Zombie D.O.A. (33 page)

Pratt was suddenly serious again, “I was considering giving you ol’ Zel here as a bunkmate, Chris. You look like a feller who hasn’t known the pleasures of a woman for some time, truth be told.

“But, as a businessman, one of the things I’ve learned is to make best use of your assets. Like if you’re running a diner and someone leaves a itty-bitty piece of steak behind, do you throw it in the trash? No sir, you grind it up and put it in the meatloaf.

“So, having Zelda here chew off your dick, much as that would be something to see, just ain’t profitable. You can be put to better use.”

Behind me I heard a loud clang, as the security gate, the one we’d come in through was opened and then after a bit closed again.

“So, Chris”
Pratt
said. “You got something you want to share with me?”

“Yeah,“ I said, “You’re a psychopath. Look it up.”

“I was afraid you were going to be a hard-on about this,” Pratt said, and then snapped his fingers.

I
could hear the Z’s becoming rest
less again and realized that with everything going on I’d completely forgotten about their infernal humming. Now it cut through like a buzz saw.

And then something happened that made it fade out instantly. The boy, the one I’d seen on the bus, was pushed forward.

“Hey there feller,” Pratt said, in his most convivial tone, “What’s your name?”

“Kelly,” the boy mumbled.

“Wow, that’s a cool name,” Pratt said, “I’m Virgil, want to shake on it?

“Sure” the boy said and Pratt took his hand and shook it.

The kid was about 15 years old with brown hair and freckles across the bridge of his nose. He was thin to the point of being boney and had a pale complexion and girlish features. His eyes were downcast but he lifted them shyly now and caught my eye with that same haunted look I’d seen on the bus.

“Tell me Kelly,” Pratt said, “you got a girlfriend?”

Kelly shook his head, no.

“Ah come on, handsome feller like yourself, surely there’s some special lady back home. You can tell your uncle Virgil.”

Again the boy shook his head.

“But you must have kissed a girl right?”

“No,” Kelly said and continued looking at his shoes.

“So what do you think of this pretty lady right here?” Pratt asked, lifting the boy’s chin and forcing him to look at Zelda.

“She’s pretty,” Kelly said.

I could see where this was going. “Pratt,” I said, “for Christ’s sake, he’s just a kid.”

“Mr. Collins talks again you take that night stick of yours and break his head open,” Pratt said, talking to Olaf.

Then he said to Kelly, “Would you like to kiss this pretty lady?”

Kelly shook his head.

“You wouldn’t? You ain’t queer are ya?

I could see Kelly blushing deeply.

Pratt forced his head up. “I’m talking to you kid,” he said, his voice acquiring an edge, “How’d you like to pop your cherry with this fine piece of ass? How you like a taste of that sweet…”

“Pratt,” I shouted, “Leave…” And then Olaf’s nightstick collided with my head. He’d have knocked me cold too, but I caught the arc of his swing
at
the
corner of my
vision and ducked
,
and my shoulder took the brunt. Still it hurt like a son of a bitch and put me down.

I could hear Pratt shouting hysterically, “Who’s got the keys? Who’s got the fucking keys? Get this kid in the cell!”

Olaf waded in on me again and caught me a glancing blow in the ribs. Pitbull meanwhile laid in with his boots.

“
Pratt
,” I shouted, “okay, I’ll tell you about the trigger!”

“Stop!” Pratt screamed, “Olaf, did I tell you to kill the man. Back off and get him on his feet.”

I was yanked up and Pratt swaggered over to me with a smile on his face, “I knew you’d come to senses,” he said. “So tell me.”

“First you let the kid go,” I said.

“Yeah, yeah,” Pratt said, then to his goons, “put the fucking kid in the larder.”

Kelly was marched away and I said, “Not in here
.
I can’t think with all these Zs humming.”

Back in the Warder’s Office, I told them what I knew about the trigger. I was somewhat economical with the truth, down playing Joe Thursday’s role in the whole thing and giving him the first name that came to my mind, Dom Buchanan.

When I’d finished, Pratt said, “That’s it? That’s the big secret? So the military fucks up and releases a deadly virus and we end up with this cluster fuck. That’s the b
ig secret? We already knew that.
” Then as an afterthought he added, “You ain’t holding out on us now are ya?

“That’s all I know. I swear.”

“There has to be something more to this,” Tucci said, cradling his chin like Rodin’s Thinker, “something between the lines, something we’re not seeing.”

“Either that or this dude’s holding out on us,” Pratt said.

“No,” Tucci said, “no, I don’t believe he is. But there’s something we just aren’t seeing.”

Back at the cell I told Babs what had happened.

“Lot of activity going on outside, too
,
” Babs said. “I tried to get up on the bunk to get a look but they worked me over pretty good the other day. Think I might have a few busted ribs. Tried to ask our friend Roy here to check it out, but he’s been snoring it up all day.”

“I’m awake asshole,” Roy said from the next cell. “You’re not the only one took a beating.”

Yeah, but you’re a corporation man, one of the elite.”

“Har-dee-fucking-har. You freelancers are always so full of shit. Anyway, all they’re doing out there is putting up a compound, probably to take overflow from the prison.”

I jumped up onto the bunk and took a look outside. All four sides of the compound had been erected creating an enclosure of some fifty by fifty feet. The bikers were now fixing razor wire to the fence on the inside of the enclosure, starting at ground level up to about six feet in height.

There was also a smaller enclosure, attached to the main one, with an inter-leading gate, and a walkway leading fro
m the enclosure to D Block
.

When I described this to Babs he said right away, “That ain’t no enclosure gentlemen, that’s a fighting cage.”

“Bullshit,” Roy said.

“Delude yourself if you want to, my friend,” said Babs. “That’s a fighting cage alright. And like the man said to Chris, we’re the main attraction. What do you think Pratt has in mind? Open mike night at the local comedy club?”

Roy was silent for a bit and then he said, “Pendragon won’t stand for it.”

“Oh yeah,” Babs said, “Pendragon’s going to waste valuable resources sending out the cavalry to recue a field agent. That would be a first.”

“I don’t mean me,” Roy said. “I’m talking about Pratt and Tucci. Pendragon’s not going to put up with this shit for much longer.”

“Yeah, well don’t hold your breath.”

“Seriously man,” Roy continued. “Tucci’s been walking a fine line for too long. He’s been on the radar for a while now.”

“What’s Tucci’s part in all this anyway?” I asked.

“He’s an independent…” Roy started but Babs cut him off.

“Cut the crap, Roy,” he said. “He’s a Resurrection man. Pendragon employs psychos like him to try out the latest drugs they come up with. Supposedly, you’re looking for a cure for the virus, but…” 

“You said supposedly,” Roy interrupted, there’s no supposing about it, we are…”

“Yeah, whatever,” Babs said. “Point is, the Pendragon Corporation hands out little fiefdoms to the likes of Tucci in exchange for capturing Zs and trying out your little concoctions on them.”      

“Which Tucci hasn’t been bothering to do much of lately,” Roy said. “Instead he’s spending his time up here partying with Pratt, dispensing Pendragon Corporation property like party favors and now apparently hatching some half-assed plan to muscle in on our territories.”

“Tell us about this blue shit,” Babs said.

“Sorry,” Roy responded, “Classified.”

“Oh cut the crap, Roy. No one shares the real need-to-know stuff with a field agent. Just tell us what you know.”

“Can’t do that,” Roy said.

“Look,” said Babs, “By this time tomorrow you, me and Chris here will likely be Zombie shit. Ask yourself, how much classified information is worth to a pile of shit, then decide if you still want to hold out on us.”

Roy was silent for a while. “Okay,” he said finally. Here’s what I know, which doesn’t amount to much. This blue shit, as you call it, is BH-17. The BH stands for Blueberry Hill. It’s called that because it smells like…

“…blueberries,” I completed.

“Correct. The 17 is the version number. This is the most promising solution we’ve developed. We’ve seen some good results from Phoenix, from Aspen and from Denver, cities where the contractors can be bothered to do what they’re paid for.

“Thing is most of the results are short term. We’ve seen superficial wounds heal on some victims, but they soon reverse again. We’ve seen newly infected Zs become quite lu
cid, even regain some basic
reasoning
ability
, but unless they are constantly doped with the stuff they soon revert. And after a while it just burns them up.”

“But it works differently on humans,” I said, “I seen that myself.”

“Oh yeah,” Roy said, “On humans it has a powerful narcotic effect,
similar to PCP, only much stronger
. And we’re still not sure
about
the long-term effects. What we do know is that it will burn you out quicker than a Roman candle, particularly if you’re taking it undiluted.”

“So what would be the effect, for example, of downing one of those vials,” Babs wanted to know.

“The whole vial?”

“The whole thing.”

Roy let out a sharp breath. “Never seen it done myself but my guess is a short burst, maybe five minutes, of extreme activity, super human strength even, then who knows, your heart’s likely to explode in your chest. “

Outside the sounds of activity was winding down. The banging had all but stopped and been replaced with the rustling of wire bales being rolled out and fixed to posts.  I could hear instructions being barked and responded to with curses and occasional laughter. Then even those sounds died down and all was quiet.