War of the Undead (Day One): The Apocalypse Crusade (A Zombie Tale) (2 page)

“Allow me, Doctoral Liggs. It would be honor to log all data for you.” Eng’s words were choppy. His Ls and Rs turned on his tongue, giving them the stereotypical Chinese mispronunciation. He didn’t seem to notice or care. He sat in his stainless steel chair grinning up at his boss, like an eager child—or a simpleton.

“Are you sure?” Jim Riggs asked. The question might as well have been rhetorical since Riggs knew the answer, just like he had known that Eng was going to offer to log the data in the first place, simply because he always offered. And Riggs always allowed him to—the man seemed to love every aspect of the research project, even the dull as hell shit-work. All of which was just fine with Riggs who already had his afternoon planned: another attempt at Dr. Milner’s new research assistant whose white lab coat could barely contain all that she had to offer.

If that didn’t bear fruit, then a round of golf sounded nice.

“It my pleasure,” Eng said with a short bow of his head, letting his black hair fall in front of his face. Culturally, the Chinese generally only bow in very formal situations, however, since it never failed to please his superiors, Eng was a frequent bower. He bowed in the cafeteria, in the parking garage and to everyone’s amusement, in the bathroom. “I enjoy data. It where we find cure, ok? Cancer is most horrible of disease. Our work of much great importance.”

Riggs nodded solemnly, hiding a look that suggested Eng was a complete sucker. What he didn’t bother to hide was his condescension; it was far too ingrained. He considered Eng to be a very poor scientist and had very little respect for him. The man had no imagination, no insight beyond the ordinary. He seemed unable to make the intuitive leaps that would allow for the “Big” breakthrough which every real scientist strove for. But he was hell at cataloguing data and would fetch coffee as if he were being timed.

“Have at it,” Riggs said, trying to catch his reflection. He was tall, so had to bend at the waist to look into the glass of one of the cabinets, checking his ghostly appearance. After turning his head this way and that, he patted Eng on the back, saying, “I know you’ll do a great job,” before walking out of his lab wearing a smile.

When the door shut, Eng made a face. “Hóng máo guǐzi,” he whispered—literally meaning
red furred devil
, a common Mandarin slur used to denigrate Caucasians. Since Riggs was blonde and very pale from spending all his days under the harsh florescent lab lights,
white furred devil
would have been more accurate. With a snort of contempt, Eng bent to his task, but had barely begun when the door opened again.

It was Dr. Thuy Lee. Eng felt his heart do a little jump in his chest, but he made sure not to react beyond reaching up to ensure his hair was in place.

“Where’s Riggs?” she demanded. She didn’t smile. Eng didn’t either though he wished he could. He also wished he could kiss her or touch the silk-like black hair that hung halfway down her back, or gather the courage to ask her out…again. The first time had been a disaster. Some months before, in a moment of weakness he had opened his heart to her and she had casually stomped her four-inch stilettos right down on it. Neither had forgotten the incident though both acted as if it had never happened.

“Dr. Riggs is most very busy with great research project,” he said.

Dr. Lee’s dark and slightly slanted eyes closed to slits. “Why do you insist on talking like that, Mr. Eng? You sound like an idiot.” He bowed his head in acknowledgement, which only made her angrier. “And, enough with the bowing! All you’re doing is reinforcing a stupid stereotype. There’s some idiot in procuring who bows every time he sees me. You have him thinking that’s what all Asians do.”

“My aporogies, miss Doctoral Tree Rhee,” he said, butchering her name the same as always and making her want to spit nails. It didn’t matter that her own mother had a similar accent it; she was old, she had an excuse.

Through gritted teeth, she said, “One more time, Eng. My first name is pronounced Twee. Say it slowly, Tweeee. There’s no R in Thuy, but there is an L in Lee, right at the beginning. Thuy Lee. If you’re going to make it in America you’re going to have to master these simple things. Now tell me, where the hell is Riggs conducting his so called ‘great research project’ if he’s not doing it in his own lab?”

Eng shrugged as only a recent Chinese immigrant would: with an exaggerated motion and a dreadfully fake look of pure innocence.

“Uh-huh,” Dr. Lee said, dryly. She pursed her full lips, thinking. When she did, it showed off her high cheekbones and in Eng’s mind made her look even more like a model from a magazine. He stared out of the corner of his eyes until she clucked her tongue.

“I bet he’s trying his luck with that dippy Anna again. How they get anything done over there is beyond me. It’s like Milner’s trying to create a harem for himself.”

Dale Milner was as unquestionably brilliant as he was pervy, which was how he was able to fund his “harem.” Thuy had three research assistants whom she had carefully screened for competence. Riggs only had two but, since he worked Eng like a 19
th
Century “Coolie”, he didn’t need more.

Thuy glanced at the stack of work Riggs had left Eng to catalog—it was two feet tall and she guessed that he would be at it well after dark. For a second, pity entered her cold heart. “Thanks for your time and have a good afternoon, Mr. Eng,” she said, giving him the smallest of smiles.

“Good bye, miss Doctoral Rhee,” he replied as though he had a mouthful of marbles. Her tiny smile dropped away to nothing as she turned for the door. She didn’t think he had seen, however Eng, who was far more observant than he let on, noted it. When the door shut, he murmured, “Good bye Doctor Lee,” this time in perfect English. “Have a good day Dr. Lee. Kiss my ass, Dr. Lee.”

Angrily he looked at the stack of reports, wishing he could drop them in the nearest incinerator. More than that he wished he could show Dr. Lee who he really was and what he was really capable of.

“No,” he said, taking deep breaths and calming by degrees. “Not yet. Maybe not ever.”

It took a few more seconds of deep breathing to shrug off the interruption and then he went back to work, logging the data on the latest round of
Track 3
tests. As Dr. Lee had figured, it took hours for him to complete it all. Once the cataloging was complete, transferring a copy of the data to the facilities mainframe took less than a minute. His next assignment took much longer. The data had to be encrypted, compressed and zipped before it was loaded onto a flash drive. Later that night Eng would visit his favorite McDonalds where the flash drive would be left in the wrapper of his Big Mac sitting, innocently enough on his tray. Who picked it up from there he didn't know and he didn't want to know. All that mattered was that eventually it would end up in the hands of Lieutenant Eng’s station chief. From there it would be forwarded on to China just as all the other data he had ever touched had been.

Dr. Lee left Eng feeling a need to wash her hands. He was a greasy man with a greasy smile and there was something about his eyes that bothered her. It was something hidden. She assumed it was some sick sexual perversion, and in that she was only partially correct.

With her four-inch heels clacking along the white-tiled hallways, she made her way to the
Track 2
lab where Dr. Dale Milner held forth like some petty noble in a petty kingdom. Dr. Lee was thankful the man had already been informed of the impromptu meeting; he was insufferable in his lab and rarely left it.

The same could not be said of Dr. Riggs whom she found in the front room of Milner’s lab, leaning against a stainless steel table, with his elbow on an expensive centrifuge and laughing it up with Anna Holloway. She was one of Milner’s hotter assistants and Riggs could barely contain himself as he let his eyes slip and slide along the soft curves of her cleavage.

“Thuy!” Riggs exclaimed delightedly. Dr. Lee could only assume that Anna’s perfume had gone to his head, as he was not the least bit subtle as he turned from one beauty to the other. His eyes ran up and down Thuy’s trim form as though she were a stripper and not a PhD.

“Hello Dr. Lee,” Anna said, swinging her head so that her long blonde hair unfurled from her right shoulder to come to a gentle rest on her left where it rippled like a golden river. She flipped her hair frequently acting as though she thought it rude to let her hair come between her and the person she was addressing. “Dr. Milner isn’t here. He hasn’t come back from lunch yet.”

Thuy knew this already. “Yes. He’s in a meeting concerning the fate of the Com-cell project. I’m here to collect Dr. Riggs for the same purpose.”

Riggs, who had been having a grand time chatting up Anna without Milner around to spoil it, felt his smile falter. He knew all too well that it wasn’t normal for a senior research fellow to be sent to “collect” a colleague.

“Is it a status meeting? Or is it funding? Was it Rothchild or Kip who called it? Son of a bitch!” he cursed, jumping up and rushing for the door with his lab coat flapping. “I hate when they spring these sorts of things on us.”

Thuy had followed him out but she didn’t answer his question, instead she cleared her throat and jerked her head back to the lab. “Don’t you want to say a proper goodbye?”

“Aw shit!” he exclaimed, and then turned on the spot and ran back to the door. “Sorry about that, Anna. The senior partners are up to their old tricks, springing surprise meetings on us like we have nothing better to do.”

“You don’t seem to have anything better to do,” Thuy remarked.

Riggs’ smile went tight. “I’ll see you later, Anna. Maybe down at Hot Jack’s Pub after work?”

“Maybe,” she allowed.

Thuy took Riggs by the elbow and pulled him from the door. Anna’s coy smile and her “maybe” had dislodged his fear of the senior partners. Riggs smiled down at Dr. Lee as they hurried for the elevators. “You cut that goodbye a little short. Getting jealous, Thuy? If so, you don’t have to be, there’s enough of me to go around.”

“Maybe not after this meeting,” she cracked.

Again his smile faltered. “What do you know?”

“Same as you. They want a meeting of all the track investigators.” Just like Dr. Lee, his actual title was Independent Research Investigator, but like most, he preferred the term Research Fellow instead. He complained that the word investigator made him sound like a private eye.

“It can’t be funding. It’s just too early,” Riggs said, trying to convince himself. He started to get a squirmy feeling of anxiety in his gut, because what if it wasn’t? What if their progress wasn’t what the partners were expecting? What if they wanted more? Kip was like that. The man was never happy with results until the
pills were on the shelves
. It was Dr. Lee who should have been sweating bullets, however she was her usual cool, composed self.

“We’ll find out in a minute,” she said, as though they were just out for a stroll.

“It’s got to be a status meeting,” Riggs decided. “And that’s fine with me. Did you hear about my latest round of possum tests? Forty percent!”

“The same as your last test,” Thuy noted.

“Yes, that’s called consistency,” Riggs replied, "And Kip likes consistency." They came to the elevators and, because there were a few other people waiting, they dropped their conversation. Once on, Thuy hit the button for the top floor and neither spoke until the last person exited on the fifth floor.

“And what did you learn from your consistent tests?” Thuy asked. “If your answer is nothing then the second test was a waste of time.”

Riggs, who didn’t feel the need to justify his work simply answered, “We’re still compiling the data.”
We
meant Eng was compiling the data. “What about you? I heard your first round was a complete flop and your second was only slightly better. I told you
Fusarium
mycotoxins were too weak. The most you’ll do is give the tumors the sniffles.”

“My first round proved just that,” Dr. Lee said, easily. Too easily for Riggs to be comfortable with. It was as though she was keeper of some great secret.

“What about your second round?” he asked as the elevator doors hissed open. “What did you learn?”

Thuy didn’t answer; instead she smiled at the two women who manned the tenth floor reception desk. The lady on the right, Laura England, was just shy of forty and beautiful in a mature sort of way. The term MILF was bandied about quite a bit in the “lab-lines” on the third floor where the newbie scientists with lesser pedigrees competed to get noticed. Mrs. England was Dr. Kipling’s secretary. She didn’t know it, but she only had another year or two left, unless Kip managed to get into her panties quicker, then it would be a considerably shorter time.

The woman on the left, Dr. Rothchild’s personal secretary, Abigail Unger, might have been beautiful decades before, now she was the matriarch of R&K Pharmaceuticals and the epitome of a Rothchild worker: competent, loyal, and always plodding forward.

“You’re late,” Mrs. Unger intoned, her lips drawn down in a frown—what was practically a permanent feature on her face. “In Dr. Kipling’s office, please.”