John Holmes - Even Zombie Killers Can Die

The Sergeant Major shook her head, her expression a mixture of amusement and exasperation at Brit’s antics. Red was busy destroying a can of what looked like sliced peppers, and the only one who seemed determined to keep his hands to himself was Ahmed, his arms folded as he stared in mute fascination at a jar of diced tomatoes. His favorite, I knew; his wife, long ago, would make him a dish of stewed tomatoes on his birthday, or he had once told us on a long-range patrol. I hadn’t eaten a fresh tomato in three years.

Our host just shook her head. “Grab whatever you want, within reason, and I’ll start on dinner.” We needed no encouragement, and presented her with twelve different vegetables and six bags of various dried fruit. We followed her like ducklings back to the barn, and to our absolute delight found Pierre grilling steaks on the second-story deck. She had Red spear the vegetables onto sticks for grilling, and after a whispered word from me, cooked a dish of stewed tomatoes with curry sauce for Ahmed. He did not say a word when she set the bowl in front of him, but the hidden expression in his eyes told me his undying loyalty had switched to her. Traitor.

Doc was carried upstairs on a litter and was able to join us at the table, although an IV bag was hooked over a nail on the wall and Brundage gave him some sort of broth to sip, so he could at least feel like he was part of the celebration. Ziv’s arm was in a sling but he took to the steak with uncivilized gusto. There was nothing said for at least an hour, but we all ate as we never had before, not even in Seattle. Everything was fresh, except the meat, which had been frozen immediately after slaughter and tasted like the cow was still mooing downstairs. Nothing I ever ate before that night, not even before , tasted like that food. The Sergeant Major ate sparingly, although her companion went through his steak with the same enthusiasm we did. Brit had commandeered the largest bowl in the kitchen and was rapidly destroying the biggest salad I’ve ever seen. When we finally sat back, full, the table was almost empty, the sink was full of empty jars, and I had had to remove my belt. Red let out a long, loud, appreciative belch, apologizing sheepishly when the Sergeant Major gave him a dirty look.

An awkward silence fell. Pierre stood, and Brundage excused himself after adjusting Doc’s IV. Pierre said something in French that we didn’t understand, but it seemed to be friendly. We all gave him a short wave before he went inside to clean up. I saw Brit and then Ahmed glance my way, and I gave in to their stares. “You said last night that you know how the plague hit.”

Three empty wine bottles cluttered the center of the table; her collection in the main house was impressive, and even though I had preferred Jack Daniels back in the old world, it wasn’t bad. She lifted her glass and swirled the red liquid around before draining it. “I did say that,” she admitted as she carefully set the glass back on the table. “Perhaps a better question would be: Do you want to know what I know? You won’t forget it, and I may not be doing you any favors by telling you.”

It was Brit who broke the silence, and in her haunted expression I saw the girl Doc and I had rescued from the remains of Syracuse years before. “I was going to the stars, Lady. I was the top of my class in Physics, I was a week out from an internship at NASA when the zombies showed up. I want to know what stole my future.”

The two women shared a long, considering glance. I thought that perhaps the Sergeant Major, a woman who had somehow retained the vestiges of real elegance despite the dirt under her fingernails and the world-weary expression that creased her forehead, was the kind of woman Brit would have admired, if the world were sane and God paying attention. Finally the older woman nodded.

“If you insist. My last assignment, as I told you last night, Sergeant Agostine, was at Fort Detrick. By then I was twenty-six years into the Army, and I’d gone as far as I could, even among Sergeant Majors. I had no intention of continuing, and the only logical assignment left for me would be at Division level. But I had dropped my retirement packet after Bryan was diagnosed with brain cancer, our dreams of building a farm here to putter around gone along with his health. For the last nine months, ticking down to the day I’d leave, they asked me to run the Inspector General’s Office. Hardly a glamorous assignment, and not the one I should have gotten, but by then the only thing a bad NCOER could do was give me a paper cut.” Doc and I chuckled, Doc’s ending with a wince as he curled one arm around his ribs.

“Detrick was the home of the Army’s bioweapons program, despite all denials of it, and at my level I knew the basics of what was going on. There was an entire complex beneath the fort, something like six or seven stories below the surface. Supposedly it was capable of containing any virus that might have been accidentally released. Containment levels and eradication protocols so complex I don’t think any one person could have understood them all. I think that’s why what happened is so horrifying to contemplate: the release of the ‘reanimation’ plague was intentional .”

We sat in stunned silence for a long moment. “No. Fucking. Way.” Red finally whispered hoarsely. “How could someone do that — on purpose? Who would even think of that?”

“This woman should never have been employed by the U.S. military. She should have been killed at birth.” The Sergeant Major said softly, with venom.

I knew the name, I spoke it at the same time she did. “Doctor Morano.”

I felt her glance pierce me. “You know her?”

“She did this.” Brit lifted the damned pirate eye patch I had never been able to break her of using, and the Sergeant Major leaned forward to examine the white eyeball, the iris so clouded it was almost invisible.

“That looks like her work.” She settled back into her chair. “You know, a question a lot of people asked after World War II was how Mengele could get away with his work. Everyone wanted to know if the times made the man, or if the man took advantage of the times. You could ask the same question about her. Her reputation on post was such that everyone referred to her as ‘Doctor Moreau.’ I suspect she took it as a complement.”

“She’s a fucking psycho,” I said, hoarsely. My wife’s face flashed in my mind. Our daughter’s arm in her hands, the splash of blood across her torso, the red eyes. I had married her with so much love and hope for the future, our daughter’s birth had been the best day of our lives, and thanks to one mass murderer all that was gone. I loved Brit, but there was nothing I wouldn’t trade, not even her, to have my family back. My old life and the old world back.

“She’s a sociopath for certain. I never understood why no one suspected her after the parasite was released, but I suppose in the general chaos no one got around to asking questions, and if she’s popped back up on the government’s radar, as she seems to have done, they may not care so long as she appears to be making progress towards a cure.”

“She’s based out of Seattle now, but she hops around the country. She’s got two Delta goons for bodyguards.” I told her.

Our host nodded slowly. “That’s enough to keep her in funding, and to give her whatever guinea pigs she wants.”

Ahmed leaned forward. “Tell us about the beginning, please.”

The wind had died, and just as she opened her mouth, the faint zombie howl echoed across the water. We all jerked upright, reacting on instinct to the sound, but our host only turned her head slightly, as if to hear better. She raised one hand to keep us in our seats. “What you’re hearing is Chazy, New York. The wind drops in early evening and you can sometimes hear it across the water. We’re safe here.” Pierre stepped back out on the porch to listen himself, his shotgun strapped across his back. “The wall is fully guarded in the evening, and there is no way across the water. You’re safe.” The sun was almost fully down, the sky a pale lavender in the west, fading to deep indigo. The moon was still new, and the stars blazed. Above our heads the Milky Way splashed rich and bright, and Brit sighed softly as she looked at it. The Sergeant Major continued her story, and slowly we all felt the chill of her words take hold.