Skeleton Crew by Cameron Haley Page A

reproductive efficiency of the zombies.”
    â€œHow quickly they turn humans into zombies.”
    Cindy nodded. “This isn’t a normal outbreak scenario. A human cannot be infected. Only fatalities will produce more zombies, so we have to estimate the number of fatalities each zombie will cause each day. The bad news is that any fatality produces a zombie, even humans not directly killed by them. It includes death by natural causes and those indirectly caused by the zombies. The bottom line is that reproductive efficiency could be quite high. It will begin in the population centers, as you said, but even in the suburbs there are population clusters.”
    â€œLike what?”
    â€œStay away from the shopping mall and multiplex,” Granato said.
    â€œThis scenario is actually good news,” Lowell said. “Even eradication doesn’t work—it just creates more zombies.”
    â€œThat depends on the protocol,” Granato argued. “Eradication works if there aren’t any bodies left.”
    â€œYou’re talking about fucking nukes again,” I said.
    â€œProbably,” Lowell said. “Chemical and biological agents don’t work. It’s possible you could get the desired effect with conventional weapons—fuel-air explosives, for instance—but we’re still talking about total annihilation. You just don’t have the radiation to deal with in the aftermath.”
    â€œI can’t believe you’re even considering this,” I said.
    â€œIt’s almost unthinkable,” Lowell said. “And that’s the point. The lack of less radical protocols buys us a little time. Our containment efforts—your efforts—buy us a little more. We can neutralize the zombies with magic.”
    â€œEven with outside help,” I said, thinking of the fairies, “I’ve got Adan Rashan rallying the troops, but I don’t have enough manpower to stay ahead of this thing. I’m outnumbered and the zombies create more zombies faster than my people can put them down.”
    Lowell nodded. “Like I said, it just buys us a little time. It’s not a solution.”
    â€œYou guys are the spooks,” I said. “You’re supposed to find out what’s going on. It would be really great if you could figure it out before it’s too fucking late, but maybe that’s too much to ask. I’d settle for something—anything—that would help me clean up the mess.”
    Lowell and Granato shared a glance. “We have one more thing to show you, Ms. Riley.”
    Â 
    Building Three was a large Quonset hut that might have once been used as a motor pool. It was tucked away at the back of the compound and security was tight. There werearmed patrols—more soldiers in black, unmarked fatigues—and there were security cameras and magical wards all over the grounds. Lowell and Granato claimed they were the only sorcerers in their outfit, so I assumed they’d been out there laying down the protections and defensive spells.
    We went in through the front door and I found myself in a control room. I was starting to wonder if Stag had gotten all their control rooms off a studio lot in Hollywood. This one was larger and more sophisticated than the observation room in the cottage. There was a long row of computer workstations, with technicians tapping frenetically at keyboards or studying LCD displays. There was another long, rectangular window but the view through this one was blocked by a closed panel.
    When we walked in, a short, round man in the mandatory lab coat looked up from one of the computer terminals and grinned. He stood and approached us with his hand extended. He seemed excited. He was almost skipping. “You must be Domino Riley,” he said, nodding his head rapidly. The grin widened. “I’ve heard all about how you contained the MIE, killing the changeling and foiling the fairy king’s