Zombie Fallout 12 Page 11

  “Sounds great and all, but what of the safety to the personnel around this new miracle weapon?”

  “Meaning?”

  “Meaning, how toxic is it to the people that handle this viral agent? What if a soldier is hit by friendly fire or, more likely, while they are putting rounds in a magazine and one of these plastic caps comes off and they get some on themselves? What then?”

  “That would not be advisable.”

  “Not advisable like they will get a headache, or not advisable like all of their internal organs will liquefy and run out their assholes?”

  “More the latter.”

  “Are you kidding me, doc? You want to send soldiers out there who, in most cases, are just kids, with a weapon that can kill them upon contact? You realize what goes on out there, right? Lots of running, dropping things, hurriedly getting magazines ready in the worst types of situations. I’ve seen men put bullets in their mouth as a placeholder as they pick up fallen rounds. What about an antidote?”

  “There isn’t one; we saw no need to work on that. The virus we have created, it mimics the one it is attacking. That is why it is so effective and ultimately difficult to treat.”

  “It can be done; I’ve seen it.”

  He looked at me like I was lying. “I don’t want to discount what you may or may not have seen, but that is highly unlikely.”

  I left it at that. I had my son and my best friend as all the proof I needed and Avalyn too, maybe. He exited my room shortly after that. I should have slept like the dead; instead, I had my hands clasped behind my head and got into a staring contest with the ceiling tiles. Something wasn’t right here. Was it just coincidence that Dewey existed in New York? Or had he been shot with one of these poisonous darts? Was there ever a viral agent with a hundred percent death rate? I suppose there were many, if left untreated. Rabies was one, plague was another, and I’m sure there were plenty of others; hell, viral infections killed millions. But didn’t most deadly viruses only have a ninety-eight percent mortality rate? Or even eighty? What if Dewey was one of the two percent, or twenty percent, that had survived? Had he incorporated this new virus and twisted it around to make himself a better version? That stopped my mind in its tracks. Was Doc Jeremy effectively creating a super-soldier zombie? This thing that mimics its host before taking it down; how do we know our enemy so well? Isn’t it always so, that things which herald a great change for good, also bring in or make way for a great evil as well? The balance remains. The two are too tightly intertwined to stand independently. I entertained the thought of shooting all of the people in this facility and then burning the place to the ground. I’d be executed for committing treason, but if I let them live, would I eventually be known as the man that effectively hammered the final nail into the coffin of humanity?

  It was some hours later when there was a knock on my door; at some point I’d fallen asleep. Dreamt I was trapped in the subway and I was being chased by a billion or so rats. To me, it was even more proof that I was the Pied Piper in this story, although, instead of getting rid of the plague I was bringing it with me. Either that or my betraying mind was setting me up to think that. Can’t trust the brain; it’s always out doing its own thing and then you’re left there, trying to assemble all the pieces into an understandable picture. Kind of a weird thing when one part of the brain is determined to confuse the other.

  “You in there?” BT finally asked as I was running around with errant thoughts.

  “Since when do you knock?” I was sitting on the bed tying my boots.

  “Since the last time I walked in on you and you were trying to hula hoop. I’ve wanted to talk to you about that; first off, where’d you get the toy, and why were you trying to do it naked? Forget it…I’m sure you’ve got some half-assed explanation as to why you were, and in your mind, I’m sure it makes complete fucking sense, which means it will mean zero to me. I don’t even know why I brought it up; now I have to relive that.” He rubbed his eyes. “Fuck, now I don’t even know why I’m here.”

  “Wanna see what I can do with a slinky?” I stood.

  “Not a fucking chance. Oh yeah, Bennington is on the line for you.”

  “Why are you running that errand?”

  “Because the rest of the unit is kids, man. I didn’t want to take the chance of exposing them to something they’ll never be able to forget. They’re so young and impressionable–they’d have years for that to fester around in their heads. Plus, while we walk down the corridor I want you to tell me what you think about what they’re doing here.”

  “You know?”

  “Not sure what the security clearance on this place is, but they can’t stop talking about it. I think they’d high-five each other every few seconds if they weren’t so damn nerdy.”

  “What’s nerdy got to do with it?”

  “They’d miss and smack each other in the face. Little pencil-necked geeks would be running around with wads of toilet paper shoved up their noses.”

  “You done?”

  “Tell me I’m wrong.”

  “Never said that. As far as their weapon, I love the theory behind it, terrified of side-effects and practical use.”

  “Side-effects?”

  “I think Dewey might be a side-effect.”

  BT stopped in his tracks. “Whoa there. You got anything besides that insane imagination of yours to back that up?”

  “Not one iota–other than the fact that Dewey resides about a mile from this location.”

  “That’s a leap, Mike, but it’s not quite as mighty as some of the ones you’ve taken in the past. What are you going to tell Bennington?”

  “Maybe to nuke New York; doesn’t really matter what I think. He wants what they’ve got. He’s just calling to make sure we get their asses on that plane.”

  “You seriously have a bad feeling about this?”

  “A man-made virus rushed to the battlefield that hasn’t been properly tested? I mean, what could possibly go wrong?”

  I had not been expecting to have a video link to Bennington; when I went into the communications room, he must have read in my face the thoughts I’d been going over.

  “Everything all right, Lieutenant?”

  I didn’t know what to say; all I had were gut feelings, nothing even close to evidence. Conjecture, I guess that’s what the experts would call it. Bennington took my unwillingness to answer as an answer.

  “Good. We have sent appropriate parts for Major Eastman and his crew to repair their plane. Your job is to get Doctor Jeremy, his team and their work aboard the replacement plane. You and your people will guard the other plane until such time as it is ready to take off again. Talbot, your demeanor is speaking louder than any of the words you have yet to voice.”

  “Colonel…this weapon they’ve designed; I’m not sure it has been tested properly or completely, I mean, for potentially devastating side-effects.”

  “And the reason for your concern?”

  “You realize it’s a virus, right?”

  “I am well aware of the work; been following it for months now.”

  It dawned on me then. “So, if it hadn’t worked up to par, these men would be staying here.”

  “You know the limitations we have at Etna; we cannot continue to grow without those coming in being able to offer something in return.”

  “Viruses mutate continually. You are going to take what they are using here and introduce it into the zombies. I think there needs to be more testing to check for potential problems.”

  Bennington didn’t say anything but it was clear enough he was holding back some anger.

  “Have you ever thought, Lieutenant, that perhaps it is best to leave the thinking for those that are capable of it, and that you should just do as you are told?”

  “You realize it’s my personnel that are out here sacrificing to make sure that this mission is completed, correct? And that now, I have to come back and sit down with Private Halsey’s girlfriend to tell her he gave al
l? I think I have a right to be concerned with what we are fighting for and how we do it.”

  “I’ll let you know what you need to be concerned with, Lieutenant. You get those scientists on the plane and I’ll deal with the rest.”

  “You’re making a mistake, sir.”

  “This conversation is done. You have six hours; get them to where they need to be.” And with that, he shut off the feed.

  “That went well,” BT said from off to my side.

  I must have been wearing my anger on my sleeve.

  “Hey, man, don’t direct that my way.”

  “If our loved ones weren’t in Washington, I’m pretty sure we’d be hijacking a plane. I knew Bennington was a hard-ass; I never thought of him as an asshole, though.”

  “A hard-ass and an asshole are pretty close to each other, if you want to get technical,” BT said.

  “I suppose you’re right. Let’s get the eggheads of the apocalypse rounded up and ready to go.”

  The bio-engineers had known for a few days that we were coming to bring them to Washington, yet they’d done nothing to prepare for it, almost as if they couldn’t think of two things at once. Although, who was I to fault them that? I was lucky if I could think of one thing at once, like, ever. But the fact that they were just now packing was mind-boggling. Like they never even considered that we might be coming in hot and would have to leave as quickly as we had arrived. I could somewhat understand their perspective, I suppose. They had not suffered through the zombie apocalypse like the rest of us had; they’d not fought through hordes to find refuge; they’d not watched loved ones be torn apart, unreachable, unsavable. They’d not had to relive the horror of constantly running, the shaking, spasming limbs that kept us awake for hours afterwards, despite utter exhaustion. That’s not to say their existence had been easy thus far, but it had not been quite as intense as the vast majority of those still clinging to this side of life.

  “Haven’t these people ever heard of hard drives?” BT asked as we moved about the fortieth box stuffed with paperwork and files.

  “Jeremy, we need to go,” I said. The doc looked harried and afraid. At this exact point in time, I was under the impression he was regretting his decision to leave the facility. No part of me blamed him for that. I was beginning to wonder if they were packing everything in their desire to take as long as possible. With a deadline looming, I was pushing them as hard as I could. As a Marine, it was ingrained in me to hurry up and wait. I would much rather have left the moment Bennington started the timer, then sit and wait at the plane for five hours. In my mind, that was infinitely better than packing out for five hours then making the one-hour drive to get there in the nick of time. The odds everything was going to go off without a hitch were not in our favor. Four hours should be plenty of time–if we left now. At the two-hour mark, I forced their choice.

  “We’re not ready,” he responded, short of breath.

  “I get that this stuff is important, but if you put any more in the vans, there’s not going to be any room for the rest of us.”

  I saw it, I swear I saw it in his face. He wanted to fill the van with gear and get his staff to the plane while leaving us to hoof it as best we could. Again, if everyone I loved wasn’t in Washington, I would have wished him luck and pointed him in the general direction. He kept eye contact for another ten seconds, hoping I would yield my position and tell him “fine.” He was in for a surprise if he thought that was going to happen. I’d already lost one good person on this fuck-fest of a mission; I would not needlessly endanger anyone else.

  “You’ve got two minutes or I’m taking the van with all your work and leaving. I’m sure the scientists at Etna will be able to reverse engineer it.” Then I turned and walked out of the room. “Kirby, Stenzel, keep an eye on the van,” I said quietly over my microphone.

  “What are we watching out for sir?” Stenzel asked.

  “Rogue scientists.”

  I heard her snort, but when I didn’t add anything else, she must have realized I was serious. I found BT on the second floor; he was looking out the window at the city and the ocean beyond.

  “You think at some point this will all be over?” he asked.

  I didn’t have the heart to tell him I didn’t think so.

  “Feel free to lie,” he said when I came up beside him and was looking out, stoically. The ocean was sparkling from the morning sun; the peace and tranquility it offered seemed promising.

  “Even with my prompting, you’ve got nothing to say?”

  “Right now, man, I just want to get home. I’m thinking about what I’m going to say to Karen and how I don’t want to have to repeat that speech to anyone else.”

  Uncharacteristically, BT reached out and put a massive arm around my shoulder.

  “Nothing you could have done, Talbot. If it wasn’t him, it would have been someone else’s family you’d be notifying.”

  I pressed my head against the glass, pondering whether the life I had traded for this one was worth it. BT pulled tight to hug me.

  “You at least going to buy me a granola bar?”

  “Fuck you, Talbot.” He let me go.

  “And thank you.”

  “Any time, man. We’re in this together.”

  We went downstairs and sure as shit, I spotted Doc Jeremy spying the van and the two guards I had posted, he had that look of someone that was wondering if he could get away clean. As I brushed by him, I spoke into his ear, “I would hunt you down to the ends of the earth.”

  He jumped from being startled. “You don’t understand what we’re leaving here.”

  “No, maybe I don’t, but I don’t think you understand what we sacrificed to get here. Let’s go! Everyone get in the van–we’re leaving!”

  “We’re not done!” Jeremy looked panicked.

  “I don’t care. That plane will leave whether you’re on it or not; makes no difference to me. And since we’ve got all our cards on the table, if you don’t get in that van, I’m going to toss all of this research before we get to the airport and say we were attacked and it burned up in a massive fire. Sure, I’m going to be the one that starts the fire, but the end result is the same.”

  “You can’t!” He looked like I told him I was going to make a pile of babies and puppies and douse it with gasoline, he was that flabbergasted. Not sure if that’s the right word in this scenario, but it fit at the time.

  “I can and I will. Bennington is all hot and heavy to get this weapon; personally, I think it’s a massive mistake and should be permanently shelved. We’ve already witnessed the zombies mutating at an unheard of pace, and now you want to introduce a whole new viral agent. Did you ever stop to wonder if they might incorporate this into their genetic code and use it for their own purposes?”

  “That would be impossible.” He said the words, but not with complete conviction. He knew something. He also knew if he didn’t deliver, he was stuck here. Sure, they were safe, but their supplies were dwindling quickly. It wasn’t much of a stretch to think they would fudge some of their trials to make the results more favorable. Wouldn’t take much to have Bennington foaming at the mouth. But the commander was smarter than that, wasn’t he? Surely he would know that by putting out the kind of ultimatum that he had, people would do just about anything to get in his good graces.

  “What’s the fatality rate?” I asked, trying to catch him off-guard.

  He deferred. “It’s all in the paperwork.”

  “Yes, the very impressive stack of paperwork that a camp under duress isn’t going to spend an inordinate amount of time studying. I’m asking you, though; what’s the fatality rate?”

  “Nearly one hundred percent.”

  He said “nearly” so softly I had to ask him to repeat it.

  “Nearly equates to what?”

  “A number so small as to be statistically insignificant.”

  “Listen, Kirby’s dick is so small as to be statistically insignificant.”

  “He
y!” Kirby shouted out, Corporal Rose smacked his shoulder in jest.

  “I still want the number.” I had moved in closer to the doctor.

  “Ninety-nine point four percent.”

  “Like Ivory soap?” BT asked.

  I looked over at him and scowled. He shrugged.

  “So, one zombie out of every two hundred or so survives? What happens to the one that makes it?”

  Jeremy, all of a sudden, looked like he had itchy skin syndrome, if such a thing exists. He wouldn’t even look at me. “It’s something we need to work on.”

  “Winters, ring me up Bennington!” I shouted over the doc’s shoulder.

  “We’re almost out of food!” Jeremy grabbed my arm.

  “I strongly suggest not touching me again,” I told him as I pulled my arm free.

  “Don’t mind him,” BT told the doc. “He’s got a thing about germs.”

  Within a minute I was once again talking to Bennington.

  “Haven’t left yet?” was the first thing out of his mouth.

  “They’re looking for a place to put the sink right now.”

  “What do you want, Talbot? I’ve got other things going on and while I generally like talking to you, you’re not my priority today.”

  “Sir, I’m telling you something is wrong here. They’re only telling you what you want to hear in regard to this weapon.”

  “Do you have that little faith in me?”

  “No, sir, I don’t. I mean, sure I do.” Partial lie; I thought it was better to make that one so we could continue the conversation.

  “I know more about the weapon than they think I do. We hacked into their computers months ago. I know it has over a ninety-nine percent kill rate; with those kinds of numbers I think we can deal with the ones that fall through the cracks, don’t you?”

  “Sir, the ones that ‘fall through the cracks,’ as you say, they’re not the same. You can scoff if you want, but what if we are making genius zombies? Ones capable of using tools, of manipulating machinery? Maybe gain access to a nuclear silo?”