The Night Sweeper: A Zombie Conspiracy Novel (The Sweeper Chronicles Book 1) (3 page)

Last night’s patrol was long and cold, made all the more so by an incessant rain storm, and I spent it miserable and distracted wondering what this morning rendezvous with Archer is going to be about.

I walk down a hallway of the Soho to the seldom-used conference room, grab a cup of black coffee from the maker in the corner that someone was kind enough to brew, and ease into a high-backed office chair in front of the behemoth mahogany table that takes up most of the space. The lighting is low here, a few table lamps throwing pools of light onto the table’s surface in front of me. Fashionable paintings adorn the walls along with a few pieces of ornate cabinetry that punctuate the high-end luxury of the room.

I toss back a hot swig of coffee and try to imagine the warmth flowing from my throat to my stomach and subsequently to my freezing fingers and toes. Leaning my head back, I close my eyes in weariness from the long night and wait for Archer.

I don’t have to wait long. I look up at the sound of footsteps as he strides into the room followed by a small entourage of people I’ve never met. As head of The Organization, Cedric Archer looks every bit the part. He sports the same black uniform all the Sweepers wear, weapons cached and stashed all over it, steel-toed boots scuffed and well-worn. His face is craggy and both it and the parts of his arms that are exposed show the scars of many nights hunting Festers. There is an austere, authoritative glint in his eyes that's always present. The man exudes confidence and power.

He nods at me and moves to the head of the table on my left.

I'm a little thrown off by the group with him. He's never brought guests before.

Behind him are two men in dark business suits. I stifle a chuckle. Really guys? Business suits at 6:00 am? Who are we trying to impress? Both men are middle-aged. The first is tall and lanky with smallish brown eyes that dart back and forth. The other man is about 5'10, stocky, and looks like someone just peed in his Cheerios. But it’s the person that trails a few feet behind them that really captures my attention.

She’s young, no more than her early twenties, with long, dark hair pulled into a tight ponytail. She’s of average height, in good shape, but not overly muscular. She’s dressed in faded jeans, a dark gray thermal, and sneakers. Her clothes aren't tight, but neither do they hide a fantastic figure. She’s beautiful in an exotic sort of way, and the most captivating thing about her is her eyes, which are a brilliant emerald hue. In fact, they’re so brilliant, I wonder if she’s wearing contact lenses.

She moves confidently into the room, those intoxicating eyes locking onto mine, sizing me up before taking the chair right across the table from me as everyone else sits. She’s still looking at me, and I feel trapped in her gaze. I realize my mouth is hanging open and I smile a little sheepishly, already starting to feel the painfully familiar awkwardness of being near an attractive girl.

“How’s life in the trenches, Cray?” Archer's question jars me from my distraction. I notice now that everyone else is staring at me too.

I clear my throat and try to sound cool. “What trenches?” I say, feigning nonchalance. “Haven’t you heard? New York’s all clean now. I just hang around here for the heck of it.” God, I'm such a moron.

He chuckles. It's an obvious courtesy laugh. “It’s been too long.” He turns to address the others. “This is Cray, my best Sweeper. He’s in possession of some…formidable talents. Heck, he’s practically a superhero to all of the other Sweepers, but then you all know this already.”

I feel my cheeks growing hot from his praise, and I catch myself smirking like a goofy kid until I notice the goddess watching me again from across the table. There’s a look on her face that I can’t quite place. Amusement? Pity?

Get a hold of yourself, fool! You’re acting like an adolescent.

“Let's get to it,” Archer says. “Time is a commodity we don't have.” His demeanor shifts, and he takes on the hardened look of the seasoned leader that he is.

“As you know, Cray, our venture with The Organization has been far more successful than I could have ever hoped for within the time frame we’ve been at it. Our latest intel suggests that less than ten percent of the original population of Festers in the refuge cities remains due in part to various factors: environment, lack of sustenance, and
our
work in no small part. This will come as news to you, but we’re beginning to train a small army of Sweepers. Their job will be to take the fight outside of the cities, to begin retaking the rest of the country. That's what's been consuming my time lately. I've been recruiting and prepping for phase two.”

I feel a wave of excitement. Archer's long-term plan for eliminating the Festers was two-fold. Phase one, with the agreement and backing of the Council, was the implementation of the refuge cities and the Sweepers. The idea was simple. Protect as many people as we could, while letting the enemy come to us. In the meantime, we would build up resources and social organization.

Phase two was a bit more grandiose, and it all depended on The Organization's ability to diminish the population of Festers in the cities. If we could sufficiently reduce their number, and reasonably verify that more were not coming in than we were taking out, The Organization would take the fight to the rest of the country.

Part of my respect for Archer lies in the scope of phase two. The plan is to train paramilitary cells in guerrilla warfare and survival and send them out for months at a time to kill the Festers they find. Based on current estimates, phase two will take twenty years to bring about sufficient Fester depopulation to begin colonizing again outside the refuge cities. The man has already given the better part of his life fighting to rebuild. Most likely, he will never live to see the final outcome of the plan he's put into place.

He continues speaking. His voice is deep and gravelly. It’s a sound that commands attention and respect. His is the voice of a warrior, of a man accustomed to being in charge on the front lines. He’s also smart. Not as smart as me, but he’s no lightweight in the brain department, and I’ve always gotten a kick out of the way he pontificates like some kind of narrator.

“That being said, Cray, this little meeting is really for your sake. Everyone else here is up to speed.” He pauses, weighing his next words. “I’m going to let you in on a secret we’ve been made aware of.” Every eye is on Archer, and judging from the expressions, whatever he's about to reveal isn't good news.

“As you know, The Virus was the creation of a rather brilliant geneticist named Damian Harbin. He wasn’t the most upstanding of citizens, and he sold it to the highest bidder, which happened to be our former President. Harbin was killed under mysterious circumstances right before The Virus was released on the public. The rest is history.

“What The Council has recently discovered is that Damian had a son, Jonathan, who continued his father’s work. He’s successfully created a new waterborne strain of The Virus. The bad news is there’s no guarantee that those with immunity to the airborne strain will be immune to this one.”

“Just what exactly is he trying to accomplish?” I wonder aloud. “As if the first Virus wasn’t bad enough,” I say pointing out the glaringly obvious.

Archer runs a hand through his gray-flecked hair and crosses his arms across his chest. I wait for him to continue, my mind processing and calculating the information he has thrown at me so far.

“To be honest, we don’t know. He revealed his creation to The Council, but seems to have had a change of heart. We have it on good authority that the second Virus was only produced in a small quantity, and Jonathan made sure it was all destroyed. However, he still knows the formula and now he’s not telling. But according to information from a reliable government source, the High Council of the States wants it, and wants it bad.”

Archer looks at me pointedly before continuing.

“They’re planning to insure the States’ dominance over the rest of the world using the second Virus as a threat against whoever would oppose them.”

What?
My head buzzes with the knowledge that our government would stoop to such strong-arm tactics. Although the world has always been party to such staging and cold war shenanigans, it still comes as a shock after all we’ve been through with The Virus. Ever since The Virus hit, the governments of the world, though admittedly shells of their former selves, have gotten along better than any other time in history. The Virus actually did what nothing else before had ever done. It unified the nations with a common foe that wasn’t each other. Or so it had seemed.

I sit for a moment before speaking up. “So who’s the reliable source and how reliable is he?”

Archer glances at the suit immediately to his left.

“This is Benjamin Eckert. He’s very high in the governmental structure. How high, I can’t really disclose. But suffice it to say, he knows firsthand that what we’re discussing today is true and accurate.

“He secretly disagrees with the current course of action being planned by The Council. Like me and the others in this room, he feels this is a colossal mistake. We don’t believe in reestablishing old patterns of competition, dominance, and secrecy among the nations any more than what already may be there. More importantly, we’re talking about the possible destruction of millions of lives of those who survived the first holocaust. That
cannot
be allowed to happen.”

I think this through for a few moments. I wholeheartedly agree with Archer, but I have to point out what he’s not saying.

“You’re talking about treason.”

Archer is nonplussed. “Yes, I am. You know as well as I do the ramifications of this, Cray. I’m all about being a patriot, but the world isn’t the same place it used to be.”

The man Archer pointed out as Eckert, clears his throat lightly. He’s a tall gentleman with a thin frame and dull eyes. With his slicked-back hair and his quick, nervous movements, he reminds me a bit of a weasel. He doesn’t appear to me like someone who would be willing to buck the system, but people can fool you sometimes. Appearances aren’t always what they seem. When he speaks, his voice is surprisingly smooth and confident. He doesn’t stumble over his words or beat around the bush. The dullness apparent in his eyes moments before is replaced with a look of intelligence and passion.

“Cray, let me start by thanking you for your time. Your reputation is superb and you are quite renowned in your efforts with The Organization.

“Myself and a very few other detractors notified Mr. Archer of the situation within a short time after we were made aware of it. As he stated, we cannot concur with the current course being set by The Council, but I’m afraid we’re small in number and may lack all of the resources necessary on our own to bring about a more acceptable outcome.” He lowers his gaze gravely at me. “Namely, making sure that formula is never discovered and never reaches production level.”

I look briefly at the girl sitting across the table from me, her face a mask of stoicism, her attention rapt on Eckert, and try to figure what her part is in all of this. I also try not to get distracted by how amazing her profile is in the lamp light. I’m not very successful and mentally kick myself for thinking about such things in the middle of a discussion about a global crisis.

Eckert’s brows furrow and his eyes take on a distant look, like he’s remembering something unpleasant.

“As Archer said, whatever his original intent, Jonathan Harbin is keeping his lips sealed now. He’s determined not to give the formula up to The Council, even though they've been…persuasive.”

His meaning is clear to me, and I can tell everyone else around the room is already aware of the type of “persuasion” he’s referring to. Harbin is being tortured, and my stomach churns uncomfortably at the thought of what it would take to do that to another human being. Sure I kill Festers, but that’s different.

I’m starting to feel like this whole thing is totally whacked. Harbin reveals a killer virus, but then clams? What was he trying to do in the first place? If he didn’t want it being used, just keep it a secret and take it with him to the grave. Or better yet, don’t create it!

Archer speaks up from the end of the table as if he’s reading my thoughts.

“I know it doesn’t make sense, but we just don’t really have all of the pieces to the puzzle. Maybe he had a change of heart. Whatever the case is, he’s not telling his dirty little secret now. For that much, we can be thankful. But there’s no way to know how long he can hold out.”

I watch Eckert while Archer is speaking. I’m pretty good at reading people, and there seems to be something a little strange about the look on his face, like a man trying to hide a good poker hand. I get the feeling Eckert knows more information than he’s thus far revealed.

“And how long
has
he been holding out?” I ask.

Eckert speaks up again, his voice hollow and tired sounding.

“Two days.”

Two days of torture. He’s either really tough or really committed.

Archer takes the floor again. “The plan is to send someone in for Harbin. We need someone smart, experienced, and committed to stopping this madness. We want you to do it, Cray. I know this isn’t your normal gig, but I have the utmost confidence in you. I wouldn’t trust it to anyone else.”