Zombies! (Episode 9): The Changing of the Guard (4 page)

Naughton nodded. "Ralph Kraemer."

"Is he a jerk?"

"Not really. He's a bigshot. He's got military experience, a medical degree, certification in all sorts of technology. He's a smart guy who knows he's smart. This afternoon, I have to take him over to
Arthur Conroy
to meet Denise."

Heron laughed. "That ought to be fun."

Naughton dismissed it. He already knew how she would react to this very smart, very assertive, very powerful man. She would be intimidated by him and her defense mechanisms would kick in.

"He was very unhappy about the
ZRA
operation," Naughton added, referring to very incident about which Heron had just been reading. "Too many deaths. He spent a long time on Spinelli's failure. He asked about disciplinary action."

"For Spinelli?" Heron laughed, feeling guilty about making light of the man's fate. They'd found Spinelli as soon as the area had been cleared. They'd identified him two days later.

Naughton nodded. "He didn't have the list of the dead. He wanted to go after Smith, too."

This time, Heron didn't laugh. There was a flash of anger on his face. "He should have been at the memorial."

There had been a memorial for the men, women, and children who had died that morning. Though every name had been read, Greg Smith's had been at the top. He'd been hailed as a hero, and deservedly so. Twenty people survived that afternoon because of his leadership. Lewinski had spoken at the memorial and cried during his speech. Heron had approached Smith's family and offered his condolences. Hank Smith, Greg's father, had been cordial and shaken his hand. But Deirdre Smith had been more angry than sad. When Heron looked into her eyes, he saw blame. For the first time, he understood what Eileen Stemmy, his partner's wife, had said to him when she'd cut him out of her life.

I wish every day that it had been you instead of him.

He was beginning to wish that himself.

"Have you read Rollins' report?" Heron asked as Naughton finally took a seat on the couch next to the door.

"I read them all," Naughton answered.

"I was just going through them but Rollins' was the one that stuck out."

"How so?"

"Well, for one, he discusses the tactical maneuvering of the zombies."

Naughton didn't answer, preferring to see where Heron was going rather than jumping to conclusions.

"He uses the word
ambush
several times."

"Is that it?"

"No," Heron answered. "The language throughout the report implies a coordinated offensive against Rollins and his squad."

"Don't you think you're writing too much into it?" Naughton was being very careful to remain neutral. Heron had become obsessed with a particular zombie. He'd had her locked up in the basement. It had been the first step to what Naughton thought of as his mini nervous breakdown. Naughton had ordered him to take a few days off, a vacation which had gotten cut short by the events one week before. On Heron's first day back at headquarters, he'd gone down to the basement to discover that both Linda and the cage in which she had been held were gone. He didn't say anything to anyone, didn't mention it at all. Naughton suspected that Heron had just gone down to make sure she was gone. If she'd still been there, he might not have been able to resist going down there again and again. Still, the captain could never tell whether his actions had engendered gratitude or resentment. As a result, anytime Heron implied that the zombies might have some sort of intelligence, he was wary.

Heron shrugged his shoulders. "Maybe. Rollins is a veteran with a fair amount of experience in hazardous duty. He served a tour in Afghanistan before giving up the military and joining the force. I don't think he'd use a word like
ambush
unless he meant it."

Naughton didn't answer for a time, just drumming his fingers on the desktop. Finally, he said, "These army guys have a language all their own, you know."

Heron considered the point of view, dismissed it. "Come on, Lance. We've each read thousands of these reports. They're dry documents that some sleepy cop assembles just as quickly as he possibly can."

"But not this one."

"Not this one. I think what's written down trumps whatever military jargon he might normally use."

"Paper beats rock," Naughton mused.

"Something like that," Heron agreed.

Naughton took a deep, considerate breath and then picked up Heron's phone. He dialed an extension and waited. Finally, "Nancy, it's Captain Naughton, how are you? Oh. Christmas
and
New Years? Sorry to hear that. No, I didn't work either day. Well, maybe we can make it up to on Valentine's Day." Pause. "Oh. Sorry to hear that."

Heron shook his head.

"Anyway," Naughton continued. "I was wondering if you could send someone to track down Rollins for me. That's right. Have him come to Lieutenant Heron's office. Thanks very much, Nancy."

He hung up the phone and looked up at Heron. They both laughed.

For a short time, they made small talk, catching up on things that seemed to have drifted away over the past few months. Naughton asked about Alicia and Mellie. He hadn't seen them in a long time. Heron asked about Naughton's relationship with Luco. Naughton was reluctant to open up but that, in and of itself spoke volumes. Heron had known Lance Naughton for a long time and had never seen him with the same woman twice. That he had devoted so much time to Denise Luco meant that he was digging deeper than ever before. What he hoped to find, Heron couldn't know. As far as he was concerned, all there was to that woman was on her jagged surface.

Soon, Rollins appeared at the door and Heron waved him in. He was decked out in full zombie gear. He'd probably been running maneuvers in the basement.

"Close the door, please, Rollins," Heron said. "We just want to ask you about your report."

Rollins, looking perplexed, closed the door and stood at ease in front of it. "Was there a problem with it?"

"We're having a disagreement," Heron said, building up to the point.

Naughton didn't have the time or the patience. "Rollins, did you mean to imply that you were attacked by an organized force?"

Rollins looked from captain to lieutenant and back again, wondering which one of them had drawn that conclusion. Then he grinned. "Yes, sir. I thought it was pretty clear. You mean you haven't been pursuing that, sir?"

Naughton looked at Heron, who flashed an
I told you so
look at him.

At that point, Rollins knew which of them believed what and he was suddenly overcome with the need to explain himself. "Sir, you weren't there. Our intelligence reported the place empty and we still went in expecting trouble. When it comes to zombies, you always expect trouble. We encountered a line of them ahead of us on the second level. We weren't really prepared for a conflict so I was going to order a retreat."

"If you were retreating, how did they get around you?" Heron asked.

"They didn't get around us, sir," Rollins responded. Heron hated being called
sir
. He'd never served in the military and didn't have the stomach for the protocol. "The ones behind us came out of nowhere."

"How does a line of zombies get behind trained police officers?"

Rollins put up a finger because he had the answer to that one. "Like I said, they didn't go around us. It was a separate group. We swept the first level but we didn't post guards on the access stairways. They lead up into the building."

"Are you implying that they were in the building the whole time?"

Rollins shrugged. "The building checked out as empty also. There were a few tenants clinging to their office leases but no one was actually conducting business there."

"You should have had that building checked," Heron said to Naughton.

Naughton didn't answer.

"It wouldn't matter," Rollins said. "They had less than five minutes to assemble and march down to the second level. Otherwise, they might have come out of the stairwell on the second level but that would mean they had about two minutes. You and I have seen a lot of zombies, including a couple that seem healthier than the rest. But a group of the best of them couldn't assemble themselves into a coherent unit in under five minutes, let alone two."

"So what are you suggesting, Rollins?" Naughton asked.

"I thought it was pretty obvious, sir." The only thing that was obvious was that Rollins was enjoying his knowledge of something that was still unclear to his superiors. "If you wanted to build a quick army of brainless, fearless recruits, what would you do?"

Now when Naughton looked at Heron, they shared a similar look of shock. It wasn't so much that the idea was so original, it was that they couldn't fathom how it had gotten by them. It was the most disgusting and dangerous thing that Anthony Heron had ever considered, but it made so much sense. "Who would do that, though?" he blurted.

Rollins shrugged. "It doesn't really matter. Terrorists probably. I saw enough of those guys in Afghanistan to know what they're about. They'll strap bombs to themselves and to children. They're not worried about infection or even the end of the world. Why should they care when they've got a hundred virgins waiting for them in Valhalla or wherever?"

"What's your schedule today, Rollins?" Heron asked.

"Same as every day. Maneuvers and calls."

Heron nodded. "Get someone to take your place in the unit and meet me downstairs in half an hour."

Nodding, Rollins left the office.

"What do you have planned?" Naughton asked.

"It's been a long time since I had the chance to do any honest to God detective work," Heron answered.

The captain approved. "What do you want me to tell our friend from Homeland Security?"

"Tell him everything, I suppose. Isn't he our new boss?"

"Not yet. But I'm not sure going off on an independent investigation won't just give him an excuse to nail us to the wall."

Heron dismissed him. "He's probably going to do that anyway. All of this inspection and interview nonsense is just a formality. I'm looking forward to going back to homicide."

A small grin creased the captain's face. It had been a long time since he'd seen a confident Anthony Heron. He'd missed that man. Struggling his way out of the couch, he opened the door, said his
so long
, and went about the rest of his business.

Heron lingered a moment, pleased with his new
old
demeanor. It felt good to feel good. And, though four to six months down the road, he would be dead of the cancer inside of him, today he was very much alive.

***

At the scene of Rollins' ambush, there was police tape everywhere. The shutters had been brought down to keep anyone from entering the parking garage again. The building above it was sealed. The Starbucks on the corner, though, had reopened.

When Heron and Rollins pulled up, Heron driving with his arm out the open window and a lit cigarette in his hand, there was no one to be seen on the streets. Rollins, too, was smoking, but he tossed his away as soon as they got out of the car. Heron lingered a bit and took two more satisfying drags. While he did so, Rollins pulled the padlocks off of the shutters and raised them up. They were police padlocks and the keys were available to investigating officers. Heron had established himself and Rollins as the investigating officers.

It was dark inside and the two men paused. Rollins was in a plain uniform and thinking he should get his gear. Heron's hesitation lasted only a moment before he marched forward, switching on a high beam light as he walked. Rollins fell in behind him. There was no power so they would be descending into pitch darkness. Heron wasn't worried. The place had been cleaned and sealed by experts with the department. It was checked daily for signs of intrusion.

"What exactly are we looking for?" Rollins asked as they cleared level one and headed down.

Heron shrugged. He didn't really know. He knew that the end result was supposed to lead him to confirm or discount the alleged zombie army. But he didn't know what form that evidence might take.

Even with only the two flashlights, he could see the blood that had been spilled on the second level. The police had fired thousands of rounds in fighting off the zombies. The bodies had been removed but the place still stank. Heron began a circuit of the area, his light trained on the walls and the floor. Rollins followed behind him, lending his light as support when asked but mostly shining it into the darkness. Once, Heron told him to calm down, but Heron hadn't been the one trapped down there a week before. Rollins had been seconds from suicide when Henry had cut through the rear attack and rescued him. The memory was too fresh and even a tough son of a bitch like Rollins was susceptible to its nightmare effects.

There was nothing on the second level that provided any useful clues. Heron headed down to the third level but it was more of the same. There was only a little bit of gore, whatever had dripped off of the zombies as they'd made their way upward. But still no clues.

"What happened to the ones that survived?" Heron asked. "Were they taken to
Arthur Conroy
?"