You’re the best team we’ve got out there. Will you help?”
Nora turned to look into Lou’s eyes. He was torn. So was she. But to be able to go home, or to what was left of home, was something she ached for. She nodded. Her heart was full of anger and resentment, but it was a way forward.
“Good. Julian is leading the pack. Get some sleep. We’ll start out at dawn, when the alphas are still out.”
* * *
“Did you sleep?” she asked Lou the next morning, as they gathered in the predawn chill. The eight hunters and volunteers from among the non-employees stood in the front lot near the gate, along with the six hunting hounds who had been among the dogs brought in. At least the dogs looked eager.
The big man’s face looked slack with exhaustion. “No, but does it matter?”
“I guess not,” Nora said. Julian Ferrar, a stocky man with silvering hair and tawny skin who ran the electron microscopy lab, handed out ammunition and stun guns.
“Shoot to kill only if you’re threatened,” he said. “We need survivors. Try not to get bit, okay? You’re at your most vulnerable as the pathogen load dips in your bloodstream. Tomorrow everyone lines up for their second dose of vaccine. I don’t want anyone to have to get stuck in isolation next to the specimens.”
Specimens . No one was going to call them what they were: captive zombies to be used as laboratory experiments.
“How many of ’em do you want?” asked Patricia Strauss, belting her hazmat suit tight. The slim woman had been head receptionist and administrative assistant to Management, but she was a good shot.
“No more than twenty. No fewer than twelve. Truss ’em. We’ll haul them back in the bus into Shipping. Daniel’s got cages set up that ought to hold them. We ride the Jeeps.”
“Can we shoot to wound?” Ricky Pirelli asked. He was a big man whose beard was usually confined in a hairnet. Like Nora, he worked as a senior lab technician.
Julian glanced around at his hunting party, and nodded sharply. “Let’s go.”
The situation called for the use of the company vehicles, and as much of the precious supply of diesel as it took. Nora and Lou boarded a jeep with Julian and Pat and two of the dogs. A big brown Basset hound flopped itself across her lap and demanded petting.
They drove down the ridge road as the sky started to turn deep blue. A waning moon was in the western sky over the treetops. The sky smelled fresh, with no bitter, sharp scent of decaying flesh or urine from the zombies.
All that changed as they descended into the river valley. The zombies needed water, a lot of it, and they made more mess than a million pigeons. Broken branches, scattered rocks and other debris blocked the main road into Nashville. Abandoned cars showed how effective the obstruction had been at trapping victims for the alphas to carry off. Nora and the others rarely came down this way. They would be too badly outnumbered. She shook with nerves.
“Now, remember, we don’t have to get them all today,” Julian cautioned them as they drove. “Get in, get out alive.”
“Got it,” Nora and Lou chorused.
“Here we go.”
He had a boombox strapped to the front of the Jeep. As they hurtled down the hill, twangy country music rang out, echoing from point to point in the valley. Even as little as six months ago, the sound would have been swallowed up by the noise of traffic and a million other sounds of modern life. That day, that and the engine roars broke upon the ear like the last trump.
And it brought out the zombies, just as Management had said it would. Before they drove two miles, a group of filthy naked people broke out of the undergrowth and pelted after them. The second Jeep screeched around in a bootlegger’s turn and drove straight for the trio. Mike and his squad leaped out, yelling. The betas fled back into the trees, but four continued to run for the uninfected humans, seeing a potential meal. Julian brought his car around,
Nora turned to look into Lou’s eyes. He was torn. So was she. But to be able to go home, or to what was left of home, was something she ached for. She nodded. Her heart was full of anger and resentment, but it was a way forward.
“Good. Julian is leading the pack. Get some sleep. We’ll start out at dawn, when the alphas are still out.”
* * *
“Did you sleep?” she asked Lou the next morning, as they gathered in the predawn chill. The eight hunters and volunteers from among the non-employees stood in the front lot near the gate, along with the six hunting hounds who had been among the dogs brought in. At least the dogs looked eager.
The big man’s face looked slack with exhaustion. “No, but does it matter?”
“I guess not,” Nora said. Julian Ferrar, a stocky man with silvering hair and tawny skin who ran the electron microscopy lab, handed out ammunition and stun guns.
“Shoot to kill only if you’re threatened,” he said. “We need survivors. Try not to get bit, okay? You’re at your most vulnerable as the pathogen load dips in your bloodstream. Tomorrow everyone lines up for their second dose of vaccine. I don’t want anyone to have to get stuck in isolation next to the specimens.”
Specimens . No one was going to call them what they were: captive zombies to be used as laboratory experiments.
“How many of ’em do you want?” asked Patricia Strauss, belting her hazmat suit tight. The slim woman had been head receptionist and administrative assistant to Management, but she was a good shot.
“No more than twenty. No fewer than twelve. Truss ’em. We’ll haul them back in the bus into Shipping. Daniel’s got cages set up that ought to hold them. We ride the Jeeps.”
“Can we shoot to wound?” Ricky Pirelli asked. He was a big man whose beard was usually confined in a hairnet. Like Nora, he worked as a senior lab technician.
Julian glanced around at his hunting party, and nodded sharply. “Let’s go.”
The situation called for the use of the company vehicles, and as much of the precious supply of diesel as it took. Nora and Lou boarded a jeep with Julian and Pat and two of the dogs. A big brown Basset hound flopped itself across her lap and demanded petting.
They drove down the ridge road as the sky started to turn deep blue. A waning moon was in the western sky over the treetops. The sky smelled fresh, with no bitter, sharp scent of decaying flesh or urine from the zombies.
All that changed as they descended into the river valley. The zombies needed water, a lot of it, and they made more mess than a million pigeons. Broken branches, scattered rocks and other debris blocked the main road into Nashville. Abandoned cars showed how effective the obstruction had been at trapping victims for the alphas to carry off. Nora and the others rarely came down this way. They would be too badly outnumbered. She shook with nerves.
“Now, remember, we don’t have to get them all today,” Julian cautioned them as they drove. “Get in, get out alive.”
“Got it,” Nora and Lou chorused.
“Here we go.”
He had a boombox strapped to the front of the Jeep. As they hurtled down the hill, twangy country music rang out, echoing from point to point in the valley. Even as little as six months ago, the sound would have been swallowed up by the noise of traffic and a million other sounds of modern life. That day, that and the engine roars broke upon the ear like the last trump.
And it brought out the zombies, just as Management had said it would. Before they drove two miles, a group of filthy naked people broke out of the undergrowth and pelted after them. The second Jeep screeched around in a bootlegger’s turn and drove straight for the trio. Mike and his squad leaped out, yelling. The betas fled back into the trees, but four continued to run for the uninfected humans, seeing a potential meal. Julian brought his car around,
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