by JE Gurley
Ginson perked up at her offer. “Single malt?”
“Yes.”
“You’re on,” he said.
When she closed the door of her office behind them, she noticed Kyle’s look of curiosity.
“I don’t want everyone to know I have scotch,” she explained.
“Wise move,” Kyle said.
She produced three glasses from a shelf, took the scotch from a drawer, and poured three fingers in each glass. “Would either of you gentlemen like ice?”
Kyle shook his head and reached for the glass. “No. I like my scotch neat.” He took a tentative sip and smiled. “Very smooth.” He took a larger sip and let the scotch burn its way down his throat until it warmed his stomach.
“Ah! This is good stuff,” Ginson commented. “I haven’t had good scotch in a while.”
Marli sipped hers slowly. “I prefer vodka, but I’ll drink scotch if I have to.”
“Vodka and rum is for belting down and for parties. Scotch is for sipping and conversation.”
“Well then, what should we talk about?”
“You,” Kyle suggested. Marli was in a good mood. He thought it might be the perfect time to learn more about her.
She frowned. “Me? I’m not very exciting.”
“Don’t kid yourself. You’re smart, you’re pretty, and you’ve got guts. That’s a start.”
Her face flushed. “Not so smart. I can’t find a cure.”
“You found a vaccine. That’s a start. I have confidence in you.”
She stared at the top of her desk as she swirled the scotch in her glass. Her desk was untidy and disorganized for someone whose job required structure and organization. It was littered with file folders and stacks of paper. It reminded Kyle of his own desk, outwardly messy, but he could quickly lay his hands on anything he needed. He had his own system of filing that often clashed with proper police procedure.
“You just don’t realize how difficult this is going to be,” she said. “Killing the fungus isn’t the problem. We can sterilize surfaces, filter the air, but once it begins to grow in a human host …” She shook her head. “We’ve tried Azoles, Polyenes, Allylamines, Echinocandens … Hell!” She slammed her glass down on the desktop, sloshing some of the liquor onto the wooden surface. She quickly wiped it off with the edge of her hand. “We’ve even tried oregano, garlic, citronella oil, and Neem Seed oil – anything strong enough to kill this Cordyceps species damages the host.”
“But you can create a fungicide that will kill the fungus.”
“Yes, but as I said, it kills the host.”
He didn’t broach the subject with her and doubted she would agree with him, but it could become necessary to fumigate the entire city, regardless of the consequences. It certainly would be less destructive to property and with less environmental risks than a nuclear bomb. One thing he had learned while undercover with drug lords. Sometimes you just had to cut your losses and move on.
“How effective is the vaccine?”
“That’s unknown. We worked with a derivative of Ciclopirox, a respiratory antifungal. Since the fungus attacks the lungs first, it might prove effective, but the amount needed for a large population would be enormous. It would tax all pharmaceutical production facilities. No one is ready to call the shot on that one until all of our tests are completed.”
“How long?”
She hesitated. “A full-scale test would take weeks, maybe months.”
Kyle shook his head. “It might be too late by then.”
Marli stared at her glass, and then downed its remaining contents. Kyle lifted his glass to his lips and emptied it as well. Marli yawned.
“When was the last time you slept?” he asked her.
“I’m not sure. I sometimes nap at my desk.”
“I’m a cop with a small brain. I can survive on no sleep. Ginson here is a soldier. They never sleep. Your brain is bigger. You need sleep.”
She smiled at him. “Our brains are relatively the same size.”
“Yours has more folds or whatever. Mine’s as smooth as a baby’s butt.”
She pointed her empty glass at him. “You would make a poor biologist.”
“Some say I make a poor cop, but I try.”
Their eyes locked for a moment. Kyle considered himself a good judge of people, but he couldn’t read her. At times, she exhibited all the signs of being attracted to him. He liked that. At other times, she seemed repelled by him. That, he didn’t like. He thought he knew the problem. Her job was saving people, while his sometimes entailed killing people, bad people but people nonetheless. It was the dichotomy of police work – protecting some people sometimes meant killing others. Soon, her job would reach that point. Maybe that was what he was reading in her eyes – fear of the future.
They broke eye contact at the sound of his cell phone ringing. He hadn’t used it in a week, wasn’t even aware it was still charged. The sudden sound startled him. Figuring it was his superior, Chief Gilbert, he took it out of his pocket and stared at the screen but did not recognize the number. “Who the hell?” he directed at no one in particular. He placed it near his mouth. “Detective Bane here,” he said.
The voice on the other end was tense and frightened. “Detective, this is Rita. We need your help.”
15
July 7, Little Havana, Miami, FL –
With Ginson’s chilling account of the trouble at Marlin’s Park fresh on his mind, Kyle felt an air of urgency as he listened to Rita’s description of the outbreak and the army’s deadly response. At least she’s still alive.
“Tomas and I are trapped in one of the Legend’s Suites. There are more of those creatures outside. Benoit is injured. A soldier shot him. He needs medical attention.”
Shot! Who was Benoit? “I’ll be there as soon as I can. Don’t leave for any reason.”
Her “I’m not going anywhere”, produced a chuckle from someone in the background. He assumed it was Benoit.
The signal died. He tried redial but got nothing. He cursed and turned to Ginson.
“I heard,” Ginson said, “I’ll round up my men.”
To Marli he asked, “Do you have any vaccine available?”
She crossed her arms over her chest. “But it hasn’t been tested,” she said as she slowly shook her head.
Marli was disturbed by what Kyle was suggesting, but he had no choice. The vaccine had to be tested sometime. “We’ll be your guinea pigs. I hate that damn mask anyway.”
“If it doesn’t work …” Her voice trailed off.
“Yeah, I know. No night out on the town for us.”
She surprised him by smiling. “Detective Bane, are you asking me for a date?”
“It’s Kyle, and yes, if I manage to prove that your vaccine works, I’d like to go out with you.”
Ginson finished his scotch and slammed the tumbler down on the desk. “It’s about time. I thought I was going to have to play match maker.”
Kyle turned on him. “Don’t sit there. Go get your men. We can start killing zombies in Marlins Park.”
Ginson left the room, leaving Kyle and Marli alone. Kyle thought it might be a good time to lay his cards on the table.
“Look, I know I sometimes come off as cold and hard, but that’s my job. I deal with some real bastards, the lowest spectrum of humanity. You’re something different for me and I’m not sure how to deal with it. I’m very attracted to you.” He took a deep breath and blurted, “Hell! You’re smart and hot. I wouldn’t mind the chance to get to know you better.”
Marli walked from behind her desk. “I would like that, Kyle.”
Their lips met like two thunder clouds exchanging charges. Lightning flashed between them. The hair on the back of Kyle’s neck stood at attention, as did another part of his anatomy. He broke away just long enough to whisper, “If it wasn’t for this emergency …”
She drew him back. As their kiss deepened, his hands explored her body. She responded to his probing touch. He
released her with great reluctance when she slowly pushed him away.
“You have to go.”
He nodded. “You’re right. Rita needs me.”
“Who is this Rita? Is she pretty?”
“She’s just a woman with a child that I promised to help.”
“Then keep your word. I’ll be here when you get back. I’ll go get what vaccine we have available. I hope it works.” When she removed her hand from his chest, it felt as if he was losing a part of his body.
“You and me both,” he said as she disappeared through the door.
* * *
The overburdened sky had finally reached its breaking point. Rain, not a sudden summer shower, but a heavy monsoon downpour began falling as they loaded into the Humvee. The rain brought with it bits of ash and dust, staining their clothes. Kyle rubbed his arm where Marli had administered the vaccine with the admonition that it might take time to strengthen his body’s defenses. He didn’t have time to wait. It felt good to be shed of the mask and the respirator, but playing guinea pig had its risks. He just hoped he lived to enjoy the benefits.
Ginson took only six of his men. “If eight men aren’t enough for the job,” he said, “we’ve stepped in some deep shit.” Kyle would have felt better with the entire army at his back, but Walters had his trusty M-249 SAW. He also sported brand new E-4 corporal’s chevrons on his sleeve.
“I see you finally got a promotion,” Kyle said.
“Yeah, I’m a real brown-noser. I keep my face so far up sarge’s butt that when he farts, I know what he had for lunch.”
“Don’t believe him,” Ginson said. “I practically had to order him to take the promotion.”
Walters shrugged. “I’m not good at taking orders. Hell, I’m barely housebroken.”
Walters deserved the promotion. He was a good man and very good with the SAW. Kyle rolled up the sleeves on his uniform. He would have preferred his civilian clothes, but he didn’t want anyone to mistake him for a fungus head and put a bullet in his brain. For armament, he carried both his Glock and his Beneli shotgun. He also had a heavy metal flashlight and his knife stuck through his belt. He refused a helmet, but the night vision goggles rested firmly atop his head. Judging by the dark night, he would have the opportunity to use them. The moonless night brought out the fungus heads by the droves. The rain didn’t seem to bother them. The Humvee plowed them down if they got in the way. Otherwise, the soldiers ignored them. They had no time for pot shots.
When they neared the stadium, it was apparent that something was terribly amiss. Only a few lights flickered in the otherwise dark building. Entire sections of outer perimeter fence were down. Through the darkness, figures moved – too numerous to count. The main entrance was surrounded by a dark mass of zombies and more poured through the enormous opening where the window wall had stood.
Ginson motioned the driver to stop the vehicle, and then let out a soft whistle. “It looks like all hell has broken loose.”
While they were taking in the horrific scene, a large shard of glass fell from the top of the window wall frame, slicing a zombie neatly in half. The upper portion of the torso still managed to crawl across the threshold before dying. Shots rang out from inside the building.
“We can’t fight our way through this. Head around back,” Ginson told the driver.
They skirted the crowd. A few noticed them and gave chase but couldn’t catch the Humvee. They did not fire at the creatures for fear of attracting more. When they reached the eastern side of the stadium, only a few zombies prowled the outside entrance. Walters cut them down with the SAW. The heavy slugs passed completely through their bodies and tore a neat row of holes in the side of the building and the door.
“Take it easy with that thing,” Ginson warned, “we don’t want to kill any good guys inside.” He turned to the others in the vehicle, most of them looking like nervous boys before the prom. “Have a clear target before you shoot, and don’t forget, not all civilians are zombies.”
They left the Humvee’s headlights on pointed at the door. One of the recruits threw open the door while Walters covered him with his SAW. Beyond the small pool of light cast by the Humvee, the corridor was dark and eerily silent.
“Switch on your IR,” Ginson ordered after they had passed beyond range of the headlights.
Kyle had difficulty with his depth perception as he scanned the corridor through the goggles. Everything was flat and two dimensional. He reached out his hand to the wall and missed it by two inches. Everything around him had a ghostly greenish hue, as if bathed by the light of an Aurora Borealis. Ginson had no problem. He produced a map from his pocket and stared at it through his goggles. After a few moments, he pointed down the corridor.
“This way.”
Walters took the point. Crates of supplies lined the walls of the corridor, blocking some of the doors. As Walters passed one open doorway, he stopped and took a deep whiff of air with his massive nose. He stuck his head inside the door for only a few seconds; then, standing against the outside wall, motioned the others up to his position. The slightly metallic smell of blood tickled Kyle’s nostrils. His grip on the Beneli tightened as he peered into the room. Inside what proved to be a small break room, three bodies, a female in white coveralls and two soldiers, lay sprawled on the floor. The woman’s body was riddled with bullet holes. The soldiers had been savagely beaten to death. A pool of sticky, but not yet dried blood covered the floor around them. Several sets of footprints led from the room, disappearing into the darkness down the corridor.
“Stay alert,” Ginson whispered.
Kyle pumped his shotgun to load a shell into the chamber, wincing at the sudden loud click. Walters sent a frown his way. The corridor was eerily quiet, but that didn’t mean there were no fungus heads prowling around. The bodies in the break room proved that thought. The bloody footprints continued down the corridor and beyond a series of rooms. Ginson referenced his map.
“The field is this way,” he said.
They ignored the footprints, which led away from the field, and continued to the FEMA enclosures. Ginson, eager to come to the aid of his comrades fighting off the zombie horde, kept the pace quick. His haste almost cost him his own life. Appearing almost magically in their midst from a small broom closet, a white-clad zombie lunged at him too quickly to avoid. The zombie’s weight and large size carried the smaller Ginson to the ground. The enraged creature landed a couple of blows to Ginson’s already injured side before Walters managed to kick the creature in the head with his size-thirteen boots, rolling it off Ginson’s chest. It recovered quickly and focused its attention on Walters. Unable to bring his weapon to bear in the crowded corridor, he met the creature head on, enclosing its body in a bear hug with his massive arms. Like two sumo wrestlers trying to throw each other from the ring, they circled the floor. The creature pounded on Walters’ back with its fists, but Walters ignored the pain and concentrated on keeping the gnashing teeth away from his neck.
As Kyle helped Ginson from the floor, he noticed a damp spot on Ginson’s side, blood seeping through his uniform where the stitches had ripped loose. Ginson leaned against the wall to catch his breath. Kyle drew his knife to go to Walters’ aid; however, the pair was spinning so rapidly he was afraid of injuring Walters by mistake. A snap loud enough to make Kyle wince came from the zombie’s chest, as Walters broke several of the creature’s ribs with his bear hug. The injury would have been sufficient to incapacitate a normal human being, but the zombie ignored the pain and continued raining blows to Walters’ back. Walters noticed Kyle holding his knife in his hand and backed the zombie toward him. At the last moment, he released his grip on the creature and shoved it backwards. Kyle drove the blade through the creature’s back and upward toward its heart. His first thrust missed its mark. He spun the creature around by its shoulder and jammed the knife through the bottom of its chin into the brain. Death did not come instantly, but the creature’s moves became less frenzied as blood from a
severed artery filled its skull. It emitted one last snarl, stumbled backwards and slid down the wall. Only then did Kyle turn his attention to Ginson.
Ginson waved him off. “I’ll live,” he said.
As they exited onto the field level, the din of fighting grew louder. The sound of a thousand snarling creatures filled the structure. A damp breeze blew in through the destroyed window wall, but the scent of death and cordite still lingered, cloying in its intensity. Kyle quickly counted less than a dozen weapons still firing. The field was almost in total darkness. Without the night vision goggles, he would have been totally blind. Through the shambles of shattered fences and demolished tents, he saw the flashes of gun muzzles and bright spears of flashlights pinpointed the remaining soldiers gathered in a small group in the visitor dugout. The pile of zombie corpses in front of the dugout spoke of their resolve, but the zombies, fearless and enraged, used the stack of bodies as springboards to leap into the dugout. Time was running out for the soldiers.
Of the nearly one thousand evacuees housed in the facility, less than fifty remained alive. They had taken refuge inside the visitor’s bullpen. Sections of chain link fence placed over the top of the bullpen kept zombies from leaping into the bullpen from the stands, but the makeshift fence barricade was near the collapsing point under the combined weight of dozens of zombies atop it.
Ginson faced a dilemma. He had two choices – they could concentrate on freeing the survivors or go to the aid of the soldiers. They didn’t have time to do both, and splitting the small group would place all of them in danger. Kyle could read the hesitation in Ginson’s eyes, even through the Infrared goggles. Walters sized up the situation succinctly.
“What do we do, Sarge? Civilians or soldiers?”
The sound of gunfire was growing weaker. Ginson, to his credit, did not allow the enormity of the situation to slow him. “The civilians.”
No one questioned him. They all knew how much the decision to abandon his fellow soldiers must have cost him. It was like battlefield triage – harsh but necessary. They withheld their fire until they had reached the Clevelander next to the bullpen. Zombies prowled the poolside restaurant like confused waiters. One tried to leap the pool and fell short, rising from the water sputtering and confused. The bodies of two fallen soldiers floated in the pool, testimony to the dedication involved in trying to save the civilians now herded into the bullpen.