After the Apocalypse Book 3 Resurgence: a zombie apocalypse political action thriller

by Warren Hately

  “It’ll also take you off the streets,” Tom said, “and reduce the chance of any of us getting killed tonight.”

  “Tom’s right,” Wilhelm said. “This is Tom Vanicek, the hero of the Raptor crash.”

  “Who?”

  “Don’t tell them my name, for fuck’s sake,” Tom muttered.

  “Oh,” Wilhelm answered falteringly. “Sorry.”

  “They could be Ortega’s men.”

  Wilhelm drank that in, nodded, then turned to the two troopers.

  “Are you Ortega’s men?”

  Tom would’ve slapped his forehead at Wilhelm’s ineptitude except his arms could barely move. He felt like the guy with the useless long arms from Yo Gabba Gabba which played on repeat for Lucas during the first weeks of the apocalypse until the power went out.

  The two men looked at each other again, now decidedly more nervous.

  *

  THE TWO TROOPERS clearly had no real clue about what informed the violence suddenly rife within the City, and asked without any briefing to declare whether they were loyal to Ortega – technically their boss – put them in an impossible situation. Fortunately for them, Tom gleaned the whole sorry mess in a heartbeat and stepped forward, brushing his spastic left hand at them as if he could dismiss their anxiety like someone had only farted.

  “Forget about it,” he said. “Ignore that last question.”

  “What’s the Chief done?” the skinny guy asked.

  “That’s what we’re still trying to figure out,” Wilhelm replied.

  Trooper Stern and his skinny pal Zee led them unerringly for the protected compound. The heavily-barricaded main entrance included a number of the Enclave’s clean-cut young men and women now wearing flak jackets and carrying rifles with ease. The remaining trooper squad wore night vision goggles, and Tom recognized Wilhelm’s personal security advisor Amsterdam manning the foxhole’s mounted .50cal machine gun. The bearded man resembled a circus strongman with his vintage tattoos. He issued Tom a curt Boy Scout salute.

  “Council woman Deschain is safe upstairs,” he said to Wilhelm.

  “This way, sir,” one of the armed Administration geeks said. “The Council’s gathered in the executive room – or most of them, anyway.”

  The young man slung his M16 and removed his Kevlar helm, then nodded politely to Tom.

  “Good evening, Mr Vanicek.”

  “Beau,” Tom said and ate his own surprise. “Have you seen my daughter?”

  “I’ll have Lilianna brought to you, sir.”

  “OK, cool.”

  Greatly appeased, Tom considered checking in with Lucas, but judged it better to leave them at such a late hour. He missed text messaging as well as the ease with which so many basic social interactions could be achieved without actual human contact.

  Upstairs in the main Enclave building, Stern and Zee fell into step behind Beau and Amsterdam, appointing themselves to the Councilor’s security detail, which suited everyone just fine. Beau hurried ahead, capable, but young in so many ways Tom couldn’t tell if it was a good thing or not. Beau cranked open another pair of double doors.

  The Enclave meeting room was buzzing with conversation despite the dimmed lanterns.

  Carlotta leapt from a settee and hurried to her husband, while the Council President stood as if someone’d fired a gun. Apart from several more Admin staff, the room’s only other occupant was a freaked-out David Hamilton.

  Colonel Rhymes and Safety chief Ortega were noticeably absent.

  “Where’s Ben-Gurion?” Tom asked.

  “We have a team bringing him in now,” Lowenstein said.

  Carlotta held her husband tight, and Tom won a look from Wilhelm at once apologetic and also slightly smug at his woman’s distress. Carlotta released him and looked at Tom, tears in her eyes, then she backed away with the fraught, jerky movements of someone deeply unnerved.

  “Oh God, it was awful,” she said.

  Wilhelm started to utter some kind of appeasement, but Dana Lowenstein was blunt.

  “Aileen’s dead,” she said. “Murdered. In her bed.”

  “Oh my goodness,” Wilhelm said and softly deflated.

  He looked back at Tom, boggled, but Professor Hamilton wasn’t doing much better, shaking and holding himself on another sofa.

  “I’m out, mate,” the Australian said.

  He wasn’t talking to Tom, but he looked at him anyway.

  “No fucking way,” the immunologist continued. “No one said anything about people trying to kill us when you lumped me onto your Council.”

  “People trying to kill you?” Wilhelm asked.

  Carlotta started crying more forcefully and Tom caught the sight of Denny Greerson as the troop commander strode in – followed now by Beau and Tom’s daughter.

  Holding hands.

  *

  FUCK, TOM HISSED to himself. He tore his eyes from the shy yet lovelorn look on Lilianna’s face and then remembered his own conflicting wishes, glad when his daughter broke off from her new boyfriend and ran to him. The bow and quiver across his daughter’s back complicated their long-wanted embrace.

  “Whoa,” Tom said. “What’s this?”

  “The whole frigging City’s locked down on security alert,” Lilianna said.

  “So the Colonel’s finally got his wish, huh?”

  Lowenstein sundered the family moment with her presidential tone.

  “We’ve put the City under martial law,” she said. “Armed attackers tried to storm our suites here at the Enclave and Carlotta was nearly killed.”

  “And me,” Hamilton cried. “Don’t forget me.”

  “They were nowhere near you, Dr Hamilton,” Lowenstein said coldly.

  Tom flicked his eyes to Greerson, at ease now in the corner of the room with his rifle across his webbing. Denny gave him a Boy Scout salute as well. Tom blinked.

  Wilhelm had his wife back in his arms, Deschain sobbing openly against his chest. Tom took in a little more of Hamilton’s freak-out, wondering if maybe it wasn’t fair enough despite the conjecture.

  “So,” Lowenstein said. “Trooper Greerson outlined everything that happened to you. We expected you a couple of hours ago. How did you get back in with the Curfew?”

  “And you stink of booze,” Carlotta said.

  She backed away from her husband and Wilhelm again tried with the action movie grin. He included Tom in a sweeping gesture.

  “We had to . . . negotiate,” he said.

  “There’s more important things than a cattle deal right now,” Lowenstein said.

  Tom glanced at Hamilton, remembering Freestone’s request for a doctor. Dana Lowenstein practically snapped her fingers under Tom’s nose.

  “We also know all about your stolen laptop, Mr Vanicek.”

  “Jesus,” Tom sighed and looked at Carlotta. “You told them?”

  “I’m sorry,” she sobbed.

  “You lasted, what, about three hours?”

  Wilhelm raised an eyebrow at him for the umpteenth time that night, as if their unstable brotherhood probably should’ve included that disclosure too.

  “Ortega’s gone to ground,” Lowenstein continued. “We don’t know enough to chart a course of action. We know some elements of the Brotherhood are in open riot. They’re the ones behind the killing on The Mile. But we’ve had clashes between trooper patrols too. And other incidents. We just need to get through tonight.”

  “If we get through tonight,” Greerson said.

  Lowenstein pointed to the troop commander and then her head sank with exhaustion.

  “I’ve appointed Trooper Greerson as our Chief of Safety, at least for the interim.”

  “And I can’t tell you who’s with Ortega and who’s not,” Denny said.

  “Nor if they’re part of the Brotherhood,” Lowenstein added.

  “You could do something about your problem with the Brotherhood by releasing Burroughs,” Tom said. “Like, right now.”

  Lowenstein’s eye
s flicked to Wilhelm, who nodded. She slowly exhaled and then surprised everyone by slamming her fist down on the conference table they’d mostly ignored.

  “Fuck!” she screeched. “How did we ever trust that reefer-loving prick?”

  Carlotta sniffed to gain their attention, demonstrating dry eyes with fingers rubbing her equally-tired face.

  “The insurgents have gone to ground,” she said. “They could be anyone. Anywhere.”

  “Insurgents?” Tom remarked. “That’s what we’re calling them?”

  Carlotta gave him a nasty look and Tom held up his hands. Then he turned back to Wilhelm.

  “Burroughs?”

  “I want you in on this,” Wilhelm said.

  Tom just shook his head like there was no way that’d happen.

  “OK.”

  *

  LILIANNA GRABBED TOM as he and Wilhelm sought the exit.

  “Dad,” she said. “Are you . . . is everything OK?”

  Tom declined the answer to stop instead and take in the sight of her, colored in and among his many stirred-up feelings in the moment. He exhaled shakily.

  “Keep out of danger,” he said. “Please, we never signed up for this.”

  “But we’re here now.”

  Lila couldn’t help herself. She shot a glance across to Beau watching keenly from a discreet distance away.

  “You look happy,” Tom said quietly. “I never imagined you a war-time bride.”

  “A what?”

  “But I’m not happy seeing you armed with your bow,” Tom said. “Though, admittedly, I’d rather have you here, armed among your pals, than almost anywhere else . . . anywhere else except maybe home.”

  “Lucas is here,” Lilianna said. “And Dkembe. And that weird little kid.”

  “Really?”

  Tom gawped a moment, running a quick assessment of the changed scenario, then nodded more emphatically.

  “OK, that’s . . . great.”

  “Dad, they . . . we need everyone right now,” his daughter said. “It’s dangerous out there.”

  “Exactly my concern.”

  “I can help,” she said fiercely, though she pitched her voice low. “I could help you, dad.”

  “Not doubting that,” he said. “But safety first, right?”

  “Is there someone else you trust with your back more than me?”

  Tom was floored by the question, mostly from gratitude at hearing his daughter already knew the answer. He gently shook his head and a smile broke over him.

  “No,” he said.

  They hugged again. He didn’t even notice the pain it caused. Holding Lilianna close, he brought his mouth to her ear so no one else could listen.

  “Keep your radio handy,” he said. “Just in case I do need you, OK?”

  “OK.”

  She kissed him on the cheek as Wilhelm said Tom’s name gently and Tom acknowledged him.

  “I have to go.”

  He kissed his daughter on the forehead, then he and Wilhelm headed out the door.

  “I thought you didn’t keep prisoners in the Enclave?” Tom said.

  “We had him moved . . . in case the Brotherhood hit the jail.”

  “And you have secure facilities here?”

  Wilhelm glanced Tom’s way, but didn’t say anything.

  “Wow,” Tom said. “Secret doors and secret prisons. Cool new society you’ve got going.”

  The other man still didn’t say anything. They hit the stairs and started tramping down.

  “Dana Lowenstein asked how you got back in after Curfew,” Tom said. “I thought you two were on the same page?”

  “Dana’s getting old,” Wilhelm said. “And tired. The woman can’t be expected to remember everything.”

  “Damning her with faint praise, huh?”

  Wilhelm stopped and whirled on him.

  “Why don’t you let it go, Tom?” the Councilor snarled. “It’s late. We’re not all made of stone like you.”

  Then he turned and stamped down the last few stairs with Tom taking his time catching up.

  *

  THE OLD FACTORY, redeveloped in the years before the apocalypse, once housed several businesses in the ground floor, as well as the mandatory café, though the crowded kitchen was given over to mass production now, fifteen men and women busy, steam everywhere, smells enticing and otherwise. The factory unit’s storage area, beyond the back service door, contained several prefabricated offices and units, twin roller doors, and a concrete loading bay with access to the Enclave’s internal ring road circling the barricade behind the whole complex.

  The facilities included a cool room, and the sinking feeling in Tom’s stomach only worsened as Wilhelm led him across the concrete to where two bored-looking troopers sat either side of a card table. One of the men put down a paperback as the pair stood. Tom couldn’t help the glance, surprised to see Thus Spoke Zarathustra as well as the anxious look on the guard’s face.

  “A refrigeration unit?” Tom said. “Seriously?”

  “It’s not turned on,” Wilhelm said as if that excused anything.

  He motioned to the troopers like they were barely people, a tired, dissatisfied look on the Councilor’s face that only made him look bored and not the magisterial impression he might fancy for himself. The other guard was a sullen-looking chap, hefting his M16 around as if it cost him something, glancing at his bookish friend as he unlatched and threw back the heavy chiller door. Then the keen reader retrieved his weapon too, the sentries angling themselves to obliterate anything or anyone inside at the merest sign of movement.

  Already standing, Edward Burroughs was a bearish figure of a man. Male-pattern baldness had got him bad, but the tonsure of thick black hair around the sides of his head lent him a priestly air belied only by his sturdy frame, topping Tom and Councilor Wilhelm by about four inches. He wore work pants without a belt and a checkered shirt over a sweat-stained tee, but he was barefoot, and the hollows beneath his eyes only reinforced his angry glare.

  “You have him in solitary?” Tom asked.

  “Ortega was in charge,” Wilhelm replied curtly.

  “And you didn’t check?”

  “It’s not my department, Tom.”

  Tom exhaled rather than keep badgering him, conscious of the barrel-chested man watching with a belligerent look. Tom glanced at Wilhelm again, giving the Council man every chance to take the lead. Wilhelm instead glanced around the improvised cell. The metal chamber only had a cot and a flimsy side table with a hurricane lamp. Burroughs folded his arms across his broad chest, shadowed by the insincere light.

  “What do you want?” he asked, clearly expecting only bad news.

  Tom again looked to Wilhelm, but irritation now had hold of him.

  “Mr Burroughs,” Tom said and hesitated and then finally offered the prisoner a handshake no matter how weird it seemed to them both. “My name’s Tom Vanicek.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  Burroughs looked at Tom’s hand and then at Wilhelm. Cautiously now, he took Tom’s grip and gave a perfunctory shake. Tom was still glad to get his wounded arm back.

  “What is it?”

  “Listen,” Tom said and took a long breath. “We have a situation, and I think you’ve been caught up in it unfairly, and you’ve got every right to be angry as hell. I don’t really know what’s what, but there’s no evidence I can see why you should be detained here.”

  “Tell that to this fuck-knuckle,” Burroughs said and motioned to Wilhelm as if there were any doubt who he meant.

  Tom hissed for the troopers to lower their guns. Wilhelm wore his contrition awkwardly. It was a bad time to be tongue-tied.

  “Mr Burroughs,” Tom said to try and hold onto the moment. “The City Council’s been led astray. Councilor Wilhelm acknowledges this is a fuck-up. It’s only made tensions in the City worse. It could be this was Chief Ortega’s intent, locking you up. Your followers have ambushed a number of City troopers.”

  “I don’t hav
e followers.”

  “I think you do,” Tom said and allowed a cynical laugh.

  Burroughs now settled his impassive gaze on him. Tom steadied his breath and let a mask fall across his face, holding his eyes, willing to give this man his due, but not get tapped in the ass for doing it.

  “Your Brotherhood,” Tom said. “They’ve attacked trooper patrols in retaliation for your arrest. That’s pretty loyal. I’d call that a following.”

  “That wasn’t my intention,” Burroughs said. “If you’re expecting me to condemn them, guess again.”

  “We’re going to be letting you go,” Tom said.

  Burroughs gave a humorless laugh.

  “You sure that’s a good idea?”

  He straightened. It almost seemed like he stood up, though he’d already been upright. Now he slowly advanced, and though he wasn’t the biggest man Tom’d ever faced, it took an effort not to yield ground. Surprisingly, Wilhelm held his position too.

  “Edward,” the Councilor finally said. “This was never my intention. I trusted Ortega. It looks like we were wrong.”

  “That fucking guy. . . .”

  Burroughs halted, looking into the corners of the room with an irritated scowl as if he might conjure the Safety Chief out of them. He rubbed big hands together instead, the palms white with the force of it.

  “And we need your help,” Wilhelm said.

  Tom glanced at the Councilor and froze his expression to stop himself saying anything stupid, watching instead as Wilhelm took a step forward, reaching out to Burroughs’ elbow. Tom found his own scowl hard to suppress all the same, Wilhelm slipping so seamlessly into his role and Tom knowing him taking the lead was just a part of it.

  Burroughs moved with astonishing swiftness for such a bulky man. He grabbed Wilhelm by the throat and dragged him in close.

  Tom caught himself instantly elated, though it wasn’t the outcome he wanted. The guards weren’t impressed. The doorkeeper plunged into the room and Tom almost took a painful blow to his arm as he pushed the man’s rifle away.

  “Step back,” Tom growled.

  He then pushed the trooper back into the doorway and checked to see Wilhelm allowing himself to be pinned, Burroughs with a demonic glint to his dark eyes he just as quickly wrestled with and threw off. Wilhelm was collateral damage as he slammed free against the wall and Burroughs circled the cell, trudging back into the corner bracing his hands against the conjoined walls as if trying to stop the room spinning.