Thelonious had gathered his gear. He opened the door to rendezvous with Basie and Dizzy, and half expected to see one of the two standing in the door way, waiting for him. Instead, it was Coltrane.
“Boss, why’d you choose to go out? Why’d you decide to keep me here?”
“I thought I would like some field time. Why do you ask?”
“I just wondered,” the big man scratched his forehead. “why you’re keeping me here to babysit while you’re going in the field?” Coltrane seemed to ponder his words as if choosing them carefully. “Shouldn’t you be here, in case Coulter or Cortez needs something?”
“What? You afraid I’m going to get to have more fun than you?” Thelonious inwardly kicked himself. He should have seen this coming. Coltrane was all about the flash. He wanted action. Tough cookies... you do what you’re told. He shook his head. “What’s the deal, man?”
“The deal is you’ve got me sitting here with Armstrong and Parker... and King... wherever the Hell he is... Guard duty? That’s a cakewalk. Have I given you reason to doubt my abilities? Is this about Barbados? ‘Cause Barbados was messed up.... that wasn’t my fault. We walked into a pressure cooker and the client blew the deal. You know that!”
“This has nothing to do with Barbados! This is about me picking you to do a job I know you can do well. It’s about you and your team keeping things secure. It’s about me, Basie, and Dizzy playing fast and loose. I’ll fill you in if you miss anything important. You’d better do the same... and don’t even get me started about King.”
“What? What? Spill man... are we already down one?”
Thelonious pulled the big man into his room and shut the door. He scanned the walls to see if there’s any place he might have missed when scanning for bugs. “I don’t know. I don’t know and I don’t like it. Coulter asked to use one of ours for something. I haven’t seen King since. I felt bad giving the kid the job, but he’s the newest and that’s what Coulter wanted.”
“You’re hanging us out to dry! You don’t give a rat’s ass what happens to us! What happens when he asks for another of us? You going to just hand us over one by one... being lab rats... or cannon fodder... or … I bet he fed King to one of his zombies... that patient zero...”
“I do not make a practice of sacrificing team members. I’m not going to let it go down like that... get a grip!”
“He doesn’t need us for the long term. He only needs tests and volunteers.... You heard him... He’s going to make an undead army... You’d better get in close and get the 411. That Cortez is going to hang you out to dry... He’s the only living muscle this doc needs. You need to bump him off and get yourself in there... then you call the shots on what happens to your team.”
“I hardly think that’ll help. Coulter is going to do what Coulter wants to do... Let me get a handle on the situation and I’ll get back to you...”
“Hell, no! You babysit the compound and you get control here!” Coltrane was now an inch from Thelonious’ nose. Thelonious was sure that his own face was more flushed than that of Coltrane’s, however. The one thing that pissed him off more than anything is when people get in his face.
Thelonious held his position and narrowed his eyes. He summoned up the most even but threatening tone he could muster. “Coltrane, I’m only going to say this once. Get your butt out there, get the team out there, secure the perimeter, and keep me advised of the situation. Do nothing more!”
“Yeah... and if Doctor Cole-tare asks for another team member for special assignment... who do I give him? You?” Coltrane spun on his heal and flipped open the door. He charged out of the room. Thelonious tried not to smile at the way Coltrane had mocked the Sweathogs from Welcome Back, Kotter when he said Coulter’s name.
Thelonious stared at the open door as he heard Coltrane bellow “Armstrong! Parker! Get out here... and has anyone seen King?”
Thelonious sighed and checked the holster that his gun hand had been resting on for most of that conversation. He didn’t think Coltrane was going to throw down, but the big man was intimidating when he was riled. Thelonious wasn’t going to take any chances and hated being intimidated.
Basie stepped into his line of sight. “Boss... I... you both were yelling.”
Thelonious nodded and stepped out into the hall. He noted Dizzy was leaning up against the wall with his feet stretched out into the hallway and his hands behind his head, staring at the ceiling like a prep school boy who’s up to know good. He looked back at Basie. “It’ll work itself out”
“Ooorrrr?” Dizzy rolled his head to the side and turned his wide, insane eyes toward him. His brown bangs toppled into his eyes, and yet he didn’t blink.
“Or I’ll work it out.”
“What about King?” Basie’s voice was subdued as she chewed the tip of her finger... Subdued maybe because it was six in the morning. Maybe because most people don’t like to hear the bosses argue. Maybe because he knew Basie had taken the kid under her wing.
“You two meet me at the truck. I’ve got to go speak to Cortez... or Coulter... or maybe both.”
Dizzy pushed off the wall and held out his hand and bent his body in a slight bow in an ‘after you gesture’ to escort Basie down the hall. Basie chewed her finger for a moment more and blinked her doe-like brown eyes, not at all resembling the hard line cat burglar and hit woman she was, but more like the little girl who’s nervous because her cat got out and hasn’t come home yet. Thelonious watched as she turned and sauntered down the hall in front of Dizzy, who fell in step a moment later, taking every effort to watch Basie’s hips and how her tight black denim jeans left nothing to the imagination. Thelonious shared the obsession of her hips with Dizzy until the two of them had cleared the corner. Then he swallowed.
He pulled his room door shut and made his way down the hall to look for Cortez or Coulter. He preferred running into Cortez, but he could easily get what he needed from Coulter. Cortez would just be more pleasant, and it would give him a chance to feel the guy out... Coulter... well, he gave him the willies...
Finally, he turned into the lab, hoping to ask the little geek where either were, and stopped short when he heard conversation.
“Show him, Mr. Roberts.” It was Coulter’s voice. Thelonious moved behind some shelves to where he could watch the whole thing without invading in the conversation.
“Yes, sir.” Roberts moved over and picked up a touch pad. He looked around and slid his fingers on the board, flipping the contents of the screen onto one of the clear wall displays. “This is King’s vitals. This is a register of his brain activity. This is tracking all bodily functions, which are significantly different than a human’s now. See, the blood flow is slowed. The heart rate is soft and barely noticeable. It will increase when we feed him brains...” Roberts reached for a bowl.
“Later... get to the good stuff.” Coulter snapped and slapped the geek’s hand just short of the bowl..
“Ok... well, if I click here...” Roberts brushed something on the tablet and a window expanded on the view screen. “I can now access visual and auditory memory.”
An innocent scene from the eyes of a small kid displayed in the window. The child was running toward a regal African American woman with long braids in a yellow polyester jumpsuit. The woman’s red lips smiled as little hands reached toward her. She picked him up and swung him around slowly, displaying the inner city playground where they were and the beautiful sunny day when this occurred. A child’s giggle echoed.
“Alright... this is sappy!” Coulter growled. The screen snapped shut as Roberts slid his hand across the tablet once more.
“So you can see his vitals, and his memories?” Cortez sneered. “What about your stage 3?”
“Stage 2! It’s called stage 2! Show him stage 2!”
“Ok, sir... but I...”
“Show him!” Coulter’s face grimaced monstrously. Cortez made his decision right then and there that there was no doubt he was bailing on the insane doctor... after he decommissioned him, for the good of humanity. Insane and evil are a devastating combination.
“Mr. King, get up and take a step forward.” Robert’s voice broke into Cortez’s thoughts.
King looked around and then sat up, almost robotically. He dropped his from the reclining chair and stepped away from the table. His face was grey and lifeless. His expression were blank, though tinged with sadness. Thelonious wrinkled his brow. His worst fears were confirmed. He had handed the kid over and cost him his life. King took a step towards where Thelonious was hiding, forcing him to duck back under cover behind a set of filing cabinets.
Coulter raised his hand. “Mr. King, stop there. Concentrate on standing there, please. If you want your dinner, you’ll not move. No matter what, Mr. King, you need to remain in that spot, got it?”
“Yes, sir.” King’s voice was lifeless. Thelonious wasn’t certain if it was because of all of the experimentation he had been through or because the poor kid was dead.
“Ok, Roberts, make him move.”
Roberts moved his hand across the tablet once more. He tapped at a couple buttons. “I’ve instructed him as follows.” He showed the screen to Coulter. Coulter nodded and pointed towards Cortez. Roberts moved the tablet so Cortez could see the planned choreograph for the kid. Cortez nodded grimly.
King stood there for a minute. His eyes widened. Strain built up in his face. “I have to move.” His hand started trembling. “I have to move.”
The three men merely watched as King raised a shaky foot and stepped to the side. He then spun on his heel and faced the three men. Finally, with much resistance, King raised his hand in a military salute. “There! There! He did it, every bit I programmed in.”
“Ok... so he can be on Broadway, but I don’t see your military,” Cortez tightened his cheeks, “I don’t see your phase 3 happening with a Zombie Special Forces on Parade.”
“Don’t mock me, Cortez. I’m sure King is hungry.” Coulter snapped the tablet away from Roberts and tapped a few times.
Suddenly and in one fluid moment, King had pulled a gun from his holster and had it aimed directly at Cortez’s head. “Woah... wha-?” He looked back at Coulter and then at his hand. “What’s going on? Why can’t I...”
“Cool it, kiddo. I”m in control now...” Coulter scowled at King. He then nodded to Cortez. “Get Phase 2 yet?”
“Impressive.” Cortez exhaled. “Call him off.” He waited until King had lowered his gun. Thelonious was almost certain he saw Cortez glance past him. “So you have some zombie warriors that you can control... Are you certain they can’t break free? I mean... zombie uprising is inevitable, right?”
Thelonious was wondering the same thing. The thought occurred that if he could find out what the control mechanism is, he could free King. He may be a zombie, but the kid was still in there. Maybe Cortez was working the same angle.
“Check this out...” Coulter chuckled. “If any of these buggers think they can break free from their programming...” Coulter pointed at the tablet and waved his fingers. He then tapped twice.
King’s eyes grew wide and bulged. He dropped the gun and reached for his chest, clutching right above his heart. Coulter cackled. “Yep, I installed a pacemaker to his heart... I read in a Science Journal how pacemakers are susceptible to certain frequencies and how hackers have figured out how to scan and break into the code. They can cause the pacemaker to fail, or in this case to activate. At a touch of a button, the rebellion is quashed.” As Coulter spoke, King dropped to his knees. He emitted a muffled cry as all of his muscles seized up and he fell over.
Thelonious had gripped the cabinet hard. He held his breath and recited mentally that the kid was already dead. Somehow he knew what was about to be said next.
Coulter tossed the tablet to Roberts and clapped his hands once extremely loud. “Excellent work, boy!”
“You killed him? We spent all of this time on this and you just killed him? You could have just said what was going to happen... now we have to make more...” Robert’s was almost squeaking... like the kid who just watched a bully break his toy.
“He’s not really dead.” Cortez shook his head. “He’s undead... He’ll be up the minute you let the pacemaker go.”
“True... but I can keep it off as long as I want... And then do this.” Coulter picked up the gun from the floor where it fell and fired directly at his head. Roberts jumped at the sound of the bullet firing. “That’s if they break free from the nanobot control, of course. Or I just keep them off until I want them on again.”
“You could have just said that, sir... and again... we’d have...” Robert’s voice trailed as he saw Coutler glaring at him.
“I can make more... I’m going to make more... many more. And they will follow me!” Coulter cackled again. He looked at Cortez. “Now do you see?”
“So I have to get you more men?” Cortez folded his arms and glared at Coulter.
“Yes... but I’ll start with what we have. While Team Able is guarding here... I’ll recruit. Then when Team Bravo gets back...”
“Can you hold off for a bit?” Cortez shook his head. “I can’t guarantee security if you keep ‘borrowing’ people from their posts.”
Coulter gritted his teeth. “Fine! Tonight... tonight...”
Cortez seemed to regard Coulter for a few moments, and then he turned and strolled away. “Good presentation though. I hope you recorded it. It would be wasteful to use these highly trained men for simple presentations and simply kill them...”
“Yeah... here. We can show this to the clients.” Coulter handed a flash drive to Cortez. “And maybe we should start getting a few untrained guinea pigs.” He looked around. “Where is that girl?”
Robert’s face turned white as he whipped his head to look at Coulter. “Gert? I need her... she’s helping me.”
Cortez called over his shoulder, “Any good commander knows you rule better if you only kill when there’s a point.” He left Roberts and Coulter staring at each other.
Thelonious eased back out of the room and leaned up against the wall. He was on the menu. His whole team was on the menu. Things were going to be touchy. He was going to have to plan while he was making the run and then somehow get the others up to speed on their evacuation plan. He could bail now, but there was a urge, a drive building deep inside him that said he was going to take Coulter down. Yes, he and his team were bad guys, but Coulter... that man was a maniacal evil dictator with delusions of godhood.
A shadow fell over Thelonious. He looked at the source and saw Cortez glaring at him. Thelonious started to say something but Cortez pointed down the hallway. “Walk with me.” Thelonious nodded and walked with Cortez away from the sounds of Coulter bating the nerd about the girl.
Finally, as they reached the garage, Cortez crawled into the driver seat of a crimson Impala and motioned to Thelonious. Thelonious plopped down into the passenger seat and ran his fingers through his hair. “So you going to tell me to mind my manners and not ease-drop or you going to just ice me and get it over with?”
“Neither. I was hoping you were listening. I had seen you when you stumbled in. I wanted you to know what was in store for your team before we spoke. Sorry about the kid.”
“Ever wonder why you take on a job when everything in your gut says it’s a bad call?”
“Yeah,” Cortez pulled out his shades, “I’ve had missions like that.”
“Yeah...” Thelonious looked out the review window. “My team is assembling... we should make this quick.”
Cortez nodded. “Here.” He tossed the packet of papers over. “Everything you need is in the truck right there. Go out to the enclosed address, drop off the introductory package to the client and return. Should be simple...”
Thelonious looked at the legal sized envelope. He cracked the seal and pulled out the paperwork. There was a page of directions, a small envelope that felt like a flashdrive was enclosed, and a few pages of instructions and contact codes. Thumbing through the papers, he considered his next questions. “Is this all you want to say?”
“What do you mean?” He felt Cortez looking at him.
Thelonious mumbled,“This Ming’s a psycho.” Thelonious kept his eyes on the paper, his own words sounding like they came from someone else. “Sorry, don’t know why that came to mind... must have been thinking about the tv from the last hotel I was in... movie channels, you know.”
“Heh... Flash Gordon... Heck of a cheesy movie. I love it when no one in the empire can translate the words ‘ team up’.”
Thelonious smiled. Yes, team up... that’s what he wanted. “Soundtrack is one of the best ever.”
“Queen can do a fine soundtrack. It’s amazing what a group of talented men can do when they work together.”
“Yeah... and Ming really was maniacal... He even turned on his own daughter.” Thelonious slid the papers back into the envelope, hoping that he was reading Cortez correctly. “Sometimes you just have to deal with your father employing a torturer on you to give you an idea of how deep in the shiznit you are.”
“Indeed. Perhaps it will be on the movie listings soon.”
Thelonious opened the car door and started to get out, “Perhaps... and then we can catch this movie sometime... show it to my team?” Things was suddenly thinking things were looking up. All he had to do is get back from this mission as planned, and update Coltrane and the other team, and find out what Cortez’s plan was.
“I’ll check the listings and get back to you.”
----
If there was one thing Leroy Roberts knew, it was that he dearly loved Gertrude. Well, he also knew Calculus, Astrophysics, Computer Engineering, Bio-molecular Chemistry, and many other sciences that had caught his fancy over the years. He had graduated high school at the age of 12. He had received a masters in Biochemistry at the age of 16. He received his PhD in Astrophysics at 21. He had a string of degrees, he had received these degrees from a variety of colleges. His most recent alma mater was Cal Tech. It was his favorite. You could have Yale, Harvard, Princeton, Cambridge, Oxford, and Stanford. Cal Tech was his favorite geek fest.
He had met Gertrude at Stanford while getting his Masters of Computer Engineering. He was 23 at the time. She was 22 and getting a degree in bio-mechanics. She already had her masters in Bio Chem. The two of them had hit it off immediately. Unlike all of the other girls he encountered, she acted like she was not even half as educated as she was. She liked to save her brains for shock value. The minute someone started treating her like she was an idiot, she would snap out a line of dialog fitting of Data or Dougie Houser.
She also liked all of the shows he liked. She knew what a Bantha was. She knew Starbuck was a man in the original series and a girl in 2.0. She knew who Sheldon was. She knew the difference between Golden Age and Silver Age Green Lantern. She was his dream girl.
He had brought her with him when Coulter recruited him. It had been a mistake. It wasn’t a mistake to have her with him always. It was a mistake because it wasn’t until Leroy had arrived at the lab, that he had realized how bad of a job this was. He had put his current degree on hold so he could get some lab time in. She had asked him to get details of the job, but he had laughed it off. One lab job was as good as another, right? It wasn’t a meth lab, so he thought it would be fine... He was wrong.
Now the love of his life was in danger, and he was in it up to his neck. He had to figure a way to get them out of here. He watched Patient Zero on the screen. Poor girl. She had trusted Coulter, and look what it got her. And that poor King. He was the same age as King, so he thought. After watching what happened to King, Leroy was sure he was never going to sleep without setting alarms... and he was going to get him and his girl out of here pronto.
He saw Gert walk down the hall which led to patient Zero carrying a tray with fresh brains. He flipped the switch on the camera, and the screen monitoring patient Zero faded. Pulling his arms back to his chest, he folded them and leaned back in the chair. He now had to decide, did he and Gert escape alone, did he try to figure out if the strike team could get him out, maybe after letting them know what happened to King, or did he see if Cortez could get them out of here? What was the best choice?
----
Tasha stared at the wall. Actually, she was staring at the little red light that glowed from the camera mounted at the joint where the wall met the ceiling. She was certain it was green before, but it was red now. She was a little annoyed that her eyes had been playing tricks on her when it comes to the color change of the little light. It must be a side effect of being dead. She had to admit her vision had been seeing things differently when it came to details and distances. She couldn’t explain how it was different. It was just... funky. She could even see the outline of the camera by the glow from that light. Her vision was much better than she remembered it. It must be a perk from being dead.
Her mother’s words echoed in her head. Coulter was evil. Trust your enemies? It’s odd to think... the whole reason she was here was she was dead. She was having trouble remembering when she was alive. Not that she had forgotten her actual life, but that she was fairly certain she had been so obsessed with this or that... she had never truly just sat back and enjoyed life... living... Not until she was dead. It had occurred to her in the hotel room, after Corner had been so supportive and... protective (before he put down the gun and allowed her to be taken away by the agent). She had offered herself to Corner, despite the girlfriend, because she wanted to just ‘live’ for once. She was dead and trying to live.
Coulter was evil. Trust your enemies? Didn’t that agent say Coulter had planned out her being infected and her death? Had he always been evil? Why had she followed him? Why had she put up with his inattentiveness? She had been used. She was tired of being used. She was tired of men... they were such the let down. Disappointing... Now she was stuck here... and dead...
The door opened and bright light broke into the room. A silhouette stood in the light... Tasha raised her hand to shield her eyes from the bright light. The figure stepped into the room and closed the door. Tasha’s eyes adjusted quickly... quicker than they used to... in fact, maybe it wasn’t that they adjusted but they had not adjusted to the actual light... Did they not have to? Maybe bright light doesn’t damage dead eyes?
She turned her attention back to the figure. It was a woman, with black curly hair, sporting a lab coat over what looked to be stripes of white almost like white duct tape about 6 inches wide that covered necessary parts.
“Interesting outfit...” Tasha mumbled before she realized it.
“Milla Jovovich Appreciation Day. It’s her outfit from the Fifth Element. I was trying to surprise Dr. Roberts.”
“What we do for our men...”
“Indeed.” The dark haired girl crossed her legs and slid down the wall in one motion, ending up on the floor. “How are you doing?”
“I’m dead. Apparently it’s how my ‘boyfriend’ wanted me.”
“Yeah... I know. I wanted you to know that both Leroy and I don’t like this... I’m Gert, by the way. Gertrude Sanktjohanser”
“The camera is watching.”
The girl in the lab coat looked up at the camera nonchalantly, “The little red light means that Leroy has switched it off but it still has power. Green means recording. No light means no power. You might want to remember that... for the future...”
“What are you saying?”
“I brought you some brains... They’re from one of the guards from when Blake and Durden secured this place. Coulter had them killed... This one had a picture of him with his wife and little boy in his pocket. I wish we could have not killed him.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“Leroy and I may be leaving... We might be able to find brains for you... from when schools get donor bodies and from city morgues and stuff... we have lab permits.”
Tasha’s eyes grew wide. “You’re taking me with you?!?”
“I didn’t say that, but if you have other plans-”
“No! Please... I want out... I want out! Please...”
“Eat... get strong... maybe I can visit again. I have to go check on Leroy. He gets himself in trouble sometimes.” Gert got up and walked across the floor. She set a container down cautiously in front of Tasha and then stepped back. “I’ll come back when I can.”
Tasha watched Gert walk back to the door. The bright light filled the room again as she exited. Exhaling for no reason other than to show exasperation, Tasha looked back to the tray. A semi-fresh brain gurgled back at her.
-----
In high school, the boys always wanted the cheerleaders. They wanted the puffy hair and bangles. They wanted Ally Sheedy and Kim Bassenger. It didn’t take long to figure out that high school was going to be more than mousse and studded ankle boots for her. She wasn’t going to bounce all over the football field to get attention. She had a brain. She was going to use it. She was Gertrude Sanktjohanser.
Gert liked researching and experimentation. She was forced to take home economics in high school and nearly exploded the classroom, when she tried to alter a recipe for pumpkin popovers. Then they let her take Chemistry. She loved the sciences. She loved chemistry and physics. When she graduated, though very few knew her name, she graduated salutatorian and announced she was going to get a degree astrophysics with a minor in biochemistry and join NASA.
She attended U of C Berkley. Sororities tried to convince her to pledge. She laughed it off. Then she met her roommate, Janice. Janice was also not of the popular crowd. And yet Janice had figured out adapt modern style and yet not look like she was conforming to social norms. Janice knew how to make her own trends and make it her own; she taught Gert how to be flashy and a trendsetter while not compromising identity. Gert found her roommate refreshing and they began to share secrets and trade tactics.
Gert had a fondness for intelligent men. Her childhood hero was Dougie Houser. She loved Einstein. She owned a copy of every Stephen Hawking thesis. She tested well in classes, though she was no child prodigy, like Leroy Roberts. When she had met Leroy at a seminar, she was inspired to transfer to Cal Tech for her Masters Degree. He was feisty and full of pure Grade A intellegence. She followed him to ComicCon, all of the Scifi Conventions, and, of course, E3. He shared her love of all of the greatest science fiction movies and television shows.
Gert walked down the corridor back to the lab. It was not her idea to come here. Leroy had saw a chance to earn some cash during some downtime. He had thought this would be serious lab work and expand his resume. She had followed because she wanted to make sure that Leroy was safe and compensated well. Leroy was intelligent but he had no business savvy. She had followed and she hated it here. She hated working with this perversion of science. Science is supposed to improve life, not destroy it. She hated Coulter. She hated playing up to him. She would rather be hanging on Leroy. She made sure Leroy knew her true feelings. She didn’t want him getting jealous. She knew she had to keep the peace. She was using everything she had to make sure that Coulter believed she and Leroy were useful and harmless . It was a dirty job, but she was going to do it, she was going to protect her nerd and get them out of there.
-----
Coltrane had waited ten minutes after Thelonious had left before he started looking for Coulter He had Armstrong and Parker in place on their rounds, as commanded, and now it was time to get down to his business. He had had it and he knew he was right. He had decided two seconds into the conversation with the boss that he was going to negotiate with Coulter and fix things for the entire team. Thelonious was getting to soft. He was losing his edge. He just needed help getting moving on this mission. The boss was distracted; must have been that the girl, patient Zero, looked kind of like his daughter. It must have knocked his mind out of the game. Well, Coltraine was going to get the game going again.
And Barbados? It had to be about Barbados. Barbados, the eastern-most Caribbean island, was the best place to go out of your way to get the job done. The island was formed when the Atlantic crustal and Caribbean plates collided. It is geologically unique, being actually two land masses that merged together over the years. It was first inhabited by Arawaks, then conquered by the Caribs... The Portuguese and Spaniards came next. The British had it next. Now it has full autonomy as a British Commonwealth. It’s not high on the C.I.A. drug czar hit list. No one even knew this much about Barbados. It was quiet. It’s so far out of the way, it was perfect for a job.
So they were handed a job... simple. They were supposed to just handle business and move on. It was three of them. A guy called Miles, Thelonious, and him. Thelonious was distracted, his daughter kept calling him. Something about a problem with her boyfriend messing her up. Thelonious was sure to abandon the case, if it wasn’t handled soon.
That’s when Coltrane decided to step up the game. He left Thelonious on the phone with latest home front update. He caught up with Miles on surveillance. They were only supposed to pick up a package that would lead them to the drop. He repositioned Miles and got himself closer to the mark. He was looking for the cliche, a silver suitcase. He found it. He moved in. As he did, his phone buzzed... it was Thelonious. Boss was probably checking on where he went. It was better if Thel didn’t know that he was going to handle the business so that everyone could get back to their lives.
Coltrane sat down at the bar, three seats down from the mark. The mark was oblivious. It seemed like one hell of an act, if it was one. Coltrane was tired of people who thought they were smooth by acting not smooth. Covert ops is like Jazz, either you have it or you stink and you wash up on the shores of a baseball stadium, playing ‘Take Me Out to the Ballgame’ for a buck from the passersby.
The mark ordered a zombie. That was the sign. Coltrane tipped his hat to alert Miles. Miles walked through and scooped up the suitcase. Coltrane caught sight of the gun seconds before the mark had it aimed at Miles. He spun, drawing his own weapon, and yelled for Miles to bolt. Guns came out in all directions. Coltrane grabbed Miles shoulder and darted from the bar. He wasn’t sure how he had made it out, but he did. He looked down to see Miles was now the equivalent of human Swiss cheese.
Later, Coltrane had found out that Thelonious had received a tip that the mission was off. Apparently M.I. 6 had received intel and the client had dropped the mission.Thel had read him the riot act for hours. It had been months before Thel had called him for a mission. Even now, it seemed Thel only called him every other mission. Thel had blamed him for being over zealous and not cautious enough. Coltrane blamed Thel for being distracted by personal affairs. Two weeks ago, as they wrapped up a mission, they had had it out at the bar, fist fight... which led to a bottle of bourbon. Thel had admitted on the second bottle that Coltrane kept him in motion on the missions, but that he needed to get a little more patient before jumping into the decisions. Coltrane had taken that as a partial apology.
He owed it to Thel now. He had to fix this. Thel was going to lose the good job just because he was getting a conscience or something. This was going to be good money, and they needed to get a better position so they were part of the leaders and not just part of the band. He had to make sure that Coulter saw their team as something to rely on as humans... paid humans. If anything, he had to make sure that Coulter at least thought the team was going to be loyal... so when he did try something, Coltrane could set the team on him. He had to get in close. Thel was going to thank him.
He finally found Coulter as he was leaving the lab. The two lab rat lovers were cleaning up something. Coltrane got only a glimpse as the door closed of a body bag and a boot. He fell in step beside Coulter. “Doctor, do you have a minute?”
“Only one. And only because I’m in a good mood. What is it?” Coulter’s pace sped up as if he was making it a challenge to keep up and talk to him at once.
Coltrane matched his pace, “We’ve got the security set. Thelonious is out with the team on delivery as planned. I was kind of wondering if you were through with King?”
“He’s been released from duty.” Coulter smiled.
“Ok. Good to know he’s not just slacking off. Could have been axed for that.”
“Indeed.” Coulter stopped abruptly, “Is that all?”
“No. I was wondering... About your army of zombies?”
“Yes. Want to join them?” Coulter’s smirk was unnerving.
“Actually, no. I wanted to suggest that you hire us to lead them, when the time comes.” Coltrane folded his arms. “You’ll have unlimited force to use for your needs or to whomever you hire them out. But they would be much more effective if you have someone with training to lead and instruct them. Then instead of brute force, you have skill as well.”
“Interesting... But I have Dr. Cortez.”
“Cortez is one man. We are a team. We have worked together, we have a range of skills, and we can lead different groups on different tasks, as the clients wished. Plus this leaves Dr. Cortez to help you in the lab, which is why you hired us in the first place, right?”
“So what are you saying?”
“We’re worth the money to keep on. Even after your zombie hordes are created.”
“And what would your leader say?”
“Who do you think asked me to talk to you?” Coltrane smiled. Yes... Thel will be proud, but just in case he isn’t... as an after thought, he added, “And if he wants to bail, all the better. I’m your man, Dr. Coulter. If the team won’t stay with me. I can make a team that will.”
(total: 40705 words so far)
“Boss, why’d you choose to go out? Why’d you decide to keep me here?”
“I thought I would like some field time. Why do you ask?”
“I just wondered,” the big man scratched his forehead. “why you’re keeping me here to babysit while you’re going in the field?” Coltrane seemed to ponder his words as if choosing them carefully. “Shouldn’t you be here, in case Coulter or Cortez needs something?”
“What? You afraid I’m going to get to have more fun than you?” Thelonious inwardly kicked himself. He should have seen this coming. Coltrane was all about the flash. He wanted action. Tough cookies... you do what you’re told. He shook his head. “What’s the deal, man?”
“The deal is you’ve got me sitting here with Armstrong and Parker... and King... wherever the Hell he is... Guard duty? That’s a cakewalk. Have I given you reason to doubt my abilities? Is this about Barbados? ‘Cause Barbados was messed up.... that wasn’t my fault. We walked into a pressure cooker and the client blew the deal. You know that!”
“This has nothing to do with Barbados! This is about me picking you to do a job I know you can do well. It’s about you and your team keeping things secure. It’s about me, Basie, and Dizzy playing fast and loose. I’ll fill you in if you miss anything important. You’d better do the same... and don’t even get me started about King.”
“What? What? Spill man... are we already down one?”
Thelonious pulled the big man into his room and shut the door. He scanned the walls to see if there’s any place he might have missed when scanning for bugs. “I don’t know. I don’t know and I don’t like it. Coulter asked to use one of ours for something. I haven’t seen King since. I felt bad giving the kid the job, but he’s the newest and that’s what Coulter wanted.”
“You’re hanging us out to dry! You don’t give a rat’s ass what happens to us! What happens when he asks for another of us? You going to just hand us over one by one... being lab rats... or cannon fodder... or … I bet he fed King to one of his zombies... that patient zero...”
“I do not make a practice of sacrificing team members. I’m not going to let it go down like that... get a grip!”
“He doesn’t need us for the long term. He only needs tests and volunteers.... You heard him... He’s going to make an undead army... You’d better get in close and get the 411. That Cortez is going to hang you out to dry... He’s the only living muscle this doc needs. You need to bump him off and get yourself in there... then you call the shots on what happens to your team.”
“I hardly think that’ll help. Coulter is going to do what Coulter wants to do... Let me get a handle on the situation and I’ll get back to you...”
“Hell, no! You babysit the compound and you get control here!” Coltrane was now an inch from Thelonious’ nose. Thelonious was sure that his own face was more flushed than that of Coltrane’s, however. The one thing that pissed him off more than anything is when people get in his face.
Thelonious held his position and narrowed his eyes. He summoned up the most even but threatening tone he could muster. “Coltrane, I’m only going to say this once. Get your butt out there, get the team out there, secure the perimeter, and keep me advised of the situation. Do nothing more!”
“Yeah... and if Doctor Cole-tare asks for another team member for special assignment... who do I give him? You?” Coltrane spun on his heal and flipped open the door. He charged out of the room. Thelonious tried not to smile at the way Coltrane had mocked the Sweathogs from Welcome Back, Kotter when he said Coulter’s name.
Thelonious stared at the open door as he heard Coltrane bellow “Armstrong! Parker! Get out here... and has anyone seen King?”
Thelonious sighed and checked the holster that his gun hand had been resting on for most of that conversation. He didn’t think Coltrane was going to throw down, but the big man was intimidating when he was riled. Thelonious wasn’t going to take any chances and hated being intimidated.
Basie stepped into his line of sight. “Boss... I... you both were yelling.”
Thelonious nodded and stepped out into the hall. He noted Dizzy was leaning up against the wall with his feet stretched out into the hallway and his hands behind his head, staring at the ceiling like a prep school boy who’s up to know good. He looked back at Basie. “It’ll work itself out”
“Ooorrrr?” Dizzy rolled his head to the side and turned his wide, insane eyes toward him. His brown bangs toppled into his eyes, and yet he didn’t blink.
“Or I’ll work it out.”
“What about King?” Basie’s voice was subdued as she chewed the tip of her finger... Subdued maybe because it was six in the morning. Maybe because most people don’t like to hear the bosses argue. Maybe because he knew Basie had taken the kid under her wing.
“You two meet me at the truck. I’ve got to go speak to Cortez... or Coulter... or maybe both.”
Dizzy pushed off the wall and held out his hand and bent his body in a slight bow in an ‘after you gesture’ to escort Basie down the hall. Basie chewed her finger for a moment more and blinked her doe-like brown eyes, not at all resembling the hard line cat burglar and hit woman she was, but more like the little girl who’s nervous because her cat got out and hasn’t come home yet. Thelonious watched as she turned and sauntered down the hall in front of Dizzy, who fell in step a moment later, taking every effort to watch Basie’s hips and how her tight black denim jeans left nothing to the imagination. Thelonious shared the obsession of her hips with Dizzy until the two of them had cleared the corner. Then he swallowed.
He pulled his room door shut and made his way down the hall to look for Cortez or Coulter. He preferred running into Cortez, but he could easily get what he needed from Coulter. Cortez would just be more pleasant, and it would give him a chance to feel the guy out... Coulter... well, he gave him the willies...
Finally, he turned into the lab, hoping to ask the little geek where either were, and stopped short when he heard conversation.
“Show him, Mr. Roberts.” It was Coulter’s voice. Thelonious moved behind some shelves to where he could watch the whole thing without invading in the conversation.
“Yes, sir.” Roberts moved over and picked up a touch pad. He looked around and slid his fingers on the board, flipping the contents of the screen onto one of the clear wall displays. “This is King’s vitals. This is a register of his brain activity. This is tracking all bodily functions, which are significantly different than a human’s now. See, the blood flow is slowed. The heart rate is soft and barely noticeable. It will increase when we feed him brains...” Roberts reached for a bowl.
“Later... get to the good stuff.” Coulter snapped and slapped the geek’s hand just short of the bowl..
“Ok... well, if I click here...” Roberts brushed something on the tablet and a window expanded on the view screen. “I can now access visual and auditory memory.”
An innocent scene from the eyes of a small kid displayed in the window. The child was running toward a regal African American woman with long braids in a yellow polyester jumpsuit. The woman’s red lips smiled as little hands reached toward her. She picked him up and swung him around slowly, displaying the inner city playground where they were and the beautiful sunny day when this occurred. A child’s giggle echoed.
“Alright... this is sappy!” Coulter growled. The screen snapped shut as Roberts slid his hand across the tablet once more.
“So you can see his vitals, and his memories?” Cortez sneered. “What about your stage 3?”
“Stage 2! It’s called stage 2! Show him stage 2!”
“Ok, sir... but I...”
“Show him!” Coulter’s face grimaced monstrously. Cortez made his decision right then and there that there was no doubt he was bailing on the insane doctor... after he decommissioned him, for the good of humanity. Insane and evil are a devastating combination.
“Mr. King, get up and take a step forward.” Robert’s voice broke into Cortez’s thoughts.
King looked around and then sat up, almost robotically. He dropped his from the reclining chair and stepped away from the table. His face was grey and lifeless. His expression were blank, though tinged with sadness. Thelonious wrinkled his brow. His worst fears were confirmed. He had handed the kid over and cost him his life. King took a step towards where Thelonious was hiding, forcing him to duck back under cover behind a set of filing cabinets.
Coulter raised his hand. “Mr. King, stop there. Concentrate on standing there, please. If you want your dinner, you’ll not move. No matter what, Mr. King, you need to remain in that spot, got it?”
“Yes, sir.” King’s voice was lifeless. Thelonious wasn’t certain if it was because of all of the experimentation he had been through or because the poor kid was dead.
“Ok, Roberts, make him move.”
Roberts moved his hand across the tablet once more. He tapped at a couple buttons. “I’ve instructed him as follows.” He showed the screen to Coulter. Coulter nodded and pointed towards Cortez. Roberts moved the tablet so Cortez could see the planned choreograph for the kid. Cortez nodded grimly.
King stood there for a minute. His eyes widened. Strain built up in his face. “I have to move.” His hand started trembling. “I have to move.”
The three men merely watched as King raised a shaky foot and stepped to the side. He then spun on his heel and faced the three men. Finally, with much resistance, King raised his hand in a military salute. “There! There! He did it, every bit I programmed in.”
“Ok... so he can be on Broadway, but I don’t see your military,” Cortez tightened his cheeks, “I don’t see your phase 3 happening with a Zombie Special Forces on Parade.”
“Don’t mock me, Cortez. I’m sure King is hungry.” Coulter snapped the tablet away from Roberts and tapped a few times.
Suddenly and in one fluid moment, King had pulled a gun from his holster and had it aimed directly at Cortez’s head. “Woah... wha-?” He looked back at Coulter and then at his hand. “What’s going on? Why can’t I...”
“Cool it, kiddo. I”m in control now...” Coulter scowled at King. He then nodded to Cortez. “Get Phase 2 yet?”
“Impressive.” Cortez exhaled. “Call him off.” He waited until King had lowered his gun. Thelonious was almost certain he saw Cortez glance past him. “So you have some zombie warriors that you can control... Are you certain they can’t break free? I mean... zombie uprising is inevitable, right?”
Thelonious was wondering the same thing. The thought occurred that if he could find out what the control mechanism is, he could free King. He may be a zombie, but the kid was still in there. Maybe Cortez was working the same angle.
“Check this out...” Coulter chuckled. “If any of these buggers think they can break free from their programming...” Coulter pointed at the tablet and waved his fingers. He then tapped twice.
King’s eyes grew wide and bulged. He dropped the gun and reached for his chest, clutching right above his heart. Coulter cackled. “Yep, I installed a pacemaker to his heart... I read in a Science Journal how pacemakers are susceptible to certain frequencies and how hackers have figured out how to scan and break into the code. They can cause the pacemaker to fail, or in this case to activate. At a touch of a button, the rebellion is quashed.” As Coulter spoke, King dropped to his knees. He emitted a muffled cry as all of his muscles seized up and he fell over.
Thelonious had gripped the cabinet hard. He held his breath and recited mentally that the kid was already dead. Somehow he knew what was about to be said next.
Coulter tossed the tablet to Roberts and clapped his hands once extremely loud. “Excellent work, boy!”
“You killed him? We spent all of this time on this and you just killed him? You could have just said what was going to happen... now we have to make more...” Robert’s was almost squeaking... like the kid who just watched a bully break his toy.
“He’s not really dead.” Cortez shook his head. “He’s undead... He’ll be up the minute you let the pacemaker go.”
“True... but I can keep it off as long as I want... And then do this.” Coulter picked up the gun from the floor where it fell and fired directly at his head. Roberts jumped at the sound of the bullet firing. “That’s if they break free from the nanobot control, of course. Or I just keep them off until I want them on again.”
“You could have just said that, sir... and again... we’d have...” Robert’s voice trailed as he saw Coutler glaring at him.
“I can make more... I’m going to make more... many more. And they will follow me!” Coulter cackled again. He looked at Cortez. “Now do you see?”
“So I have to get you more men?” Cortez folded his arms and glared at Coulter.
“Yes... but I’ll start with what we have. While Team Able is guarding here... I’ll recruit. Then when Team Bravo gets back...”
“Can you hold off for a bit?” Cortez shook his head. “I can’t guarantee security if you keep ‘borrowing’ people from their posts.”
Coulter gritted his teeth. “Fine! Tonight... tonight...”
Cortez seemed to regard Coulter for a few moments, and then he turned and strolled away. “Good presentation though. I hope you recorded it. It would be wasteful to use these highly trained men for simple presentations and simply kill them...”
“Yeah... here. We can show this to the clients.” Coulter handed a flash drive to Cortez. “And maybe we should start getting a few untrained guinea pigs.” He looked around. “Where is that girl?”
Robert’s face turned white as he whipped his head to look at Coulter. “Gert? I need her... she’s helping me.”
Cortez called over his shoulder, “Any good commander knows you rule better if you only kill when there’s a point.” He left Roberts and Coulter staring at each other.
Thelonious eased back out of the room and leaned up against the wall. He was on the menu. His whole team was on the menu. Things were going to be touchy. He was going to have to plan while he was making the run and then somehow get the others up to speed on their evacuation plan. He could bail now, but there was a urge, a drive building deep inside him that said he was going to take Coulter down. Yes, he and his team were bad guys, but Coulter... that man was a maniacal evil dictator with delusions of godhood.
A shadow fell over Thelonious. He looked at the source and saw Cortez glaring at him. Thelonious started to say something but Cortez pointed down the hallway. “Walk with me.” Thelonious nodded and walked with Cortez away from the sounds of Coulter bating the nerd about the girl.
Finally, as they reached the garage, Cortez crawled into the driver seat of a crimson Impala and motioned to Thelonious. Thelonious plopped down into the passenger seat and ran his fingers through his hair. “So you going to tell me to mind my manners and not ease-drop or you going to just ice me and get it over with?”
“Neither. I was hoping you were listening. I had seen you when you stumbled in. I wanted you to know what was in store for your team before we spoke. Sorry about the kid.”
“Ever wonder why you take on a job when everything in your gut says it’s a bad call?”
“Yeah,” Cortez pulled out his shades, “I’ve had missions like that.”
“Yeah...” Thelonious looked out the review window. “My team is assembling... we should make this quick.”
Cortez nodded. “Here.” He tossed the packet of papers over. “Everything you need is in the truck right there. Go out to the enclosed address, drop off the introductory package to the client and return. Should be simple...”
Thelonious looked at the legal sized envelope. He cracked the seal and pulled out the paperwork. There was a page of directions, a small envelope that felt like a flashdrive was enclosed, and a few pages of instructions and contact codes. Thumbing through the papers, he considered his next questions. “Is this all you want to say?”
“What do you mean?” He felt Cortez looking at him.
Thelonious mumbled,“This Ming’s a psycho.” Thelonious kept his eyes on the paper, his own words sounding like they came from someone else. “Sorry, don’t know why that came to mind... must have been thinking about the tv from the last hotel I was in... movie channels, you know.”
“Heh... Flash Gordon... Heck of a cheesy movie. I love it when no one in the empire can translate the words ‘ team up’.”
Thelonious smiled. Yes, team up... that’s what he wanted. “Soundtrack is one of the best ever.”
“Queen can do a fine soundtrack. It’s amazing what a group of talented men can do when they work together.”
“Yeah... and Ming really was maniacal... He even turned on his own daughter.” Thelonious slid the papers back into the envelope, hoping that he was reading Cortez correctly. “Sometimes you just have to deal with your father employing a torturer on you to give you an idea of how deep in the shiznit you are.”
“Indeed. Perhaps it will be on the movie listings soon.”
Thelonious opened the car door and started to get out, “Perhaps... and then we can catch this movie sometime... show it to my team?” Things was suddenly thinking things were looking up. All he had to do is get back from this mission as planned, and update Coltrane and the other team, and find out what Cortez’s plan was.
“I’ll check the listings and get back to you.”
----
If there was one thing Leroy Roberts knew, it was that he dearly loved Gertrude. Well, he also knew Calculus, Astrophysics, Computer Engineering, Bio-molecular Chemistry, and many other sciences that had caught his fancy over the years. He had graduated high school at the age of 12. He had received a masters in Biochemistry at the age of 16. He received his PhD in Astrophysics at 21. He had a string of degrees, he had received these degrees from a variety of colleges. His most recent alma mater was Cal Tech. It was his favorite. You could have Yale, Harvard, Princeton, Cambridge, Oxford, and Stanford. Cal Tech was his favorite geek fest.
He had met Gertrude at Stanford while getting his Masters of Computer Engineering. He was 23 at the time. She was 22 and getting a degree in bio-mechanics. She already had her masters in Bio Chem. The two of them had hit it off immediately. Unlike all of the other girls he encountered, she acted like she was not even half as educated as she was. She liked to save her brains for shock value. The minute someone started treating her like she was an idiot, she would snap out a line of dialog fitting of Data or Dougie Houser.
She also liked all of the shows he liked. She knew what a Bantha was. She knew Starbuck was a man in the original series and a girl in 2.0. She knew who Sheldon was. She knew the difference between Golden Age and Silver Age Green Lantern. She was his dream girl.
He had brought her with him when Coulter recruited him. It had been a mistake. It wasn’t a mistake to have her with him always. It was a mistake because it wasn’t until Leroy had arrived at the lab, that he had realized how bad of a job this was. He had put his current degree on hold so he could get some lab time in. She had asked him to get details of the job, but he had laughed it off. One lab job was as good as another, right? It wasn’t a meth lab, so he thought it would be fine... He was wrong.
Now the love of his life was in danger, and he was in it up to his neck. He had to figure a way to get them out of here. He watched Patient Zero on the screen. Poor girl. She had trusted Coulter, and look what it got her. And that poor King. He was the same age as King, so he thought. After watching what happened to King, Leroy was sure he was never going to sleep without setting alarms... and he was going to get him and his girl out of here pronto.
He saw Gert walk down the hall which led to patient Zero carrying a tray with fresh brains. He flipped the switch on the camera, and the screen monitoring patient Zero faded. Pulling his arms back to his chest, he folded them and leaned back in the chair. He now had to decide, did he and Gert escape alone, did he try to figure out if the strike team could get him out, maybe after letting them know what happened to King, or did he see if Cortez could get them out of here? What was the best choice?
----
Tasha stared at the wall. Actually, she was staring at the little red light that glowed from the camera mounted at the joint where the wall met the ceiling. She was certain it was green before, but it was red now. She was a little annoyed that her eyes had been playing tricks on her when it comes to the color change of the little light. It must be a side effect of being dead. She had to admit her vision had been seeing things differently when it came to details and distances. She couldn’t explain how it was different. It was just... funky. She could even see the outline of the camera by the glow from that light. Her vision was much better than she remembered it. It must be a perk from being dead.
Her mother’s words echoed in her head. Coulter was evil. Trust your enemies? It’s odd to think... the whole reason she was here was she was dead. She was having trouble remembering when she was alive. Not that she had forgotten her actual life, but that she was fairly certain she had been so obsessed with this or that... she had never truly just sat back and enjoyed life... living... Not until she was dead. It had occurred to her in the hotel room, after Corner had been so supportive and... protective (before he put down the gun and allowed her to be taken away by the agent). She had offered herself to Corner, despite the girlfriend, because she wanted to just ‘live’ for once. She was dead and trying to live.
Coulter was evil. Trust your enemies? Didn’t that agent say Coulter had planned out her being infected and her death? Had he always been evil? Why had she followed him? Why had she put up with his inattentiveness? She had been used. She was tired of being used. She was tired of men... they were such the let down. Disappointing... Now she was stuck here... and dead...
The door opened and bright light broke into the room. A silhouette stood in the light... Tasha raised her hand to shield her eyes from the bright light. The figure stepped into the room and closed the door. Tasha’s eyes adjusted quickly... quicker than they used to... in fact, maybe it wasn’t that they adjusted but they had not adjusted to the actual light... Did they not have to? Maybe bright light doesn’t damage dead eyes?
She turned her attention back to the figure. It was a woman, with black curly hair, sporting a lab coat over what looked to be stripes of white almost like white duct tape about 6 inches wide that covered necessary parts.
“Interesting outfit...” Tasha mumbled before she realized it.
“Milla Jovovich Appreciation Day. It’s her outfit from the Fifth Element. I was trying to surprise Dr. Roberts.”
“What we do for our men...”
“Indeed.” The dark haired girl crossed her legs and slid down the wall in one motion, ending up on the floor. “How are you doing?”
“I’m dead. Apparently it’s how my ‘boyfriend’ wanted me.”
“Yeah... I know. I wanted you to know that both Leroy and I don’t like this... I’m Gert, by the way. Gertrude Sanktjohanser”
“The camera is watching.”
The girl in the lab coat looked up at the camera nonchalantly, “The little red light means that Leroy has switched it off but it still has power. Green means recording. No light means no power. You might want to remember that... for the future...”
“What are you saying?”
“I brought you some brains... They’re from one of the guards from when Blake and Durden secured this place. Coulter had them killed... This one had a picture of him with his wife and little boy in his pocket. I wish we could have not killed him.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“Leroy and I may be leaving... We might be able to find brains for you... from when schools get donor bodies and from city morgues and stuff... we have lab permits.”
Tasha’s eyes grew wide. “You’re taking me with you?!?”
“I didn’t say that, but if you have other plans-”
“No! Please... I want out... I want out! Please...”
“Eat... get strong... maybe I can visit again. I have to go check on Leroy. He gets himself in trouble sometimes.” Gert got up and walked across the floor. She set a container down cautiously in front of Tasha and then stepped back. “I’ll come back when I can.”
Tasha watched Gert walk back to the door. The bright light filled the room again as she exited. Exhaling for no reason other than to show exasperation, Tasha looked back to the tray. A semi-fresh brain gurgled back at her.
-----
In high school, the boys always wanted the cheerleaders. They wanted the puffy hair and bangles. They wanted Ally Sheedy and Kim Bassenger. It didn’t take long to figure out that high school was going to be more than mousse and studded ankle boots for her. She wasn’t going to bounce all over the football field to get attention. She had a brain. She was going to use it. She was Gertrude Sanktjohanser.
Gert liked researching and experimentation. She was forced to take home economics in high school and nearly exploded the classroom, when she tried to alter a recipe for pumpkin popovers. Then they let her take Chemistry. She loved the sciences. She loved chemistry and physics. When she graduated, though very few knew her name, she graduated salutatorian and announced she was going to get a degree astrophysics with a minor in biochemistry and join NASA.
She attended U of C Berkley. Sororities tried to convince her to pledge. She laughed it off. Then she met her roommate, Janice. Janice was also not of the popular crowd. And yet Janice had figured out adapt modern style and yet not look like she was conforming to social norms. Janice knew how to make her own trends and make it her own; she taught Gert how to be flashy and a trendsetter while not compromising identity. Gert found her roommate refreshing and they began to share secrets and trade tactics.
Gert had a fondness for intelligent men. Her childhood hero was Dougie Houser. She loved Einstein. She owned a copy of every Stephen Hawking thesis. She tested well in classes, though she was no child prodigy, like Leroy Roberts. When she had met Leroy at a seminar, she was inspired to transfer to Cal Tech for her Masters Degree. He was feisty and full of pure Grade A intellegence. She followed him to ComicCon, all of the Scifi Conventions, and, of course, E3. He shared her love of all of the greatest science fiction movies and television shows.
Gert walked down the corridor back to the lab. It was not her idea to come here. Leroy had saw a chance to earn some cash during some downtime. He had thought this would be serious lab work and expand his resume. She had followed because she wanted to make sure that Leroy was safe and compensated well. Leroy was intelligent but he had no business savvy. She had followed and she hated it here. She hated working with this perversion of science. Science is supposed to improve life, not destroy it. She hated Coulter. She hated playing up to him. She would rather be hanging on Leroy. She made sure Leroy knew her true feelings. She didn’t want him getting jealous. She knew she had to keep the peace. She was using everything she had to make sure that Coulter believed she and Leroy were useful and harmless . It was a dirty job, but she was going to do it, she was going to protect her nerd and get them out of there.
-----
Coltrane had waited ten minutes after Thelonious had left before he started looking for Coulter He had Armstrong and Parker in place on their rounds, as commanded, and now it was time to get down to his business. He had had it and he knew he was right. He had decided two seconds into the conversation with the boss that he was going to negotiate with Coulter and fix things for the entire team. Thelonious was getting to soft. He was losing his edge. He just needed help getting moving on this mission. The boss was distracted; must have been that the girl, patient Zero, looked kind of like his daughter. It must have knocked his mind out of the game. Well, Coltraine was going to get the game going again.
And Barbados? It had to be about Barbados. Barbados, the eastern-most Caribbean island, was the best place to go out of your way to get the job done. The island was formed when the Atlantic crustal and Caribbean plates collided. It is geologically unique, being actually two land masses that merged together over the years. It was first inhabited by Arawaks, then conquered by the Caribs... The Portuguese and Spaniards came next. The British had it next. Now it has full autonomy as a British Commonwealth. It’s not high on the C.I.A. drug czar hit list. No one even knew this much about Barbados. It was quiet. It’s so far out of the way, it was perfect for a job.
So they were handed a job... simple. They were supposed to just handle business and move on. It was three of them. A guy called Miles, Thelonious, and him. Thelonious was distracted, his daughter kept calling him. Something about a problem with her boyfriend messing her up. Thelonious was sure to abandon the case, if it wasn’t handled soon.
That’s when Coltrane decided to step up the game. He left Thelonious on the phone with latest home front update. He caught up with Miles on surveillance. They were only supposed to pick up a package that would lead them to the drop. He repositioned Miles and got himself closer to the mark. He was looking for the cliche, a silver suitcase. He found it. He moved in. As he did, his phone buzzed... it was Thelonious. Boss was probably checking on where he went. It was better if Thel didn’t know that he was going to handle the business so that everyone could get back to their lives.
Coltrane sat down at the bar, three seats down from the mark. The mark was oblivious. It seemed like one hell of an act, if it was one. Coltrane was tired of people who thought they were smooth by acting not smooth. Covert ops is like Jazz, either you have it or you stink and you wash up on the shores of a baseball stadium, playing ‘Take Me Out to the Ballgame’ for a buck from the passersby.
The mark ordered a zombie. That was the sign. Coltrane tipped his hat to alert Miles. Miles walked through and scooped up the suitcase. Coltrane caught sight of the gun seconds before the mark had it aimed at Miles. He spun, drawing his own weapon, and yelled for Miles to bolt. Guns came out in all directions. Coltrane grabbed Miles shoulder and darted from the bar. He wasn’t sure how he had made it out, but he did. He looked down to see Miles was now the equivalent of human Swiss cheese.
Later, Coltrane had found out that Thelonious had received a tip that the mission was off. Apparently M.I. 6 had received intel and the client had dropped the mission.Thel had read him the riot act for hours. It had been months before Thel had called him for a mission. Even now, it seemed Thel only called him every other mission. Thel had blamed him for being over zealous and not cautious enough. Coltrane blamed Thel for being distracted by personal affairs. Two weeks ago, as they wrapped up a mission, they had had it out at the bar, fist fight... which led to a bottle of bourbon. Thel had admitted on the second bottle that Coltrane kept him in motion on the missions, but that he needed to get a little more patient before jumping into the decisions. Coltrane had taken that as a partial apology.
He owed it to Thel now. He had to fix this. Thel was going to lose the good job just because he was getting a conscience or something. This was going to be good money, and they needed to get a better position so they were part of the leaders and not just part of the band. He had to make sure that Coulter saw their team as something to rely on as humans... paid humans. If anything, he had to make sure that Coulter at least thought the team was going to be loyal... so when he did try something, Coltrane could set the team on him. He had to get in close. Thel was going to thank him.
He finally found Coulter as he was leaving the lab. The two lab rat lovers were cleaning up something. Coltrane got only a glimpse as the door closed of a body bag and a boot. He fell in step beside Coulter. “Doctor, do you have a minute?”
“Only one. And only because I’m in a good mood. What is it?” Coulter’s pace sped up as if he was making it a challenge to keep up and talk to him at once.
Coltrane matched his pace, “We’ve got the security set. Thelonious is out with the team on delivery as planned. I was kind of wondering if you were through with King?”
“He’s been released from duty.” Coulter smiled.
“Ok. Good to know he’s not just slacking off. Could have been axed for that.”
“Indeed.” Coulter stopped abruptly, “Is that all?”
“No. I was wondering... About your army of zombies?”
“Yes. Want to join them?” Coulter’s smirk was unnerving.
“Actually, no. I wanted to suggest that you hire us to lead them, when the time comes.” Coltrane folded his arms. “You’ll have unlimited force to use for your needs or to whomever you hire them out. But they would be much more effective if you have someone with training to lead and instruct them. Then instead of brute force, you have skill as well.”
“Interesting... But I have Dr. Cortez.”
“Cortez is one man. We are a team. We have worked together, we have a range of skills, and we can lead different groups on different tasks, as the clients wished. Plus this leaves Dr. Cortez to help you in the lab, which is why you hired us in the first place, right?”
“So what are you saying?”
“We’re worth the money to keep on. Even after your zombie hordes are created.”
“And what would your leader say?”
“Who do you think asked me to talk to you?” Coltrane smiled. Yes... Thel will be proud, but just in case he isn’t... as an after thought, he added, “And if he wants to bail, all the better. I’m your man, Dr. Coulter. If the team won’t stay with me. I can make a team that will.”
(total: 40705 words so far)
The young lady didn’t bother to look up from the seating chart. “Dining alone, sir?” she asked. Cortez glanced at her only briefly, noting the young woman’s black hair, straight across bangs, pageboy haircut; he filed the information away for later. Zelda Fitzgerald for the twenty-first century, he thought to himself.
He’d already scouted three possible exits before mumbling, “Yes,” to her.
Romanova’s was a nicer restaurant than he’d expected. Ten or fifteen years ago, he would have been expected to wear a jacket in such an establishment, but those days were gone. At least for the public. A man in a blue blazer came by within moments to hand him a menu. Cortez glanced at it even more briefly than he had at Zelda the hostess. “I’ll just have an iced tea,” he said, handing the menu back.
“Very good, sir,” the waiter responded. “Lemon?”
“Yes, please.”
Cortez scanned the dining room. 1) Two college-age girls, laughing. 2) Family: father, boy 12, girl 8. 3) One male, blue and white striped shirt, salt and pepper hair-mustache-and-beard, thin gold chain, folded newspaper – Silver Spring Penguin, upper middle class. 4) One woman, black hair, sunglasses, navy blue top, grey skirt, stripper shoes with clear heels, fake Gucci purse. All clear.
Cortez had a seat near a window, so he could see anyone advancing on his location, at least from either Aldrich or Ames streets. No one did. He pulled a flier out of his pocket, green paper, apparently torn down from a post. It was a car for sale, with ten, tiny tabs at the bottom with the seller’s phone numbers.
Cortez received his iced tea and drank it slowly, keeping an eye on the streets before him. He crumpled up the car ad and left it on the table. When he was done with his tea, he signed the receipt, took his copy, pocketed the lemon, and left.
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He’d already scouted three possible exits before mumbling, “Yes,” to her.
Romanova’s was a nicer restaurant than he’d expected. Ten or fifteen years ago, he would have been expected to wear a jacket in such an establishment, but those days were gone. At least for the public. A man in a blue blazer came by within moments to hand him a menu. Cortez glanced at it even more briefly than he had at Zelda the hostess. “I’ll just have an iced tea,” he said, handing the menu back.
“Very good, sir,” the waiter responded. “Lemon?”
“Yes, please.”
Cortez scanned the dining room. 1) Two college-age girls, laughing. 2) Family: father, boy 12, girl 8. 3) One male, blue and white striped shirt, salt and pepper hair-mustache-and-beard, thin gold chain, folded newspaper – Silver Spring Penguin, upper middle class. 4) One woman, black hair, sunglasses, navy blue top, grey skirt, stripper shoes with clear heels, fake Gucci purse. All clear.
Cortez had a seat near a window, so he could see anyone advancing on his location, at least from either Aldrich or Ames streets. No one did. He pulled a flier out of his pocket, green paper, apparently torn down from a post. It was a car for sale, with ten, tiny tabs at the bottom with the seller’s phone numbers.
Cortez received his iced tea and drank it slowly, keeping an eye on the streets before him. He crumpled up the car ad and left it on the table. When he was done with his tea, he signed the receipt, took his copy, pocketed the lemon, and left.
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For Corner’s eighth birthday, his mother took him to the movies. They had a small cake back at home, and Corner thought it was the best day of his whole life. He knew they didn’t have a lot of money, but when they had it, his mother never paused to spend it on her son.
On Corner’s ninth birthday, they again went to the movies. When they arrived though, his mother Mary had said she was sick. She bought her son a movie ticket, and let him be taken inside by the usher. She was going to the restroom, she’d said. She’d be there when he got out. And she was. But there was no cake at home. Corner had pouted a bit, and complained, and his mother –at wits end– had done something she’d never done before: she sent him to bed.
The next day, Corner heard his mother talking to someone on the phone, about money, and he realized that his mother hadn’t been sick after all. She didn’t have enough money for two to go to the movies, much less for cake. He felt ashamed at how he had acted, and it made him cry. When Mary heard him and came into his room, he told her why, and then the both of them had cried. Mary was embarrassed and ashamed, but vowed that she loved her son and would do better next year.
On Corner’s tenth birthday, his mother asked him what he wanted. Corner smiled, ear to ear, and asked, “What do YOU want, Mom?”
“It’s YOUR birthday, Corner.”
“I don’t care,” he’d said. “What do YOU want?”
His mother smiled at her little boy. Seeing that he wouldn’t be put off, and indeed was waiting for an answer, she blurted out, “Hockey Puck Snack Cakes.”
Hockey Puck Snack Cakes were not-so-small, round, chocolate cakes with a white cream filling, covered in chocolate. They came in boxes of 10 for seventy-nine cents. “Today is YOUR birthday, too!” he said, and Mary agreed to go along with him, even though her birthday was actually four months away.
And so, they went to the store, and picked up a box of Hockey Puck Snack Cakes. But when they got to the register, Corner had clumsily put his arm stiffly out, trying to block his mother’s way. She had started to protest when she saw what he was up to. Corner reached into his pocket, and pulled out his change purse. He proudly counted out seventy-nine cents to the cashier. Smiling, he said, “These are for my mom! It’s her birthday!”
“Well, what a good boy you have there!” the cashier had said. And Mary Angela Piccalino cried then, just a tear or two, smiling all the while.
Corner said to her, “Ten!”
“Thank you, Corner,” his mother had said, still a little weepy. On the walk home from the store, Corner told his mother the plan he’d worked out.
“Ten!” he said. “Now we can each have one every day for five days! And every day, you point to a movie in the newspaper.” Mary looked confused for a moment. Mrs. Castillo next door had, for some time, been picking up her newspaper from the stoop, and then leaving the previous day’s paper outside their door. It was day old news, of course, but it was a wonderful gesture of neighborliness. And Corner enjoyed the comic strips whether they were a day old or not. She’d have to remember to thank Gloria for that.
“You point to a movie,” Corner continued, “and I’ll tell you what it’s about! They whole story!”
Mary covered her mouth with her hand for a moment. She could feel the tears welling up. “Okay, okay,” she said. She went to the front door, and opened it, picking up yesterday’s newspaper and bringing it inside. She flipped through it till she found the movie listings, and pointed to one at random: The Dancing Cavalier, playing at the old Bijou Theatre. Mary knew it was a romantic comedy, and a musical at that. She sat smiling, and then laughing, as Corner talked for fifteen minutes straight about musketeers and sword fights, policemen and criminals in striped shirts and masks, damsels in distress, and a space alien boy who saves the day!
“Now we don’t have to see it, Mom” he said. “We can save the money!”
Mary stared at her son, beaming, and then hugged him, hard. “You’re such a good boy, Corner!” she said. “How did I ever get such a good boy for a son?”
“How’d I get such a good Mom?” was his response. Corner said it was the best day of his whole life. And for the third time that day, Mary Angela Piccalino cried a little; cried with joy.
“That’s the best present I ever got, Corner,” she said.
Twice a year, on his birthday and hers, they would buy a box of Hockey Puck Snack Cakes. For five consecutive days, Corner would regale his mother with his made-up stories of the movies they would never see, and they would both laugh and laugh.
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On Corner’s ninth birthday, they again went to the movies. When they arrived though, his mother Mary had said she was sick. She bought her son a movie ticket, and let him be taken inside by the usher. She was going to the restroom, she’d said. She’d be there when he got out. And she was. But there was no cake at home. Corner had pouted a bit, and complained, and his mother –at wits end– had done something she’d never done before: she sent him to bed.
The next day, Corner heard his mother talking to someone on the phone, about money, and he realized that his mother hadn’t been sick after all. She didn’t have enough money for two to go to the movies, much less for cake. He felt ashamed at how he had acted, and it made him cry. When Mary heard him and came into his room, he told her why, and then the both of them had cried. Mary was embarrassed and ashamed, but vowed that she loved her son and would do better next year.
On Corner’s tenth birthday, his mother asked him what he wanted. Corner smiled, ear to ear, and asked, “What do YOU want, Mom?”
“It’s YOUR birthday, Corner.”
“I don’t care,” he’d said. “What do YOU want?”
His mother smiled at her little boy. Seeing that he wouldn’t be put off, and indeed was waiting for an answer, she blurted out, “Hockey Puck Snack Cakes.”
Hockey Puck Snack Cakes were not-so-small, round, chocolate cakes with a white cream filling, covered in chocolate. They came in boxes of 10 for seventy-nine cents. “Today is YOUR birthday, too!” he said, and Mary agreed to go along with him, even though her birthday was actually four months away.
And so, they went to the store, and picked up a box of Hockey Puck Snack Cakes. But when they got to the register, Corner had clumsily put his arm stiffly out, trying to block his mother’s way. She had started to protest when she saw what he was up to. Corner reached into his pocket, and pulled out his change purse. He proudly counted out seventy-nine cents to the cashier. Smiling, he said, “These are for my mom! It’s her birthday!”
“Well, what a good boy you have there!” the cashier had said. And Mary Angela Piccalino cried then, just a tear or two, smiling all the while.
Corner said to her, “Ten!”
“Thank you, Corner,” his mother had said, still a little weepy. On the walk home from the store, Corner told his mother the plan he’d worked out.
“Ten!” he said. “Now we can each have one every day for five days! And every day, you point to a movie in the newspaper.” Mary looked confused for a moment. Mrs. Castillo next door had, for some time, been picking up her newspaper from the stoop, and then leaving the previous day’s paper outside their door. It was day old news, of course, but it was a wonderful gesture of neighborliness. And Corner enjoyed the comic strips whether they were a day old or not. She’d have to remember to thank Gloria for that.
“You point to a movie,” Corner continued, “and I’ll tell you what it’s about! They whole story!”
Mary covered her mouth with her hand for a moment. She could feel the tears welling up. “Okay, okay,” she said. She went to the front door, and opened it, picking up yesterday’s newspaper and bringing it inside. She flipped through it till she found the movie listings, and pointed to one at random: The Dancing Cavalier, playing at the old Bijou Theatre. Mary knew it was a romantic comedy, and a musical at that. She sat smiling, and then laughing, as Corner talked for fifteen minutes straight about musketeers and sword fights, policemen and criminals in striped shirts and masks, damsels in distress, and a space alien boy who saves the day!
“Now we don’t have to see it, Mom” he said. “We can save the money!”
Mary stared at her son, beaming, and then hugged him, hard. “You’re such a good boy, Corner!” she said. “How did I ever get such a good boy for a son?”
“How’d I get such a good Mom?” was his response. Corner said it was the best day of his whole life. And for the third time that day, Mary Angela Piccalino cried a little; cried with joy.
“That’s the best present I ever got, Corner,” she said.
Twice a year, on his birthday and hers, they would buy a box of Hockey Puck Snack Cakes. For five consecutive days, Corner would regale his mother with his made-up stories of the movies they would never see, and they would both laugh and laugh.
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The waiter in the blue blazer cleared the table, taking away the glass, signed receipt, and trash. He looked as if he were throwing away the crumpled car ad, but handing it off to hostess instead.
Thirteen minutes later, she finished her shift and was walking home, presumably, reading the ad out loud into her cell phone. “My Volkswagens Are Real Gems! $135 month, Negotiable Pricing, 24 months same as Cash For a 58oo value!”
“That sounds like quite a deal!” said the voice on the other end. “Is there a phone number?”
“There’s two,” the young lady said. “Before 3:00, call 980-1667. After 8:00, call 389-2778. Good luck!” Zelda said. Then she closed her cell phone. Letting her hand fall to her side, she discretely dropped the phone, nudging it with her foot into the sewer, as she continued walking.
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Thirteen minutes later, she finished her shift and was walking home, presumably, reading the ad out loud into her cell phone. “My Volkswagens Are Real Gems! $135 month, Negotiable Pricing, 24 months same as Cash For a 58oo value!”
“That sounds like quite a deal!” said the voice on the other end. “Is there a phone number?”
“There’s two,” the young lady said. “Before 3:00, call 980-1667. After 8:00, call 389-2778. Good luck!” Zelda said. Then she closed her cell phone. Letting her hand fall to her side, she discretely dropped the phone, nudging it with her foot into the sewer, as she continued walking.
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Cortez bumped into a man on the street briefly, but was back in the lab less than hour after he’d left. Parker and Armstrong had both been in the lab, and returned to their security posts. Now, Coltrane was in. He smiled a lot, like the proverbial cat that’d caught the canary. It would’ve unnerved a man with less experience. Cortez had a pretty good idea that that was exactly what Coltrane was going for, and so he played along, if for no other reason that it amused him.
“Everything okay, Mr. Coltrane?” Coltrane kept smiling.
“Oh, absolutely, Doc! Things couldn’t be better! Why do you ask?”
“You’re smiling a lot,” Cortez said, putting a false look of concern on his face. “You nervous, soldier?”
“No, no,” Coltrane said. “The other team went to deliver the goods. We’re just doing guard duty. No worries here!”
“Ooooo-kay,” Cortez said, running an alcohol wipe over the man’s arm, before sliding the needle of the syringe in. “That’s the antidote.” Setting the syringe down, he glanced in the drawer to his right, not quite closed. He could see that the silver control box was gone. Coulter, obviously. And that’s why I have three of them, he thought.
“Antidote?” Coltrane said. Cortez sighed, acting exasperated.
“We’re dealing with zombies, here,” he explained. “A bite, even just a scratch, and you become one of them. This stops the zombie virus, cold, before it even starts. Now, this one,” he said, pulling out a second syringe, “is just an antibiotic. Fight off any normal strain of human infection.”
“Gotcha, Doc!” Coltrane said, smiling again. “That what happened to King? Zombie or just killed?”
“I don’t know. He’s was Coulter’s project. I just know he’s no longer on the work docket or the lab docket.”
“Hey, I was asking, Doc. NO sweat of my nose! Ha ha. Personally,” Coltrane glanced back and forth quickly, “never liked the kid. Always whining about his grandmother or something.”
Cortez put his utensils away. “I wouldn’t know. I didn’t get a chance to know him.” He began shutting off the lab equiopment.
“You like this lab work, Doc?” Cortez smiled wearily.
“Yes, yes I do. I think it’s time I left guns to younger men, like you.”
“You got that right!” Coltrane said, laughing as he jumped off the table. “I’m good to go, Doc?” Cortez nodded his head. “All right!” and he marched out the door. Cortez waited a full minute before he picked up his phone and called Coulter.
“Coulter… right. Doctor Coulter. All three are done. They’ll all be unconscious within the hour. The sedative will keep them out for about two hours after that, while the new adrenaline component kicks off the process in the heart. They’ll all wake up, just like Tasha.”
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“Everything okay, Mr. Coltrane?” Coltrane kept smiling.
“Oh, absolutely, Doc! Things couldn’t be better! Why do you ask?”
“You’re smiling a lot,” Cortez said, putting a false look of concern on his face. “You nervous, soldier?”
“No, no,” Coltrane said. “The other team went to deliver the goods. We’re just doing guard duty. No worries here!”
“Ooooo-kay,” Cortez said, running an alcohol wipe over the man’s arm, before sliding the needle of the syringe in. “That’s the antidote.” Setting the syringe down, he glanced in the drawer to his right, not quite closed. He could see that the silver control box was gone. Coulter, obviously. And that’s why I have three of them, he thought.
“Antidote?” Coltrane said. Cortez sighed, acting exasperated.
“We’re dealing with zombies, here,” he explained. “A bite, even just a scratch, and you become one of them. This stops the zombie virus, cold, before it even starts. Now, this one,” he said, pulling out a second syringe, “is just an antibiotic. Fight off any normal strain of human infection.”
“Gotcha, Doc!” Coltrane said, smiling again. “That what happened to King? Zombie or just killed?”
“I don’t know. He’s was Coulter’s project. I just know he’s no longer on the work docket or the lab docket.”
“Hey, I was asking, Doc. NO sweat of my nose! Ha ha. Personally,” Coltrane glanced back and forth quickly, “never liked the kid. Always whining about his grandmother or something.”
Cortez put his utensils away. “I wouldn’t know. I didn’t get a chance to know him.” He began shutting off the lab equiopment.
“You like this lab work, Doc?” Cortez smiled wearily.
“Yes, yes I do. I think it’s time I left guns to younger men, like you.”
“You got that right!” Coltrane said, laughing as he jumped off the table. “I’m good to go, Doc?” Cortez nodded his head. “All right!” and he marched out the door. Cortez waited a full minute before he picked up his phone and called Coulter.
“Coulter… right. Doctor Coulter. All three are done. They’ll all be unconscious within the hour. The sedative will keep them out for about two hours after that, while the new adrenaline component kicks off the process in the heart. They’ll all wake up, just like Tasha.”
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It was the classic double play, in case anyone was watching. He picked up the crumpled ad, handed it off to her, then she read back to him from a moving location, and finally he called it in. The man in the blue blazer repeated the phrase in his head. He could hear the young woman’s voice, her quite lovely cadence of speech, the way she purposely spoke louder, excitedly, on the words that were capitalized: My Volkswagens Are Real Gems! $135 month, Negotiable Pricing, 24 months same as Cash For a 58oo value!
Then he wrote down what those words stood for:
MV A RG 135 NP 24 CF 58
He could hear her voice on the phone numbers, too. Before 3:00, call 980-1667. After 8:00, call 389-2778, and so he wrote 39.801667, -83.892778, then placed the call.
“Mr. Mulholland,” he said. “MV A RG 135 NP 24 CF 58. 39.801667, -83.892778. Thank you, John,” and hung up.
John Mulholland would pass on the information to the gentlemen known as “the Cleaners.” The man in the field, Cortez, needed a Murder Victim, Asphyxiation if possible, Red hair – Green eyes, 135 pounds, No Priors/No Prints on file anywhere, 24 years of age, do a C-4 explosion to the Face, 5’ 8” tall. Body needs to show up at longitude/latitude 39.801667, -83.892778, which happened to be Cardiff, Ohio, about 400 feet from the two-time dining extravaganza known as Eat M Up Joe’s Diner and Romero’s Restaurant & Bar.
The ‘waiter’ burned the ad, destroyed his cell phone, and drove away, never to see Romanova’s Restaurant again.
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Then he wrote down what those words stood for:
MV A RG 135 NP 24 CF 58
He could hear her voice on the phone numbers, too. Before 3:00, call 980-1667. After 8:00, call 389-2778, and so he wrote 39.801667, -83.892778, then placed the call.
“Mr. Mulholland,” he said. “MV A RG 135 NP 24 CF 58. 39.801667, -83.892778. Thank you, John,” and hung up.
John Mulholland would pass on the information to the gentlemen known as “the Cleaners.” The man in the field, Cortez, needed a Murder Victim, Asphyxiation if possible, Red hair – Green eyes, 135 pounds, No Priors/No Prints on file anywhere, 24 years of age, do a C-4 explosion to the Face, 5’ 8” tall. Body needs to show up at longitude/latitude 39.801667, -83.892778, which happened to be Cardiff, Ohio, about 400 feet from the two-time dining extravaganza known as Eat M Up Joe’s Diner and Romero’s Restaurant & Bar.
The ‘waiter’ burned the ad, destroyed his cell phone, and drove away, never to see Romanova’s Restaurant again.
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Thelonious knocked three times on the outside of the truck. It was a rusted-out 18-wheeler parked between two others just like it behind a dead auto repair shop. The back cargo door opened slightly, and a thin hand slipped its way out. Cortez took it, and Basie pulled him up and into the truck, closing the door behind them.
“Good upper body strength, Base,” he said.
“Always,” she said. “Any problems?”
“A guy bumped into me on the street,” he said. He smiled and produced a receipt from Romanova’s Restaurant, and a single slice of lemon.
Basie was on board now. She’d had a few momentary flutters, but now that she was in, she was IN. There was no turning back. She keyed Thelonious in on the situation – her eyes flashed behind her, to the front of the compartment where Dizzy and Ellington were arguing, then rolled.
The inner walls of the truck were lined with guns, weapons, bombs, grenades, and ordinance of all kinds. Six flat screen televisions filled out the room, but had been turned off per Thelonious instructions, as their screen resonance could be tracked by GPS if you knew how. Two specially made laptops sat on the table between Dizzy and Ellington, but both were turned off now, as well.
“What I’m saying is, just give them a listen!” Dizzy said. “Scatterbrain was absolute genius! ‘Down with the Ship’ is worth the cost of the whole album.”
“CD,” Ellington corrected.
“CD, album, whatever,” Dizzy said, carrying on. “The guitar player is phenomenal! Name another rock band that could pull off playing Mozart sonatas!”
“ELO,” Ellington said flatly.
“ ’ere we go again with the flogging Electric Light Orchestra…”
“Even a prole like yourself has to admit that ‘In the Hall of the Mountain King’ is brilliant!”
“Pere Gynt? Fuck that!” Diz said, offended. “Grieg was a wanker! We’re talking Mozart ’ere!”
“Fine, fine,” Ellington conceded. “But then you have to consider ‘Roll Over Beethoven.’”
“Radio or…”
“Album version!” Ellington said, cutting him off. “The perfect marriage of Beethoven’s Fifth with Chuck Berry, done with the delivery of the early Beatles.”
Dizzy sat silent, then nodded. “You got me there. That is perfect.”
“Gentlemen,” Thelonious interrupted, “if you’re done with the Top 40 countdown of yesteryear, we have business to attend to.” Both men snapped forward, their attention squarely on their boss. Thelonious put the restaurant receipt on the table, along with the slice of lemon. Dizzy smiled and reached for the lemon, but Ellington snatched it up before he could reach it. Ellington turned over the receipt and rubbed the lemon slice across it. Diz promptly snatched up the receipt, smiling, and he shook it in the air.
And then his smile disappeared.
Ellington grabbed the receipt and read it before it was grabbed in turn by Basie. After reading it, she handed it slowly to Thelonious. All were quiet.
“Are you sure, boss?” Basie asked.
“Yesssss,” Ellington said, slowly, thinking. “Are we?”
“That’s up to each of you,” Thelonious said.
Diz looked at them each in turn. “Well, I’m in. The disappearing ink, like grade school. Nice trick, that.” Thelonious just looked at him. “And I’m in! I said so!”
“And I as well,” said Ellington. Thelonious looked at Basie.
“Me, too, boss,” said Basie. “But it’s kind of a change in plan, isn’t it? Like… forever?”
“That it is,” Thelonious said. “That it is.”
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“Good upper body strength, Base,” he said.
“Always,” she said. “Any problems?”
“A guy bumped into me on the street,” he said. He smiled and produced a receipt from Romanova’s Restaurant, and a single slice of lemon.
Basie was on board now. She’d had a few momentary flutters, but now that she was in, she was IN. There was no turning back. She keyed Thelonious in on the situation – her eyes flashed behind her, to the front of the compartment where Dizzy and Ellington were arguing, then rolled.
The inner walls of the truck were lined with guns, weapons, bombs, grenades, and ordinance of all kinds. Six flat screen televisions filled out the room, but had been turned off per Thelonious instructions, as their screen resonance could be tracked by GPS if you knew how. Two specially made laptops sat on the table between Dizzy and Ellington, but both were turned off now, as well.
“What I’m saying is, just give them a listen!” Dizzy said. “Scatterbrain was absolute genius! ‘Down with the Ship’ is worth the cost of the whole album.”
“CD,” Ellington corrected.
“CD, album, whatever,” Dizzy said, carrying on. “The guitar player is phenomenal! Name another rock band that could pull off playing Mozart sonatas!”
“ELO,” Ellington said flatly.
“ ’ere we go again with the flogging Electric Light Orchestra…”
“Even a prole like yourself has to admit that ‘In the Hall of the Mountain King’ is brilliant!”
“Pere Gynt? Fuck that!” Diz said, offended. “Grieg was a wanker! We’re talking Mozart ’ere!”
“Fine, fine,” Ellington conceded. “But then you have to consider ‘Roll Over Beethoven.’”
“Radio or…”
“Album version!” Ellington said, cutting him off. “The perfect marriage of Beethoven’s Fifth with Chuck Berry, done with the delivery of the early Beatles.”
Dizzy sat silent, then nodded. “You got me there. That is perfect.”
“Gentlemen,” Thelonious interrupted, “if you’re done with the Top 40 countdown of yesteryear, we have business to attend to.” Both men snapped forward, their attention squarely on their boss. Thelonious put the restaurant receipt on the table, along with the slice of lemon. Dizzy smiled and reached for the lemon, but Ellington snatched it up before he could reach it. Ellington turned over the receipt and rubbed the lemon slice across it. Diz promptly snatched up the receipt, smiling, and he shook it in the air.
And then his smile disappeared.
Ellington grabbed the receipt and read it before it was grabbed in turn by Basie. After reading it, she handed it slowly to Thelonious. All were quiet.
“Are you sure, boss?” Basie asked.
“Yesssss,” Ellington said, slowly, thinking. “Are we?”
“That’s up to each of you,” Thelonious said.
Diz looked at them each in turn. “Well, I’m in. The disappearing ink, like grade school. Nice trick, that.” Thelonious just looked at him. “And I’m in! I said so!”
“And I as well,” said Ellington. Thelonious looked at Basie.
“Me, too, boss,” said Basie. “But it’s kind of a change in plan, isn’t it? Like… forever?”
“That it is,” Thelonious said. “That it is.”
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Less than an hour later, the nanobot relays told Cortez that all three ‘security men’ were unconscious. He couldn’t get a fix on Coulter’s position, so he called him.
“Coulter, this is… right. Doctor Coulter, this is Cortez. I wanted to show you the results of my study on…”
“Cortez, handle it!” Coulter yelled. There was a slight whistling sound. “I am far too busy right now!” And he hung up. Cortez smiled at the little man’s rudeness. Coulter was busy, the security detail was out.
He had his opening.
-----------------------------------------------------------------
(43,296 words so far)
“Coulter, this is… right. Doctor Coulter, this is Cortez. I wanted to show you the results of my study on…”
“Cortez, handle it!” Coulter yelled. There was a slight whistling sound. “I am far too busy right now!” And he hung up. Cortez smiled at the little man’s rudeness. Coulter was busy, the security detail was out.
He had his opening.
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(43,296 words so far)
Cortez recruits labrats
Gert spent an hour looking for Cortez. She couldn’t leave this to chance. She also couldn’t leave this to Leroy. Leroy Johnson was brilliant when it came to technology and was pretty adept in the lab. Social aspects were not in his skill list. Planning ahead also didn’t make that list. Gert needed to secure their exit strategy and she knew just how to do so.
She had been studying each of the men that Coulter had paraded through the lab… the security men and Javier Cortez. She didn’t like the smile on Coltrane’s face… he thought he knew everything before it even occurred to anyone else. No… don’t trust the egomaniacs. King was a sweetie… too bad he’s not really helpful right now. Dizzy seemed a bit aloof and wasn’t here right now. Armstrong seemed to be a yes-man. Parker didn’t seem to stand out either. That was probably why Coltrane had wanted them for this team - easy followers; yes-men. Thelonious was promising… but also out on assignment. Basie and Ellington were with them. That left Cortez. He had managed to cover his reactions to everything Coulter did, but she could tell he was beginning to seem annoyed. She had watched his eyes. She had listened to his tone. She had analyzed… and possibly over analyzed his words. It was time to see if her minor in psychology was going to pay off.
Cortez was always on the move though. It was hard to place him from one minute to the next. It would be luck if … And then she heard Cortez… and Coltrane responded… “You got that right. I’m good to go, Doc? All right!”
Gert dashed into the adjacent closet just before Coltrane left the room. As soon as she was sure he had passed on down the hallway, she peeked out. She heard Cortez talking, “Coulter… right. Doctor Coulter. All three are done. They’ll all be unconscious within the hour. The sedative will keep them out for about two hours after that, while the new adrenaline component kicks off the process in the heart. They’ll all wake up, just like Tasha.”
Gert held her breath. Had she been wrong about Cortez? She heard footfalls and started to dash. “Ms. Sankjohanser? Hold up a sec.”
“Dr. Cortez?” She slowly spun to face him, trying to wipe the fear from her face.
“I’ve been meaning to talk to you.”
“You have?”
“Yes, it’s about you and your boyfriend… You like the sci fi stuff, right?”
“Leroy’s more versed than I, but I keep up. Why?”
“I was just going to mention there’s a Terminator film fest downtown this weekend. In case you’re interested.”
“Really?” Gert was trying to figure out what was up… Why was he talking movies when he just turned the three security guards into zombies? Was it a ploy? Was he trying to give her a false sense of security.
“Yeah… I thought you’d like to know… You both seemed like the type that would want to follow or even help John Conner blow up Skynet, if you had the chance.”
“Yeah… that’s us… fighting for the good of humanity.” She asked herself why she said that… She was trying to make polite conversation… she was wondering if he was actually trying to do something more. She studied his face. It seemed blank.
“I need your help a minute. Follow me.” He walked down the corridor, she followed. “You want out?”
She caught up with him and looked up. “What?”
“Do you want out?” he said, quietly, almost under his breath.
“Yes,” she said in a whisper.
He nodded. “We need to take Ms. Harris with us. I’ll be in the lab in a minute." He quickly glanced each way, then looked back at her. "Go.”
Gert darted ahead. Her heart racing. No need to tell her twice. Cortez was playing Coulter. He was hustling him…
-----
He was over it. After securing King’s body in a bag and storing it in an unused room down the hall from patient zero, Johnson had spent the rest of his time observing patient zero on the monitor. He watched Gert check on her and had switched it off so that Gert to could have her chance at girl talk. He then watched as the patient zero… Tasha Harris… had gone back to studying the walls of her cell. Johnson leaned back in his computer chair and stared at the monitor. The poor girl… her only crime had been meeting Coulter. Johnson’s only crime had been taking this assignment. Yeah… he was going to change that. But how? And how did he get Gert, Tasha, and himself out of there without any of these gun toting guards shooting them?
How many degrees did it take to come up with a plan? Johnson had to admit to himself that strategy was not his strong suit. He could recite how the Enterprise had out maneuvered every hostile alien it had ever encountered. He could describe each move the rebels had taken against the Imperial Fleet to bring down the Sith. He could lead an orc army to victory in a Blood Bowl. He could bring all of his foes to justice when he took his JLA miniatures against any of other team in Heroclix. And yet, how to get himself, his girl, and the zombie girl out of the building without anyone getting shot, that was tough… lives were on the line. Reading people was hard… knowing when to trust them… knowing when they were drawing weapons on you… knowing when they were just tired of your shit.
Gert plopped down beside him, breaking his concentration. He turned his head toward her and rubbed his eyes. “We gotta bail.”
“Have any ideas yet?”
“No… well- no… I just know we gotta bail… and I’ll never be able to sleep if we don’t take her with us…” He pointed at the screen.
“Yeah… we’re all three going to-”
“Going to what?”
“Woah! Yoda… don’t do that!” Johnson sat up so fast he nearly fell off the side of his chair.
“What?” Cortez scowled at Johnson.
“I mean… we were just…”
“Have you seen Dr. Coulter?”
“Nn-”
Cortez didn’t give him time to answer… it was as if he knew the answer, but was leading up to something else… “Come with me if you want to live…”
Johnson looked at Gert. “Um…”
“Listen to the man!” She darted forward out of her chair and pulled Johnson along. Cortez was already exiting the room.
“Mr. Johnson, did you get my memo from earlier?”
“Yes sir, everything you had asked for… it’s sitting over there in the lab.”
“Good… make yourself useful… grab that tray and bring it over. Ms. Sankjohanser, come here… I need a steady hand to help me with the final preparations.”
“What are we doing?” Johnson trailed over to see Cortez feverishly mixing some chemicals. Johnson froze and watched as Cortez grabbed beaker after beaker, barely looking up, and measured out different amounts, pouring them into the Erlenmeyer flask on the Bunsen burner. It was upsetting that he had missed the first few ingredients. He would have liked to have known what Cortez was making with the chemicals Johnson had so carefully stocked in the containers Johnson had so carefully prepped.
“Are you just going to stand there or will you be bringing that tray over?”
“Sorry… what are we making?”
“Something that will make it so we can move quicker.”
“You’re going to inject us with a formula to accelerate our molecules?”
Cortez stopped and turned toward Johnson. “What?”
Johnson sheepishly set the tray down. “Of course not, that would be silly…” He exhaled. “How will this make us quicker?”
“It’s going to help our patients regain some life into their steps and keep them from being controlled or exploded.” Cortez poured the last ingredient into the mixture, turned off the burner, and began to stir with a pipette. He looked at Johnson. “Take over here…”
Johnson looked at Gert. Gert pushed him over. “Stir it, Leroy.”
“I still don’t understand…”
“We’re getting out of here. Remember how Coulter had you rig the nanobots? Well, we can’t have him gaining control of them as we leave and making them turn on us, right?”
“Them? Them who? I thought we’re just taking patient- I mean, Ms. Harris.”
“King should be getting up soon…” Cortez was searching for items in a cabinet.
“He shot King… Dr. Coulter shot King.” Johnson suddenly noticed he had stopped stirring.
Gert put her hand over his and continued the stirring motion. “I was going to ask that of you actually, dear. Do zombies stop with just a bullet or do you have to destroy the brain? I’ve seen it done both ways in the movies.”
Johnson turned toward her. His mind trolling through data in his brain. Could King still be alive? “I think … He could still be… not dead.”
“He’s not dead. Not only are we dealing with zombies… and you must kill the entire brain to stop a zombie… this is a ‘super zombie’ since we used the version developed from Ms. Harris.” Cortez walked back over to them. “Stop stirring in 3 minutes, when the solution turns orange. Then fill these two syringes to 54 cc’s. Go inject one into Ms. Harris. Tell her we will need her to talk down King. I’ll meet up with you then.”
Cortez darted out of the room. Johnson looked back just as the liquid turned a mandarin shade. “Step one complete.”
“Farmboy, fill the syringes.” Gert winked.
“As you wish.” Johnson smiled at her.
-----
Corner on the road
It was going to take 10 hours to get back to Willowton. Corner had to fill that gas guzzling Fedex truck twice. He had done nothing but drive, piss, drink coffee, and eat gas station cuisine the whole way. Now that he had hit the second fill up, he felt he might make it in less than 8. The little display kept announcing it was recalculating time and distance. He almost threw it out the window when it started repeating “Recalculating… Recalculating…. Recalculating…” at the detour in Illinois.
Corner felt the fatigue weighing him down, it had been a long haul from Iowa. It didn’t help that the flat landscape made it feel like forever until the next mile. He felt the blood rushing through his veins and heard his heart pumping between his ears. He counted the mile signs as he passed them, trying to keep focused. He was going to make it. He was going to get Tasha and get as far away from Coulter as possible.
He flipped on the radio as a distraction… the GPS hadn’t spoken even a ‘recalculating’ to him since the last gas station. The radio was whatever NPR station that was broadcasting in the Wapakoneta area. Sedate voices spoke of how the Tea Party was going to keep the President from accomplishing anything during his time in office just to spite him and his party.
Corner punched the radio to another station. “Ya hear him howlin around your kitchen door, ya better not let him in” blasted from the radio. He shook his head and turned the dial. “All you zombies hide your faces… All you people in the street… All you sittin' in high places…The pieces gonna fall on you.” It sounded appropriate… but Corner hit the scan again and increased pressure on the gas. Now, the radio was playing “With their tanks and their bombs, And their bombs and their guns. In your head, in your head, they are crying…”
What was with the monster theme today? Corner turned off the radio and started tapping on the steering wheel. He resumed counting the sign posts. He wanted to plan out what he was going to do once he reached his destination, but not knowing where Tasha was going to be in the building or what kind of people or things would be in his way meant he was going totally by the seat of his pants… at least they were clean pants now.
-----
Tasha’s mom story - talking to Tasha
Tasha’s mom had once told her long ago that her name meant ‘born at Christmas.’ Tasha had not been born at Christmas. She had been born October 27th. Tasha had asked why name her that and not something more Halloweeny. Her mother had avoided the question… glancing at her father and his parents. Finally, after Tasha had been insistent, her mother had then asked her if she wanted to take a walk in the garden. Tasha remembered following her mom out the back door, down through the garden and passed the outhouse. Tasha was amused every time she saw that outhouse because it was only used by her grandfather… who insisted on not being modern. The ‘water closet’ had been installed when her father was young at her grandmother’s insistence. Pappaw wanted to keep to his old ways.
Once her mother had led her passed the garden, she sat down on a log under a Southern Pine. Tasha had sat down beside her and followed her mother’s gaze as it studied the field of green beans ahead of them. Finally, Tasha’s mother spoke. “Tasha, when you were born, I wanted to name you Fiona Theresa. Your father and grandparents were strict Evangelical Christian and wanted me to break from the Catholic traditions with which I had been raised. They rejected anything liturgical… you know… like how they don’t like to equate Jesus’ birth with Christmas because by description of circumstance, Jesus supposedly could not have been born in the winter months. And you know how they don’t like to believe that winged Angels still help us today…”
Tasha blinked… it was this way. When her mother talked to her, she talked as if she was talking to an equal. It was blunt. It was matter of fact. It was on the level. Tasha had always liked how they had talked together. That’s why it was so hard to go through her teen years with a father and a pair of grandparents who still thought the first date should include going to church and then spending Sunday afternoon at the house with the old folks.
Her mom had continued with her tale, as if the pause had been to allow Tasha to process the information. “So, I researched and named you a name that would secretly carry a meaning out of the liturgical world just to spite them. I couldn’t let them crush everything I knew. I loved your father enough to join his church and live his way, but I still hold my beliefs. I see Angels in the clouds… spirits in nature help us all of the time.” Her mom had chuckled. “Why else would a good Catholic Irish girl name her daughter a Russian name?”
“And your name? Vashti?” A soft breeze eased the warmth of the sun from Tasha’s skin.
“Is Hebrew/Persian… but it’s also Biblical. My parents named me Vashti Kathleen Galloway.” She stared blankly into the fields. “My grandparents…”
“Moved to Eastern Ohio during one of the many potato famines.”
“I’ve told you this.”
“Many times… but tell me again… tell me about the green fields in Donaghpatrick, where our cousins still live.” Tasha opened her eyes, and the memories of that day faded into the darkness of the room. Tasha tried to remember more than the flashes she had of descriptions of green fields and black and white photographs of smiling faces wearing plaid jumpers with white blouses. One of the girls in the photo was her mother… and if she was looking at the photo, she’d be able to point to her. The family would always splurge to take a photo of the kids before they started school each fall. They had begun the tradition not long after coming to Ohio.
Tasha had managed to save all of the photographs after her mother died, but wasn’t certain which box they were in now… in her apartment. Not that it mattered. She may never see her apartment or those photos again.
“Tell me about the green fields in Donaghpatrick, where our cousins still live.” Tasha listened as her voice slightly echoed off of the dark walls. It had been hours since Gert had brought her the brain. “Mom, tell me about the green fields in Donaghpatrick, where our cousins still live, please.” Tears were welling in her eyes. Maybe they had all forgotten about her. Maybe they had even left.
“Tasha! Pull yourself together, lady. You aren’t going to get out of here asking about the past.”
Tasha blinked and looked around the room. A faint glow emanated from the corner opposite the door. The glow drifted forward until Tasha saw her mother standing there. “Momma?”
“Tasha… you need to get ready… you need to be ready. They’ll be coming soon. You can trust them… if you do, they’ll get you out of here… they’ll fix everything.”
“Momma, I’m a zombie… I eat brains now… They can’t fix everything…”
“Tasha… just be ready… You help them… you keep your wits about you and they will see you through this.”
“Momma… aren’t I dead? How can I get through this if I’m dead?”
“You’re not dead… you’re not living, but you’re not dead. Can the dead talk? Can the dead reason?” Light filled the room.
“You’re talking to me…”
“That is another matter… you remember what I told you about angels and guardian spirits?”
“Yes, momma.”
“Then let me guide you.”
The door had burst open moments ago… Tasha wasn’t sure when it had happened but now there were two figures standing in front of her, outlined by the fluorescent light flooding in from the hallway. The female figure stepped forward and leaned over, “Tasha? Who are you talking to?” The male figure closed the door, and Tasha found herself face to face with Gert.
“Just my mom… you wouldn’t understand.” Tasha looked back to the corner in time to see the glow still present but fading. Her mother smiled reassuringly. She turned back to see both figures looking at the corner, searching for what she was looking at.
“Tasha… do what they say… they’ll fix everything…”
“I’m Luke Skywalker… I’m here to rescue you…” the wiry man moved forward and grabbed Tasha’s arm.
“Leroy… give her your real name…”
“Aw… you’re supposed to say-”
“Aren’t you a little short for a stormtrooper?” Gert mumbled… then shook her head. “You have to play along to encourage him… men!” She chuckled. “This is Leroy Johnson, he worked for Coulter… we’re quitting… we’re taking you with us…”
Tasha blinked, “Ok.”
“That was easy.” Johnson clapped his hands. “Ok… Let’s get you up… Cortez sent us… You know Cortez, right?”
“Ah-”
“Yeah… well, anyway. He told us to come get you… He told us that we can fix you… We worked out the serum together. He knows more about zombies… so he left me to do the peripherals while he handled the big job… I was mostly distraction…” Johnson grinned.
“Leroy… we can tell her all of this later. We need to get out of here before Coulter locks us down…”
“Yeah… but I have to tell her what Cortez says…”
“Then…”
“Gert, let me finish the message. Cortez says I’m to give you this injection. It will cure your condition, but first we need to…”
Gert inserted the needle quickly and forced the bright orange liquid into Tasha’s bloodstream. “We could be walking right now…” Gert pulled Tasha up to her feet.
Tasha, following Gert’s lead, but was almost dizzy from looking back and forth between them. “What did Cortez say?”
Just then, the door burst open again. Cortez ran in, pulling two guns off himself. He handed the long, sub-machine gun to Johnson, and the handgun to Gert. Johnson smiled dumbly as he looked down the barrel of his own gun. Summing up Johnson’s utter lack of muscle (as well as his utter stupidity), he snatched both guns away, and handed them to the other.
“Gert, this is a KRISS XSMG submachine gun, the Super V model. It’s a .45 Caliber that recoils down instead of against your shoulder. Keep it pointed up and it’s like firing a toy; a toy that can shoot 4,500 rounds per minute.” Gert smiled.
“This, Mr. Johnson, is the Beretta 93R.” Johnson was still smiling dumbly. “It is NOT a toy! It will fire three-round bursts with each pull of the trigger. Do NOT point it at your own face! Both of you, point them at the door. Tasha…”
“Yes?”
“Tasha, we’re going to get you out of here. But I’m going to need your help with King. He’s probably a little crazy right now, and I’m going to need you to calm him down so we can get him out of here, too, okay?” Tasha smiled at Cortez, her former enemy.
“Okay,” she said.
“All right then,” Cortez said. “I’ll go first and lead us down the hall to King. Tasha, you stay protected in the middle. Gert and Johnson, you take up the rear. Everyone ready?” They all nodded. Cortez nodded back, then nodded to the corner where Tasha’s mother had been standing.
“And nice to see you again, Mrs. Harris,” he said, and then ducked out into the hallway.
-----
King not dead story… insert anywhere
Tyrone, aka King, opened his eyes. He wasn’t sure how long he was unconscious… Was he unconscious? Was he asleep? Was he dead? “Why is it so dark?”
His voice sounded a bit muffled. He tried to raise his hands to his face. Something was wrapped snugly around his arms. He started sliding his hands along the inside of his confinement. It seemed to be some sort of sturdy bag or … he traced his fingertips in front of him, feeling for the zipper. “Ooooh shit!”
He clawed at the zipper following it up to the top… there had to be a way to open it from the inside, right? No… ‘cause once you’re in the bag… you’re dead… “Yo! Hey! Still here! I’m still here! Dr. Coulter? Theloniiiouuus!”
He found a small hole where the zipper met the top. Forcing his finger through the hole he tried to push the zipper down… it fought him but gave a couple centimeters. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t move. He kicked. He flung his feet. Images of the lab flooded through his head. He saw the doc injecting him. He saw himself running on the treadmill. He remembered feeling ill. He kicked his feet hard. They slid off the edge of something. The rest of him followed. The side of his foot hit hard and flat. The rest of him fell on his side against it. He kicked again. His feet struck metal. His shoes were gone. “Help! HEEELLP!”
He started pulling at the zipper. It only budged a little. He remembered the pain shooting through his chest. He remembered dropping to his knees. He couldn’t breathe then either. He remembered hitting the floor. He had a glimpse of Dr. Coulter aiming a gun at him. He saw the gun discharge. He twisted his body. He felt the bag constrict. He had to catch a breath. He had to get out. There was no air… It was dark… He kicked again. Something hit him on the head.
King finally forced the index finger of his other hand through the hole with the first. He pulled and the zipper gave in. “Get me out! Get me out!” He pulled the bag off of his head and saw that he had kicked a gurney over and on top of him. Pushing it off, he pulled the bag on down. He was down to his boxers. Where were his threads? He reached up to his head absent-mindedly, he felt a small hole in his flesh at his left temple. “He shot me! He SHOT me! That mother-!” He pushed the gurney across the room. Jumping to his feet, he spun around. The room was tinted blue-grey. “Am I dead? What’s goin’ on!?!”
He stumbled out of the remnants of the bag and over to a shiny metal machine. In the reflection, he stared at the hole in his forehead right by his hairline, it was deep. “Noooo! Oh, my God! Oh, my God!”
He studied how the skull was chipped where the bullet had hit… he could see the beginnings of jagged cracks in the bone running toward into where the flesh obscured the paths. He could see torn brain matter from where the bullet had cut through, but only about a half inch in. The rest was filled in by damaged brain bits and blood. A guttural sound began deep in his throat. He slid his right hand up the back of his head and felt where the dreads stopped and the skull gave into mush. The hole was much larger and less clean. Bits of gooey matter dangled… “Nooo! No! No! NO! NOO!”
He threw his fists into the machine and knocked it down. He grabbed the next closest thing and it crashed to the side. Everything he could reach, he threw. It didn’t even occur to him that he shouldn’t be able to throw it. He just threw it. He was deader than dead! He had been betrayed! He had been let down!
His eyes filmed over with liquid. He took a few steps and threw something else. The next thing wouldn’t budge, so he punched it. He punched through it. The next thing was too low, so he kicked it, it soared across the room and busted into something else. Served it right! He grabbed the next thing and sent it over to join the last. His face was wet.
The door flew open. He turned… now he could punish moving objects. It didn’t matter who it was… if they were free, they were to blame for not getting him out of here or for putting him in here.
-----
Tasha watched as Cortez kicked the door in. He pointed the gun in and scanned the room and then dropped back into the hallway. “Tasha, you’re on. We’ve got your back. Do what you can.”
She nodded and stepped into the room. A young man of African descent with long dreads stood in striped boxers and nothing else. He was extremely well built, six pack abs, solid arms… could have fit in a superhero suit without any Hollywood tricks. He seemed angry. Water tinged with red ran down his face. “What’s that on his face?”
“Tears… turning to blood…” Cortez was right behind her as promised.
“As soon as his tear ducts empty, it will use blood…then dry out until he eats or drinks again. So will yours…” Gert added.
“Oh… that’s not comforting…” Tasha looked back at Gert. Gert was staring down the hall with her back to the door frame.
“Sorry.”
Cortez swallowed. “Tasha, he’s coming at us… It’s now or never.”
Tasha looked back. Zombie King was picking up speed. “King… Mr. King? Can you hear me? We’re here to help you.”
“NOT…MY… NAME…” He stopped but he gritted his teeth and glared… he seemed focused on Cortez’s gun now.
“What?” Tasha looked at Cortez.
“Contracted soldiers rarely use their real names on contract.” Cortez dropped the volume, “It’s Tyrone. Tyrone Hill”
“He told you his name?” Johnson hissed.
“Of course not, I just know more than I’m supposed to.” Cortez shook his head, then whispered “Call him Tyrone…”
Tasha nodded and turned back to the young man. He couldn’t be more than 24. “Tyrone… Tyrone? You have to trust me.”
“He will… you have sway over him… You’re the source of his life now… The basis for the zombie life is from your blood.”
Tasha nodded, not looking at Cortez this time. “Tyrone… I’m like you… I’m dead too. You have to trust me. We’re going to get you out of here.”
“The last person I trusted… did this to me!” He pointed at his head and squinted his eyes.
“I’m not going to hurt you. We’ve come to get you out of here. They’re rescuing us. We’re getting away from Raleigh Coulter.”
At the sound of Coulter’s name, King through a gurney across the room, nearly hitting Tasha and instead hitting the door frame where Gert was. Moments before it hit, Gert stepped away. “I don’t think I’d say that name again!”
Tasha stared at the gurney for a second and then looked back to King. “Tyrone, please.” She took a step forward. His legs shook slightly but he held his ground. She eased forward again. She remembered how she used to ease up on the frightened horses after the storm so that she could brush them out and calm them. Adopting this old technique, she managed to get within an arms-length of King. “Tyrone. I’m not here to hurt you. You’ve been hurt enough. I want to get out of here, but … I’m not leaving here without you. You’re like this because he used stuff he did to me to make you like this. I’m sorry.”
King’s tears were almost completely blood now. “Why? Whyyy?” He had his mouth held in the stretched position… as if to continue the ‘y’ sound, but broke into a sob.
“I don’t know… but we can only go from here… we can’t go back… We’ve come to help you. We’ve come to make it better. They’re going to fix everything. Will you let them fix everything?”
King nodded… there was no sobbing sound… he closed his mouth and looked at Tasha. “I don’t want to be dead…”
“I know. Me neither.” Tasha waved at the direction of the door, not looking away from Tyrone.
She saw Johnson ease up beside her. “Mr. King… I mean, Tyrone, I’m going to inject you with this stuff… it’s going to kill the little bots we put in you… he put in you…”
King turned and looked at Johnson, but he didn’t resist. He just held out his arm… “You make me worse, I’ll haunt your butt from here to eternity.”
Johnson nodded. He pulled out a twin to the giant syringe he had used on Tasha. Tasha looked away as it pierced King’s skin. She swallowed and looked around, “I’m going to find you some clothes, Tyrone. Ok?”
“I’m cool… I’m frosty… I mean I’m dead right… I gotta be cold.”
Tasha smiled weakly, facing King but trying not to see the syringe. She then started over to a counter top.
“It’s in the cabinet on its side right there.” Johnson mumbled, obviously focused on the task at hand. There was a hint of trepidation in his voice. Tasha looked back to make sure he was ok. He must be scared being that close to the once raging zombie with the strength of Atlas.
Looking back at the cabinet, she rescued a clear plastic bag which held King’s clothes, his holster and gun, a knife in a sheaf, his shoes, his watch, and his wallet. She turned back towards King and carried his belongings to him. “Here… these are yours right?” She knew they were since there was a label that said King, but she was trying to help him connect.
He nodded and took the bag with his other hand. She opened the bag as he held it and began pulling out items… “I’ll help you so we can leave faster, if that’s ok?” He nodded again.
“There you go, Tyrone.” Johnson put the needle away. “Can I wrap your head?”
“Yeah… probably shouldn’t be walking around with my brains falling on the floor.” King was looking at the ground now. “I’m not ok. Lady, don’t get it in your head that I’m ok with all of this.”
“We’re not asking for you to deal with it all right now. We’re just asking you to trust us enough so we can get you out of here.” Tasha smiled warmly at him. “Cortez is going to get us out of here. Then, we’ll work out what’s next, right?”
“That’s all I’m asking of all of you.” Cortez added.
King threw on his clothes with Tasha’s help. He let Johnson wrap the bandage on his head while Tasha cleaned off his face. Tasha then turned to Cortez. “Ok… next step?”
(48696 words so far)
Write something about...
Zenobia?
then...
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Cortez pulled what looked like a small radio out of his pocket, then tuned it to the same frequency as the security monitors. They all scrambled immediately. Then he grabbed his small medical bag and headed to the holding cell.
MORE...
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AS OF 9-6-2011, WE HAVE 66,054 WORDS!
Thank you for joining us on this literary journey !!
MORE...
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AS OF 9-6-2011, WE HAVE 66,054 WORDS!
Thank you for joining us on this literary journey !!
E-Mail the authors at: [email protected] with questions, encouragement, and a title for this book!
Copyright © 2011 by P.M. Bradshaw & Tanya Ellenburg-Kimmet
