John Ringo - Under a Graveyard Sky

“Yes,” Tom said. “And like I said, the idea is catching on in the States. Better to have contractors securing them than police. Put a bounty on them. There are legal issues. There always are. So go get packed for a few days at Uncle Tom’s cabin. Or condo in this case.”

“Can I bring my gear?” Faith asked. “Just in case?”

“No firearms,” Tom said, rolling his eyes. “Other than that, if you can carry it you can bring it.”

“Oooo! Got that!” Faith said, darting below.

“And no bows, crossbows or blowguns!” Tom called after her.

“I hate you Uncle Tom…!”

* * *

“Well,” Kaplan said, catching the tossed rope. “I can see the family resemblance…”

Sophia had packed one “good” outfit: a cream business suit and matching shoes. Which was what she was wearing. She was carrying a briefcase and had a backpack over her shoulder. And, because she wasn’t stupid, she was wearing a nose/mouth respirator.

Faith on the other hand…

She had on body armor. And a full face mask respirator. And a tactical helmet. And a full coverage uniform. And tactical boots. And tactical gloves. And a radio. And a machete. And a kukri. And two or three more knives. And three, count ’em, three tasers, cause Uncle Tom hadn’t mentioned tasers…

“Can you move in all that, kid?” Durante asked.

“Yep,” Faith said, her voice slightly muffled. She bent down and picked up one of Sophia’s duffles, then tossed it through the air to hit the former SF NCO in the chest. “Shoot, move and communicate. That get through to you?”

“Loud and clear, kid,” Durante said, laughing. “Let me guess: You’re the lab rat.”

“Like she knows a pipette from a test tube,” Sophia said, stepping delicately onto the dock. “I see you have the bags, Faith dear.”

“Like hell I do,” Faith shouted. It was muffled by the respirator, which sort of ruined it. “Get back here and do some work for a change!”

“We’ve got it,” Kaplan said, climbing in the boat. “Just head up to the car.”

“Where’s the zombies?” Faith asked, jumping onto the dock.

“Faith,” Tom said, trying not to laugh. “Just get in the Expedition,” he added pointing.

“Where’s the screaming crowds?” Faith asked, throwing her hands up in the air. “Where’s the random gunfire?”

“Queens,” Kaplan said. “But that’s sort of normal.”

“This sucks!” Faith said. “I’m bored.”

“Oh, just do NOT start,” Sophia said.

“ME start?”

“This is going to be sooo much fun,” Tom said. “I should have looked in the phone book under ‘deranged minion.’”

“Craigslist,” Durante corrected. “There’s a whole section…”

* * *

“Mr. Smith…” the security guard said, carefully. The retired NYPD cop was, after all, talking to his boss. “You realize that most of this stuff is illegal to carry in New York City, right?”

“Just humor her,” Tom said. “It’s not worth the argument.”

They’d taken a side entrance to the building but it still had a manned security checkpoint where Faith, over protest, was being forced to disarm herself.

“God this is embarrassing,” Sophia said, hanging her head.

“ You’re embarassed?” Faith said, pulling out yet another knife. Then the brass knuckles… “I’m being disarmed ! In New York ! In a zombie apocalypse !”

“I’m in charge of building security,” Tom said, shaking his head. “Me. I’ll make sure you don’t have to fight any zombies while in my building.”

“Like that’s being a friend,” Faith said, dropping a sand bag cosh onto the pile. “There. Done. I need a receipt.”

“Just give her one that says ‘Bucket o’ weapons,’” Durante suggested. “I wish you were legal, girl. I’d propose.”

“Like I date old guys,” Faith said, then thumped him on the shoulder. “Just kidding. You’re pretty cute for an old fart.”

* * *

“So you’re the boss’s niece,” Dr. Curry said, dyspeptically.

Sophia’s previous experience in a lab was high school chemistry. She’d made her usual A.

She had no clue what most of the stuff in Dr. Curry’s lab was for. There were big boxes with lights flashing on them. There were piles of complex glassware. There were computer cables snaking everywhere.

“Yes, sir,” Sophia said, trying not to appear as terrified as she actually was.

“You can take off the respirator,” Curry said. “This is the clean zone. The hot zone is back there,” he added, pointing to a door liberally covered with warning stickers. “Wait. Have you been blood tested?”

“No, sir,” Sophia said, starting to take off the respirator.

“Then keep it on for a second,” Curry said, pulling out a lancet. “I don’t want to get exposed if you are. Hold out your hand.”

He lanced the tip of her finger, then squeezed a drop of blood onto a small white card. The blood spread through a series of channels and as it did it turned blue.

“You’re clear,” Curry said. “ Now take off the mask.”

“Yes, sir,” Sophia said, finally pulling it off and shaking her head. “Whew. That feels better.”

“Don’t get used to it,” Curry said with a mirthless chuckle. “You’ll be in full gear in the hot zone. Okay, don’t get freaked by all this stuff. It’s useful but you won’t be working with most of it. Any of it probably. What you are going to be doing is working with vaccine production.” He paused and looked at her carefully.

“I understand that we’re extracting the vaccine, or the virus bodies anyway, from the spinal cords of infected primates,” Sophia said, carefully.

“Correct,” Dr. Curry said, nodding. “Just concentrate on that word. Primates. What you’ll be doing is, frankly, all the scut work. There are several procedures. Some of them are tedious and you’ll be doing the tedious ones. I did them when I was in college and grad school. I’m getting too old to pipette all day. And then there’s the washing up. I’ll be in there most of the time, all of the time at first, working with you. I’ll be doing the more complicated procedures. You just do as I tell you and you’ll be fine. The only real danger, since the material is a blood pathogen, is getting it into a cut. Do you have any cuts at all?”

“None on my arms or anything,” Sophia said, holding them out.

“Okay,” Dr. Curry said. “I do hope you brought some other clothes.”

“They’re outside,” Sophia said. “May I ask why?”

“Because there’s no way you’re working in a moon suit in a business suit and heels…”

“Mr. Schmidt, this is my niece, Faith,” Tom said.

Dave Schmidt didn’t work for Tom. He was one of the building engineers, which was an entirely different company. But they were sort of friends and if Tom didn’t find someone to entertain Faith soon all hell was going to break loose. And he was busy , damnit.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss,” Schmidt said, his brow furrowing.

“It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Schmidt,” Faith said, waving instead of shaking his hand.

Faith was being as close as she could come to being on “best behavior.” Given that not only had Uncle Tom divested her of all her weapons, most of her gear had been dropped in the security team’s locker room. She didn’t even have so much as body armor. In a zombie apocalypse!

“There are some real-world reasons that I’d like Faith to have a thorough grounding in large scale building design,” Tom said. “I know you have duties but would it be too much of an imposition for Faith to assist you in them?”