Dawson stepped closer to Ty. “That’s why you had to come down here: I know how to do it, and if I leave here Moreby will know, too.”
“How?”
Dawson told him.
[Excerpt of interview between Sandra Steele and Kevin Moon]
Steele: Mr. Moon, we of course invite you to stay with us—
Moon: Me and Maxi, right?
Steele: Of course. But we’ll need to find a job for you.
Moon: Great. I want to work.
Steele: Is there anything in particular you’d be interested in doing?
Moon: Well . . . I don’t know much about politics, and I’d be a pretty crappy soldier, but I’m organized and I’ve got a good memory, and . . .
Steele: Weren’t you majoring in Business in College?
Moon: Yeah, but I dropped out in my second year – couldn’t keep up with tuition any more. I was going to work for a while to save up enough to go back . . . my goal’s always been to open my own restaurant.
Steele: Do you have any accounting experience?
Moon: A little. My boss had me doing some of the books at my last restaurant job.
Steele: Good enough. I’m thinking we can find you something in either an aide position or maybe the GAO . . . once we get an economy up and running again.
Moon: Wow . . . um, that would be amazing. Ms. Steele . . . this might sound like bullshit, but – well, I really want to help. I want to see us come back, and if I can help make that happen . . . well . . .
Steele: That doesn’t sound like bullshit at all, Mr. Moon – I think most of us here feel that way. Welcome to the team.
Chapter Forty-Seven
PEPPER AND FORBES had come back.
They lumbered towards Kevin, and he turned to run, but he couldn’t – he was still chained to the post in the yard, but the chain was so heavy now he couldn’t even move his feet. He remembered something – they’d been shot. He’d seen them, they’d both taken bullets to the head, so how could they be moving . . .?
They came closer, and he saw the blossom-shaped wounds each carried in their foreheads. He wanted to scream, to tell them they couldn’t possibly be alive, because even the intelligent ones were dead when the brain was damaged, and these two had never been intelligent, but here they were reaching out for him, so close, and he couldn’t move or scream or—
His eyes snapped open. He was panting, his heart was drumming a frantic rhythm, his breath fast and shallow. For a second, Kevin was disoriented – he saw metal walls, soft lights, a blanket bunched around his body . . .
It came to him: he was in the OC, deep beneath Washington, in the room he shared with Maxi. It’d been a dream; Pepper and Forbes were long dead, and he was safe.
When his heart slowed to a reasonable pace, Kevin thought of Maxi and hoped he hadn’t woken the boy. He looked over to Maxi’s bunk, on the other side of the room . . .
It was empty.
“Maxi?”
There was no answer.
“Damn it,” Kevin muttered to himself, mainly because the panic had flared again, this time for real. There was no reason to panic; Maxi had probably just gone for a walk, maybe looking for a snack.
But Kevin knew there’d be no sleep until he’d reassured himself about Maxi’s safety, so he swung out of his own bunk, pulled on jeans and a jacket, ran his fingers through his hair, and stepped over to the main door of the room.
He opened it, and blinked at the light – the hallways remained lit at all times, and the glare was painful as Kevin came from their room, where the only illumination was provided by a lamp they left turned low at all times. Kevin heard a voice from his right, and turned to see Maxi a few feet away, sitting with his back against one wall of the corridor, talking on a cell phone.
“Maxi?” Kevin said.
The boy looked up, and guilt flashed across his dark features. “Hey, I gotta go,” he said into the phone, speaking in a quiet rush, “I’ll talk to you later.” He ended the call and lowered the phone.
“Who was that?”
“Nobody. Sorry, did I wake you?”
“No, a nightmare did that. So you know somebody named ‘Nobody’?”
Maxi rose and walked past Kevin to return to their room, obviously feigning a yawn. “Didn’t realize how late it was. I’m goin’ to bed . . .”
Kevin followed him, closing the door behind them. Maxi tried to ignore him as he took off his shoes and jeans, but Kevin turned on the overhead light, letting Maxi know that sleep wasn’t going to be happening right away.
He’s a little kid, Kevin reminded himself. This is where I have to be the adult.
Kevin sat on the end of Maxi’s bed, trying to sound gentle yet firm. “Maxi, I need to know who you were talking to.”
Turning away from Kevin, Maxi said, “You don’t trust me.”
“No, I . . .” Kevin trailed off, realizing it was true – he didn’t trust Maxi on this. But he had to. He was still learning the ins and outs of dealing with a twelve year old, and was slowly realizing that Maxi was no regular twelve year old. When Kevin had been twelve, he’d liked comic books and performing magic tricks; Maxi, however, had seen people die and be eaten, he’d lost his parents and he’d travelled across a post-apocalyptic America with a dead man. If Kevin treated him like a child, he’d lose him.
“I’m sorry, Maxi, I didn’t mean to . . . look, I trust you. I was just concerned, that’s all. If you don’t want to tell me, it’s cool.”
Kevin rose from the boy’s bunk, turned off the overhead light, and was halfway across the room when he heard Maxi whisper, “Maribel.”
Kevin froze, then turned around. “Maribel? You mean your sister? But I thought she was . . .”
. . . dead.
“Oh my God . . . she turned, didn’t she?”
Maxi nodded. “She told me to hide when they came. I did. She tried to run, but they got her. Three of them. I was in a closet, and I heard her scream, and they didn’t just kill her and eat her . . . they played with her first. They made fun of her, they shouted mean shit at her, and they made her cry, and when they finally got bored and ate her I saw parts of it, through a crack in the door. And then they left, and she got up. She came over to the closet to get me, but instead she told me to run.” Maxi’s eyes filled up and tears spilled over, washing down his cheeks. “I knew she was hungry, but she told me to run. I did, and that was when I found Mr Dawson. He was just outside, and if he’d come just half-an-hour earlier . . . I told him my sister was dead, and we left.”
Kevin reached out and put a comforting hand on Maxi’s shoulder. “I’m so sorry, Maxi. God, I’m sorry.”
Wiping at his eyes and sniffling, Maxi said, “She still had her cell phone when I called her. We couldn’t talk much because the phone wouldn’t work in most places across the country, but it works here, with the Wi-Fi.”
“Have you talked to her a lot?”
Maxi nodded. “Since we got here, yeah. She says LA’s a mess – the zombies took over for a while, but the humans are fighting back now and doing pretty good. She’s afraid to go out, afraid she’ll get shot.”
“Maxi . . . how much have you told her? About where we are, I mean?”
The boy’s eyes went wide and he blinked away tears as he looked up at Kevin. “N-nothing. Why? . . . Hey, she wouldn’t—”
“I know she wouldn’t do anything deliberately, but there are rumours that the zombies – the intelligent ones – can all kind of talk to each other, you know, mentally.”
“I swear I haven’t said anything.”
Kevin looked at the boy closely, and decided he believed him. “Okay,” he said, smiling, and then added, “but it’s probably a good idea if you don’t tell anyone else down here you’ve been talking to her.”
“I won’t. I promise.”
“You rule.”
That got a weak smile from the boy. Kevin gave him a final pat and stood. “Think you can sleep now?”
The boy nodded.
“Okay. Good night.”
“Good night, Kevin.”
Kevin walked across the room and sat down on his own bed. He knew sleep wouldn’t come soon, not because of nightmares, but because of the waking thought he couldn’t shake:
Please, God, don’t let us be trapped down here because of something a twelve-year-old kid did out of love.
Chapter Forty-Eight
JONES LOOKED UP as Steele and a medic entered his brig cell. Steele enjoyed the way his expression changed to trepidation when the medic held up the syringe.
“What is this? Surely you’re not resorting to truth serum.”
Steele smirked. “Surely not. No, Landen, this is even worse, at least for you: we’ve got an HRV vaccine, and everyone gets a dose – even a worthless piece of shit like you.”
“Well, Steele, nice to see your true colours coming out at last.”
“Just shut up and roll up your sleeve.”
The medic shot Steele a look that she hoped Landen hadn’t noticed; she knew the man was a dedicated healer and didn’t like being part of this deception, but their country’s future rested on the lie.
Jones took his time unbuttoning his cuff and rolling up the sleeve. The medic swabbed his arm and said, “Make a fist, please.” Landen did, the medic found a vein, and the shot was quickly delivered.
“Ow,” said Jones with exaggerated boredom, looking at Steele.
She was just following the medic out when Jones said, “Oh, by the way, Steele – be sure to congratulate the President on the creation of the vaccine. I’m not quite sure how your research team was able to figure that out when ours wasn’t . . . looks like you won all the way around.”
“Sometimes the good guys do,” Steele said, just before stepping out and locking the door.
She sent the medic back up to Bolling, and then met Ty down the hallway. “Did he buy it?” Ty asked.
“I didn’t leave him much choice,” Steele said. “So, what’s next?”
They started walking towards the Command Center. “The message has gone out to Moreby,” Ty said. “If he has any IT experts on hand they might figure out it didn’t come from New World Pharmaceuticals and we’d be fucked then, but that’s a chance we’ll have to take. If we don’t get an answer in the next twenty-four hours, we probably won’t hear from him at all and the plan will be off.”
Steele took a deep breath and answered. “We wait, then.”
“We wait,” Ty agreed.
From:
President James Moreby
To:
Landen Jones
Sent:
SAT, Nov 23, 4:16 PM
Subject:
RE: Request for Meeting
Dear Landen: I am certainly most interested in hearing what my old friends at NWP have to offer, and I would appreciate the opportunity to discuss this further. Is tomorrow at 1:00 p.m. here in the Oval Office acceptable? You of course have my personal assurance that you will be unharmed, provided you come unarmed and alone.
Chapter Forty-Nine
IT WAS 12:15 pm the next day when Steele opened the door to Jones’ cell. As she left the door open, he eyed her curiously.
“C’mon, Landen, let’s go,” she said, jerking her head towards the outside hallway.
Jones didn’t rise from his seated position on his bunk. “You’ll pardon me, Director Steele, if I indulge myself enough to ask . . . let’s go where, exactly?”
Steele did her best to look irked. “You’re free to go.”
That got him to sit a little straighter. “Am I, now? How did that happen?”
“Your NWP masters made some kind of deal for you. I can’t tell you the details. They just want you back for some reason, it seems.”
Jones’ brow furrowed, and for a moment Steele wondered what would happen if he simply refused to leave the cell. Finally, though, he rose. “It’s almost enough to make one believe in miracles. A moment, please.”
Steele stepped out slightly as Jones straightened his clothes and hair. As he left the cell, she handed him his jacket. “Your phone’s in the pocket.”
Jones put the jacket on, then withdrew the phone and hit the power button. When the screen glowed, he said, “How nice of your intelligence experts not to drain the battery when they went through it.”
“We don’t have intelligence experts any more – Aaron Gillespie committed suicide a couple of weeks ago.”
For a split second, Jones seemed to display a genuine emotion. “I’m sorry to hear that. I always liked him.”
“Let’s just get this over with.” Steele turned and led the way towards the elevators.
As they rounded a corner that led away from the brig, Ty joined them, exchanging a look with Steele. Jones didn’t notice – he was too intent on meeting his freedom. “Mr Ward, come to hug me goodbye?”
“More like to make sure you don’t scrawl obscenities on the elevator walls.”
The rest of the ride up was completed in silence. The doors opened, and Steele and Ty accompanied Jones through the nondescript office building that disguised the entrance to the OC and out to where a reinforced jeep awaited, the keys in the ignition.
“This is mine?” Jones asked.
Steele said, “Sorry it’s not your colour – blood red. It was all we could spare.”
“As long as it gets me away from here, it’ll do.”
Jones climbed in behind the steering wheel, and Steele leaned through the open passenger-side window. “Follow this road to the front gate – they’re expecting you. From there you’re on your own.”
Jones started up the engine, and said, “Wish I could say it’s been a pleasure.” He rolled up the window.
Steele moved back to join Ty a short distance away. They spoke together softly, Steele facing away from the jeep. “What’s he doing?”
Ty glanced behind her and smiled, then spoke softly. “He’s looking down. Pretty sure he’s going through his phone. Wait – he’s frowning. Yeah, he just got it.”
Steele knew what the “it” was: the message they’d sent Jones that purported to be from NWP’s Board, directing him to meet with Moreby at 1:00 pm to offer the zombie government an exclusive licence to NWP’s antiserum.
Steele heard the jeep’s engine rev up and the tyres squealed as Jones peeled out. Ty watched the jeep head off and said, “I’m pretty sure he just realized he has about fifteen minutes to get to the White House and make that meeting.”
A few seconds later, Steele’s phone rang. She answered it, said only, “Got it,” terminated the call and turned to Ty. “He’s through the gate.”
Ty nodded, pulled out his own phone and punched a number. “Ready Alpha Team.”
Steele returned to the office building and ducked into the first cubicle, where a computer waited for her. She brought up the data from the GPS tracker hidden in Jones’ jeep, and followed his progress through the streets of Washington. When he turned on to State Place and pulled up to the White House gates, Steele ran back out to where Ty waited, now surrounded by a dozen men in protective armour and bearing assault rifles.
“He’s there,” she said.
Ty finished pulling on his own armour, made sure his headset was in place, and shouted at his team, “We’re live! Let’s go.” He indicated a Black Hawk that waited a few hundred yards away, and the soldiers jogged towards it. Just as he was about to follow, Steele grabbed his arm and he turned back.
“You sure you want to do this yourself?” she asked. “They’re good men. They can handle this on their own.”
“Probably, but . . . I think I need to do this. Ames wanted me to take over for him, and he would have led this personally, you know?”
She did. She nodded and said, “Good luck.”
“I’ll see you soon.”
Ty turned and ran across the field. As soon as he was aboard the Black Hawk, it lifted off. Steele watched it go, gaining altitude and then turning to head towards the Wh
ite House.
Even while she was sure she’d never see Ty alive again, she hoped she was wrong.
[Recovered transcription of CIA audio recording from White House Roosevelt Room]
Moreby:
Ahh, the guest of honor has arrived. Welcome, Mr. Jones! We have saved you a seat at the head of the table. These ladies and gentlemen are my principal ministers.
Jones:
Hello, everyone. Thank you for having me here today.
Cecilia:
Are we having him, Thomas?
Moreby:
Cecilia–!
Cecilia:
Oh, it was just a little joke. Calm yourself.
Moreby:
Now, Mr. Jones . . .
Jones:
Landen, please. I’m sorry, I don’t mean to stare, but – I well, President Moreby, your ministers are familiar faces; in fact, I hadn’t even realized that a few of them were . . .
Moreby:
Dead, I think you mean.
Jones:
Well . . . yes.
Cecilia:
Something else you may not have realized, Landen: my body’s previous owner found you quite attractive. In fact, she seems to have even harbored some rather erotic fantasies about you–
Moreby:
Enough, Minister! I apologize on behalf of my cabinet, Landen.
Lovett:
I’d like to see him on my butcher’s block, I would . . .
Moreby:
Cease!
[A few seconds of silence, then]
Moreby:
Now, we are very interested to hear more about this offer which your Government is prepared to make.
Jones:
Washington Deceased Page 27