The Dead Series (Book 2): Dead Is All You Get (32 page)

Wiping his eyes, Steve reached into his pocket and pulled out a thumb drive. “Before we left San Francisco, I downloaded it. I don’t know why. I’ve kept it with me.”

Pederman left the room and returned with his laptop. He connected it to the ceiling-mounted projector and plugged in the drive. The video was crude, with amped-up canned rock music and cheesy computer animation. It showed a soldier in a Humvee under attack. He got out of his vehicle and, taking a direct hit from enemy fire, continued towards them, firing his M-16. Soon, he’d killed all of the enemy fighters singlehandedly. The scene changed, showing the soldier at home with his wife and baby daughter. The narration hinted that, despite being in combat, he remained happy and healthy. And normal. The final shot was of the soldier asleep in bed. And the tag line, “No more nightmares.”

“This is what Robbin-Sear is creating,” I said. “The next-gen soldier.”

Pederman got up from the table. “I think we’re done here.”

After Steve and Nina returned to their trailer, I sat in the conference room alone. The others had gone out for food. I wasn’t hungry. I couldn’t get the image out of my mind—Kevin lying on the ground as those hellish things carved up his legs like skewers of meat at a Brazilian steakhouse and chewed the bloody flesh as he lay dying. If we hadn’t found them, Steve would be dead, too.

I knew now the virus was working the way Bob Creasy and the others had hoped it would. The infection no longer killed the host. Instead it transformed a person into something new—still living but dangerous. Something invincible and cunning but with that same hunger for human flesh. And though they were incapable of speech, I knew that would come eventually. What if the infected continued to evolve into something that looked and acted completely normal? Cannibals in suits? How would we recognize and eliminate them? Was killing one of these unlike killing draggers? Draggers were already dead. These creatures were alive—but were they human? Would it be considered murder? Too many questions. I leaned back in my chair and closed my eyes. In a few minutes, the door opened and the others returned, along with Springer. Everyone but me dug into their food.

“I brought you a sandwich,” Holly said, handing me a PB&J and a juice box.

The smell of the peanut butter made me want to hurl. “Thanks,” I said. Then to Pederman, “We need to find that secret lab.”

Pederman took a swig of Coke. “I did some checking. Communications is handled by someone outside Black Dragon. I suspect those agents we encountered have something to do with it. Everything has been shut down remotely.”

“Well, I don’t think the mayor is going to tell us anything,” Holly said. “What about asking Walt Freeman?”

“Forget it,” I said.

“But how can they shut it down? It’s the Internet.”

“Why don’t we try getting through?” Springer said.

I could tell Pederman was annoyed as he turned to Springer. “I’m telling you, this is a waste of time.” He took his laptop, logged in and opened a browser window. “See that little symbol at the bottom? Wireless is on. And I’m connected to the school’s Wi-Fi. Here we go. W-W-W-dot-Google-dot-com.” We waited. A message appeared on the screen.
THIS WEBPAGE IS NOT AVAILABLE
. “It’s like that for any site you visit.”

“Let me try,” Springer said, reaching for the laptop.

“Springer, you can do that later. Let’s stick to business.”

“So if we don’t have Internet or phone access,” I said, “how are we supposed to find out where the other lab is?”

“Someone has to get outside of Tres Marias,” Warnick said. “What about a special pass?”

“We are in lockdown,” Pederman said. “No one is allowed in or out—no exceptions. There will be agents watching the borders, I’m sure of it.”

“What about those people we captured at the checkpoint,” Erzen said. “Weren’t they supposed to be sent home?”

“They’ve already been released,” Pederman said. “There’s no one left.”

“Then we’re screwed,” I said.

Jim stared at me
in a way that made me uncomfortable. He was dressed in white and reminded me of a bandleader—I think his name was Cab Calloway. And if you get that reference, I’ll give you a dollar. Even the shoes were white. It took me a minute to notice the dark blood leaking from his starched collar.

“Why haven’t you stopped this?” he said.

He was petting Perro, who sat calmly next to him, also wearing a white tuxedo. I wondered where the animal’s top hat was. Perro looked good—the way I remembered him, before the badness. But it was Jim’s eyes. They seemed to glow purple. Like Ariel’s. Like those cannibal creeps who’d dined on Steve Zimmer’s friend. That’s what made me uncomfortable. Those eyes saw right through me. They were probably sizing up my organs to see which would be worth extracting first.

“I don’t know what you mean,” I said.

But I knew. Like always, Jim wanted me to “fix it.” Of the two of us, he was the worse screw-up. I wouldn’t say I was smart, but he was lazy-crazy. Always getting himself into shit and wanting me to fix it. What had happened to my friend hadn’t been his fault, though. Not this time. He’d died because of the evil that the mayor and Robbin-Sear and the others had brought down on Tres Marias. An evil that had a purpose. So many had died. So many were being burned in efficient incinerators that would leave no evidence of the crimes committed. Guthrie had advised us to follow the money. Was this really all about money?

“‘And you will know the truth, and the truth will set you free,’” Jim said and belched, like in the old days.

I watched in fascination as he picked a kidney worm out from between his teeth. Incredibly, it was the size of a pickle. He held it up to the light to get a better look. As it squirmed I could hear a faint squeaking. The whole business made me sick. Seeing my look of disgust he let it slip from his fingers. When it hit the ground, still writhing, he stomped on it once with his heel, the blood squirting onto his pristine pant leg.

“Whoops.”

“I don’t like these dreams,” I said. “Seriously, Jim, you’re not helping.”

“That’s because you never listen, Dave. It’s your biggest problem—not listening.”

“I’m listening now.”

I realized I was sitting against a smooth, white wall, dressed in my Black Dragon uniform. I was unarmed. My boots were polished. Jim approached me and looked me over. He kicked the soles of my boots as Perro sniffed my hand.

“Nice outfit,” he said. “You look like a mall cop. Get up.”

“Why? You’re just going to start some new bullshit.”

His eyes glowed fiercely and his voice became a hurricane that pressed me against the wall. “Get up!”

The floor became liquid. I was in the middle of a twister, swirling madly—unable to touch the ground. I couldn’t make out my surroundings. As I tried to focus I caught glimpses of Holly, Griffin, Warnick and Springer. I felt like Dorothy. Pederman flew by, then the mayor, now O’Brien and Hannity. Finally, Walt. I wanted to puke. Right when I thought I would, everything stopped and I was standing inside the fence at Robbin-Sear. Outside, a thousand old-school draggers moaned and tore at the fence. They wanted to devour me. A part of me wished they would.

“Jim?” I said.

The front doors opened and Jim showed himself. The tuxedo was gone—now he was dressed in a grey-green hospital gown and ankle socks. His unruly hair and days-old beard added to his generally unkempt appearance. He was three sheets to the wind and reeked of beer and vomit. This was my friend prior to the car accident. Drunkenly, he waved me inside. I didn’t want to follow him, but I did.

“Where are you taking me?”

“You’ll see.”

The layout of the lab was different than I remembered. The walls were made of Plexiglas. Naked bodies—perfect bodies—floated in them end to end as far as I could see, the skin dry and hairless, the muscles sinewy. Though they were motionless I could feel their strength. We continued on to the main lab where Doctor Royce was working, dressed in a fresh white lab coat and looking clean-shaven. I remembered shooting him in the face, but all I could see was a reddish-brown bullet hole above the bridge of his nose. He didn’t seem concerned.

“Jim, where have you been?” he said. He sounded English, which made no sense to me. Now, he was Ash from the movie,
Alien
. I wanted to laugh.

“Doctor Royce, I brought my friend, Dave. You’ll have to forgive him—he’s kind of slow. I tried explaining the situation and he doesn’t get it. Can you try?”

“I’ll have a go. Take a seat, Dave.”

He gestured. Familiar faces appeared from out of the shadows. Holly, Griffin, Warnick and many others came forward and lay on the ground, piled one on top of the other till they were the height of a low wall. Royce gazed lovingly at the bodies and turned to me. I didn’t know what he wanted me to do.

“Sit down,” he said. Then to Jim, “You’re right—he’s an imbecile.”

My cheeks burning, I sat on top of Springer. Blood seeped from the base as my weight settled. I was worried because Holly was below me. I didn’t think she could breathe.

“It’s like this, Dave.”

Royce launched into a technical diatribe I couldn’t follow. I put up with it mainly because I knew the dream itself was a manifestation of my own mind. As he spoke, his skin decayed. His speech became thick and he was starting to smell. I turned to Jim—his head wagged rhythmically in time to Royce’s technobabble. The scientist went on for what seemed like an eternity. I struggled to comprehend, but it was no use. And the more he spoke, the more he rotted. One of his shrunken eyes popped out of its socket and hung limply from the stalk.

“I’m sorry, but I can’t make it any plainer than that,” he said.

“I didn’t understand a thing you said.”

“See what I mean?” Jim said to Royce. Then to me, “Let me try again.” He came forward and stood very close to me. He smelled like smoke. I could feel myself being absorbed into him, as if he was taking me to whatever eternal damnation he was living in. “You already know how this ends, Dave. Do I need to spell it out?”

“Humor me,” I said. “I’m an imbecile, remember?”

“Everyone dies, my friend. Just like Guatemala.”

We were standing on a grassy hill at the mayor’s house. It was nighttime. Somewhere in the distance I could hear the boys playing football, laughing as they chased each other. In the town below, fires raged and smoke billowed into the air. The human fire pits were back. The bodies. All those bodies. They were finished with Tres Marias. They would get rid of the evidence and start again somewhere else. They would kill the innocent along with the undead, erasing every trace of what had happened. And when it came time to explain—because someone always has to explain—they would say they’d eradicated the virus but that everyone had died.

Just like Guatemala.

“Bad dream?” Holly said when I woke.

It was morning. Early blue light leaked through the curtains. Cold-sweating, I rubbed my eyes. My heart raced and I felt Jim’s presence, could still smell the smoke from the burning bodies. Had my friend come to me in a dream for reals? Or did my mind make everything up in order to put a neat bow on a mystery that could never be solved? No, wherever it had come from, it
was
real—I knew it. A warning. The worst was yet to come.