Slow Burn: A Zombie Novel (4 page)

“
Hey,” I remarked, “maybe next time we should let the county sheriff’s deputies shoot some too. I’m sure they’ll get dispatched back out to your place after your neighbor complains again.”

“
Fuck that tree hugger,” Stephen said, punching the steering wheel. “It’s my property, and I’ll shoot as much as I want to. That's why I bought the place out in the middle of nowhere.”

Besides being a police officer, Stephen was a huge believer in the Second Amendment. He knew exactly what was and wasn’t legal when it came to guns, shooting, and private property rights.

"I only get back there like once a month anyway," he remarked, still frustrated by my snide remark. “That asshole will just have to deal with it.”

As we drove on, Stephen turned up the radio, which was set to WLS AM890 out of Chicago, and we listened to the tail end of a news broadcast. Apparently a new strain of influenza had started to fill the emergency rooms in several cities around the country. The symptoms, the reporter stated, were high fever, headaches, vomiting, and delirium all the way up to a coma-like state. So far, the outbreaks seemed to be contained to a limited number of patients, and the news was quoting some expert who was saying that most of the people in the emergency rooms had the common flu and were merely overreacting. The reporter then went over the common ways to prevent catching the flu, by washing your hands and such, and then commented on what was shaping up to be an early flu season.

As the news turned to sports and weather, Stephen remarked, “Man, we’re off the grid for a few days, and the country goes to shit.”

“
No doubt,” I replied. “I hope I don’t catch the flu. I hate to puke and don‘t want to burn any more sick time, especially since I already had to call in sick for this trip.”

The GPS reminded us to take the next exit, and the flu talk was forgotten. Stephen was bitching that he had to work today, and I was busy making sure all my shit was together before Stephen threw me out of his truck once we arrived at his house. As he passed yet another car, I looked over at the driver, an attractive woman with a worried look on her face.

Why hello
, I thought.
A pretty senorita… let’s see your license and insurance please
.

In the backseat of her car was the apparent cause of her concern. A small child was buckled in a car seat and looked sick. Stephen passed the car in a blur but something seemed odd about the kid, almost like he was clawing at the air trying to get at his mother. She was taking the same exit we were, and I knew a clinic was just down the road.

A short while later, Joliet, with a population of 147,433, according to the 2010 census, came into view. Stephen lived in a newer subdivision on the far west side of town, and my old van was still parked out front. It was a two-story residence with tan siding and a three car garage, and looked just like twenty other houses in the various subdivisions that sprang up before the housing bubble burst.

“
Home sweet home, just how I left it,” Stephen remarked. “I’ll let you unload your shit while I grab my gear and check on the dog. The neighbors have been watching him, and I’m sure he’ll be glad to see me.”

"Will do," I replied, “and I’m sure he will be.”

On cue, Stephen’s beagle, Buddy, started to howl with excitement as Stephen opened the door. A few minutes later, Stephen returned with his uniform in tow.

"Looks like I’m going to be late after all, Mike,” Stephen joked, “yet again!”

“
Told ya so, dumbass,” I kidded, grabbing my cased rifle and rucksack. “Hopefully tonight is slow. I’m beat, and still gotta clean my duty weapons.”

“
It should be,” Stephen replied, getting into his squad after throwing his uniform onto the passenger seat. ”It’s the beginning of the week. It’s usually dead.”

We all have take-home squad cars as a perk, one I’m sure Stephen will take full advantage of on his way in. As he closed the door of the black and white car, Stephen rolled down the window.

"At least I cleaned my guns before we left, slacker,” he remarked and gunned the gas, driving off with the squeal of rubber hitting pavement.

I gathered my belongings and secured Stephen’s truck in the garage before taking off myself. I arrived at my home, a simple ranch style house with a full basement located about fifteen minutes east of Stephen’s. I parked in the driveway and carried my gear inside. My large German Shepherd named Bruiser met me at the front door, barking madly and wagging his tail.

“
Hey there big guy, I missed you!” I said happily, scratching him behind the ears.

Obviously the dog had to go out, because he immediately forgot the fact that he hadn’t seen me in three days and started pawing at the screen door.

“
Ah, what loyalty. I know you like Mattie better.”

I let him out to do his business in the backyard, which I was sure after me being gone for three days looked like a mine field.

Mattie, a fellow officer, had been caring for him in my absence, and I needed to thank her again for helping out. He made his living pissing off the neighbors with his loud bark. He also scared the hell out of the mailman and generally everyone else who walked by. In fact, Mattie and Stephen were about the only people besides me he liked. Dragging my gear down into the basement, I dropped it onto my work bench. I was not yet feeling in the mood to clean my firearms, nor wash my clothes from the trip. Instead, I grabbed a Monster energy drink from my mini fridge and prepared to work out, sore as I was from our four hour drive.

My pride and joy was my home gym I had assembled in the basement over the years. It was actually better than the police department gym, and I didn’t have to wait for anyone to finish in order to use whatever equipment I wanted. Plus, I had four huge house speakers that blasted heavy metal loud enough to wake the dead. No sissy commercial aerobic music in my gym. After spending most of my life regularly working out five days a week, whenever I missed a day or two it drove me crazy. Turning on the stereo, I cranked some “Lamb of God” and walked over to the bench press to work on some chest.

“
It’s time to get some work done!”

The reps flew by, and I started to sweat out all the booze and brats from the past three days of gorging myself. My smartass coworkers kid all the time about how old I was getting to be. Having passed the big 4-0, I was focusing on weight training all the more these days. At 210 pounds and still being able to bench over 400, I could still crush most of the young pups on the force. When they talked shit, I just shook my head and remarked at how bad a shape they would be in when they reached my age.

“
Sucks to be them,” I said to motivate myself, piling more weight on the bench bar, enough to make it visibly bend.

Normally I would use Stephen, who works out with me several times a week, or Chad to spot me on bench days. Chad, a long time buddy and fellow cop as well, made it over about three mornings a week. However, this was later in the day, and Stephen and Chad were already both at work.

“
It’s not a big deal as I feel good today,” I decided as I pushed on solo.

The music I called anger metal had me pumped and thinking again of all the “old man” wisecracks gave me an adrenaline dump.

“
Fuck it! Can’t get results from going half speed.”

I flopped down and pushed the heavy weight off my chest several times.

Soon I felt the familiar burn as my muscles adjusted to the shock of lifting again after the time off.

* * * * * * * *

Arriving at the police station with seconds to spare, Stephen slid into his seat for roll call briefing. He found an empty spot near the front and sat down next to Johnny, a buddy and former partner.

"What's up, Johnny? Did I miss anything good while I was gone?"

"Nope, it was a quiet weekend," he replied. "I heard day shift got busy today though; there must be something in the air. They tried to call me in early, but I had to watch the kids. I know Mattie and a few others made it in, though, and are already out on the street answering calls."

"Speaking of something in the air…" Stephen replied, nodding toward the large flat screen television that was turned on in the front of the room.

The television had been seized in a drug raid and was only recently installed. Normally it had a ball game or something on, but today it was turned to a local news channel, and the anchor was showing video footage of an apartment complex in New York City. According to the report, the complex was currently quarantined, and several dozen people were reportedly still sealed inside. Men in full hazmat gear could be seen walking into the building, while the broadcast turned to the reporter on scene. He began speculating that the incident could be related to the developing story of an emerging new influenza strain.

"That's a pretty big jump there, son," Chad Evanston yelled at the screen from the back of the room. "How are ya drawing that conclusion? Just trying to sell commercials, right?"

Chad’s workouts with Stephen and Mike usually turned into good-natured discussions revolving around Stephen's “prepping” and Mike's interest in terrorism. The discussions usually boiled down to whether or not an event would ever happen in Joliet.

"It’ll never happen here!" was Chad's usual response.

Others were drawn into the conversation, and then it went quiet when Commander Terry Coleman walked into the room to start roll call. When a Commander handled roll call, there was usually a good reason. Coleman commanded the PD's S.W.A.T. team and also coordinated with the CDC and FEMA during biological-related training exercises. He first handed out the day’s zone assignments, and Stephen was disappointed to see that he was riding with Roy in zone one.

"Sucks to be you," Johnny joked. "I’m riding with Ryan in zone five."

Commander Coleman then went over the day shift log and made note of several incidents. It was not uncommon to find reports of shootings and stabbings in the log, and today was no different. When Commander Coleman relayed that an officer had been injured, but not seriously, it sparked conversation. Injured officers were not an everyday occurrence.

"Okay guys," Commander Coleman interrupted, "the other reason I’m here is to address these emerging stories on the news about this possible new influenza strain. The CDC is telling everyone that the media is latching onto this and blowing it way out of proportion, similar to the Swine Flu a couple years back. Nothing as of right now has come down the pipeline from the feds indicating anything out of the ordinary. If that changes, I’ll be the first to know and will pass it along. But expect a low level of anxiety in the public today and a full emergency room at the hospital if you end up there for any reason. Also, as was the case with the Swine Flu, if you feel sick, go home and get some rest. Call in sick until you get better. If this is legit, we don't need the whole department coming down with it. Now hit the street, dispatch told me that the calls are stacking up."

As roll call was dismissed, Johnny and Ryan walked out with Stephen.

"Are we going for coffee?" Ryan asked.

"Let's try," Stephen responded. "I gotta pick up Roy by his car first; I'll meet you at the gas station."

"Roger that," Ryan replied. “And I’m driving today, Johnny.”

“
Fine by me,” Johnny remarked. “I just gotta make it through today, and I’m off for a week. So don’t get me killed.”

Their coffee plans were disrupted within minutes when the dispatcher gave out disturbance calls to both units.

"Looks like it’s going to be one of those days," Stephen sighed as Roy jumped in.

* * * * * * * *

Finally done with my workout, I reluctantly started to clean my patrol rifle, a Colt M4 carbine I was issued when I got onto the city’s S.W.A.T. team a few years back. It was full auto capable and came outfitted with a Trijicon Reflex scope and Surefire light. It took me all of about twenty seconds to fully disassemble it, and I wasn’t even trying to be fast. Taking it apart was knowledge painfully embedded into my DNA by my drill instructor in the Army years ago. Shortly after the rifle was cleaned and lubed, I gave my duty pistol, a Glock 17 with a Streamlight TLR-1 light on the rail, a quick cleaning. The pistol also broke down easy and was a simple clean, the gun being nearly idiot proof. Finished with the pistol, I put them both into my gun locker and headed upstairs for a long, hot as possible shower. Three days of sweat and funk would be hard to remove. Later, after the hot water was long gone, I dragged my tired ass out of the shower. Wearily walking into my bedroom, I flopped onto the bed still wearing my towel. As my eyes closed, I thought about just resting them for a minute or two.

* * * * * * * *

Stephen looked over at his partner Roy in dismay when dispatch gave them yet another disturbance call. Roy was a small man with almost feminine features who looked as if he had never touched anything heavier than a textbook in his life. Stephen wondered how Roy had passed the fitness test in order to get hired. Word at the department was that Roy had a relative on the City Council who’d pulled strings in order to get him on the force.

"Damn it, this is our third fight call and we haven’t even been out an hour yet," Stephen said angrily. "What the fuck?”