Zombie Fallout | Book 14 | The Trembling Path Read online

  “Dictator, dick head…all starts with a dick. Anyway, so you threw your lot in with what I would suspect are an unsavory bunch. True?”

  She seemed to be getting bored with the proceedings.

  “Fine, fine, I’ll get to the good stuff. So now that you’ve been found out and potentially declawed, what do you think their next move might be?”

  “I don’t know what you’re speaking of.” Those were her words, but I could see the machinations behind her eyes beginning to calculate.

  “You’re caught, plain and simple. That a fair statement?”

  She wouldn’t even give me an answer to that one. Ensnaring Deneaux was like catching water with a net, no matter how fine the mesh, she was eventually going to slip on through.

  “Tough crowd, but my guess is not as tough as the crowd back at Etna. You hope, in the rebuilding of a society, you’re only going to get the best of the best, but I think you and I can disprove that notion. Survivors might get the job done, but, well, we’ve all muddied and bloodied the waters.”

  “If you have a point, now might be the time to get to it,” Deneaux said.

  “I’m trying to draw this out because a sick part of me is enjoying it, to know that the spider-like Deneaux may have caught herself up in her web. The board members—I’m sure you think of them as your lackeys, dolts who would do anything to swish around their master’s feet. But some of those dolts will have their own aspirations, their own plans, their own agendas they will want advanced. With me so far?”

  “Seriously, Michael, someone with a learning disability could outpace you.”

  I blew her off, even if she was right. “These same people, what do you think they’re going to try to do to you if they think you’ll rat them out?”

  Maybe I got a reaction or maybe she had to pinch a fart off that could have led to more. Difficult to say.

  “This is just me, and it could be because I watched a bunch of movies, but don’t you think they might try to eliminate someone that could put them in jail or maybe even line them up against a wall? I would think they’d want to get rid of you fast. Especially after I make sure that it is widely known that you are going to give forth information in a bid to keep yourself from being executed. I would imagine they’ll be coming out of the woodwork. You’ll be isolated from your cronies and the opposition, and lord knows you have no friends. So, what’s that leave you with?”

  “Myself, the only person I can trust.”

  “So smart and so wrong. If you hadn’t been such a manipulative, murderous bitch from the onset, you would have had an ally from the beginning. Fuck, I just realized who you are! You’re like Doctor Smith from Lost in Space. He was an asshole from the beginning, and they all knew it, but they were stuck with him. I used to wonder why they never just shot him or sent him off into an endless void, and now look at me. I’m living the same damn thing. I guess it’s always easier to say things than to do them.”

  “How wise do you think it will be to go spouting off at the mouth about me? You just said you wanted to keep me close; I don’t think any of them would mind if you were caught in the crossfire.”

  “I’ll take my chances.”

  “Too distasteful to do it yourself?”

  “I’m not sure if I could think of anything more I’d rather do than punch you so hard in the face, repeatedly, that you start shitting out teeth. Too much? How about just squeezing that skinny neck of yours until your eyeballs pop out into your lap? Or better yet, your sphincter falls out your ass…yeah, that’s too graphic even for me.”

  “I’ll take ‘things that will never happen’ for five hundred, Alex.”

  “You sure about that?”

  “Enough to bet my life on it. In life or death situations with only mere moments to act, you may be one of the most successful people I have ever encountered. But if you are given enough time to calculate your decisions, you fall short. Your psyche prevents you from doing anything overtly distasteful. Perhaps it’s guilt; it doesn’t matter. Let’s face it, Michael, unless I am actively holding a gun to your head and my finger is on the trigger, I’m safe.”

  I was going to protest, wanted to, in fact, but I think she hit the nail on the head. I hated to admit it, but it was always my mind that interfered. Somewhere along the line, I didn’t have the necessary tools to reason properly.

  “Fuck it, I know when I’m beaten. I won’t kill you just yet; good chance someone else will take care of that for me anyway.” I stood up to go check on Forsyth. She asked if I would grab and light a smoke for her; I decided not even to respond.

  “How’s he doing?” I asked. Winters and Walde were both checking his vitals, getting him hydrated and trying to get some food in, which he kept refusing. Overland was seated nearby, but his gaze was fixated on a set of rivets on the floor. He was doing his best to reconcile what was happening. Reed and Baggelli were keeping an eye on everything around us.

  “What if we flood his body with antibiotics?” Walde asked.

  “It will buy him some time, but to what end?” Winters asked, peering under the gauze he’d placed on the wound. He pulled it back far enough that I could see the tiny black lines beginning to radiate outwards. Our rescue had triggered something within him.

  “Major.” I had to say it a second time before I was able to wrest his attention away from his thousand-yard stare.

  “Yeah.” He had a haunted expression upon his features, shadows making his eyes look sunken.

  “I think it might be safer for all involved if Forsyth was restrained.”

  That awoke Overland like I’d open-palm slapped him. Good chance he was going to tell me to fuck off. It was Forsyth himself that spoke up.

  “He’s right, Jim, I’m losing,” the gunny said. “I don’t know how much longer I’m going to be me. If I wasn’t so damned tired, I suppose I’d be scared. Tough to care right now, when all I want to do is sleep.”

  “Walde?” Overland asked his impromptu medic what she thought.

  “I think the lieutenant might be right, sir. In the meantime, I say we try the antibiotics and see if he can receive more help at the base.”

  “Uh, sir, can I talk to you?” I asked Overland. “In private.”

  “Go on,” Overland said once we’d moved far enough away.

  “I don’t think handing him over to the base hospital is necessarily the wisest move.” I told him about what had happened to Springer, but not how I had found out—I didn’t want to burn Major Dylan, should there be fall out.

  “So now I’m just supposed to believe that we’re actively creating zombie spies?”

  “Attempting to, at least. I have no illusions that it’s working for anyone but the other side.”

  “Dewey,” Overland said resignedly. “Before I encountered him, I would have said you were full of shit.”

  “I still might be,” I told him.

  “Since we’re sitting here and we’re talking candidly…your Sergeant Vangoth. Is he infected?”

  I wrestled with how I was going to explain this and not get any of us staked through the heart. “Early on, when we were still trying to figure this out, one of the members in my group was a doctor.” I was referring to Doc Baker. “Due to some materials supplied to him, he had a good handle on what caused the virus to work the way it did, and he even had some success eradicating it.”

  “A vaccine? A cure?” It would have been impossible not to see the hope in his face.

  “I’m not entirely sure what he did or how he did it, but he did have some success. From what I can gather, there is nothing that can prevent infection from a bite from running its course; nothing can be done. But scratches, other kinds of wounds caused by zombies, could be halted.”

  “You’re saying your sergeant was a recipient of this medicine?”

  I was treading towards flat-out lying territory, and, generally, those waters were difficult for me to navigate.

  “Yes.” I hoped that it didn’t come out with the tremor
it felt in my mind.

  “And this Doctor Baker…”

  “Gone.”

  “His work?”

  “Died with him, as far as I know.”

  “Your Springer, he’s still alive?”

  “As much as a person trapped in a body being operated by a zombie virus can be.”

  “And you’re saying that’s where Forsyth is headed.”

  “From everything I know right now, Major, yes, I think Dewey is setting us all up. I can’t think of a more fucked-up hell than the one my man is going through. One of the first things I plan on doing, once it doesn’t hurt to breathe, is putting him out of his misery.”

  “Your sergeant, might his body contain antibodies? A way to deal with the virus? Something that could be used to synthesize a new drug?”

  “I don’t know how it works. I figure if there’s going to be any breakthrough, it’s going to come from the baby we saved.”

  He was familiar with the story; how, I wasn’t sure.

  “If this Dewey can hold off the virus…”

  “Dangerous path, Major. Are you going to start making deals with the dead devil?”

  “I could coerce him.”

  “You’re going to force a zombie to do your bidding?”

  “It has wants and desires; it will want to stay alive, such as it is.”

  “Think it through, Major, there’s no telling what Dewey could do…keep your man safe for six months and then all of a sudden when your team least expects it, he turns in the night.”

  “He’s my friend. What would you do if the roles were reversed?”

  In my mind, I saw Tommy, injured, under scrutiny, our team surrounding him. This was another one of those instances where it was always going to be easier to say what to do, rather than do it. I would do everything in my power to ensure his safety, even making the dreaded deal, hoping that there would be a way down the line to break it. I was living proof I would do whatever it took, but that was for my own.

  “Shit, anything I could,” I went with the truth.

  “Is it possible Etna has a cure?” he asked.

  “I suppose anything is possible, but what’s the upside to keeping that hidden?”

  Although we both knew the answer to that: power, or the loss of it. I didn’t believe that to be the case. I could not figure Bennington was so hell-bent on running a base that he would fear losing it should a cure for zombieism come into fruition. First off, the sheer numbers of zombies we were dealing with and the amount of still human assholes out there necessitated Etna. No, there was no cure, but if Overland wanted to hold onto that hope, I wasn’t going to take it from him.

  “All I know, Major, is that until something can be done, I think it would be safer for everyone involved if your man was restrained. We’ve all suffered enough, adding to that is not going to make anything better.”

  “You’re right, you’re right. I’ll take care of it.”

  “How’d that go?” BT asked when I sat down.

  “About as well as you might expect.” We said nothing for a good long while. My body demanded some rest, and I was willing to oblige. I was shaken awake by Major Jackson some time later.

  “Major Eastman would like you up in the cockpit.”

  It wasn’t going to be good news; that was obviously in short supply. Major Overland was already up there.

  “I’m getting reports from Etna that there is a massive build-up of zombies heading their way.”

  “They under attack?” I asked.

  “Not yet,” Eastman replied.

  “This is Dewey.” I could feel it in my bones. He was going to make good on his campaign promise of keeping his constituents fed.

  “Are they advising us to land somewhere else? I want to get my gunny to the hospital.”

  “Cautionary, so far, but we all know it’s only a matter of time. Seeing as we all could be fugitives, I figured I would ask this question. Personally, I’m going to Etna but do any of you want me to land somewhere else to let you off?”

  “Leave Etna when they need us the most?” Overland seemed indignant.

  “Merely asking,” Eastman replied. “And you, Lieutenant? Haven’t heard your response.”

  “It would be nice to know if we were going to be riding out the upcoming battle in a cell or not, but yeah, Etna it is, even if my family wasn’t there. Major Overland is right; I wouldn’t leave them in their time of need.”

  “Got a couple more hours of flight time, maybe figure out your arguments to not being thrown in the brig,” Eastman said.

  “Story of my life,” I said as I turned to head back. Overland stayed up front; maybe they were discussing how to throw me under the bus for the whole thing. I didn’t believe that, but one can’t be too sure. Wouldn’t be the first time.

  “You healing up?” Tommy asked. He seemed to be in great discomfort.

  “I could ask the same of you.”

  “What’s going on?” BT asked, the rest of the squad doing the best to hear my response while also trying to look like they weren’t listening. I made sure they all knew because we were all in it together.

  “Dewey is preparing to launch an attack on Etna.”

  That was when the question peppering began, but each answer was the same. I told them that they knew as much about what was going on as I did. They were not at all thrilled with my lack of information.

  “Get some rest if you can–might be the last time for a bit.” That worked about as well as telling little kids to get some sleep on Christmas Eve. Sure, one reason was for excitement and the other for dread, but otherwise exactly the same. My injuries demanded rest, or healing did. I was again shaken awake by Major Jackson.

  “I am sorry I keep doing this to you Lieutenant, but Major Eastman would like you up front again.”

  “If this doesn’t involve hot towels and a warm cookie, I’m not inclined to go,” I told him as I arose.

  “Wipe the drool from your face,” BT said, “makes you look even crazier with it there.”

  “Everyone loves a critic,” I told him.

  Eastman acknowledged my arrival in the cockpit with a nod. “I’m coming back around. Take a look to our port.”

  “Which part of me looks like I was in the navy?” I asked.

  “Left. Keep an eye to the left.”

  “Was that so hard?”

  “And your gunny is right; you have drool on you.”

  “Huh. I thought he was full of shit.” I dragged a sleeve across the entirety of my face. I’d not realized my mouth was hanging open as I gazed upon a vast horde. It looked to be rivaling the one we’d stopped in Colorado and summarily been nuked. “Holy shit. How far to Etna from here?”

  “Starboard side now.”

  “I’m figuring that’s right, right?” I looked in that direction; I could make out the base. If Bennington had another nuke at his disposal, the zombies were entirely too close for him to use it. “The satellite had to be picking them up for days, right?” I said that out loud; inside, I was thinking, why wouldn’t Bennington have used a nuke if he’d had warning? Either he didn’t have one or maybe dropping them on American soil was messing with his head, as well. Then the conspiracy part of me was thinking that maybe this intel was being kept from him. But the number of people involved seemed farfetched and then the reasoning behind that action seemed even more so. Nobody at Etna, besides Dewey, wanted thousands of zombies in the vicinity. Then I turned back to the passenger area and to Deneaux, who was watching me like a hawk. Did she have answers? I strode back with a purpose.

  “What do you know?” I had to restrain myself from wrapping a hand around her neck.

  “Is there something you think I should know?”

  “I can’t even imagine the ledger against you, however unlikely you should end up at the Pearly Gates upon your reckoning. I think in the end you’ll just burst into flame. How could you not?”

  “I didn’t know you believed in fairy tales.”

  “The
zombies, Deneaux. What do you know about them?”

  “Whatever are you talking about, Michael? If you haven’t realized, I’ve been with you the entire time.”

  “I realize it all too well. There’s somewhere in the neighborhood of ten thousand zombies outside the gates to Etna.”

  “Is this like a déjà vu moment for you?” I was staring at her yellowed tobacco-stained teeth as she pulled her lips back; she looked like a rabid old dog.

  “Fuck it. Eastman, open up the cargo hold! Stenzel give me the keys.”

  “What’s going on?”

  “I’m sending the Wicked Witch of the West into the twister.”

  “Sir?” She reluctantly handed the key over.

  “Lieutenant, I’m getting ready to land—that’s not advisable,” Eastman called back.

  “Fine, side door it is.” I’d undone her straps and had pulled her to her feet, and had shoved her toward the door.

  “Are you forgetting about my fail-safes?” she asked, mistakenly believing that would save her bony ass.

  “That wouldn’t be too smart of me, so, no, I haven’t forgotten. All I know, Vivian, is I’m no match for you in this arena. You’re playing chess and I’m playing Chutes and Ladders. I’ll never be able to keep up. As for your fail-safes, I’ll deal with what happens as it happens, but with you completely out of the picture, at least I know you can’t keep laying traps for me, because every time, well, we both know what happens, I unwittingly step into them.” I had one hand on her back as I pushed her up against the fuselage, pinning her tight. With the other I was working the safety on the door. By this time, I had a small audience; none knew if this was bluster or a psychotic snap on my part. Little did they know this was the clearest thought I’d had in a good long while.

  “I don’t believe you!” She had to shout over the roar of the wind as I pulled the door open.

  “Meh. You can think about it on the way down.” I pulled a bundle of her shirt into my fist, wrenched her back away from the wall of the plane and then toward the open door. I didn’t think she’d plead for her life, not really in her persona to beg. Should have known; she’d realized she’d gone as far as she could with me, and she needed to work on someone else.