Under a Graveyard Sky

CHAPTER 12

“Looks like you’re going to make it,” Dr. Curry said, examining Faith’s chart.

“Don’t sound so enthused,” Faith said. She was sipping ice water and balefully considering what Dr. Simmons had prescribed for her first meal in two days: jello and chicken broth. “As far as I’ve been able to figure out, the only good thing about New York is, supposedly, the food. This is not what I’ve been promised.”

“You need to let your body get used to food again,” Simmons said.

“The emesis was a suprising response,” Dr. Curry said. “And as the resident mad scientist, while I personally didn’t want you to go fully into abnormal neural condition, the opportunity to study it would have been useful.”

“I love you too, Doc.”

“What is it about ‘mad scientist’ you don’t understand?”

Faith picked up the bowl of broth, took a sip and set it down.

“God, I’m weak,” she said, her hands shaking. “That’s just weakness, right?”

“Should just be low blood sugar,” Dr. Simmons said. “You’ve still got a high antibody count but your fever seems to have broken and your white blood cell count is dropping. As Dr. Curry said, looks like you’re going to make it.”

“And we’ve now got really good data on the progress of the disease,” Curry burbled, happily.

“Bully for you,” Faith said. “I know I’m tired. I’m channeling Da.”

“Anything we can do for you?” Dr. Simmons asked.

“As soon as I’m better enough somebody owes me one good meal in this stupid stinking town,” Faith said, sipping the broth again. “That’s all I hear is how great the food in New York is. And so far all I’ve had is take-out Chinese and…soup.”

“One good meal,” Dr. Curry said. “I’ll make sure that goes on the agenda.”

* * *

“Well, this has been too much fun,” Tom said. “Stacey…”

“She made it, Tom.” Stacey looked nearly as washed out as Faith. “And I guess the good news is that the vaccine works.”

“And she’s about as resistant as anyone could be,” Tom said. “I’ve always known she was tough… She’s saying she wants one decent meal in New York. How do you feel about that?”

“Going out to dinner in zombie infested New York?” Stacey said, grimacing. “Have a hard time saying no. But it’s not something I’m real thrilled about. She’ll need a day or so to rest up.”

“Agreed,” Tom said. “Steve should join us. I’ll scrounge up some security I can trust to put on your boat. I’ll send Kaplan and a backup. He’s scheduled for the primary extract, anyway. And I’ll find a restaurant that’s still open. Most of the really good ones are closed. I’ll find one. Oh, I traded some favors. Your certification as licensed contractors has been cleared. So you can carry, heavy, in New York City.”

“Does that include Sophia and Faith?” Stacey asked.

“I’ve got an ID printer,” Tom said, drily. “And some very flexible software. At this point I doubt anyone will check.”

* * *

“Do you have anyone who can take you to the hospital, ma’am?” Patterno asked as Young draped a sheet over her husband’s body.

The man had been in his seventies and yet had thrown off two taser hits. Some of them did that. Some of them dropped and some of them just kept coming. The new ROE was clear: If a 10–64 Hotel didn’t stop with the tasers, deadly force was authorized.

The department, with concurrence of the state and local authorities, had had to do it. Not only was it already the de facto rule of engagement, based upon how many shooting had been officer involved over the last few weeks, they’d lost too many officers to the Plague. And more than half of those had gone zombie themselves. The “squad” room meeting was starting to look like the “team” room meeting. Many more of them went down and it would be no meeting at all.

The wife had a bite on her arm and another on her shoulder. They’d hit both with antiseptic for all the good it would do. They were probably looking at another zombie in a few hours.

“A friend is on the way over…” the woman said, shakily.

“We’ll stay here until they get here,” Patterno said. “The Coroner’s office team will need to have access to your home. Can I get a verbal confirmation on that? Is it okay if the coroner’s team handles the management of your husband’s remains?”

“Yes,” the woman said, shaking her head. “Yes, I suppose they have to… Why did you have to shoot him?” she said angrily. “He was just sick! He…”

The woman suddenly lunged at Patterno, howling. Joe instinctively threw up his hand to fend her off. Unfortunately, he’d taken off his tactical gloves after dealing with her husband.

The woman’s teeth sank into the web of muscle and skin between his thumb and forefinger, ripping out a chunk. She lunged at him again, chewing.

At the first howl, Young had ripped out his taser and as Patterno rolled backwards off the sofa the taser round hit the woman in the side. She fell onto the floral print, blood splattered sofa, spasming.

“Shit, shit, shit, shit…” Patterno said as Young slapped a tranquilizer into the woman’s thigh muscles. The zombie started to stand up and he tapped her, hard, on the back of the head with his baton. She might be dead or not. He wasn’t really caring at the moment.

“How bad?” Young asked.

“Bad.” Patterno had his hand clamped on the wound but it was still streaming blood.

“Let it bleed,” Young said. “Maybe it will get some of it out.”

“Shit, she turned fast,” Patterno said.

“Really fast,” Young replied. He opened the med kit back up and as Patterno held out his hand started pouring betadine over the wound and then roughly bandaging it. He pulled out an antibody kit from the medical bag and did a quick bloodtest on the tranquilized subject.

“What’s it read?” Patterno asked, cradling his arm. They both knew she’d zombied but it was still possible she’d just had a really bad freak-out.

“Positive,” Young said, unhappily.

“Call for pickup,” Patterno said. “Then back to the station. Sentara Hospital is overloaded. And there’s not much they can do for me that one of the paramedics can’t. Hell, there’s not much they can do, period.”

“Unit four-six-four,” Young said into his microphone. “One Sixty-Four Hotel Kilo India Alpha. One Sixty-Four Hotel Tango. One officer possible infected, bite. Ten-nineteen for medical…”

“Good news,” Joe said, holding up his hand. “You get to do the paperwork.”

* * *

“I don’t want to go to the Warehouse,” Joe said as they were driving back to the station. He had his hand elevated and was staring at it.

“The warehouse makes Dachau look like Disneyland,” Young said.

“Billy’s…not going to be able to handle that,” Joe said. “You know that, right?”

“Yeah,” Young said. There was a zombie running down the street. Ten-year-old or so boy. A clothed woman was running after him. She was already bitten. Just another zombie in the making.

“We should have started at shoot-to-kill,” Joe said, watching the scene unfold. The woman was waving at the cop car as it passed, trying to get help. She’d be pissed off. Maybe she’d complain. Maybe somebody would hear it. Then she’d turn and the complaint would be sort of moot.

“You’ve got a spare, right?” Young asked. The Department required that you turn in your issue firearm as you were going off-duty. Since it was legal to carry for officers off-duty, most had at least one spare.

“Yeah,” Joe said. “I’d say stop so I could shoot both of them. But then they’d lock me up. And then I’d go to the Warehouse. And either starve to death or get eaten when it all goes down. Or, worse, get free and be one of them. I don’t want to be one of them.”

“I’ll come by after I get off-shift,” Young said. “Can Billy…secure you?”

“Heh,” Patterno said, starting to laugh. It turned into a full-bore belly-laugh. He finally stopped, wiping his eyes. “Yeah, he can.”

“What’s so funny?” Young asked.

“You’ve never had a problem with my lifestyle,” Patterno said, looking at him. “Any reason for that?”

“I don’t give a shit what a cop does with his or her genitals as long as they’re a good cop?” Young answered. “And you’re a good cop.”

“Oh, I’ve had my times being a bad cop,” Joe said, musingly. “But I’ve always appreciated that you weren’t a flake about it. So I’ve never really tried to screw with you. Don’t screw with me, I won’t screw back. So just… When you come by, just don’t get freaked out that Billy is able to secure me really, really well.”

“Oh,” Young said, grimacing. “Okay. Yeah. I’d say TMI but it’s useful, if, yeah, disturbing information.”

“Hey,” Patterno said. “Guy’s got to have a hobby…”

* * *

“Hi, Bill,” Young said. He didn’t want to be at Joe’s house. He didn’t want to go through with this. But duty was like that. “How’s he doing?” he asked as he stepped through the door.

“Not…well,” Bill Jacobus said. The electrical engineer was tall and slender in contrast to his partner. Young had never seen him wear anything but a golf shirt and fine slacks and that, at least, had not changed. The odd part was that his pant legs were covered in dirt. Then Young realized why. Bill started to stick out his hand, then remembered and ended up wringing them together. “His fever is very high. I’ve given him motrin and water. He’s…” He shrugged. “Thank you for coming. You’re a…good friend.”

“You know why I’m here?” Young said. “If you do…maybe you want to go out for a walk or something?”

“At night with zombies roaming?” Bill said with a breathless chuckle. He gestured up the stairs. “My first husband died of AIDs. I was always careful, even with Thomas, so I never contracted it. The one mercy of this plague is that it’s decently quick. I…since we are in this situation, I will tell you that I…gave the same grace to Thomas. But here…I don’t have the contacts, the materials.”

“It only takes one thing,” Young said, walking to the stairs.

“I could…turn up a morphine drip,” Bill admitted. “Add…some chemicals. I could not have pulled a trigger. That is why you are a good friend. Would you mind if I…? No, I should stay to say good-bye.”

Joe was in the master bedroom spread-eagled on the bed. There was a band across the top of the bed that restrained both his wrists and his head via a collar and his legs were spread and chained. He was dressed in black tacticals and wearing an SFPD badge.

“You guys are serious about your restraints, aren’t you?” Young said.

“I said a guy needs a hobby,” Patterno said. He was visibly sweating and racked with chills.

“How are you doing, honey?” Bill asked, sitting on the side of the bed and wiping his forehead. He leaned over and kissed him where he’d wiped.

“Guys, I’m real supportive of your relationship,” Young said, neutrally. “But I’m still the kid who was raised Southern Baptist at some level. So I’m just going to go outside. You two…chat. When you’re ready, Bill, I’ll be right in the hallway. Sorry.”

“Nah, it’s okay,” Joe growled. “I get it. I mean, I don’t get it but I get it.”

After about fifteen minutes, Bill came out wiping his eyes.

“Just…don’t…” Bill said, his face working.

“I won’t until I’m sure,” Young said. This was getting to be more and more of a pain.

“I’ll be in the back yard,” Bill said.

Young walked back into the room and pulled up a chair.

“Before I get comfy,” he said. “Piece?”

“Side drawer,” Joe said, gesturing with his chin.

Young quickly found the Glock.40. He pulled the slide back far enough to see there was a round in the chamber, then slipped it into his waistband.

“Could I get a drink?” Joe asked.

“Sure, partner,” Young said. There was a bottle of water with a straw in it by the bed. He reached into his cargo pocket and pulled out a pair of thick leather gloves. “Sorry. That old biddy turned so fast it has me nervous.”

“She did turn fast,” Joe said, taking a sip.

“How the hell do you do that?” Young said. “I can’t drink from the prone for nothing.”

“Years of training,” Joe said. “You really don’t want to know. Thanks.”

“You need some motrin?” Young asked.

“I’ve had enough to kill an elephant,” Joe said. “It’s not touching this fever. Or chills. Or aches. I mostly just want to lie here. No offense.”

“None taken,” Young said.

“But there is…” Joe said, then stopped. “I’ve got a favor to ask.”

“I thought that was why I was here,” Young said.

“Okay, another favor,” Joe said, frowning. “It’s about… Bill. He’s not going to deal with this real well…”

“Joe…” Young said. “I’m willing to accept that there are some people who are just… You know, totally gay and there’s no going back. You realize that there are some people who are just totally straight? And you know I’m one of them, right?”

“That’s not what I meant,” Joe said, wearily. “He’s got no skills for surviving this…shit…”

“Are you saying you want me to help your wife survive the zombie apocalypse?” Young said. “Because it would help a lot of it was, you know, an actual wife. Like, female.”

“I know what I’m asking,” Joe said.

Young thought about it for a second and shrugged.

“I’ll do what I can,” Young said. “But that’s all I’m promising.”

“Okay,” Joe said. “Way things are going, not sure what you could do anyway. You going in tomorrow?”

“Not hardly,” Young said. “I’m done. There’s no way to survive this as a cop. We’re not getting vaccine, we’re not getting support and we’re not doing a damned thing to stop it.”

“We should have quit a week ago,” Joe said, shrugging as well as he could. “I was sort of waiting for you to ring the bell.”

“Ring the bell?” Young asked.

“SEAL thing,” Patterno said. “When you quit BUD/S you ring a bell.”

“Ah,” Young said. “I didn’t know you were a SEAL.”

“Wasn’t,” Patterno said. “Guy on the team in Frisco was. Just picked up the term.”

“I was waiting for you to ring the bell,” Young said. “Bad call on both our parts.”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah.”

Young sat in silence after that, occasionally giving Joe water, for about an hour. Then Joe started to struggle against the straps.

“Spiders!” Joe snarled. “Get the spiders off! No, no, no, nooooo, aaaaaRRRRR….”

Young waited until he was sure, then put on a pair of nitrile gloves, pulled the Glock from his waistband and put it under the chin of his struggling partner. He pulled back carefully; you could blow a shot even at this distance, and felt the hammer give. The top of Patterno’s skull was taken off, blasting over the seafoam green sheets.

Young unstrapped Joe’s right hand, then wrapped it around the butt of the Glock. Last, he laid both on the upper chest. It wouldn’t survive a detailed forensic examination but there wasn’t going to be one. The last forensics tech in the department had gone zombie three days ago.

He walked out and shut the door, walked downstairs and exited the house.

From here on out, it was every man for himself.