by Amber Wyatt
“I see you’re both strapped.”
“Yes,” Hugh patted his pistol and Hana did the same.
“Well you keep those pieces holstered at all times unless I say so. I don’t want any of my crew getting shot in the back by accident.” Michaels gave them both a hard look. “Understood?”
“Got it,” said Hugh. The woman nodded.
Michaels gave her a second, closer look and raised his eyebrows in surprise. Even with the open-carry laws in the zone, it was unusual to see someone dressed as fully tactical as this lady and with all kinds of god-knows-what hardware hanging off her belt.
Michaels turned back towards the house, drew his pistol and waved his crew to follow him. They all went walking up the side of 1123 with him in the lead, Arlene second and Mauro and Marco bringing up the rear. The two men, the ‘M&Ms’ as they were known, carried shovels and body bags tucked under their arms as well as their pistols. All four of them wore full-face lacrosse helmets, slash-proof Kevlar gloves and full-length shark suits under their municipal, yellow coveralls. The dogwalker had been quite emphatic that it was a dead zombie. Definitely dead.
Michaels sniffed in disgust. He did not give a short, sharp shit what the dogwalker thought, since he had a policy of never relying on a caller’s opinion. The problem with zombies was that they did not move unless provoked. And they looked dead because, well, they were dead. From his previous experience, passers-by who found infected bodies rarely dared to approach them close enough to actually confirm that they really had died for the second time. In Michaels’s opinion a cautious Waste Management employee was a long-lived Waste Management employee, and as long as he was department head, all of his work crews would wear full-body, bite-proof clothing.
Tim Abel, his predecessor, who had not believed in such precautions, had been called to clear up an outbreak of zombies in the men’s restroom of a seafood restaurant specializing in Bahamian-style conch fritters. The restaurant owner had told Michaels’s ex-boss that he had thrown a Molotov cocktail into the gents and burned them to death. They were all dead. Definitely dead.
Tragically for Michaels’s boss however, lightly grilling the infected had not killed them, just burned off their eyes, ears and noses. Blind and deaf and without any stimuli to provoke them, the infected had duly laid there, blackened, charred and motionless until Tim had climbed into the middle of the pile and started trying to pull their bodies apart.
The irony was not lost on Michaels that his first assignment as newly promoted team leader had been to go out and collect his infected predecessor. He had calmly put a bullet into the head of his barely recognizable boss. And then before going anywhere near the rest of the bodies, Michaels had circled the room with his back against the wall, and put a bullet into the head of each zombie lying on the floor.
As he had watched his team bag them all up in the body bags that Tim himself had put down in a pile outside the door only three hours previously, Michaels wondered philosophically if this is how he too would end up retiring from his career, being bagged up by one of his subordinates after one last callout where he had become too complacent. He had decided it would be wise to take precautions against such an eventuality.
That evening he had had a long discussion with his uncle and the next morning, after a short, emergency committee meeting where words such as ‘negligence’ and ‘legal liability’ were flying around, the county acquisitions board had approved a hefty new budget to his uncle’s company for protective wear for the recycling department and all emergency first responders including the fire department. Protectrex was also given a contract to provide over one hundred appropriately stocked lockers of safety equipment at all municipal locations. Michaels’s uncle celebrated the new multi-million-dollar contract by buying himself a shiny, new Breitling watch, and checking into the Shoreline Suites for the night with one of the hotly favored contestants from the summer bikini competition which he was due to judge that weekend.
Michaels approached the body with his county-issued probe, a five-foot, aluminum broom handle which Protectrex retailed at $189.99. As per their standard drill, Arlene covered the body from the side with her pistol, and the M&Ms covered left and right in case there were other nasty surprises hiding in the bushes. He jabbed at the body experimentally, and then after there was no response, he used the pole to push the body over on to its back. Long grass had obscured the head, but now he could see that there was a clear bullet hole in the face and a large chunk of the back of the head was missing. The body was that of an attractive, middle-aged woman dressed in skinny fit jeans and ankle boots with a sequined halter top. Fancy. She must have been on her way to a party or something when she had been infected.
“It’s clear,” he waved at Hana and Hugh, and then repeated himself a little louder. “I said, it’s clear. You two wanna come forward and see if you know the deceased?” As Hana and Hugh moved up to view the corpse, Arlene and the M&Ms took up positions facing outwards in all directions, alert for any possible zombie threats.
Michaels could not remember exactly when Waste Management had started asking neighbors and potential next of kin to view bodies before removal, but the protocol had been instituted fairly early on by his late boss. Infected bodies were never autopsied, buried or available for identification through the normal channels. They were delivered straight to the IDRC for examination and disposal. Hence the only time anyone could see the body and maybe help identify it, was during the small window of courtesy time during recovery, that Waste Management allowed if they could easily contact family, witnesses or acquaintances in the immediate neighborhood.
Hana recognized the sequined top and the body immediately.
“Yes, I know her.” Hana said to Michaels. “Her name is Paige; I don’t know the last name. She lived just off Cleary Boulevard, and she was a part-time Pilates instructor at the strip mall on Cleary and Nob Hill.”
“Paige with an ‘i’?”
“Yes, Paige with an ‘i’.”
Pee-lat-ays instructor? Michaels muttered doubtfully to himself. How do you spell that? Fuck it, I’ll just put down yoga. He dutifully recorded the details down on his notebook. Waste Management had to fill in a little report on each recovery, a copy of which went to the police to help with reducing their list of missing persons, and a copy of which was used by IDRC to input to their database which tracked the pattern and spread of the infection within the zone.
It was impossible to tell how long she had been lying there since, as Michaels noted was typical with the infected, the body showed absolutely no signs of decomposition. The dead woman could have been lying there for a couple of hours or a couple of years. Forensic pathology had proven to be equally unable to determine time or even date of death. In addition to the other unusual effects the Lyssavirus had on its victims, it also seemed to completely neutralize any effects of bacteria on the infected. Former associates and family members were therefore invaluable at placing the dates of their infection within a rough timeframe for the IDRC to use in their data analysis.
“Any idea when she was infected?”
“Yes, July twenty-first last year. In the evening. It was at a barbecue on 17th Street. I think…” Hana paused for a second. “I think that I was probably the one that killed her.”
“July twenty-first? Oh shit, you mean the bus incident?” Michaels was impressed. So were the M&Ms. Arlene, who had joined a couple of months after the night in question, had no idea what they were talking about, nor did she care. She lit up another cigarette while she waited for them all to finish talking. This was their only callout of the day and she was looking forward to knocking off early.
“The bus on 17th Street. Hell, that was one of my longest days on the job. Whew, what a night!” Michaels grinned at the M&Ms. “That was a late one wasn’t it, boys? Twenty-three bodies spread all the way from here to 17th Street, poking around in the dark hoping that there weren’t any live ones left. Damn, we got some good overtime on that shift. I always
wondered if we missed any in the dark.” Michaels looked at Hana speculatively and then down at her pistol belt. “I didn’t think there were any survivors. I did wonder why they were spread all down the backs of these houses.”
“They were chasing me,” replied Hana coldly to his enthusiastic reminiscing. “Yes, a memorable night to be sure.”
“Well if it was you they was chasing, I’m guessing it was you that was shooting them. You’re a damn good shot, lady.” Michaels pursed his lips thoughtfully. “Up near the bus and the first house, the bodies we found was all in pieces and chopped and beat up. But all down the backs of these houses they was all killed with headshots, just like your yoga teacher here. That’s some damn fine shooting, if you don’t mind my saying so.”
Hana simply stared at him unblinking, so Michaels coughed and made a show of looking back at his notebook and then at the corpse.
From behind, Hugh looked at her tense shoulders and rigid neck, and pursed his lips thoughtfully. He remembered the night well. He had been out with his sister and her husband for a birthday dinner, and when he had tried to go home the police cordon had turned him back three blocks short. Hugh had spent the night sleeping in the office of his workshop. He realized only now that he and Hana had never discussed the incident. He had certainly had no idea that she had been involved at all.
“Okay, so that seems to be about all I need.” Michaels ticked a couple of boxes on his page. “Any idea of next of kin or anyone else we should notify of her death?”
“No, I had only just met her that night. I think her husband was there, so he’s probably dead too.”
“Okay, then.” Michaels wrote Unknown in the box titled ‘Next of Kin’. “I guess that’s all I need.” He looked at his watch then filled in the time and date and signed the bottom of the form. “Okay boys, come and bag her.”
Arlene stubbed out her cigarette and scanned the hillside alertly with her pistol at the ready, as the M&Ms came forward and unrolled the body bag. Hana noted with professional interest that it was a high-quality, three layer, CDC hot-zone approved, chlorine-free, polyethylene human-remains pouch, suitable for freezing and compliant with OSHA Regulation 3130 regarding the containment of body fluids and blood-borne pathogens. Takumi Taktical mostly stocked only standard, military-issue body bags, but her idiot husband had of course ordered a dozen of these high-end ones for display, and for playing around with in his bunker. Hana would have been dismayed to discover that Protectrex was selling them to Waste Management at around eight times the price she was selling them for in her shop.
Hana nodded in appreciation as the two men chose to lay out the bag downhill from the corpse. It was the practical choice of an experienced team who had done this work before. The M&Ms then used gravity and their shovels to easily and efficiently flip the body down into the bag. In what was obviously a well-practiced drill, they then zipped up the body bag using the lanyard, at no time touching the body or the inside of the bag with their hands, and then each of the waste management team took hold of a handle on the corner of the bag and started to carry it back to their truck.
Michaels supervised the loading of the body bag into the back of the truck, locking the door of the cargo compartment with a padlock. An internal, lockable cargo cage for each truck was another development he had insisted on. They had not yet had an infected corpse reanimate inside a waste management truck, but rather than wait for the first incident, Michaels had decided to install the cages before it happened.
While the waste management team did their work, Hugh studied Hana from behind, wondering what he really knew about her. A memory bubbled up from his unconscious, how he had noticed the Japanese couple on the day that they had moved in next door to him. To be honest he had noticed how beautiful the wife was. Who wouldn’t have? Hugh smiled to himself.
The husband had been a small, awkward man who had always kept to himself. In contrast, Hana had been warm and outgoing, and over the years Hugh had built up a decent friendship with her. He had been delighted to find out that behind the pretty face was both a keen intellect and a surprising sense of humor. He had been less pleased however, to find how attracted he was to her.
Despite his feelings for Hana, Hugh had always maintained a strict respect for the fact that she was married, and had never crossed the line of impropriety, either by word or deed, to hint that he thought of her as anything other than a friend. But now, with the husband seemingly out of the picture… and Hana on her own, I wonder if a guy like me has a chance with a woman like her?
He was jerked out of his reverie when Hana turned around unexpectedly and caught him staring at her. She rolled her eyes and stuck her tongue out at him, making Hugh laugh and he realized that Michaels’s team had finished packing up and were waiting to say goodbye.
“Thank you for coming up and helping us to identify the body.”
“No problem,” Hana replied. “After all, it did turn out to be someone I knew.”
Hugh noticed that she was very careful not to look at him after she spoke. She just turned and walked back towards his truck.
“See you folks. Have a good day.” Michaels waved back in an offhand manner over his shoulder as he mounted up into the cab of his truck. He was already focusing on the quickest route to get to the IDRC. He closed the door and texted a message to the delivery clerk to let them know that his team had picked up the corpse and were on their way.
“Ok mount up,” he checked around to see that the rest of the crew was getting on board the truck. “If we hurry, I reckon we can have this one delivered to the lab and then have the paperwork filed at the office by lunchtime.” Doors slammed as everyone got in and made themselves comfortable.
“And then?” asked Arlene.
“And then we finish work early and take the afternoon off,” he grinned at her. “How does that sound to you guys?” His team whooped and grinned back at him as he put on the radio and pulled out into the midday traffic.
Chapter Four
The Lab
The Infectious Diseases Research Centre was in the far north of the quarantine zone, actually co-located with one of the main entry points on the boundary wall itself. It was deliberately called an entry point, not an entry/exit point or a transfer point. Things entered the zone. Nothing ever left. And nothing ever would; until the IDRC discovered and understood the vector and the mechanism of the Lyssavirus infection.
Michaels drove up the highway that paralleled the railway tracks leading towards the boundary wall and the entry depot, where automated shipments were pushed through the wall’s security measures and unloaded and processed by the depot staff for further movement into the zone by both freight train and truck. A kilometer short of the depot he turned off the highway onto the single straight road leading to the IDRC.
Originally a small department downtown at the General Hospital, it had been moved to this purpose-built facility directly adjoining the boundary of the quarantine zone. The new building was an imposing, hi-tech block of concrete with few windows, surrounded by a large, fenced-off security perimeter. In fact, it looked more like a prison than a scientific research facility. On the northern side a seamless, armored tunnel stretched from deep within the IDRC out to the border and beyond.
Everyone called the border ‘the Wall’, but in reality it was a series of high fences, anti-vehicle berms and minefields, covered by automated gun turrets and alarm systems. The armored tunnel passed through all of these, and terminated in an equally ugly and featureless building outside the quarantine zone where scientists and researchers analyzed data supplied by the IDRC. Only data was supplied by the IDRC. No laboratory samples or any physical materials ever left the quarantine zone.
Michaels pulled up at the gate leading into the IDRC and nodded to the pair of armed guards on duty.
“Morning Harry… Doug.”
“Morning Mr. Michaels.” Despite knowing every member of his team, Harry meticulously checked the identification cards of each of them be
fore raising the barrier to let the Waste Management truck through. Michaels glanced up at the numerous cameras tracking their route past the employee car park to the delivery bay at the back. As he expected a team of IDRC staff in full contamination suits was waiting for them as his eyes adjusted to the darkness of the building from the bright sunlight outside. He carefully parked the truck inside the red lines painted on the floor, directly under the center of a frame of decontamination equipment.
Despite the relative anonymity of the suits, Michaels recognized the chubby silhouette of the scientist waiting for him. It was Simon Taylor, the Deputy Director of the institute. The famous head of the IDRC, Dr. Indika had become a virtual recluse after his first few, reluctant weeks in the spotlight after the Galleria incident. Nobody had seen him for months now and the media eagerly speculated on what research he was up to, buried deep within his top-secret lab. His deputy though, was always present to vet and process in the new specimens.
“Morning Taylor,” Michaels smiled at the scientist waiting for him as he rolled down the window of his cab. He did not really like the short, pudgy scientist but it never hurt to keep a polite relationship with those people that his livelihood relied upon.
“Morning Michaels,” the fat man smiled back and pushed slowly and deliberately on the faceplate of his contamination suit in order to slide his spectacles back up onto his nose. Even inside the climate-controlled suit he was sweating, and his thinning, greasy hair was stuck down limply on his forehead.
“Please could you move your specimen out onto the loading table as quickly as you can? We have a live delivery coming in after your team, so I am afraid I have to rush you along a little.”
Michaels raised his eyebrows in curiosity but said nothing. He jumped out and joined the rest of the team at the back. There was no need to tell them to hurry up, they were already moving as fast as they could, motivated by the incentive of an early half day. He watched in satisfaction as his team moved efficiently and without any wasted movement, unlocking the cage, sliding the weighty body bag out of the back of the truck and slinging it up onto the waiting plastic pallet on the delivery platform.