny little things, like about a stock that’s about to tank, or why it would be a bad idea to drive on a given bridge n a certain day. Some things only ever cause you trouble if you truly obey them.” As Madman explained, his voice bobbed up and down through different registers, making his speech sound like something he had memorized phonetically.
Gregory nodded, but tilted his head, considering.
“Well you get all that stuff because the same energy that makes up you, is shared with the energy that makes up the universe,” said Madman. “The science is simple: matter is energy, and energy is matter. If you know how to feel the vibrations, you’ll realize that everything—the stock that tanks and the bridge that collapses—is all stranded together with the same cosmic force that makes up your persona. If you vibrate with it, instead of against it, then you’ll have all the answers you’ll ever need without even leaving the couch.”
“So you can’t get any vibrations right now?” asked Andrew.
“Not the ones you care about,” said Madman.
“Why not?” asked Andrew.
“Now that’s a decent question,” said Madman. He closed his eyes and wrapped his legs into a triangle. Andrew looked at Gregory and shrugged. The two men sat, staring at the little yogi on the floor and wondering if he’d somehow forgotten to continue.
Andrew was about the ask for a clarification when Madman started speaking again—“Now what if the answer is in the energy?” asked Madman.
“How so?” asked Gregory.
“If all the energy is moving away, then all we can see is faint echoes. Can you see light that’s headed in the opposite direction?” asked Madman. “Not unless it reflects off something,” he answered himself. “It’s the Doppler effect.”
“No,” said Andrew. He stood up and put his hand on his forehead. “The Doppler effect is why French police sirens sound different when they pass by. It has nothing to do with light moving away from you.”
“It’s how they measure how fast the universe is expanding,” countered Madman.
“Yes, but it’s from the light of a star moving away, not light moving away,” said Andrew.
Gregory attempted to bring the conversation back on track—“Look… Sir… I’m confused. You’re normally so down-to-earth. All business. You come in, establish credibility with some good predictions, carefully outline the information you have, and I purchase it. If this is some elaborate multi-stage scheme to become my energy advisor or something, I’m not in the market. If you’ve got something, then give it. Otherwise, thank you for your time, you’ll be compensated generously as always.”
Madman looked up at Gregory and then over to Andrew, who was leaning against the far wall, looking away.
Gregory spoke again—“Here’s the check." He waved to Andrew, who pulled an envelope from his back pocket. Gregory handed the envelope to to Madman with these words—“This is our last transaction. I won’t be requiring your services again. This money is yours to keep, and you’ve got nothing to lose now. You can go.”
“Thank you,” said Madman. He took the envelope and tucked it inside his robe and unfolded his legs to stand.
When he was halfway to the door, Gregory stopped him—“Madman, take a look at the check.”
Madman stopped with his back turned to Gregory and fished his finger inside the corner of the envelope and tore open the end. He shook the cashier’s check out far enough to see the amount and then turned back to look at Gregory.
“Yeah, it’s significantly more than you asked for. And I mean it—we’re done. This is our last transaction, but if you have anything else, please just tell me.”
Madman shook his head and then stopped.
“Well,” said Madman. He paused and a cloud passed over his features. He peeked at the amount of the check again. When he opened his mouth again, the music was gone from his voice. His words were low and serious. “There just isn’t anything to read from you. Usually it’s like standing next to a radar tower. The flood of energy that comes out of you reflects off the whole world and illuminates the past, present, and future. I spent my life reading by a candle, and then you were like a floodlight. Like nothing I’ve ever seen. Now, it’s black. You have three spots in your universe, but they’re like fireflies. They’re somehow connected to you though, like your whole life-force has been cleaved in thirds and it orbits outside your body now.”
Gregory narrowed his eyes at the little man and chewed the inside of his lip.
“No bullshit,” said Madman. “I usually stay away from giving people really bad news. It’s bad for business. But since I don’t have to worry about business anymore, I’ll tell you: what I’ve seen here today scares the living shit out of me. I’m going to get as far away from all this as I can.”
“Get him out of here,” Gregory said to Andrew.
“Get moving, carny,” said Andrew. He grabbed the man by his shoulders and turned him towards the door of the little room. Andrew pushed Madman forward until his face was inches away from electronic door. “Boss?” Andrew called back to Gregory.
Gregory was leaning forward, with his head propped up on his hands.
“Boss? The door?” said Andrew. “Gregory?”
“Yeah,” said Gregory, his voice flat. He pushed up from his chair and crossed to the wall panel.
The door pushed in and then slid to the right.
Andrew looked over his shoulder before pushing Madman into the airlock—“I’ll be back in a minute."
“No,” said Gregory. “I need some time.”
The door shut, closing Andrew out.
MARTA WORKED ON HER FOCUS as she drove. She found that with the right level of concentration, she could pick out the intentions of the undead in the communities surrounding the highway. The radio reports were consistent during her trip. All the news outlets seemed convinced that the zombies proved no threat to regular citizens with the exception of a few isolated incidents. At one point Marta looked down and noticed that she’d slowed to forty miles an hour. That was when they had announced her name on the radio. She was a person of interest in the “awakening” of the dead.
She pulled over at a rest stop in the mountains east of Pittsburgh. A map in pocket behind the passenger’s seat showed a dense city at the junction of three rivers. Marta traced the lines and considered the shading of the hills and mountains. Her finger kept returning to the same spot—an island in the Ohio river, just west of downtown. The map showed only railroad access to the island—she could imagine being safe there from the undead while she waited for Gregory’s appearance.
It was dusk by the time Marta found the railroad bridge that crossed over to the island. That was the easy part. She drove under a bridge and parked in a church parking lot just up the road. She got out of the stolen car and looked around nervously, expecting zombies to appear from the growing shadows. When she got up the nerve, she walked back up the road and stood under the rail overpass. The bridge was tall, and she could see no way to get up to the surface. On the far side, she found a fenced-in staircase with a locked gate.
She returned to the car, got inside, and locked the doors. She reached out with her senses and scanned for threats. She couldn’t find any, but that did little to assuage her fears. The island had become her desperate hope
.
As the light dwindled, Marta drove down every dead-end street on her map that came close to the railroad tracks. Her fingers started to trace lines that headed out of town, to the relative wilderness west of the city. Perhaps she could feel safe there too, if she could just get deep enough into the countryside, away from habitation. But that would leave her too far away from the city to mount an easy assault on Gregory. She wanted to be ready for him, in case he showed up unexpectedly.
She passed a parking lot with a big swinging gate. The sign read “Brunot Island Generating Station." Her map hadn’t shown the facility there, it hadn’t shown anything on the island at all. Marta pulled up to the booth next to the gate and rolled down her window. A young guy in a white t-shirt slid open the booth’s small window.
“Excuse me,” said Marta. “Is this parking for Brunot Island?”
“Yeah, you have a pass?” asked the man.
“No,” said Marta. “I’m supposed to go out there for an interview. They said I should park here?”
“They don’t do interviews on the island. Sorry,” he said. He slid the door shut.
Marta watched as he waved through the glass and picked up a sandwich. She rolled up her window and turned forward, trying to form a plan. Across the lot, in the dim glow of the fading light, she could see a locked gate at the head of a covered walkway. It looked like it ran parallel to the railroad tracks that bordered the parking lot.
A knock on her window startled her and Marta jumped. The young man had leaned out his window to tap on hers. She just barely contained herself from lashing out and ending the life of the young man in the booth.
“You can’t just sit there,” said the man. “Go somewhere else.”
“Do you have a key to that gate there?” Marta asked him.
“None of your business,” said the man. “Get going or I’m calling you in." He held up a cell phone.
“Oh please don’t,” said Marta. “I just need to know if they’ve given you a key. That’s all, then I’ll go.”