Dead of Night

“I know. I saw him from the upstairs window but I couldn’t get an angle on him,” said JT, though he looked sad. “Anyway, the staties put Dez in one cruiser and me in another and that was the last I saw of her.”



He glanced at Dez, who nodded. “I know.” She explained what happened to her, and about the death of Trooper Saunders. Then told them about the Guardsmen, the fight at the trailer park, and meeting Trout.



JT said, “We were run off the road by the Guard. As they were driving me to the station the trooper got a call that all state police were being ordered out of Stebbins. Right now, no questions. But that isn’t what happened.”



“I can guess,” said Trout.



JT sighed. “It was an ambush. Guess they didn’t want any armed infected in town, and they’ve pretty much decided that we’re all infected. I was in the back of the cruiser when a Humvee opened up on us. We crashed and they drove off. The trooper with me was hit pretty bad. He managed to unlock the back and take off my cuffs, but by then the dead were closing in around us. It was all I could do to get out of there. Wish I could have helped the trooper, but he was dying already. Two rounds, one in his chest. I fought my way out and went to the station, but that was a total loss.” Sadness darkened his eyes. “I had to … um … take care of Flower.”



“Oh shit, Hoss,” Dez said, touching his arm.



“I’m sorry,” said Trout.



JT nodded. “That was almost the worst thing today.”



“Almost?” asked Trout.



“Yeah … worst thing was the thought that my girl here was gone.”



“Thanks, Dad,” Dez said with a twisted smile. “But I got home from the prom unmolested.”



Their grins were forced, and they didn’t last.



“After the station,” continued JT, “I decided to head over here. It was already a mess. Couple of these things attacked the middle school kids while they were getting onto the buses to come here. By the time the buses arrived, the infection was rampant. Things went south from there.”



Trout looked past him to a set of closed fire doors. “What’s the situation in here?”



“One of the parents came out through this door to try and reach his car. His kid wasn’t here.” JT shook his head. “He left the door open and about twenty of those things got in. Me and a bunch of teachers have been searching the building. I think we got most of them, but we still need to check the top floor—and I’m down to six rounds—”



Dez nudged the duffle bag with her toe. “Merry Christmas, Hoss.”



JT glanced at her, then knelt and unzipped the bag. Trout peered over his shoulder and saw all the guns and boxed ammunition.



“Sweet Jesus on the cross,” murmured JT, lifting out a Mossberg shotgun. “I’m so happy I could cry.”



His tone was light, but Trout could see the tension in the big man’s face, feel it vibrating in the air around him. Shadows moved behind JT’s eyes. Trout knew that, strong as he was, this was going to ruin him, too.



Dez looked up the stairs. “What about the kids?”



“Everyone’s in the auditorium,” said JT. “We have a couple of guys in there with guns. They’re watching the doors, but they only have a couple of rounds each. We got kids from both schools, a lot of parents. Some townsfolk.”



“How many?”



“In all?” His eyes shifted away for a moment. “Eight hundred, give or take.”



Dez brightened. “Eight hundred kids? That’s great!”



“No,” JT said softly, “eight hundred all told. Kids, parents, and everyone else. We lost more than half the kids when those monsters attacked the buses. Some ran away, but…”



Dez closed her eyes. “Ah … God…”



“I wanted to call in some backup,” said JT. “I wanted to tell the damn National Guard that we needed help, that we’re mostly safe in here. But they aren’t listening. They shot at us. They killed a couple of the teachers who were trying to help the kids. Maybe they thought the teachers were attacking … I don’t know. With the rain and all, I just don’t know. We can’t seem to get them to understand…”



“They’re not here to help us,” said Trout. He and Dez told JT about their encounters with the Guard.



“That’s nuts,” said JT. “We’re not infected.”



“They don’t care,” said Dez. “They’ve been told to keep this from spreading at all costs. End of story.”



JT shook his head. “Do they even know what this thing is? Is this something that’s happening everywhere or is it some kind of toxic spill? We don’t know anything about this infection.”



“It’s not an infection,” said Trout. “Not exactly. It’s an infestation, and it started with Homer Gibbon.”



“What?” demanded Dez. “Gibbon…?”



“His body was shipped here after the execution,” Trout explained. “His Aunt Selma was going to have him buried on her family farmland. It’s a long story, but the short version is that his body is infested with a genetically engineered wasp larva. Parasites. Most likely Doc got it from Gibbon and it spread from there.”



“How do you know that?” asked JT.



Dez pushed past JT and grabbed a fistful of Trout’s shirt. “What do you know?”



“I know everything,” Trout said quietly. “And … you’re not going to like what you hear.”



“Well, gee, Billy, I guess I’ve spent so much of today laughing my tits off that I suppose I could use some depressing shit to balance it all out.”



Trout gently pulled her hand free and smoothed down the front of his shirt. He took a breath and told his story, starting with the call from the prison guard, the visit to Aunt Selma, and the horrifying discussion with Dr. Volker. He told them everything, and by the time he was finished, Dez had gone dead pale and JT looked like he wanted to throw up.



“This is totally fucked,” Dez said at last. “I thought this was going to be some kind of terrorist thing.”



“Terror begins at home,” said Trout, and she shot him a withering look. “Oh, come on, Dez … you’re too smart to think that we’re only ever the white hats. Wake up.”



“No,” she said, letting out a breath. “It’s just…”



She shook her head. There were no adequate words to express how she felt, and Trout understood that.



“Knowing how it started doesn’t help us much,” said JT, “’cause we sure as hell know how it’s going to end. I think the only reason they haven’t nuked us back to the Stone Age is the storm.”



“No,” said Dez, “they wouldn’t nuke us. They’d firebomb us. It’s safer for them and the fire—”



“—purifies,” finished Trout. “I thought of that.”



“Great,” JT said. “That’s just great. The storm’s already lessened. Pretty soon they’re going to be able to put birds in the air and fry our asses.”



“I have a walkie-talkie,” said Dez. “We can talk to them.”



“Let’s give it a try,” said JT. “We have eight hundred people in here.”



Dez turned on the walkie-talkie and adjusted the squelch. There was steady, overlapping chatter and it took her several tries to get through. Trout produced a small video recorder and began taping.



“Break, break, break, this is Officer Desdemona Fox, Stebbins PD, calling for Lieutenant Colonel Macklin Dietrich. Please respond.”



The chatter slowly died down and then Dietrich’s gruff voice responded. “This is a secure military channel, Officer Fox. You are not authorized to broadcast on this—”



“I think we’ve been through this already, Colonel. Let’s cut the crap and get right to it,” Dez said forcefully.



“What is the reason for this call, officer?”



“Trying to make it to the end of the day without dying, sir.”



A pause.



“What is your location?”



“I’m at the Stebbins Little School. There are eight hundred people in here. None of us are infected. We have steel security doors and this building is the town evacuation shelter.”



“The infection has spread throughout the entire town, officer,” said Dietrich. “I’m sorry to have to inform you of this, but—”



“The town, yes. Maybe. But the school is a secure facility. This is where the survivors are. We need you to come and get us out.”



“I don’t believe you understand the nature of this event, officer.”



“Colonel Dietrich, you are incorrect, sir, when you say that we are unaware of the nature of this event. We are very goddamn aware. And we are asking how you intend to help.”



There was silence on the line. When Dietrich spoke his voice was tight. It was hard to tell if it was anger or fear. “There’s nothing we can do. If you’re in the thick of this then you should be able to comprehend that.”



“I comprehend some of it, Colonel. What I don’t comprehend is why you’re not even trying to rescue or protect the uninfected. This isn’t an airborne disease. It’s spread through spit or a bite or some other fluid contact.”



As she spoke, Trout panned the camera to show the dead zombies on the floor and the black goo around their mouths. He zoomed in to focus on the wriggling threadlike worms in the muck. Then he panned back up to Dez. In this light, with her disheveled hair, her hard beauty, her Valkyrie bone structure, she looked like a hero out of legend, a warrior woman who could have belonged to any of the great battles of history. Trout never doubted that he loved Desdemona Fox, but at the moment he felt like he wanted to shout the fact.



Dietrich said, “You are a police officer, I believe, in a small town? Not a biologist or medical doctor?”