The Hungry 4: Rise of the Triad (The Sheriff Penny Miller Series) (15 page)

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Authors: Steven Booth,Harry Shannon

BOOK: The Hungry 4: Rise of the Triad (The Sheriff Penny Miller Series)
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“
Unhh… hunhh…”
John was standing in one place, swaying back and forth slightly, moaning. As Miller came closer to the window, the zombie turned toward her and approached the glass, its tongue lolling in its mouth like that of a golden retriever, slobber and all. He moved closer and closer, almost as if curious. The proximity of the zombie gave her the chills again, even though Miller knew she was safe on this side of the observation portal. She also knew how to kill one with her bare hands, but the idea that someone was home in there made the idea of doing that a tad more difficult to rationalize.
“Can he see me?” Miller whispered. She barely knew she’d spoken. Her comment also wasn’t directed at anyone in particular. No one answered.
John walked directly into the window. He immediately bounced back off its hard surface, but he didn’t fall or appear to become disoriented. John started scratching at the acrylic with yellowing nails. Miller watched as bits of his decomposed skin slipped off the ends of his fingers and stuck to the surface of the window. A bruised, soft area of skin on the side of his face slipped a bit. His eyes were pleading, or perhaps struggling to communicate.
The room went quiet. Miller looked around. She saw that everyone was observing her interacting with the zombie.
Sheppard turned to the technicians. “Are you recording this?”
“Yes, sir.”
Miller looked at the faces of Sheppard and the technicians. “Should I be worried about something?”
“Penny,” Sheppard said cautiously. “Do me a favor. Stand over to the left of the window. Don’t move too suddenly. I want to see if the subject responds to you.”
“John,” insisted Penny. Her head spun and her gorge rose a bit. She was so very hungry and tired and frightened deep inside. She heard her own words as if someone else were answering Sheppard. She swallowed dryly. “His name was John.”
“Yes, of course.” Sheppard said. He smiled weakly. “To the left, please.”
Miller took a step to the left.
John the zombie followed.
The technicians murmured, but studiously kept their voices just below her threshold of hearing. Miller briefly wished she had her superpowers back so she could hear what the hell they were saying, though she might not have understood anyway. Something was up. They were leaving her in the dark. Nevertheless, she had a pretty good idea that John wasn’t supposed to be following her back and forth like a three year old ready to play hide and seek.
“Now to the right,” said Sheppard. He barely hid the excitement in his voice.
“What is this, the Hokey Pokey?” Miller took two steps to the right.
John stayed right with her. The technicians buzzed like a hive of hornets. Miller felt dizzy again, scared, so hungry. The odd and unfamiliar versions of those sensations came and went, as did her sense of self.
“Penny, would now you step back from the window, please?”
Miller shook her head to clear it. “How far?”
“Come stand next to me.”
Miller walked over to Sheppard.
John the zombie lost interest. He sagged and turned in a slow circle, then went back to standing in the middle of the room, swaying slightly. His tongue crawled back into his mouth like a small grey lizard. He closed his teeth. The sound came again,
unhhhh hunhhh…
Sheppard seemed thrilled. “You didn’t do anything in particular to try to attract its attention, did you?”
“No,” Miller said. She felt uneasy and suddenly exhausted. “I’ve never seen a zombie who didn’t track someone. He must be starved. Besides, it’s just a piece of glass. That never stopped them from trying to turn me into a ham sandwich before.”
Sheppard stepped closer. He touched her arm. “You don’t understand. His side of the window is mirrored! He can’t see, hear, or smell you, but he knew you were there. Go stand next to the window again.”
Miller fought the uncomfortable feeling growing in the pit of her stomach. She went back to the glass. When Miller came within about ten feet of the zombie, it picked up its head again and came back towards the observation portal. Miller wondered if Sheppard was overreacting. Zombies thought of humans as food, plain and simple. Another part of her knew it was more than that, a kind of living hell inside, but Miller didn’t really
want
to know that fact. She felt a mental circuit heating up to overload.
Right at that moment, the door opened halfway. Dr. Rubenstein poked his head inside. They stopped talking. Rubenstein took in the scene, expressionless. He looked around, nodded and then closed the door again without actually entering. Miller noticed that everyone tensed up after that, especially Sheppard, who shot the technician named Marquez a nasty look before turning back to Miller to resume their conversation.
“No, of course not,” said Sheppard. Miller couldn’t remember what she’d asked him. “Don’t worry about anything.”
Miller stared.
Sheppard came forward and smiled warmly. “I think visiting hours are over. Shall we go back up to your quarters?”
“Karl, what just happened?”
“Let’s discuss things outside, shall we?” Sheppard ushered her through the door and out into the cool hallway. The technicians remained in the room.
When they were outside in the hall, Sheppard again walked ahead of her. Everything seemed to ripple under the harsh fluorescent lighting. His shoes squeaked on the flooring tiles. Sheppard led Miller back to the elevators. Out of the corner of her eye, Miller caught a glimpse of Rubenstein going back into the observation room. She wondered why, but waited for Sheppard to feel safe enough to speak. They stood side by side. Faint classical music floated by, which seemed out of place. Miller watched Sheppard as he punched the button to summon the elevator. Sheppard was hiding something. He refused to catch her eye. The elevator arrived. The doors slid open. Miller lost patience.
“What just happened, Karl?”
Sheppard raised a finger to his lips. He waited until they were in the elevator with the doors closed, and then turned to face Miller. His eyes were dancing and his cheeks were red with excitement. He looked like her old friend again.
“Penny, I couldn’t discuss this in front of the technicians. The fact of the matter is, you are not cleared to know any of this. I’ve taken one hell of a risk just by bringing you here, but there are a couple of things you should know.”
“Go on.”
“Remember that blood sample we took? That one, along with a few others collected by Rubenstein just came back from the lab and the results are…” His voice tapered off as he searched for the perfect words.
The elevator rose slowly. Blood pounded in Miller’s ears. “The results are
what?
”
Sheppard whispered. “Astonishing. We think we have finally figured out how you managed to survive all this time without being killed by the zombie virus.”
“And that’s good, right? You can make your vaccine now, is that what you’re saying?”
“I hope so. It’s complicated and very hard to explain. Let me just say, there are reasons we should keep this just between us for now. Please trust me on that.”
The elevator doors opened. Miller walked out. Sheppard stayed inside.
“Go back to your quarters, Penny. I’ve got things under control.”
“Karl, tell me what’s going on.”
“Penny, I think it is very exciting news. But please don’t talk to anyone else about any of this until I say it’s okay. I’ll explain more later.”
Before she could respond, the elevator door closed and Sheppard was gone.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CRYSTAL PALACE, BASE GROUNDS
“What the flying donut fuck do you mean, they’re
still people?
”
Miller avoided Scratch’s eyes. She whispered back. “Keep your voice down.”
“That’s bullshit, Penny.”
“Scratch, that’s what Sheppard said the tests show, and after what I felt up there I actually believe him.” As they strolled around the grounds of the base located outside their quarters, Miller wondered how sensitive the listening devices were. The ones Sheppard and his friends had no doubt set up to catch this very conversation or something like it. She led Scratch closer to a brick wall, hoping to better cover their tracks. She looked out through the giant metal gates facing the desert. In the distance, two sparrows soared above them in a silent mating dance. Someone called out orders to someone else. She looked back. Scratch had gone pale.
“You mean it is like they know they’re dead now, who they were before and what’s happening to them, but they can’t do anything about it? Holy damned Gandhi on a Moped! Can you imagine what that must be like?”
“Believe me, Scratch, I’ve been spending the last few hours trying not to imagine it, but I can’t get the horror out of my head.”
“Shit fire! Well, if I ever had any doubts about shooting those poor motherfuckers in the head before, I surely don’t anymore. That’s got to be the kindest thing you can do for them. It’s just pitiful. Well, apart from the other fact that, you know, they’re constantly trying to consume your living flesh and shit.”
Miller nodded. She sped up a bit. “There’s that.”
Miller decided to come completely clean. She stood in front of Scratch, causing them both to a halt. Scratch stopped few inches away from her. “There’s more.” She dropped her voice even lower. She touched his arm for emphasis. “And it’s just as important.”
Scratch sighed. “Why do I get the feeling that I’m not going to like this?”
Miller looked around. A guard on duty to the south was looking their way, but that didn’t have to mean anything. Outside, well beyond the huge hangar doors, the sky was sunny and warm, and wisps of clouds floated by in the breeze. She wanted to be back in the desert again, driving ninety miles an hour away from this cursed place. Still wary of listeners, Miller hugged Scratch, pretending to embrace him, and whispered directly in his ear. “Scratch, I’m pretty well convinced that this whole shebang, this whacky as a cow on loco weed medical operation, which has got to be costing Uncle Sam a billion dollars a year to maintain, isn’t actually looking for a cure for the common danged cold, let alone the zombie virus.”
“Then what the hell are they up to?” Scratch caught on fast. “Oh.”
She nodded against his chest. “Uh huh.”
“Oh no.”
“Oh, yes.” Miller whispered. “The only explanation I can see for this place to exist is that they are still looking for the magic formula. It’s still a Defense project. They want to find a way to make a shitload of those super soldiers.”
“I was right, then. I don’t like that one damn bit.” Scratch bent down and picked up a rock dragged in by military tires, along with scraps of sagebrush and other debris. He squeezed it in his hand like a stress ball. The muscles in his forearm bulged in a sexy kind of way. “Okay, so say it’s all true. What the hell good does that do us?”
“Not one damned bit.” Miller kicked another small rock with the toe of her shoe. It bounced off the cement wall with a dull clack and rolled a few feet. “And that’s still not everything, cowboy. It’s not even the fun part.”
Scratch looked to his right, took aim, and hurled his rock away. It landed harmlessly out in the open, vanishing into the cactus and sand just beyond the big hangar doors of the underground base. He thought for a long moment and then stiffened his shoulders. The old Scratch was back. He turned to face Miller. “Okay, hit me.”
“I think I know why the super soldiers are so fucking important to them. You know how the zombies work in threes now, in
triads
? Well, they can do it without seeing each other. I saw them doing that. It’s got to be because of some kind of telepathic connection. I think they’re hoping that their super soldiers can eventually do the same thing, communicate that way without the need for a central command. They’d be unstoppable that way, impossible to defend against, always scheming and planning as one unit without breathing a word or sending a signal humans could trace and try to block.”
“We’d all be screwed.”
“Exactly, and that’s the only thing that can explain all this expense.”
“Sonofabitch.” Scratch remembered to whisper, but just barely.
Miller allowed herself a grim smile. “Jesus, Scratch. I tell you all that, and all you can come up with is ‘sonofabitch’?”
“Is it my turn?” he asked.
Miller blinked. “What do you mean, your turn? What could you possibly have to say that can top all of that?”
Scratch leaned into her and whispered in her ear. “I skipped a meal and drank bottled water from the mess. I’m pretty damned certain they’ve been drugging both of us, not just you with the zombie sauce. They give us something that makes us more cooperative.”
Of course.
Miller trembled at the truth. She hadn’t felt right since the very beginning of all this, especially since the rehab center in Malibu. “Makes sense, but are you sure?”
“You’ve seen me shoot, right? You know damned well I got me some steady hands.” He held out his right hand, palm down. It was shaking. “It’s been twitching around something awful. I’m still not myself. I feel scared a lot, and keep second guessing every damn thing. I keep wanting to trust them, let someone else decide. Something is wrong with us, Penny.”
Miller could feel her anger rise. “How long do you figure this has been going on?”
“Since the Serenity Center.”
Miller sagged into him. “Yes.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t say this before. I thought I was just losing my touch. I think they’re putting it in our food. Like I said, I haven’t eaten for a while. I almost feel human again, but man, what I wouldn’t give for a good, old-fashioned burger right about now.”
Someone coughed down a walkway to their rear. Scratch and Miller both looked up and they pulled apart. Scratch said, “We’d best keep on walking around.”
Miller began walking again and Scratch trailed her by a foot or two. “That explains a lot, actually. I haven’t been myself for ages, and I somehow couldn’t believe that you would actually buy into this bullshit like you did.”
“I’m sorry, babe.”
“Are you on board for us getting the fuck out of here?”
“Fuck yeah!” Scratch said, loud enough for even a casual eavesdropper to hear.
“Shh!” Miller raised a finger. “We need a plan. We can’t just grab some guns, steal a truck and blast our way out. Not and expect to get very far. Not this time. This is not like the old days. We don’t know what’s out there, or if they’d just take us out with an RPG and be done with it.”
“Air?”
“Hell, even if we knew how to fly one, I don’t think we would get very far in a chopper. We got to find some another way.”
Scratch laughed like she’d said something hilarious. “What if there was a big-assed diversion?”
Miller smiled back, playing along. “Like what?”
“Like, I don’t buy their cover story, not after what you just said.”
“What do you mean?”
“Those noises we heard, where they said there was cattle pens?”
“Dang.”
“Yeah, so that ain’t cattle over there.” Scratch pointed south across the base. “If I’m not mistaken, Sheppard and his newfound friends have been collecting up used zombies like cereal box tops. That’s what’s milling around, not bovine meals on wheels. They’re kept right next door to where the motor pool used to be.”
“What are you thinking?”
“Just this. What if we were to, you know, liberate them zombies from captivity before we ran for it? If they’re really humans in there, then they are being falsely imprisoned. That ain’t right. We can’t have that, can we, Sheriff? Besides, if I’m hankering for a cheeseburger, after just one day off food, I reckon those zombies could use a little snack.”
They stopped. A jeep drove by. The two women in it were deep in an animated discussion, shouting over the noise of the engine, and didn’t even look up. Miller waited until the noise died down. She made kissy faces at Scratch again, back to the lover act. She patted him on the shoulder.
“So, what do you think, Penny?”
“I think that it’s nice to have you back, Scratch. You always did have a great sense of carnage.” Miller almost chuckled at the simplicity of the idea. Then she stopped and thought about it a bit longer. “A lot of people will die if we do that, Scratch, a lot of people who don’t even know what’s going on around here. I don’t know if I can go along with that.”
“Penny, I love you, but you’ve got a shitty memory.” He held up a finger as he counted. “One: Cannibals. Two: Crazy-assed survivalists. Maybe third time’s the charm. Most of these soldiers you’re so fucking concerned about now don’t seem to give a rat’s ass about humanity beyond their own butt cheeks. Sheriff Miller, I know you want to save the whales, the snowy owls, and the world, but this won’t be the first time you had to choose between them and us.”
Miller thought about all the death, all the misery that the advent of the zombies had wrought. Truth was, even if she had wanted to, she couldn’t have stopped even one percent of what had transpired. She could only handle what dropped in her lap day to day. She still had her duty, and that was to protect her own.
“We’re taking Alex with us, though, right?”
Scratch cleared his throat. He shrugged, his sour face revealing his lack of enthusiasm. “That Alex dude is okay, I guess, but he ain’t family. Not like T.L. and Karl are. Well, used to be. Are you sure you want to risk it?”
“We can’t leave him behind.” Miller made up her mind. “I don’t leave people behind, Scratch. You know that.” For the first time in as long as she could remember, Miller felt like the Sheriff again. She fist bumped her man, and spoke in a normal voice. “So, is it a plan?”
“Is what a plan?” came a woman’s voice, someone just around the corner from their quarters.
Miller and Scratch froze. They locked eyes and shifted apart, looking for balance, reacting instinctively to the threat.
“Who’s there?” Miller said, trying to sound cheerful.
Rat stepped from the shadow of the building. She wore jeans and a tight camo tee shirt. Her hair was tied up in a ponytail. She came forward. Miller checked. Her hands were empty, though she likely had a 9mm tucked into the back of her wide leather belt.
“Is what a plan?” Rat repeated as she closed the distance, jump boots crunching on gravel and dirt. “You two usually have some pretty good plans. Maybe I want to get in on this one.”
“We were chatting,” said Miller. “Just boyfriend and girlfriend stuff.”
“Yes, I figured,” Rat said cheerfully, too enthusiastically. “But
what
were you chatting about?”
Scratch smiled broadly. “Penny and me were just discussing a threesome with you, Rat. Damn, but I have good ideas!”
Miller considered punching Scratch in the mouth, but he was covering for them both, so she held back. She looked over at Rat and tried to gauge her response. She didn’t seem much amused by Scratch’s remark.
“You wish.” She shook her head. “Besides, I’m here to take you to your appointment.”
Miller frowned. “What appointment?”
“You have one with Rubenstein. He’s waiting for you over in his office.”
“No more meetings,” said Miller. “I’ve had enough for one day.”
Scratch shifted to his right, measuring the distance, physically communicating his intention. Miller locked eyes and silently told him to stand down. She knew a setup when she saw one. She searched the shadows behind the building. Sure enough, Rat hadn’t come alone.
“Gentlemen?” Rat motioned with one hand. Four soldiers, all armed with rifles, stepped forward to bracket them. One of them was Lovell. His face was as impassive as a Greek statue. Not a trace of warmth or concern. He was just earning a paycheck.
“Sorry, guys,” Rat said, “but I’m going to have to insist this time. Shall we go?”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CRYSTAL PALACE
They moved through the corridors at a forced march pace. Lovell and Rat kept a close eye on them. Miller and Scratch did not try to speak to each other. It wasn’t necessary. They both just remained alert for any opportunity to escape. Unfortunately, Lovell, Rat, and the guards didn’t offer one, so they just kept walking down the long corridors, stairwells and in and out of elevators. Eventually they reached the other side of the facility, and Scratch shot Miller a stoic look as it became clear where they were headed. They were going to the big office that overlooked the entire hangar, the one that had first belonged to Colonel Sanchez, the psychopath who’d created the zombie virus. Not for the first time, Miller was glad she had killed him with her own bare hands. It had been one hell of a fight because they’d both been shot up with an early version of the accelerant.
They walked up the staircase to get to the office. Lovell kept them covered while Rat stopped at the door and knocked sharply. No one answered the knock, so the sound was probably just to alert those awaiting their arrival. After a few seconds, Rat opened the door herself and led the way. Miller and Scratch followed, with Lovell guarding them and the other guards bracketing them from behind. Miller could tell that Scratch was fuming inside, though outwardly he just looked bored. When the door closed behind them, Lovell and the other guards remained in the hall.
Alex was there and already seated. Rat silently ushered Penny and Scratch to stand before a large, uncluttered and highly polished wooden desk. Alex looked as frightened as she’d ever seen the ex-Marine. Miller looked around. Rubenstein was there. He stood looking out at the activity in the hangar, ignoring them imperiously, hands clenched behind his back. He had four soldiers flanking him, all at attention and staring straight ahead. Miller thought he looked like a statue of a two-bit Napoleon. Rubenstein turned and took a seat behind the desk. He stared at Miller with ice in his eyes. He cleared his throat but said nothing. Rat stepped away to stand in a corner.
Miller didn’t care for the vibe. Rat had left them standing in front of the desk like two truants sent to the principal’s office. No one offered them a seat. Rubenstein continued to ignore them long after it was socially appropriate to do so.
So this is an interrogation, is it?
Miller thought. Rubenstein was trying to make them feel insignificant, uncomfortable and defensive. Miller learned the same technique for questioning suspects back in her days as a police officer. Or maybe she was wrong this time. Maybe Rubenstein just needed to suck up enough courage to speak. All things considered, she suspected that it was a little bit of both.
Miller let the silence build. Scratch followed her lead. She studied the four guards behind Rubenstein. They were GIs, not mercenaries like Rat and Lovell. A nearby clock ticked. Rubenstein was overdoing this a bit, but then that was his way, and just another sign of his overblown ego.
Miller got bored with the game. “We’re all here, Artie. Color us suitably intimidated. Tell me, why the armed escort?”
Apparently her voice was the signal that Rubenstein had been waiting for. He turned in the chair and faced them with a singularly unfriendly smile. “Ah, Sheriff, if there’s one thing I can always count on, it’s your consistent impulse to take command of a given situation. It reads like a desperate grandiosity related to OCD. When I analyzed you months ago, I determined this was a buried impulse from childhood when you likely felt responsible for your parents. You thereby developed the need to constantly be in charge of others to avoid feeling frightened and out of control. It’s probably something of a ‘doing’ defense against abandonment anxiety.”
Miller shook her head. “You’ve had months to work on this. Was that really the best you could come up with?”
Rubenstein’s smile slipped to one side. “However, I digress. Since the meeting has now officially started due to your immature outburst, what was your question again?”
“You know what? It doesn’t matter.”
“Tell me, were you an antisocial teen, Penny?”
“Come on,” Miller said, addressing Scratch and Alex. “Ignore him. He’s a fraud and Sheppard’s the man in charge. Let’s blow this popsicle stand.”
She turned to go. The soldiers tensed up, and Miller chuckled. She made a face at them. She shrugged in a way that made it clear that she’d tolerate that their presence was still required. It crossed her mind that she’d probably done pretty much what Rubenstein had accused her of—found a way to be in charge even under these extreme circumstances. Even a stopped clock is right twice a day.
Fucking shrinks…
Miller turned back to Rubenstein. “Okay, why don’t you cut to the chase, Artie?”
“Let’s do exactly that,” Rubenstein said. “I have good news for you, Penny. In part thanks to fine work by Captain Sheppard, who unfortunately could not be with us today, we finally have the missing piece of the puzzle. Eureka.”
Scratch said, “Jesus, that was cutting to the chase?”
Miller smiled. Even Alex, catching on at last, managed a dry chuckle.
Rubenstein reddened. “Thanks to you, Penny, we now know exactly what we’ve been doing wrong all this time. As you know, you have been the main test subject since Malibu, and our progress has been stunning. The last obstacle has been removed. Our Enhanced Bioweapons Program can now continue.”
Scratch stuck a finger in his ear as if to clear it. “Sorry, got some bullshit in there. Say again, enhanced what?”
“He meant the damn super soldier program, Scratch.” Miller turned to Rubenstein. “Didn’t you, pencil dick?”
Rubenstein ignored them. He opened a drawer, removed a small metal file and cleaned under his nails. “I did indeed. We were so pleased to find that the solution was so simple.” Rubenstein held forth like a Professor. “Let me summarize. The mechanism for enhancing our soldiers was always binary—a virus to insert new genes into the subject’s genome, and an accelerant to cause those new genes to express. But the accelerant had a severely toxic side effect. Yes, the genes were presently expressed, and the anaerobic energy production worked exactly as planned, but the toxin killed the subject, creating those rather unfortunate creatures, the zombies.”
Scratch said, “That was simple?”
Rubenstein continued. “Penny, you were different. Your system can rapidly metabolize the toxin, sidestepping the transformation to a zombie state, thus creating the first perfect enhanced bioweapon that has ever existed. You are a living miracle. And now we finally know through what mechanism you were able to survive the full accelerant.”
Penny snorted. “If I hear that I’m a miracle one more time, I’m going to puke on your loafers, Artie.”
Scratch visibly prepared another smart-ass response. Surprisingly, Rubenstein stood up, almost as if to head him off. “I want to be the first to thank you, Penny.” He held out his hand.
Miller looked at it with the disdain of a zombie eyeing a veggie patty. “You know, I thought Sanchez had already figured all that out, Artie. If my memory is still working properly, Sanchez flipped his own switch months ago. He turned himself into one of your ‘enhanced bioweapons’ by using something made from my blood. And that’s why I had to take him out.”
“And your point is?”
“Aren’t you coming to this party a little late?”
Rubenstein pulled his hand back. “Colonel Sanchez’s breakthrough was impressive, but it had few practical applications. I think you’ll understand when I tell you that you yourself are a very limited resource. You could die like anyone else. You only have so much blood to contribute, thus reducing the potential number of functioning units we could produce from you. But now that we understand how you are able to survive the accelerant, we can pre-metabolize the toxin ourselves, and thus the entire program may continue.”
Scratch grunted. “Hold on, you lost me, Doc. We’re back to a weapon? I thought this whole operation was about finding a cure for the zombies, coming up with a vaccine. What the hell happened to that idea?”
“That was just your dear friend Captain Sheppard’s dream. As far as those in power were concerned, the search for a vaccine was never more than a side project. It was mostly a distraction to us, though useful as a way of covering our tracks for the purposes of the historical record.”
“Say that again,” Miller said, buying time. She felt queasy.
Rubenstein leaned against the wall. “We couldn’t risk being seen as not even having tried to find a cure, but rest assured we all tend to doubt that one will be discovered anytime soon. In short, we didn’t take the idea all that seriously. This was always about resuming the original program. Sheppard was duped by his own guilt into believing otherwise.”
Miller felt her blood pressure drop. She had once again been played for a fool. “So this was all a ruse? You hatched up an elaborate plan to keep us distracted while you used me to work out your little technical glitch?”
“Not precisely,” Rubenstein said without emotion. “It was more of an ‘elaborate ruse’ to keep Captain Sheppard busy and out of the way, yet still be certain the project was moving forward. As far back as the Serenity Center, we hoped to bring you back on board as a volunteer, not a prisoner, although personally I would have been just as happy either way. I’d say things worked rather well, wouldn’t you, Major?” Rubenstein turned to Rat, who was imposing even in her civvies. Rubenstein wanted Rat to support him. He waited.
Rat shook her head. “Don’t drag me into this little mad scientist nightmare, Doc. I’m a professional. I work for you because you’re the one signing the checks. It’s not from love or loyalty. Make no mistake. I’m a mercenary, not a damned fool. Let’s stop wasting time. Are we going to plug this lady into the Matrix or what?”
Miller turned to look at Rat.
The Matrix?
Was that some kind of code?
Rubenstein fumed. Curiously, Rat’s disrespect had stung him. He glared back with every shred of his bruised ego writhing, but then turned the charm back on. “Actually, you are quite right, Major. It’s definitely time for the next phase of the program to begin.”
He waved his arm. The four soldiers shifted their weapons and took a step forward, though they didn’t seem clear about what came after that.
Scratch puffed out his chest. “Don’t piss me off, boys.”
“Hold on, there.” Miller walked closer to the men. Her assertion was meant to shock Rubenstein’s ego back into subservience. Despite her own growing sense of anxiety, Miller knew him to be weak, indecisive and pretentious underneath. It was worth a try. “You’re not plugging me into anything, Artie. I don’t care what checks you’re signing for Rat, I don’t work for you. And I want to speak to Karl Sheppard.”
“Do you?” Rubenstein shook his head. “I don’t think so, Penny. As I said, he won’t be joining us again anytime soon.”
“You’ve killed him?” Miller felt sick.
Rubenstein gestured noncommittally. “He’s been permanently relieved of duty.”
Scratch growled like a pit bull. “Well, what about the base commander? There’s got to be someone actually running the day to day of this bat shit operation. It can’t be a limp dick circus clown like you.”
Rubenstein rubbed his hands together. “I am now officially in command of the Enhanced Bioweapons project. Forget Karl Sheppard. Now that I am in charge, we can stop wasting time and begin to make real progress. And you, Penny, have been legally conscripted to our task. Would you rather be our colleague in research or stand for a summary court-martial and help us from inside a jail cell? It’s all the same to me.”
“I refuse,” Miller said. She moved closer to Scratch they held hands. “Kiss my country ass. You can’t make me be a part of your Frankenstein experiments without my consent.” Miller figured that statement was utter bullshit, but that bluff was her last logical line of defense.
Rubenstein just turned to Rat. “Major, will you please take the Sheriff to her new quarters?”
“About fucking time,” Rat said, and moved forward. The soldiers spread out to bracket Miller and Scratch.
“Rat,” said Miller, raising her fists, “I don’t want to hurt you. Just stay out of this.”
Rat shook her head. “Penny, I’m telling you as a friend. You’re done. You’re toast. Just play along with this, and at least that way both you and Scratch will live to see the outside of this base again.”
“I told you one day we would dance,” Miller said, grimly. “If it’s got to be today, that’s just fine with me.”
Rat ignored the threat. She turned to the soldiers, who had taken their positions but were still awaiting orders. “Restrain them.”
“Rat, I’m warning you…” Scratch stepped away, getting Miller’s back. She turned and took a step closer, readying herself to beat Rat down. The duo stood prepared to duke this out.
Rubenstein said, “Major, if you please?”
Rat moved so fast, Miller couldn’t make it out. She had no time to react. Scratch never even blinked. One split second later, Miller was flattened against the far wall and then spun around to face it. Before she could react beyond a startled gasp, Rat was handcuffing her. Miller struggled, but Rat handled her easily.
Too
easily.
Miller heard Scratch call out as the four soldiers surrounded him. “Penny!”
Rat already had Miller in the doorway by then. She was too strong, too quick to be a normal human being. She’d been accelerated.
“I told you, Sheriff,” Rat said, grimly, “you’re done.” And then she effortlessly dragged Miller out of the room.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
ISOLATION WARD, LEVEL 6
The isolation room was cold. The walls were colored an eerie bluish white. Miller smelled antiseptic and the sweet-sour stench of rotting flesh. This place had housed the undead. It felt more like an aquarium from the interior than it had seemed when looking in through the thick mirrored glass. The door closed silently behind her. When Miller turned to look for it, the seam was almost unnoticeable, and the high tech hinges were well hidden. Naturally there was no knob or handle on the prisoner’s side. Miller looked around, a hollow feeling growing in the pit of her stomach. This room was a death chamber and the vibe was eerie. It presented a silent, sterile and heartless beauty not unlike that of a frozen artic wasteland.
The only feature was that immense mirrored window. It was about eight feet long and five feet high, with the bottom of the glass standing a few feet off the ground. All of the edges were rounded, and again there was no seam visible. Miller saw nothing to so much as dig a fingernail into, and there certainly weren’t any prying tools lying about. Hell, she didn’t even have a belt buckle. This time they had her ass in a sling.
Miller felt sore. Her wrists still chafed from the handcuffs, and her arm ached from where the surprise, virus-charged version of Rat had gripped her bicep. Rat had been shot up for sure, and was now a super soldier in her own right. Miller grimaced. She should have known they would pull a stunt like that, especially since Rubenstein really believed they had finally found a safe way to use the virus as a weapon. It was only a tad surprising that someone smart and sane as Rat had gone for it. They must have offered her an outright fortune.
Miller leaned against the wall. The temperature was chilly. She pulled her hands back and shivered. These people were desperate to succeed at any cost. They’d bought into their own bullshit. Now that they thought they had the problem solved, it was inevitable that they would try to throttle up one of their own. They’d probably already thought about accelerating the entire base. That would be the logical, if completely insane, thing to do. The megalomaniacal Rubenstein would go that route once he believed it to be safe.
Miller paced, circling the room. Why were still screwing around with her if she was no longer needed? Did they plan to dissect or torture her? To try to convert her to their cause? Study her for the hell of it, until her heart gave out, just because they could? There didn’t seem to be anything very valuable that she could still contribute at this point, not now that they had the formula for their secret sauce. She should be have been executed or in a jail cell, not in an observation chamber being studied. There had to be something else going on, something she’d missed.
Miller peered into the mirrored window but of course saw nothing but her own reflection. It figured somebody was watching but she was too frustrated to care. She reflected on the events of the last few months and wondered where it had all slipped away from her and turned to shit. But then things had gone south that first night, when the zombies came to attack the jail back in Flat Rock. Every moment since then had been leading up to this sad ending. How many thousands had died—no, hundreds of thousands, if you include Nevada, Utah, Colorado, New Mexico, Arizona, California, and wherever the hell else the zombies had spread? All so that some arrogant bastard could get a ten-foot chubby at the thought of controlling his own Dirty Dozen, a team of accelerated soldiers more badass than the world could ever imagine.
Miller looked around her quarters. Not even a bunk or a piss-bucket. Of course not, it was just a holding cell for the undead. The cold blue lighting was coming through the ceiling, but she couldn’t see how. If she stood on her toes, her fingers could just reach the surface of the ceiling. She didn’t feel anything that would allow light through. Miller pressed upward, looking for how the light was coming in, but the panel was made of the same aquarium acrylic as the big window to the side. So it was probably bulletproof too. Whoever had designed these rooms was scared shitless of something. She wondered if that was just the traditional zombies or something far more dangerous; maybe even someone like her.
This was for me.
Inside the wobbly security of her own head, Miller thought:
No,
that bastard Rubenstein is not going to get me freaked out. I’ll be chasing my own tail by dinnertime if I lose my cool.
She glared at the mirrored window. They were watching her, she was sure of it. She was now a study project. Why else would they have put her in a glorified fishbowl? She wondered what they were all doing in there. Taking videos, scanning her with a new age MRI, reading her tea leaves? After everything she’d learned from Sheppard and Rubenstein about the goals of this misbegotten venture, very little would have surprised her.
She could feel a pressure start to build, and it wasn’t just the claustrophobia.
“So, do I just piss on the floor, or what?”
Miller heard a popping sound, and a faint hiss came from hidden speakers. “Please be patient, Penny.” The baritone voice had a flat delivery as unctuous as that of some bad talk show host. It was Rubenstein, of course. “We are getting things set up for you. In the meantime, look to your right.”
The wall changed. A panel slid silently to one side. Miller discovered an austere, stainless steel prison commode, complete with a roll of toilet paper.
“Make yourself at home.”
“Clever.” Miller wasn’t going to let him get her riled. Not when he was this happy. Arrogant men made mistakes when they were happy.
Her kidneys complained again. Miller kept her feelings hidden. She had been around jails and prisoners for a good part of her adult life, and there was no sense in standing on ceremony. She dropped her pants and sat down delicately on the cold steel seat. She refused to let herself get embarrassed or surrender emotional control. Whatever they were planning for her, this wasn’t even the opening pitch. She wouldn’t give Rubenstein the pleasure of shaking her up.
When she was finished with the toilet and had pulled up her pants, the toilet flushed and slid quietly back into the wall. Miller examined the space where it had been. She kept her back to the mirror and ran her hand over the wall. She could feel the gap in the wall with her finger, but she wouldn’t have been able to see it or make it out any other way. Clever.
“Are you refreshed, Penny?”
Miller turned to face the window. She cocked her head to one side, allowing contempt to ooze from her face. She wasn’t going to give Rubenstein an inch. She just waited. The cold air flowed over her arms and neck, causing the short hairs to flutter. Miller rubbed her palms together then resumed pacing. Finally, Rubenstein’s voice returned. “Thank you for your patience, Penny. We are now ready to begin.”
Begin what?
Miller thought, but she did not say that out loud. Her stomach did a high dive with a back flip.
What are you going to do to me?
She heard a faint whirring noise. A small platform slid out from the wall next to the mirrored window. Miller swallowed dryly. She stared down at the device. On the platform was something that looked a lot like a silver writing pen.
Miller didn’t move. “I’m not signing any consent forms, Artie. If you’re going to torture me, you’re going to have to do it on your own authority.”
“Torture?” Rubenstein chuckled. “Oh, no. Don’t be silly. I’m merely here to shepherd your transformation.”
Oh, great…
“And that is not a fountain pen, it is a syringe.”
“You can stick it up your ass,” Miller snapped, before she could stop herself. Her cheeks burned with shame because she’d sounded scared. Rubenstein would notice that and doubtless feel a measure of satisfaction.
“It’s filled with a revised version of the accelerant,” Rubenstein said. “I know you’re already familiar with the effects. Let me assure you that this generation of the serum is safe—especially for you, but best of all now even for anyone who volunteers to become
like
you.”
Miller managed a sneer. “Are you sure you want me accelerated, Artie? Rat may have been able to control me earlier, but I’ll likely be able to kick her ass—and yours too—if you get me all spun up again.”
“Let me worry about the outcome, Penny. Now let us begin. Please take the syringe and inject the contents into your thigh.”
Miller shrugged. “And if I refuse, will you come in here personally and try to force me to cooperate? I’d really like that.”
“Penny, please don’t make me threaten you,” Rubenstein’s disembodied voice said. “I can assure you that I am most creative when it comes to retribution. I am also quite willing to follow through on my promises. This is no time to argue. Now, inject yourself at once so that we can proceed.”
Miller stopped when a thought struck her. “Tell me again. Why do you want me to willingly inject myself with that shit? Why don’t you just strap me down?”
Rubenstein didn’t answer or elaborate on his previous statement. Miller knew she had scored, but was not certain why or how. She tried to make her next question sound like an accusation, but as it came out, she found herself genuinely curious. “There’s something different going on here. What’s going to happen to me?”
Dr. Rubenstein huffed into the microphone. Miller knew his patience was fading. “Penny, let’s do it this way. Let me just tell you what will happen if you do
not
inject the accelerant.”
“I’m listening.”
“We have quite a few zombies on site, and we have discovered that we get better data from them if they are fed regularly. Karl Sheppard was the one who pointed that out to us, and it was fitting that his last service to the firm was to help us improve our data.”
Miller’s stomach sank.
“As of right now,” Rubenstein continued, “your friend Scratch is expendable. He has one final responsibility to perform. He is to be our leverage to get what we want today. If you fail to cooperate, then his final act will to be to fill the distended, necrotic bellies of some of our test zombies.”
Miller shook inside. “You wouldn’t do that.”
“If you fail to cooperate, this event will take place and also be recorded for your forced viewing. We have patience. Now let’s get down to the bottom line. I’m sure you can see that we both would prefer to keep Scratch alive. If you fail to cooperate, he will suffer and die. Isn’t that sufficient motivation?”
Miller shook her head. Her voice dropped to a whisper. “You rotten, soulless, power-hungry piece of maggot-eaten, rancid, week-old zombie vomit. Have you forgotten that you’re supposed to be on the side of truth, justice, and Mom’s apple pie? I’d bet my butt that someone very high up is paying you to protect people like me and Scratch, not turn us into the new, improved upright undead. How can you betray the public trust like this?”
Rubenstein covered the microphone. It hissed for a moment, as he issued muffled instructions to someone else. He came back on. “I appreciate your appeal to my human side. Believe me, you would be thanking me for what I’m about to do if you really knew what kinds of threats to—what was it?—truth, justice, and Mom’s apple pie are loose in this wicked new world. If you think the zombies are a disturbing mutation of the human condition, then you have no idea what some of the more virulent ideologies are doing to young minds right in our backyard. Our civilization is in its death throes. The clash of cultures is worsening during this crisis.”
“It’s still about politics, then.”
“Isn’t it always, Penny? Ah, but now some have suggested that we just airdrop hundreds of our undead friends into a few of these third-world toilets. Load them in a cargo plane and shove them out a mile or two from where our enemies are gathering. Clean up the mess in one fell swoop. I’m sure you can understand why, as a scientist, I am opposed to that solution.”
“Yes,” Miller said, reluctantly. “I can think of a few good reasons.”
“Worst of all,” Rubenstein’s voice said, “we would ultimately be making our opposition even more of a problem than before. The virus can mutate. No, the only ethical option is to perfect the Enhanced Bioweapons program and then only
our
soldiers will be sent into the field.”
“Super soldiers,” Miller said. Inside, she thought:
Why is he taking all this time to explain things to me? If he’s lying about this, then why doesn’t he just force me to inject it? Why does he still need my cooperation? What don’t I know here?
“The problem with nuclear weapons is that they were too terrible to use. They couldn't be targeted perfectly, and their effects remain for generations. The government that used them would be on the wrong side of history. Our research is about solving these problems, and we are confident that a better world will result from this solution. Best of all, our accelerated troops will be able to return to normal life when their mission is over. They will be celebrated as heroes, and remain in reserve against future need.”
“Sounds like you’ve got it all worked out.”
“I digress. We are talking about you, not me. Penny, I need your assistance to make this program a success. I know your inclination is to resist my authority, but I assure you, it is not in your best interest to do so. And it would be tragic for your lover Scratch. It will be much to your benefit if you willingly cooperate. I assure you, a wonderful future awaits you both.”
“Well, exactly what kind of future? You were talking about money and glory and shit. What do I actually get if I do cooperate?”
Miller could almost hear the smile in Rubenstein’s tiny, amplified voice. “Very good, Penny. Here is my offer. I know from my psychological workup of you that you would prefer to simply live your life quietly and as far away from the zombies as possible, and to some degree, other humans as well. I promise to grant your desire as soon as we are done learning what we need from you. A ranch, perhaps, with livestock and horses and a tall, electric security fence… not to mention all the money you would ever need.”

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