Deadlocked 7 (30 page)

“This might just work,” said William as he studied Beatrice’s computer. He glanced up at Hero and grinned. “We have the enzymes we need. We might just pull this off.”

“Well halle-fucking-lujah,” said Hero. “I didn’t like all that talk about my bones falling apart and shit.”

“We’re not out of those woods yet,” said William. “We don’t know how your body will react to the antibodies.”

“Damn it,” said Hero. “When will we know if I’m good or not?”

“After we get the antibodies into you,” said William as he carried the tablet to a different lab station. He tried to flip through the information on the screen, but it didn’t respond to him.

“It only works for someone in The Electorate,” said Beatrice as she reached out to take the tablet. She jerked on the cuff that attached her to Hero. “This would be easier if I wasn’t shackled to you.”

“Oh would it?” asked Hero as if he cared, but didn’t bother taking off the cuffs.

She grumbled and settled for controlling the tablet with her finger instead of picking it up. She scrolled through the information on the computer for William. The silver jewelry on her arm slid down her wrist as she worked.

“Okay,” said William as he studied the information on the computer’s screen. “I’m going to need to take your blood.”

“Whose?” asked Hero.

“I need some more of Ms. Dell’s, but I’ll also need some of yours too this time,” said William.

“Aw fuck.” Hero grimaced and stomped his foot like a petulant child trying to argue against a nap. “I fucking hate needles.”

“Oh no.” Beatrice mocked him. “I feel so bad for you.”

“Shut up, Bea.”

William went to a drawer to retrieve syringes and found it emptied. That was the drawer that Kim had stolen the syringes from earlier. William frowned and moved to another. “Aha,” he said as he took out two of the wrapped needles. “Here we go.”

He took Beatrice’s blood first and then carefully labeled the
barrel. Next he took Hero’s sample as the tall black man grimaced and clenched his eyes shut.

“It’s over,” said William as he pulled the needle out. “Now that wasn’t so bad, was it?”

“It’s not about the pain,” said Hero. “I just have a thing about needles. They creep me the fuck out.”

“They’re moving slow out there,” said Jeff through the intercom. He was keeping them up to date on what Jerald and his men were up to in the cabin above. “Jerald’s sitting on the couch. No kidding, I think he’s having one of his men make him a cup of coffee.”

“That doesn’t sound good,” said William. “Jerald’s always been one for theatrics. If he’s sitting down to have a drink of coffee, then I’d bet anything he thinks he’s already won.”

“He’s got a computer tablet of some sort,” said Jeff, his voice carrying through the speakers in the transfer facility.
“He’s showing it to the camera up there. Hero, I think you should come up here.”

“Do you need me here?” asked Hero.

“No, but I need her.” William pointed to Beatrice.

“All right,” said Hero. “I guess you’ve got nowhere to go anyhow.” He unlocked the cuffs.

“Thank God,” said Beatrice as she stepped away. “You smell like a wet dog that a cat’s been pissing on.”

“What?” asked Hero, offended. He sniffed his armpits. “Oh sorry, you probably forgot what a man smells like.” He winked at her and left.

Beatrice huffed and then turned to William, who was smirking. “Don’t tell me you like that thug.”

“He’s not bad,” said William. “He grows on you.”

“Like a fungus,” said Beatrice. “How far are you from finishing with this?”

William looked exasperated. “Ideally? Days, weeks, months.” He rubbed his eyes and then looked through a microscope as he put a slide under the lens. “But what we’re doing here isn’t even science anymore, now is it? It’s just crap shooting and praying for luck.”

He replaced the first slide with another.

“There’s something wrong with my tablet,” said Beatrice as she fiddled with the computer. “When I check on the status of this facility, it’s showing that everything is running smoothly. I can even get into some of the camera feeds, and it’s showing me footage of scientists just going about their day like everything is normal.”

“Maybe Jerald figured out a way to replace the feed,” said William.

“But how?” asked Beatrice as if what William suggested was offensive. “That doesn’t make any sense. All of the tablets are locked out of the central database. We have been since what happened out here, two decades ago. I know he has a tablet of his own, but he couldn’t be manipulating the central database.”

“Well, apparently he is,” said William, nearly ignoring her as he worked.

“
No, no,” said Beatrice as she looked at the tablet. “This can’t be. Someone is pretending to be me, communicating with the rest of The Electorate; telling them I made it here safe and will be going through the final transfer soon. I can’t communicate with anyone. It’s like my tablet has been locked out. William, this is insane. Somehow Jerald has figured out a way to trick the rest of The Electorate that everything here is business as usual. I bet he’s going to be inviting the others here for their final transfers, just like me, and then imprisoning them.”

“Let’s worry about one thing at a time,” said William.

“How can you…”

“Beatrice, please,” said William. “I need to concentrate here.”

Beatrice tried to be patient, but William’s slow pace was driving her crazy. She followed him back and forth between the microscope and a centrifuge where he had inserted blood samples. After a few minutes she blurted out, “What are you doing now?”

“Patience, Bea.”

“It’s Beatrice, thank you very much.”

“Oh right, sorry. I just got used to hearing Hero call you…”

“Yes, yes. What are you doing?”

“I’m trying to give the enzymes time to influence Hero’s sample. His blood isn’t having the proper response yet.”

“And what about yours?” asked Beatrice.

“Well, yes, it would seem mine is reacting properly. So I owe you a debt of gratitude for that, I assume. Even though you had planned on killing me along with the other scientists when the Noah Initiative took place.”

“It was nothing personal.”

“No, of course not,” said William. “
Anyhow, it seems I’m immune to the virus now. Unfortunately, Hero’s sample is reacting the same way the others of African American descent did. We could stave off his disease, perhaps even for several months, but there’s no telling what sort of damage it would do to him. And I don’t feel comfortable letting him leave this facility without knowing he’s cured. We can’t risk that virus getting out.”

“Why not?” asked Beatrice.

William stopped and stared at her. He slid his hand over his balding head as he stuttered, “I guess we… we should, um. I guess we need to…”

“We don’t stand a chance against Jerald,” said Beatrice. “We both know that. If I’m not mistaken, when the antibodies get into Levon, they’ll mask his virus. Even if Jerald tests him for it, nothing will show up. We can show Jerald the bite on Levon’s leg, and then prove that he’s been cured. Only we’ll know the truth.
I’ll destroy my tablet so there’s no way for him to find the cure. He’ll have to take Levon back to his base.” She had a wicked smirk as she raised her eyebrow. “Levon will be a ticking time bomb, and when he finally explodes then we’ll be the ones holding the upper hand again.”

William was blinking rapidly as he thought about Beatrice’s plan. “I don’t know. Couldn’t Jerald just torture us until we create a cure for him? Couldn’t he just give your recipe to his scientists?”

Beatrice shrugged and looked unconcerned. “First off, I doubt those meatheads have a scientist among them. And even if they do, it’ll take them quite a while to gather the enzymes they’ll need. Your facility had them because of the experiments, but there’s no reason his would. By the time he can get them, The Electorate will have sent people to rescue us. And as for the recipe, we’ll delete the file and tell him we’re the only ones that know the formula. Trust me, William, this is how we win.” She tapped her long fingernail to her temple. “I always play to win.”

William was quiet for a moment, but then shook his head. “No. No, I’m sorry, Beatrice, but I just can’t do it. I’m sorry. I know Hero seems like just a thug to you, and maybe he is, but I’m no murderer. I can’t be complicit in this. I can’t lie to his face. I can’t tell him that he’s going to be okay while I know that I’m sending him out there to exterminate countless more people. I’m sorry, I just can’t.”

“I understand, William,” said Beatrice as the old scientist walked past her. “There’s always plan b.”

“And what’s plan b?” asked William.

She didn’t answer.

He turned in time to see the flash of a blade in her hand.

Two years after the apocalypse

Billy is in his cell, feigning that his back injury is worse than it actually is.

“Just put me up against the wall,” said Billy, his cheeks wet with tears as he shivered on the concrete floor. “Please. My back is broken. My fucking back is broken! Please help me.”

“Christ’s sake,” said the soldier in the room. “You whiny little fuck, shut the hell up.”

Billy tried to pull himself to the wall, the course concrete floor scraping his nude body. He cried out in pain as his legs slid uselessly behind him. “Please just help me get to the wall and I’ll stop. I promise. Just please help me. It hurts so bad.”

“Fine.” The soldier was sick of listening to the boy cry. Billy was broken, shivering and pathetic, sobbing as he clawed at the floor, blood dripping from the wounds on his face that were starting to turn black as the bruises showed.
The heap of sniveling flesh was far from a threat. “But you’d better shut the fuck up or I’m going to get some duct tape to slap over your mouth.”

“I promise I won’t bug you anymore,” said Billy as the soldier stood over him.

Dean knelt and lifted Billy to a seated position. Then he wrapped his arms around his chest and started to drag him backward.

Billy waited until he felt his back on the wall, and then attacked. He gripped the soldier’s shirt and pulled him down with his left hand as he swung with his right. Dean was surprised, but still able to move his head to the side. Billy’s fist struck the soldier’s cheek, but the brunt
of the punch flew wildly.

“You mother fucker
,” said Dean as he tried to pull away from Billy’s grip.

Billy stood up, despite how bad his back hurt. He put his hand on the back of Dean’s head and then started to bash his forehead into the soldier’s nose.

“Fucker!” Dean sputtered and pushed, but Billy’s vicious assault wasn’t meant to harm, it was meant to kill.

Billy wasn’t trying to subdue the soldier, and Dean was unprepared to defend himself against such an all-out assault. Billy’s hands slipped on Dean’s short haircut, slickened by sweat, grime, and blood. The soldier didn’t pass out, but he was dazed by Billy’s attack.

Billy didn’t stop. He lost count of how many times he slammed his forehead into the soldier’s face, but it was well over ten. He was dizzy, his eyes sparkling with white stars as an intense headache swelled in his head. Dean was still standing, but his face was a mess of dark red blood, his nose bent to the side and his bottom lip split as if he’d fallen face-first, five stories to a concrete sidewalk.

“Is my whining upsetting you now?” asked Billy. He saw the soldier’s hand wearily gripping the pistol at his side. Billy pushed the dazed man’s hand away from the hilt and took the gun out himself. He put the barrel to the soldier’s head as Dean started to cry.

“No,” said Dean as he wavered where he stood. It was like looking at a boxer after the tenth round of a vicious beating, wandering the ring in search of his corner after the bell had rung, all senses lost. He put his hands up in surrender. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m not.” Billy put his
left hand beside the barrel of the gun to protect himself from the splash of blood and brains as he pulled the trigger.

When Dean fell, Billy staggered back to the wall. He slumped to the ground with the pistol in front of him, his arms resting on his knees. His back was throbbing, as was his head, but none of the physical pain could outdo the sense of horror that seeped in as he stared at the carcass across the room.

Only a couple years earlier, Billy had been forced to choke a soldier to death. He recalled the moment when that boy’s eyes had burst crimson, bulging from his head as he tried to breathe. Billy remembered the sense of remorse, and the darkness that befell him when that soldier died. He felt none of it now, which was even worse.

Billy
was nude, beaten, and dripping a mix of blood and sweat on the floor as he sat against the corner of the cell. He wasn’t dead, but he might as well have been. If he had a soul, it felt like it chose this moment to drift away. He was every bit as much a monster as the zombies that roamed the world.

Billy looked at the camera that was set on a small table near the entrance of the room. It reminded him of the simple camera that he’d found on the hanging zombie in the mall two years ago, but this one had a screen on the front, under the lens. He’d heard Dean speaking to someone through the device a few moments earlier, a commander of some sort that had told the soldier to try and break Billy’s back.