Zombies! (Episode 4): The Sick and the Dead (9 page)

“Well, what do you know about it?”

He paused as if he didn’t want to say what it was he had to say. “I’m reasonably certain that I’m the one who created it.”

***

LATE
that night, after all of the day's events, Mikael Seaver let himself into his apartment. When Linda came out of the bedroom, he could hardly contain his excitement. He had pushed himself into the position of being Lochschenborg's attorney with the hopes of getting to meet Luco and hearing
something
about what went on in the labs beneath
Arthur Conroy Memorial Hospital.
During the conference, however, her silence had left him preoccupied. He hadn't even really been able to perform his job very well, his full attention on goading her into speaking. Well apparently she had just been waiting for the right opportunity. And it had provided him with something greater than his greatest expectations.

"What?" Linda asked.

"You'll never believe it," he told her.

"Tell me. You got some information?"

He smiled from ear to ear. "I got a tour of the facility."

Smacking him in the shoulder, she shouted, "No way!"

"I did. Luco was so pissed by the end of the conference that she brought us down there to show those
Candid
bozos just how serious this thing is."

Linda sobered for a moment. She had a way of doing that, shifting her mood on a dime. It wasn't the same as being moody because she did it sort of voluntarily. Linda was the only person Mikael had ever met that could alter her emotions properly to fit any situation.

"I saw the news. How serious is it?" she asked.

He was far less successful at overriding his excitement. "It’s serious. And it's scary. But these are
people
, Linda. And you have to see how they treat them. They have a place where they cut them to pieces and they call it the
Butcher Shop
. The place where they hold them is called the
Zoo
."

"The
Zoo
? That’s outrageous. Why is it that people have so much trouble respecting a life that isn't their own?"

He shrugged. To be honest, it was a question he'd never asked himself until he'd met Linda. Even then, he hadn't really asked
himself
the question. He'd just sort of put on a bit of a show to try and win her over. But she was unwinnable. She was devoted to her cause in body and spirit and that devotion was infectious. After three long months of trying to bed her, Mikael had seen past his petty goals and recognized the importance of what she stood for. And the thing of it was that he was sure she
knew
. The moment he had sincerely changed track, their relationship had deepened into a strong friendship. They had worked together sorting out animal rights legislation. It was Linda who had steered him toward the state job with the Health Department. She felt that he could do some real good there. And so he had.

But nothing like this.

Going over to the computer, he pulled his cell phone and the USB connector cable. He plugged it in and waited for the familiar alert to come up. After first copying the contents of his camera to the hard drive, he began to inspect them.

"These aren't very good," Linda said, looking over his shoulder.

"It was dark in the
Zoo
, and I couldn't risk a flash."

She pulled a face. "I'm not blaming you, but if we're going to publish photos they have to be clear. Otherwise, we may as well be those hicks that report UFOs."

He knew she was right and as they looked at picture after picture, he became more and more frustrated. A couple of times, he hesitated.
How about this one?
But she shot them down. He suggested doing a little work on them, but she shot down that idea as well. She wanted truth. Only truth.

Finally, they came to one that showed Zoe Kolplowitz. It was clear enough that they could see what the disease had done to her. It showed the state of her clothing and dried blood around her mouth. It showed her emaciated frame.

"That's a good one," Linda declared. "We need more like that one."

In the end, out of sixty three pictures, they decided on four. They had been hoping for more, but the four they chose were
good
pictures. One showed the bare cells in which the zombies were held, a bit of Dr. Mwabi visible on the side. Another was a good and clear shot of the beds and the dying patients in the
Ward
. Mrs. Wilson wasn't in the shot. The last was a picture of a blood spattered area. Even Seaver didn't remember which of the zombies had been in the cell but it didn't matter. There were half-eaten rodents and other animals strewn about the area. It was truly disgusting and it was all real. As soon as they had finished choosing the photos, they got to work on captions and text content for accompaniment. In the early hours of the morning, they logged onto their server and published their organized content over the web where people all over the world could have a look.

***

IT
was getting dark by the time Heron and Culph were able to pull themselves away from Suzanna DeForest's apartment and drive over to John Arrick's. They didn't speak in the car. In fact, Culph hadn't said a word to him since stripping off his gear and stowing it back in the trunk. Heron didn't have much to say in response. His emotions were running high. He felt angry with Culph for his attitude. They were not equals and Heron's decision had been borne of a completely different motivation than Culph's would have been. But in the end he had done exactly what he'd warned the other against. In fact, he'd been doubly hypocritical by reprimanding Culph for even considering going into the apartment without armor.

When they pulled up in front of the building, Culph asked Heron if he should gear up. There was just enough sincerity in his tone that Heron was able to bite back the angry retort. But he shook his head. Even though he was pretty sure of what they were going to find. While he'd been stuck at the crime scene at Suzanna DeForest's house, he'd done some information gathering on John Arrick. He was a public school teacher employed at
Clinton High School
. Heron had called over there and discovered that Arrick hadn’t shown up for work that day. In fact, he hadn't even called in.

As the two men stopped outside of Arrick's apartment, Heron took a deep breath. Two of these visits in one day. He was beginning to like it behind the desk. He knocked.

There was no answer.

He knocked again.

"Mr. Arrick, are you in there?" he called. "My name is Anthony Heron and I'm a policeman."

Culph rolled his eyes.

Heron knocked again.

Still, there was no answer.

Impatient, Culph reach forward and turned the knob. Or tried to. It was locked. "Do you want me to gear up now?"

"Shut up. Go get the super."

"Will you be here when I get back?"

"What didn't you understand about
shut up
?"

As Culph turned to leave, they heard some movement behind the door. They froze for a moment, undecided about what to do. Then Culph pulled his gun.

Heron knocked one more time. "Mr. Arrick, are you in there?"

Much to their surprise, they heard the chain being slid off and the locks being turned. They tensed, not knowing what to expect. But when the door opened all that stood before them was a thirty something man with brown hair and pale skin. He was covered from neck to ankle in a brown robe and his hair was wet.

"Sorry, mate," he said. "I was in the shower and didn't hear you knock. Did you say you were a policeman?" Then he noticed the gun. "Did I do something wrong?"

Heron looked sternly at Culph, who quickly replaced his weapon. “We were a bit concerned,” he said, turning back to Arrick.

“About me? And you needed a gun?”

“Can I ask you about your relationship with Suzanna DeForest?”

Arrick froze. “Has something happened?”

“There’s been some trouble. I’m sorry to tell you that she’s dead
.
”

“Dead? That’s ridiculous. I saw her on Friday night.”

“Was that at her apartment?”

Arrick shook his head. “No. It was here. We had a date but got into a bit of a row because she was ill and…” Whatever color there was in his face whooshed away like a paper on the wind. “Did she have it?”

“Did she have what?” Culph asked.

Arrick didn’t even look at him. He kept his eyes firmly fixed on Heron’s. “I know you. I’ve seen you on the television. You’re that zombie bloke. Is that what happened to Suzanna?”

Heron, who had suspected that it was Arrick who had been in the apartment with her and bashed her head against the tub, was beginning to doubt. To begin with, anyone who’d been exposed to that much of a zombie’s blood, bitten or not, would have likely caught the infection. And yet here was John Arrick, healthy as an ox and surprised in the bargain.

“I’m afraid so,” Heron said. “You say she was sick on Friday?”

Arrick slumped against the door frame. He nodded. “I asked if she had seen the doctor and she grew very upset. She thought I was suggesting that she had the zombie plague. My God, will I get it?”

Heron shrugged. “It’s been three days. You’d probably know by now. There’s more, though. It seems there was a struggle between Suzanna and someone else. We’re trying to find that someone else.”

“And you thought it was me?”

Heron shrugged. “We have to follow all of our leads. Defending yourself against a zombie isn’t a crime but whoever fought with her was exposed to the infection.”

“Oh. I see. I don’t know who could have been there. She didn’t really have any friends, not close ones, and her family lives far away.”

There was a pause in the conversation during which Heron was gauging his next question. He could tell by the look on Arrick’s face that he thought they were done. Culph thought the same thing.

But Heron wanted to know more. “Mr. Arrick, can you tell me why you weren’t at work today?” This surprised him. Heron guessed that Arrick was trying to figure out how he knew. “It’s just that we’re searching for someone who may be infected and you took a sick day.”

“I threw out my back over the weekend and took some medication. I tend to take double the prescribed dose… Should I not say that to a policeman.”

“Probably not under normal circumstances, but I’ll let it slide. Is that why you didn't call in sick?”

“Didn't I? Yes, the medication does wonders for my back and wonders
to
my head." When there didn't seem to be anything else forthcoming, he asked. "Is that all, then?”

Heron nodded. “For the time being.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a card with Dr. Luco’s name on it. “I think you should go and see this doctor.”

“But I’m not sick.”

“Well, you’re not symptomatic. But if you saw Suzanna while she was sick, then it probably pays to be sure.”

Arrick took the card and looked at it. “All right. As soon as I get the chance.”

“I wouldn’t wait,” Heron told him.

Arrick put the card in his robe pocket and thanked Heron. Then he turned away from the door and closed it without so much as a
good evening
.

When Heron and Culph got into the car, Heron said, “I’m sorry, Frank. Going into that apartment was hypocritical and none too bright.”

Culph didn’t respond, more because he didn’t know how. No one had ever apologized to him before.

“What do you think about Arrick?” Heron asked.

“It’s tough to get a read. He looks more scared than anything else.”

“Yeah, he’s definitely scared, but not of the infection. He was scared when he answered the door. Anyway, I guess we’ll see what the forensics team turns up and move on from there.”

Culph shrugged, started the car, and pulled away from the curb.

***

ARRICK
shut door, locked it, and slipped the chain into place. He stood in the entryway for a long time, just thinking about Suzanna and what had happened to her. And what had happened to him. He didn't remember much. He knew he had been there with her. In fact, it was he who had gotten her back to her apartment. What he'd told the police was the truth. Just not all of it. He didn't think he'd have been able to pull off a complete lie. As it was, he had called upon what he felt were the proper emotions, surprise and fear, by tricking his mind into believing he didn't already know the things that they told him.

And now he didn't know what to do. He couldn't go for the blood test. He couldn't even begin to imagine what they might find. John Arrick had survived the plague. Did that make him invincible? Or a mutant? Either way, he would be their guinea pig. There would be no more life for John Arrick. Just service like some animal in a laboratory. That scared him more even than the infection itself had.

As he passed the kitchen, he caught sight of a piece of yellow paper on the floor. Bending to pick it up he read the three words, written in his own shaky hand.

BEWARE! ZOMBIE INSIDE!

Somewhere, deep in the recesses of his memory, he saw himself writing those words. He saw himself putting the four mutilated pieces of scotch tape in the corners. He pulled the card the policeman had given him out of his pocket and looked at it. Then he tore both things into tiny pieces and dumped them into the bin.