Monsters of the Apocalypse (9 page)

Dr. Thomas
woke up to find Jacob sitting on the side of his bed, perfectly tailored, every
hair in place. He held in his hand a syringe.

"Do you know what this is,
Dr. Thomas?"

"A syringe."

"Not just
a
syringe,
this is one of
your
syringes, filled with
your
shot. My
Shadow Army was very busy the last days before the missiles fell. When I
heard that your inoculation program had been stopped early I assumed you'd
leave something behind. I did not expect to find everything, but everything
was indeed, right there. So here we find one of
your
syringes
filled with
your
nasty little drug. The same drug pulsing through
my veins right now."

"What are you going to do,
Jacob?"

"You see, Doc, I feel like
you lack motivation. You want to live. I told you I'd kill you if
you didn't cure me. But if you did cure me, what would I do?
You're a smart man who's seen me kill people, so, I'm guessing you are
appropriately pessimistic. Now, if I gave you my word, why would you take
it, when you could just do your work, drag your feet and watch me die - that
would be smart."

"So you're going to infect
me."

"Motivate you, yes."

"Please, I'll do the
work."

Jacob tapped the needle with his
finger.

"So then you have nothing to
worry about, my dear doctor. You're going to do the work.
When you cure the disease, you'll be saved along with the millions and millions
of other people you infected. Isn't that a nice story?"

"And if I fail? If I
do all I can, but still fail?!"

Jacob turned and laughed into Dr.
Thomas's face until tears came from his eyes. He then pulled out a belt,
which he held in front of Dr. Thomas.

"You will tie this on, find
a vein and inject yourself, Dr. Thomas, or I will kill you in a very painful,
impossibly slow way."

Dr. Thomas took the belt and
proceeded to follow orders.

"There's a vein!"
Jacob laughed holding out the syringe now, "Don't fail. People who
fail are idiots. Don't be an idiot. I hate idiots. When
October gave you the order to make a fatal shot, you did it. A good
little soldier. Do it for me now. Do it for all the people that
will die because of you, if you don't. Or do it for yourself, so that you
don't die. I don't care. Just do it. Fix me so I can smoke!
I'm getting moody."

"And you'll let me go?
If I find a cure, you won't kill me?" Dr. Thomas asked with terror
trembling in his voice as he pushed down on the plunger filling his own veins
with poison.

"I give my word to be
practical. I don't kill people I can use. Stay useful and you'll
live."

Once the injection was complete
Jacob moved to a nearby chair, sat down and pulled out a pack of cigarettes
with some difficulty. He held the pack out to Dr. Thomas who continued
staring at the red dot on his arm, detached. Finally Dr. Thomas looked at
the pack and shook his head.

"I don't smoke."

"Good for you. It
shortens the life span. Of course, so does the poison in your
veins. So does proximity to me. Anyhow, would you mind then, Doc,
pulling a cigarette out for me and placing it in my mouth?"

Dr. Thomas did so with shaking
hands. As he did, he began to notice things about Jacob that had changed in the
last week. The slight elongation of the canine teeth, the large stiff
hands with the jagged looking nails, almost claws, and most disturbing: the eyes…
the hungry eyes.

"Thank you, now, please,
reach in my front pocket and grab my lighter. Good, now, please, light my
cigarette."

Once the whole process was done
Jacob sat back, smiled and blew a puff of smoke into the air. Dr. Thomas went
and sat down again on the side of his bed, in the corner of his eye glowed the
small red dot of injection.

"How do you feel,
Jacob?"

"Do you ask because you
think I'm a nice person and you're concerned? Or, do you ask because I
seem to be turning into a hideous freak monster?"

"The monster thing I
guess."

Jacob nodded and moved to the
wall mirror and smiled. He moved his face inches from the mirror and
inspected his teeth.

"Yeah, that's an odd
development. What do you think is happening to me, Doc?"

"I don't know. You
aren't… you don't seem, well, human."

"I am only what you made
me."

Jacob turned back and stared with
cold violent eyes at Dr. Thomas and then smiled. The light gleamed off
his large white fangs.

Caleb sat in
the little room and stared at the wall. There was no ornament in the
room, just bare metal walls and a bed. There was a desk with a chair in
the corner. He had worried that it would be a depressing place to die if
the shelter had failed to protect them from the missiles. But, now that
it had succeeded in keeping them alive, despite its cold metal esthetic, he
found it rather cheerful.

The Earth
had finally stopped shaking. He waited for it to start again, but after
awhile he started to feel confident that the worst was over. He turned
and looked at Nicolette who was asleep, peaceful and angelic. He watched
the rise and fall of her stomach, the blanket pulled tight to her chin, as if
it protected from more than just cold.

He looked
over at the desk. His computer sat beside the lead-lined case, which held
the battery for it. The Indian who'd shown them to the underground city
had suggested it. He told them, all the people that were willing to
follow him, how there was going to be a blast from something called an EMPC
that would turn anything with a modern battery into a bomb. Computers,
flashlights, even cars would explode when hit with the invisible pulse beamed
down from the outer reaches of the atmosphere. Lead could possibly stop
it.

Caleb
opened the case cautiously, but found the battery intact. Caleb closed
the lid again and thought. He stared at the ceiling and pictured the sky
that was hidden by the cold metal ceiling above him. In that sky was a
weapon that could turn this battery into an explosive, his laptop into a
bomb. It was a risk. The Indian had suggested waiting a week before
using the battery, saying that the possibility of the EMPC being used again was
quite likely. If the Indian was right, this computer could, at any
moment, blow up and kill Caleb and Nicolette both, but, if Caleb didn't risk
it, he couldn't watch anything.

It wasn't an
easy choice.

Nestor had
been walking for three days since the night in the abandoned Victorian house
and hadn't seen a soul or heard a bird sing or a dog howl. He had learned
quickly not to search much - what was left was horrific.

He carried
the gym bag he'd mysteriously found. He kept the pistol in his belt with
the safety on. He didn't know if anyone had survived or if he was
alone. He didn't know if he would walk for the rest of his days without a
word said or an eye alive enough to see him, or if tomorrow he would find a
world full of survivors as sick and hurting as himself. He didn't know
what he hoped for.

Nestor
walked.

He thought
it was a Thursday when he came to a traffic light that still stood. It no
longer worked, nothing did. He walked into the middle of the intersection,
ignoring the roasted corpses in the surrounding remnants of exploded
cars. He sat cross-legged in the center of it all and ate a can of
peaches he had scavenged from a grocery store. He drank a can of Coke.

As he
finished the warm, syrupy drink he noticed that across the intersection were
signs of life. Pillaged houses. Ravaged stores. He left his
trash in the middle of the intersection and walked up to one of the
buildings. The windows were broken, the shelves empty. He spat on
the ground and gave his attention to the floor of the doorway.

Footprints
still new in the dirt. Blood fresh on the ground.

He looked
across the road with blank eyes and listened for the sound of anything except
wind, but found nothing but the same silence that he'd been living with for
days. He walked deeper into the town and everywhere he looked he saw more
tracks and signs. And though all the signs he found were of behavior
abhorrent in humans, it was humans.

Humans.
He smiled and then he pulled out his gun, clicked off the safety and put a
bullet into the chamber.

October walked
down the path that lead from the Presidential Mansion as Miho listed off
incoming reports beside him. The lawn was perfectly manicured, but the
grass was a bit longer than October cared for.

"There
were some oversights it appears. A big concern is that even though the
Neutron Missiles design makes it only kill people and not destroy things, they
do cause fires and unchecked we could lose entire cities. Chicago is
burning and…"

"Who
takes care of the grounds?" October interrupted.

"What?"

"Who
cuts the grass?"

"Soldiers,
sir. The military, they have taken over all service detail on The
Island."

"Are
they happy with that?"

This last
question actually raised Miho's eyes from her tablet. She looked
momentarily into the sky, squinting as if reading some message up above.

"Happy?
I don't know. We haven't polled them. Only the Founders knew what
exactly was to befall the rest of humanity. I would think they're
angry. I would think they're sad. I would think they're glad not to
be dead, which would be the other option."

"Hmm.
Well, I'm not happy with the grass, Miho. Have them take the time to do
it right or take away that option."

"So
you're saying kill the soldiers if they don't cut the grass right?"

"Yes.
But, don't actually do it without double-checking. I might just be
hungry."

Miho went
back to her tablet. Off a ways, but still in sight, Flores stared on
impassively.

"My
uncle and the rest of the Founders?"

"All
here. All well. You're scheduled to brief them at a cabinet meeting
later in the week. The drones are returning as we speak, we should have
all of our data very soon. Sir, about the others, the Islanders who only
now have come to realize what has happened, they don't know much, but there are
rumors that it would be best to… curtail."

"And
Nestor? Jacob?"

"What
about them, Mr. President?"

"Are
they alive?"

"Anyone
who isn't dead on the mainland is dying. Forget about them. No one
on the mainland is important. They're your past. Your future is
ahead of you. The dangers that come from now on will be here, on The
Island."

October
moved close to Miho. He put his hand on the screen of her tablet and when
her eyes were locked on his, he leaned in and hissed, "Answer my question,
Ms. Walker. Are they alive?"

She stared
at him, her anger just barely detectable.

"Nestor
is. We have no reason to assume Jacob isn't. It would be foolish
though, to think they were a greater threat than…"

"They
want me dead!"

"They
aren't unique in that, sir," she snapped as she pulled the tablet back from
under his touch.

October
clenched his fists. He awaited fear in the small woman's eyes, but found
none. He had never hit a woman before and he hesitated, unsure of the
violence that has arisen within him. During that hesitation is when he
noticed that Flores was standing to the side of him, still impassive, but
impossibly big and imposing.

"What
the hell are you looking at, you giant idiot?! How did I ever allow this,
Miho?! How do you know this isn't one of Jacob's Shadow Warriors?!"
October said pointing an accusing finger into the big man's face.

Flores
smiled. It was terrifying.

"Because,
Mr. President, you aren't dead," Flores shrugged.

October drew
back his hand, but a small yet firm grip held it back. He looked in surprise
at the strength of Miho's small frame.

"I
apologize, Mr. President, Agent Flores shouldn't have said that. But,
then again, you shouldn't have questioned the loyalty of one of this country's
greatest warriors. A man who saved your life, not for the first time,
only a week ago. A man who put himself in the path of Nestor Bravo,
knowingly, on your behalf. Remember, Mr. President, Flores keeps me
safe, so that I can focus on keeping you safe."

October
lowered his arm and looked back and forth between the tiny woman and giant man
and wondered which was more dangerous. Then he nodded slowly and said,
"Yes. Yes, very well. You're right of course. I
apologize, I… yes. I am sorry, Agent Flores."

Flores
nodded curtly, but did not move away.

"How do
you know Nestor is alive?" October grunted.

"His
feed, sir. We can still watch his feed - and he's going to be dead very
soon, sir," Miho said as her fingers played across the screen.

"Of
what?"

"Well…"
Miho fidgeted, glancing over to Flores who only shrugged.

"What?
What is it, Miho?"

"It's
another problem. You and the Founders will have to… we don't know what it
is, but, there seems to be a problem on the mainland. There is a
sickness. It seems to be occurring across the country in survivors."

"And Nestor
has it?"

"No.
But the people who are hunting him do."