A Plague on All Houses (10 page)

“You think?”

I could tell Lily wanted to believe what I said. “I think. I also think we should get some sleep ‘cause you know Gabriel's gonna kick our asses tomorrow.”

“Yeah.” I heard her yawn. Another long pause, then, “Thanks, Ashley. You make me feel like things are going to be okay…” She must have fallen asleep right after her last sentence from the way her breathing evened out and lengthened into the gentlest of snores.

I lay awake for a few more minutes, feeling an unaccustomed warm glow. I'd made Lily feel better and that felt like I'd made a small difference in what had suddenly become a very bleak world.

The researchers and medical staff theoretically wouldn't see combat (or whatever one calls killing zombies), but they were strongly urged to get some training with weapons and combat techniques in case a) the walking dead penetrated the defenses around D.B. Patterson Hall; b) some of the infected in the lab somehow managed to break free; or c) one of them caught the virus and went zomboid without warning. This meant, joy of joys, that Jamie joined us the next day while we learned the basics of handling firearms, edged weapons, pole-arms, and pretty much how to turn any found object into an effective defense and/or offense against the walking dead. I did my best to ignore Jamie—who returned the favor—and learn everything I could from each lesson.

I have to say I loved the edged weapons portion of the training. Kai and I pretty much kicked butt at it. Of course, it helped that I'd studied theatrical combat and fencing in high school and college. Kai and I discovered we'd had the same theatrical combat instructor, a fifty-something wanna-be swashbuckler with an age-inappropriate soul patch. Total pretentious Lothario, but a good teacher. If I ever saw him again, I'd thank him. From a distance.

Honestly, you would not believe the things you can do with wooden kabob skewers if you know where to shove them. And if all you've got is a book? Shove it in the attacking zombie's mouth and reduce the risk of being chomped. Basically anything can help you survive if you use your brains and don't panic. Which really is what a lot of the training was about: how not to panic when facing off against a horde of carnivorous ambulatory corpses.

Among other things we learned: to panic is to die. To give in to sentimental attachment (e.g. run into the arms of a loved one after they've been bitten and turned in the mistaken hope they'll recognize you and decide not to have you for dinner) is to die. To freeze in combat is to die. To eat two-day-old sushi is to die.

Okay, just kidding about the last one. Although I suppose it's feasible.

We learned all of these things and more through a combination of training techniques, including an intensive three-hour session covering firearms.

Ah, firearms…

Gabriel took us out to the range, which was just a closed-off hallway in DBP with a bunch of sandbags stacked against the far wall, and handed us over to Captain Gentry, a baby-faced guy in army fatigues.

Yowza. Is it politically incorrect to admit I love shooting things? And the targets were awesome. I mean, someone actually makes zombie targets for shooting ranges. Is that a cool idea or what? I blew the shit out of Zombie Steve.

The first half hour was pure fun because Captain Gentry operated on the assumption nobody had ever handled a gun before, so we got to start ‘plinking’ with these little .22 caliber pistols and rifles.

“Even a little bullet in the right part of a zombie's head will do the necessary brain surgery to put them down,” said Captain Gentry.

The .22s had no kick at all, kind of like a pellet gun or even one of those old rat-rubber pistols my friends and I used to play with. Lots of hours spent shooting each other in parks and playgrounds, and even
more
hours picking up the soft little yellow ‘bullets.’ Then we moved up to military-grade stuff, which is when Captain Gentry and Gabriel went all anal.

The Colt M4 was okay. I mean, everyone's seen them on TV for years, any time there's police action or a swat team. I mean, Jack Bauer uses one on
24
. Not much of a kick or anything, but still pretty easy to shoot. Then we played with military pistols, Beretta 9 mms, and some other stuff: a Glock, blocky and ugly looking, but fun to shoot.

Pretty cool. Then this big bad boy .45 pistol Captain Gentry called a 1911. It's another one of those things that looks straight out of a gangster film. And it can stay there because it's a pain in the ass to shoot: loud, a nasty-ass kick. I mean, it makes a watermelon do a Gallagher finale in one shot.

Then the shotguns were wheeled out and they made the 1911 feel like a .22 in comparison. Winchesters and Remingtons, all 12 gauge that kicked like a really pissed-off mule. But nothing so bad as this little cut-off double barrel shotgun that totally looked like something from
The Road Warrior
. Naturally I wanted to try it, but Tony beat me to the punch.

“Creep,” I muttered after he snatched it from my reach.

“You snooze, you lose,” he said with a smirk.

I had the last laugh, though, because when Tony gave the target both barrels, it bucked back and smacked his chin hard enough to knock him backwards. “Way to go, Mad Max,” I said, helping him to his feet. “Bet you wish you'd snoozed a little more.”

“No way!” said Tony, rubbing his jaw while staring at the double-barrel monster with love. “This thing rocks!”

Captain Gentry also gave us a few shots with an autofire shotgun, and weirdly, it had damn near no kick at all, which was really cool. So cool, in fact, they decided it needed to stay a military toy for the Alpha teams. “You all,” Gabriel informed us, “will be using the M4s.”

Tony clutched his double-barreled baby to his chest. I wouldn't be surprised if he smuggled it out under his shirt.

Gabriel believed in repetition, the old practice-makes-perfect routine for each and everything he taught us. Luckily part of the Wild Card legacy is great stamina. Mack kept up with the rest of us despite his age and we learned to ignore his muttering about aching joints and creaky knees. I caught a pleased grin on his face more than once after executing a maneuver that would have put most twenty-year-olds to shame. The whole enhanced skill set bonus prize was pretty damn nifty.

Gabriel, on the other hand—well, by mid-afternoon he didn't look so good. He still looked gorgeous, mind you, but he also just looked, well, off. His skin looked sallow and those gorgeous blue eyes had deep hollows under them. Maybe he wasn't entirely over his bout of Walker's yet. I thought about asking him if he was okay, but couldn't quite summon up the courage and I was too busy fending off Kai and Lily—both coming at me with edged weapons—to stop for a chat.

Simone came in around four or so, accompanied by Dr. Albert and a soldier lugging a bunch of bottled waters. I stifled a laugh as Jamie stood up straight and sucked in her nonexistent stomach.

Simone handed Gabriel a bottle of water. “How's it going?”

Gabriel grunted in response, twisting the cap off the bottle and downing most of its contents in one gulp. He really didn't look good. His skin was sallow and beads of sweat gathered on his forehead. Simone took a long look at him and evidently came to the same conclusion. “Gabriel, Dr. Albert needs to have a word with you.”

Gabriel nodded. “Take five, everyone.” I wondered if anyone else noticed the odd gravelly undertone to his normally smooth voice. I hoped he was okay.

We all collapsed in mid-combat technique, grateful for the break. Simone handed out waters—Jamie immediately jumped up to help her distribute bottles—while Gabriel stepped outside with Dr. Albert.

Lying on the floor on my back, I rolled the ice-cold bottle over my forehead, neck, and chest. Shutting my eyes, I focused on deep breaths as my heartbeat returned to normal. The respite after such rigorous exercise felt so good as to be almost orgasmic, like a hot shower after a few days of camping and hiking. Come to think of it, a hot shower sounded pretty good about now too.

I wondered what was up with Gabriel. Simone had said he was “different.” Not Wild Card different. Something else. But what? I was curious, but also concerned. Gabriel drove me crazy at times, but I found myself liking him more and more each passing hour. And it's not like I was some sort of sicko slut hot for the guy who capped her zombie boyfriend. I just found myself appreciating him a lot more than I did back when our entire interaction was based on pissing each other off. There was still some fun in that, mind you, but I found I didn't like seeing him vulnerable and ill.

Everything was happening so quickly, a super-accelerated schedule. Not just the training, but having to process concepts and emotions within days that would normally require several years of therapy. To paraphrase
Predator
, one of my favorite testosterone-drenched flicks, we didn't have time to bleed.

“Is this our new team, Professor Fraser?” A rich, hearty, baritone voice, conjuring visions of Shakespearean heroes spoke above me. My eyes flew open and I sat up, dropping my water bottle in surprise. Jamie smirked. I ignored her and checked out the newcomer.

Skinny and short, his slightly oversized features looked like the sad side of a comedy/tragedy mask. His eyelids drooped and his mouth actually turned down at the corners. Had that warm, cheerful voice actually come out of such a lugubrious face?

“Did I startle you, young lady? My apologies.”

OMG, it was like watching a dubbed Chinese kung fu movie, the type where the voice-overs didn't go with the actors at all. I mean, the words and his mouth were in sync, but the voice
so
didn't go with that face.

I tried not to giggle. “Ah, er, no problem.”

“Team, this is Colonel Paxton. He's replaced General Heald as commander of this operation.” Simone's tone, while not effusive, was slightly warmer than it had been when addressing General Heald. I hoped this meant Paxton was less of an asshole than his predecessor.

Colonel Paxton nodded. “It's good to meet you all. Welcome aboard.” I swear, he had the sort of voice you'd follow into battle, but coming out of the face of a court jester. There was nothing funny about his next words, however. “Professor Fraser, we have an emergency.”

* * * *

“Well, shit.”

Standing in the entrance of DBP Hall and looking out onto the quad with the rest of the Wild Cards, as well as Simone, her shadow Jamie, Gabriel, and the baby-faced Captain Gentry, I had to agree with Tony's summation of the situation. What I could see of the campus looked to be crawling with the walking, rotting dead, including several in military garb. The protective neck and headgear would make it fun to try to deliver the killing blow to the brain. Guess they hadn't been able to get all of the infected Alphas off the streets before they'd turned. The setting sun lent an eerie crimson glow to the scene.

Colonel Paxton nodded. “‘Shit’ indeed, young man.”

How could anyone make “shit” sound so—so upbeat and heroic?

Paxton continued. “Until this morning, we had control of the campus and were moving into the town to sweep it clean as well and rescue survivors. But with the increased infection rate among our teams, the zombies have been encroaching from the outlying areas and overwhelming our diminishing forces, who in turn are joining the ranks of the enemy. We need to clear the immediate perimeter while our engineers erect a protective barrier around the campus.”

“Wouldn't it be safer to get the barrier in place, and then clear the interior?” asked Kai.

Paxton frowned, the corners of his mouth turning down even more, if that was possible. “If we had the luxury of time, of course. However, we don't. The barrier needs to go up so we have a safe base of operations and a place to house survivors outside of this building. We don't dare wait until morning. This operation will be dangerous.” Wow, understatement much? “Unfortunately our remaining Alpha teams will be protecting the engineers so the Wild Card team will be on its own.”

“Sucks to be us,” Kai muttered.

I nudged him in the arm. “Hey, at least we won't die if we get bit again.”

“Will we get sick again?” Lily hugged herself protectively, her hair actually pulled out of her face in a tightly woven braid pinned up and under a snug-fitting helmet with chin-guard (think
Starship Troopers
). Like me, she'd paid attention to Gabriel's Rule Number Sixty-Three (okay, I made the number up): “Never give your opponent anything he/she/it can grab hold of in close combat.”

All the Wild Cards had any excess hair braided, pinned, or otherwise tucked out of harm's (i.e. zombie hands) way, bodies protected in lightweight but effective sectioned Kevlar armor covering upper and lower arms, chest, and thighs. The Kevlar was worn over sturdy but flexible, fire retardant (in case we ran into any pyromaniacal zombies or accidentally set one another on fire) pants and long-sleeved shirts. Black knee-high, lace-up boots discouraged any pesky shin or ankle biters. Very police riot gear chic. It felt a little weird, but not so unwieldy I couldn't move or fight in it if—when the time came.

We were armed with our M4s and some sort of hand-to-hand weapon, based on personal preference. I chose a lethally sharp blade somewhere between a katana and a wakizashi. The slanted tip of the blade also sharpened enough to slide in and out of flesh with ease. It had what is cheerfully called a blood gutter running down the length of the blade, which ensured it wouldn't get trapped by the suction of the muscle tissue and fat.

I know, icky, right? But practical. I'd practiced drawing the sword out of its scabbard over and over again. Once Gabriel noticed my interest in the weapon, he'd made me wear its scabbard so I'd be used to its weight and feel. I also carried a shorter blade called a tanto in a crossover sheath, blade up over the left side of my chest. If I lost my gun and primary blade, I'd have easy access to the tanto. Thank you,
Zombie Combat Manual
.

My fellow Wild Cards had an assortment of goodies, such as machetes, axes, and crowbars. Lily had a little pickaxe, the wide edge of the axe and point of the pick also honed to razor sharpness. It hung from the right side of her belt. Between that and her firearm, Lily looked like a lethal Care Bear. And she would soon be outside in the middle of unimaginable horror and chaos.

No fooling myself on this one. Lily would be fighting.
I
would be fighting. Fighting for my life, as well as those of my fellow Wild Cards, the remaining Alpha team members and the poor hapless engineers trying to build a mini Great Wall of China around Big Red with rotting corpses snapping at their heels.

Suddenly I wanted to throw up.

A hand rested on my shoulder. “You okay?”

I looked up to find Gabriel at my side, looking much healthier than he had earlier. His color was better and the haggard circles under his eyes were gone. Maybe Dr. Albert gave him a shot of B vitamins or something. Whatever, it was reassuring to see him back to normal.