This Plague of Days, Season Two (The Zombie Apocalypse Serial) (9 page)

“I’m Captain Ogilvy.”

“I’m Captain Ogilvy who?” Jaimie said.

Anna giggled, though Jaimie was almost sure she wasn’t supposed to laugh until after the man replied. Memorizing his dictionary was easy. The allure of knock-knock jokes remained a mystery.

Once again, Captain Ogilvy seemed at a loss. He consulted his clipboard. “I’m to retrieve James A. Spencer.”

Jack’s eyes narrowed. “Retrieve?”

“We need to question him.”

“My brother’s not a great conversationalist,” Anna said.
 

Ogilvy frowned. “He talked just now.”

“You might not get anything more from him for weeks. He’s more of a peripheral vision type of guy,” Theo said.

“I’m his mother. Who is ‘we’?”

“Dr. Daniel Merritt of the Center for Disease Control. He says we need to see the boy right away.”

Jaimie was perplexed by the use of the plural pronoun. We? Was Dr. Merritt royalty?

Theo, sitting cross-legged next to his son, leaned closer. “Oh, this should be good. Beware idiots with clipboards.”

But Jaimie was excited. He’d never met a king.

Y
OU
MIGHT
HAVE
LIVED
,
HAD
YOU
FLED

A
fter caring for Dayo, Aasa and Aastha for a day, the
Ciara
towed the police launch close to Dungarvan. They left the refugees with instructions to wait for a helicopter to evacuate them.
 

“Are you sure they’ll come for us?” Dayo asked.

The doctor shrugged, trying to look casual. “I made it clear to them. If we don’t get transport, they can sail all they like but they’ll never be safe landing anywhere.”

“Meaning we’re not safe now,” Desi added as he moored the launch on Davitt’s Quay. “C’mon. You’ll be guests at my place.”

“What about all the stuff you stocked up on for the voyage?” the doctor asked.

“That’s still Plan B,” Desi said, busying himself with the engine. He removed the distributor cap and held it up, smiling. “No one will take my launch.”

Sinjin-Smythe looked worried. “You don’t think they’ll send a helicopter, do you?”

“You said they would.”

“I said the skipper of the
Ciara
said they would.”

“Are you a big deal or not?”

“I’m a big deal.”

“Then help is on the way.” Desi looked to Dayo and offered an assured smile. “If we have to escape without a friendly helicopter, we’ll find a good-sized sailboat.”

“McInerney was the sailor,” Aadi said. “We don’t know anything about jibs and yardarms and…I’m out of words I got from
Pirates of the Caribbean
.”

“Then when we find a sailboat, we better recruit its crew to the cause,” Desi said.

“We’ll be the pirates!” Aasa said.

The adults looked to each other, uneasy.

“Thank you for putting us up, Desi,” Aadi said, “but will you have room for all of us?”

“It will be cozy and there aren’t enough beds, but someone will have to be awake all the time, in any case. Somewhere out there, there’s a zombie horde heading our way.” When he realized he’d spoken loud enough for the little girls to hear, he added, “Now let’s grab some of this stolen pirate booty. I’m sure your da got some sweets for his pirate princesses!”

“Arrr,” Aadi replied.

“Aye!” said Dayo.

The girls laughed, but on the walk back to the village, Aastha asked Aasa what a “horde” was.

The seven-year-old looked back at her sister primly. “A horde is a bad lady with too many boyfriends.”

* * *
 

The narrow little house was cramped. Aasa said Desi’s house reminded her of a house from fairy tales. Dayo and Aadi used sheets, pillows and chairs to make a fort for Aasa and Aastha under the dining room table. Before long, the little girls fell asleep.
 

The adults gathered in the kitchen around a wood stove in candlelight. The power was still on, but the policeman insisted his guests refrain from turning on any light that might be seen from the street. Desi cooked canned beans in a big pot. He had no milk but offered a choice of black coffee, tea or Harp Lager. Everyone opted for the beer.

“I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, Desi, but we don’t all have to be in your house,” Aadi said. “In fact, with the sudden devastation, technically we’re all millionaires now.”

“Millionaires without wi-fi.” Sinjin-Smythe said it so miserably, everyone chuckled.

“No, seriously!” Aadi said. “Think about it. We survived the first wave of the plague — ”

“Which, speaking as the pessimistic virologist, could still kill us.”

“Please don’t interrupt Aadi’s happy flow, doctor,” Dayo said. “I want to hear how, despite appearances, we’ve really got it made.”

Aadi seemed undeterred. “People have become animals. They’re cannibals but they’re sick, right? They have to die off sometime. How many died from the original virus, doctor?”

“Sixty percent killed by Sutr-X, judging by last reports.”

“And Sutr-Z?”

“No idea.”

“And what determines whether the cannibals leave you alive to spread the virus?” Desi asked. “I’ve always wondered that. In the movies, some people get eaten altogether and others go on to spread the virus.”

Aadi brightened. “You know what always bothered me about those movies where the dead rise from the grave? You get crowds of zombies, but they’re never in the suits and dresses people are really buried in. When zombies rise, it should be black tie all the way.”

“This isn’t a movie,” Sinjin-Smythe said irritably. “We don’t know how this works. Maybe it’s because some get it through an air-born vector and others get it through a bite from the infected. If that’s the case, we’re probably all screwed.”

Everyone went quiet while Desi handed each of them a bowl and spoon and offered a ladle to help themselves.

It was Dayo who broke the gloom that had dropped over them like a cold, wet blanket. “I have an idea. The infected become animals again, but we’ve been human a long time. Have you guys ever heard of the blue-ringed octopus?”

They all shook their heads.

“My father was killed by a blue-ringed octopus while he was on a job in Australia. He worked for an oil company. One day he went to a beach. If you ever saw a blue-ringed octopus, you’d think it was a cute little thing. It bites humans sometimes. My father waded into the ocean waves, enjoying a sunny day off. The water wasn’t even past his knees, but he must have happened to tread on one of those tiny monsters. He probably didn’t even feel the bite. His friends thought it was a heart attack at first. The doctors figured out what killed him later. It’s a bad way to die. The little bugger’s bite is 10,000 times more deadly than cyanide. Once poisoned, you know you’re dying, but you’re paralyzed. You can’t tell anyone your last words.”

“You never told me that,” Aadi said.

“It’s how I ended up here. My mother got insurance money from the company. It wasn’t much, but it was enough for us to move from Kenya to London and start over. And here we are.”

Sinjin-Smythe frowned. “I missed something. What’s your infection theory, Dayo?”

“All I know about infection comes from zombie movies, doctor, but I know about dangerous animals. The people who are infected with Sutr-Z have become cannibals. It’s wretched and disgusting, but perhaps it’s made worse because not long ago they were somebody’s innocent brothers, mothers, sisters and sons. They have animal instincts. You saw them. They hunt in packs. They act like rabid wolves. But they
don’t
have long teeth or claws. They have fingernails and in many cases, artificial teeth. Some of those old men zombies can’t run and if they caught you, they might hurt you, but they can’t even take a bite out of an apple.”

Desi nodded. “I see what you’re saying. These humans may be cannibals but they aren’t efficient killers, like a lioness bringing down an antelope, going for the neck.”

“Or an octopus perfectly engineered to kill,” Dayo said. “When they hunt in packs, they’re very dangerous. Individually, they’re still dangerous. But from what I saw, I think the virus spread so well in London because the infected bite plenty but they don’t eat the whole body like most animals would.”

 
“I’ve seen it at closing time over and over,” Desi said. “One man will hit another over the head and he’s surprised when the other fellow doesn’t collapse like on TV.”
 

“I saw it up close in London,” Aadi said. “They eat like they’re furious about it.”

“They’re hungry but they aren’t built for eating like a lioness. A bunch of ’em are accountants, not predators,” Dayo said. “Until lately, all their meat has arrived on a plate and nobody wanted to see the butcher at his job. The infected take a bite and move on to the next easy opportunity until they can get a whole meal. Unfortunately, like in the movies, one bite is all it takes to kill what we are. One way or another, as you say, doctor, we’re screwed.”

“But they work together. How do you explain that?”

Dayo shrugged. “Maybe they want fresh, unsullied meat. Maybe they somehow recognize their own kind, by smell or something, and a pack instinct kicks in. I’m guessing, but it would explain how things went so bad so quickly in London.”

Sinjin-Smythe stared at her, as if really noticing her for the first time. His beans cooled in his bowl, ignored. “Dayo, that’s…genius.”

Dayo shrugged. “Something you said made me think of it. Back on the
Shepherd of Myddvai,
Aadi told you he was sure the zombies were out to eat our brains. Do you remember what you said?”

“That it was unlikely.”

“Yes. I was relieved for a moment. Then you said the zombie movies got it all wrong.”

“Yes. The vault of the skull is far too strong to be cracked open with bare hands.”

Aadi sagged in his chair. “I felt like a lucky millionaire for a few minutes. I don’t fancy getting killed slowly because the zombies are somewhat inept.”

Desi went for another helping of beans. “Your theory of the case fits with an old Irish curse, Dayo. ‘May the devil cut the head off you and make a day’s work of your neck!’”

C
REATURES
OF
OLD
RETURN
WITH
A
VENGEANCE

T
o get to Dr. Merritt’s office, the Spencers followed Captain Ogilvy, picking their way through acres of refugee tents. Among the tents, it was quiet. Many of the camp’s oldest and youngest residents stayed in their tents out of the sun. They looked bone tired from their journey. Or perhaps the look in their empty stares was loss, boredom and hopelessness. There seemed little to do but wait, but wait for what?

Beyond the ring of tents, young people milled about, speaking quietly. Somewhere beyond the walls of bodies, an old woman sang
America the Beautiful
. Her worn voice cracked on the high notes. As the Spencers moved on, the ghostly voice followed them, discordant, sad and ironic. Despite the hum of the multitudes, not one voice was raised in joy or laughter.

The mess tent was open and the line of hungry people stretched down the track where race cars once roared. Children’s cries echoed off the walls. Greasy food smells mixed with the stench of feces and burning jet fuel.

Jaimie could take no more. The noise, sights and smells were an assault he could feel like thousands of sharp-footed spiders crawling across every inch of his skin. Jaimie crouched, covered his ears and squeezed his eyes tight.

Anna bent to pull him up. “You can’t stay here, Ears. You can’t wait it out until they all go away. They aren’t going anywhere.
You
have to move.” She guided him forward, trying to avoid bodily contact in the crush of people.
 

“It’s going to be okay, Jaimie,” Theo said. “Keep moving.”

“How much farther, Mr. Ogilvy?” Jack asked.

“
Captain
Ogilvy. We’re close. Tower Terrace Suites, just ahead. Once we get to the edge along the fence, the way opens up. Few people want to do the Bandit Tour.”
 

Much of the fencing had been torn down to allow for easy movement from the center of the encampment to seating in the stands. However, the fence posts remained.

From each post, a corpse hung by the neck. Each purple face was contorted with pain, its tongue out and askew. Most of the hanged were men, though a few were females. All were naked and each had a wound in their side. Murders of crows alit on the dead, pulling and tearing flesh with sharp beaks, beginning with the wound in the torso and with the eyes.

On each fence post below each body, a sign was painted in blood: Bandit; Sedition; Rapist; Prostitute; Druggie; Fear monger.

“Inevitably reminds one of Roman crucifixions, doesn’t it?” Theo said, shuddering.
 

“On Jesus’s cross the sign read ‘King of the Jews,’” Jack said. “In university, I learned that my small town preacher got it wrong. The thieves depicted in the crucifixion story were not thieves. The proper translation is ‘bandit’, but the Romans reserved crucifixion for sedition. The so-called thieves on either side of Jesus were rebels.”

Jaimie squinted up at the merciless black birds. His mind did not turn to Bible passages. The words
business as usual
came to mind first. Then ravens. Then Poe. Then the delightful word
quoth
. He whispered, “Nevermore Evermore.” Only Theo and Anna heard him. Only his father understood.

* * *

Captain Ogilvy ushered the Spencers past two checkpoints and showed them the way to Dr. Merritt’s office. He unlocked the door and pointed them in but did not join them. “He’ll be here soon. He’s a busy man, so be sure not to take any more of his time than he needs. When he’s done with you, come back downstairs to the last checkpoint and one of the guards will show you back to the pit.”

“You mean our tent?” Jack asked.