Zombies in Love (20 page)

“We understand that you are holding several hostages,” said the voice in Jack’s ear.  It was a voice so Brahmin that it set Jack’s teeth on edge, out of sheer historical weight. 

“There’s where you’re wrong,” said Jack, pacing as far as the phone cord would let him.  Being this hungry made him
restless
.  “We’d love to get them out of here.  Why don’t you call off the nice men with squirt guns so we can all go home?”

“I have to walk my dog,” called Arturo.

“Surely you must understand why that’s impossible,” said Mr. Dudley.

“Pretend I’m very stupid,” said Jack.  “No-- pretend I was going about my business when I was kidnapped, locked in a cage, and tortured.  I’m being generous.  Let us out, and we’ll forget the whole thing.”

“You must understand my position.  Winthrop University cannot afford embarrassment.”

“So we’re at an impasse here?”

“I believe you know a woman named Lisa Alioto?”

Jack shivered.  “I’m sorry, I don’t recall--”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Mr. Kershaw.  You know her, and I believe you have some concern for her welfare.”

They have Lisa
, he thought.  For a moment, he was only as afraid as any man would be in that situation.  And then it felt as though six generations of newspapermen had walloped him over the head. 
You just heard the Board of Overseers of Winthrop University confess to kidnapping a local businesswoman in order to prevent a scandal from becoming public.  And threaten her with personal harm.  Don’t you think there’s a story here? 

This isn’t about you, you idiot!  There’s a story here!  Story!

Jack leaned over and grabbed the cell phone from the clip on Ian’s belt, ignoring the boy’s yelp.  Good.  It had a “memo” setting.  He turned it on and held it next to the receiver.

“You’re very quiet,” said the voice on the phone.

“What are you offering me, Mr. Dudley?” Jack asked. 

“We will release Miss Alioto.  In exchange, you and the remainder of your associates will agree to return peacefully to your cages.”

“And if we don’t agree?  What happens to Lisa?”

“Surely you must have some imagination, Mr. Kershaw.”
Click. 

Jack absently set the lab phone back in its cradle, looking at the glass flask of the virus, sitting innocently on the lab bench.  He hadn’t even tried to use it yet.  The whole game had changed.  Now the point was to free Lisa.
They won’t let her out,
he thought. 
Now that they’ve taken her, they have no reason to put her back. 

He turned off Ian's phone and put it in his pocket.

“That’s mine,” said Ian.

“What did they say?” said Arturo, ignoring Ian.

“They’ve captured Lisa,” said Jack.  “They said they’ll set her free if we turn ourselves in.”

“Idiots,” said Arturo.  “All they have to do is wait.”  He looked at the rest of the zombies, who were now leaning on the cage and staring at the two men inside.  How long would it take for them to realize that the other zombies were fresh-- well, nearly fresh-- meat, and much easier to reach?  Only lack of imagination was holding them back.

“Like the two cats from Kilkenny,” said Jack.  Arturo gave him a funny look, but he didn't have time to explain.  Why couldn't people just read his mind?  It would be so much easier.  “Ian, where do those ducts go to?” 

“They're for the fume hoods.  They all connect together, and then they vent outside.  Are you going to give me my phone back?”

Jack looked at the thick ducts running along the ceiling.  “I bet we can get upstairs through them.”

“You’d have to be built like a jockey,” said Arturo.

“And the walls are covered with toxic chemicals,” said Ian.

“Guess it’s just me,” said Jack.

#

“Donna Chillingworth,” she said, drowsily.  What time was it?  Two-thirty in the morning?

“Hi, Donna,” said the voice at the other end.  “This is Jack Kershaw.”

“Why are you calling me so early?”  And the reception was terrible.  It sounded like he was calling from inside an air vent.

“It doesn’t matter.  Listen, I have a present for you.”

She waited.

“How’d you like a recording of the head of Winthrop’s Board of Overseers admitting to kidnapping someone, and threatening her life?”

She sat straight up in bed.  “What?  How did you get something like that?”

“It doesn’t matter.  Listen, I’m sending it to you with one condition, okay?  Write it up for the
Palmetto
, all right?  Or at least take it there first?”

“Sure,” she said.  “Why don’t you do it yourself?”

“I’ve got to go.  I’m going to hang up and send it to you.”

Maybe it was the lack of sleep, or maybe she just appreciated the gesture, but she felt like she had to give him something back.  “Wait!” she said.  “Do you want me to tell them that Sam was the one who killed you?"

There was a moment of complete, and rewarding, silence.  "No," said Jack, and hung up.

#

             
Things weren't looking so good for the Z-Men, reflected Arturo.  Of course, if he really tried to take a step back and reflect, it was clear that things had never gone well.  All right, yes, he did have a group of regulars at the Zombie Support Group (and really, could he have come up with a duller name if he had tried?), but they were mostly there for the food.  He could talk about truth and justice all he wanted, but all they thought about was dinner.  What kind of superheroes were they?

              And why was he still in the basement, when he should have been helping Jack? 

              Would Professor X have sent Deadpool to save the day? 

And now that kid Ian was talking some more.  Arturo was glad about that: the more he talked, the less appetizing he was. "It's funny," Ian said.  "All the time you spend in graduate school, you just think about the same thing, again and again.  Your PhD, getting your PhD.  It's like an obsession, all you can think about.  And you don't know why, but you're just fixated."

"Sounds familiar," said Arturo.

"What do you mean?"

One of the Z-men-- now Arturo couldn't remember his name, which wasn't good-- stumbled up to him and Ian.  “Yeah?” said Arturo.

“Hungry,” he said, staring at Ian with glazed, filmy eyes.

“Sorry, guy,” said Arturo.

Now there was a second zombie.  He was named Bob.  Probably.  “Hungry.”

“Hungry,” said the first zombie.

“Wish I could help you, guy,” said Arturo.

“Hungry.”

“Very hungry.”

Arturo smiled.  Maybe there was a reason for him to stay down here, after all.  He put the gun into Ian’s hand.  “Maybe you want to lock yourself into one of the cages now?”

“Okay!” said Ian, moving surprisingly fast.

Ping!
the elevator chimed.  Lisa wondered what fresh hell awaited her, but the armed men were looking at each other like they hadn’t expected this.  Two of them sidled to either side of the elevator door, and as the door opened, one spun and stuck his gun into the elevator.

No one was visible inside.

The guard pushed the metal lattice door back, and stepped inside, which is when Jack dropped down into the elevator from where he’d been hiding, on top of the car.  He grabbed the guard by the throat and pushed him backwards into the room, using him as a human shield.  Both men grappled with the stock of the gun but Jack seemed to be winning the battle to control it, even one-handed.

“Drop it,” said the guard.  “You don’t have a chance.”  He tilted his head at the ring of men surrounding the two of them.

Jack smiled as if he were the one in charge.  “How much is Winthrop paying you for this?”

“Excuse me?”

“Do they pay you well?  I mean, do they pay you well enough?”

“You're trying to bribe me?”

“No, you see, I’m just curious. If I reach the trigger and fire this at you, it probably won’t kill you. But it’ll be incredibly painful. And you’ll be disfigured for life. Blind, for sure. And this’ll take most of the skin off your face. Will you be able to smell, I wonder? Eat? I just don’t know.

"But I do know this.  You’ll walk down the street and people will run from you.  How much would you have to pay a guy for that to be worthwhile?  I mean, it would have to be in the millions, wouldn’t it?  On the other hand, if you shoot me, it’ll hurt a lot, but all it’ll really do is make me hungrier.”  His smile broadened.  “So, do they pay you enough?”

“Nope,” said the guard, and let go of the gun.  Still standing behind the man, Jack walked further into the room. 

She’d forgotten how beautiful he was.  Oh, he didn’t look healthy-- his skin was getting grey and loose, and he was starting to smell pretty bad, and he was drooling a little, besides being covered in dried blood, which she hoped wasn't his-- but there was a gas-jet intensity to the man that made her want to call out to him, to get his attention.  She wondered if he knew what the hell he was doing, or if this was all going to go sour, just like the time at the hospital--

She kept her face stiff and unwelcoming.  In the enemy's house, never show weakness.

“Good morning, Miss Alioto, Miss Chen,” he said.

“That’s Dr. Chen, dude!” called Sarah.

“I’m Jack Kershaw, and I haven’t met you gentlemen yet.”

Mr. Dudley glowered from the depth of his leather armchair.  “I’m Mr. Dudley.  I speak for the Board of Overseers.  You must know that this is an untenable position.  The only thing for you to do is surrender.”

“Actually, you people are the ones in trouble.”

“Your compatriots are still trapped in the basement.”

“Oh, hell,” said Jack, “they can take care of themselves.  You caught about fifteen of us.  Hooray.  You missed at least forty.  Plus all the people who were nearby, got infected, and haven’t even shown signs yet.”

“We’ll find them.”

“Are you insane?  They’re all over the world by now.”

“The resources of our university are immense.”

“I could tell that from looking at your carpet,” said Jack.  "What is that, an antique Sarouk?  Very nice.  Lisa, would you mind coming over here?”

Are you joking?
thought Lisa.

“Shoot her if she moves,” said Mr. Dudley.

Jack tightened his grip on the gunman’s throat, and turned his gun towards Dudley.  “Try it and I’ll shoot you, and I’ll bet I’m quicker.”  Dudley paused.  “You want to know what an acid bath feels like?”

Dudley nodded, and Lisa scooted across the room behind Jack. 
You’d better have some kind of plan here
, she thought.

“I assume you have a proposal to make,” said Mr. Dudley.

“Just some free advice.  It’s too late to cover this up.  It’s time to tell a good story.  Call the
Globe
tomorrow.  Say that Winthrop has created a new innovation in the sphere of medical science that will revolutionize our society. Talk about the minimal carbon footprint of the undead. Tell them zombies eat local.  Hell, I don’t care.  Make it sound good.  You’re better off telling the truth today than waiting for the press to find it out on its own.”

“They’re not going to find out.”

“And that’s what they all say. Lisa,” he added, without turning his head, “would you mind reaching into my right pants pocket?”

“Now?  You’ve got to be kidding,” she said.

“I’ve got a flask of the ghoul virus in there, and I want everyone to see it.”

Trust him to embarrass me like this. 
She reached into his pocket, trying not to touch any part of his body, and pulled out a flask of ice-blue liquid.

“That’s impossible,” said Sarah.

“Ian made it for me.”

“He’s alive?  Totally alive?”

“Last time I saw him.”  Jack broke the arm of the man he’d been using as a shield-- Lisa could hear the snap-- and shoved him forward.  He held out his now-free hand for the vial.  “Thank you, Lisa.”  He tilted the vial back and forth.  “I’d like to think that you all can be rational about this.  I don’t want to have to open this vial, but I’ll do it, if I have to.”

“Shoot him,” said Mr. Dudley.

“He’ll drop the vial,” said one of the guards.

“Let Lisa go,” said Jack.  “Then we can discuss this.  You don’t need her anymore.”

Mr. Dudley nodded.

Jack handed Lisa the strange-looking rifle that he was holding.  “This squirts acid,” he said.  “Be very careful with it.  Take the stairs down, go home, and don’t look back.”

“What are you planning?” she said.

He looked at her and she knew that he knew he was in over his head, that he didn’t think he’d ever leave this room--  And what should she say to him?

She wasn't good at being kind on short notice.

“Just go home, please,” he said.  “Please go home.”

#

Jack looked at the circle of guns pointed at him and reflected that there was a good chance that he was going to die permanently within the next five minutes, and given that, he wished that Lisa had looked happier to see him.  Of course, it was his fault that she was there in the first place, so he couldn’t expect gratitude, but a little concern for his well-being--

Why couldn’t he ever make things easy for himself?  Why did he have to fall in love with a hard case like Lisa? 

Because she's true and brave and honorable-- all the things you aren't.

“Your proposal, Mr. Kershaw?” said Dudley.

Jack tossed the flask from hand to hand.  “Remember what they said about Nixon?  It’s not the crime, it’s the coverup.  Tell the world about us.  With your influence, it might be all right.  Or keep quiet about us and leave us alone.  Either way.  I’m not an unfair man.”

Dudley steepled his fingers over his belly.  “Do you know why Winthrop has been the most important university in the nation for centuries?  Before there even was a nation?  It is the ability to make our problems disappear.  Dr. Chen, should a concentrated blast of acid destroy the virus in Mr. Kershaw’s flask?”

Before Sarah could reply, Jack interrupted.  “I lied.  The virus isn’t in the flask.  I dumped it in the cooling tank of the air conditioner, up on the roof.  You’ve been breathing it for the last half hour.  You’re all infected.  I can smell it on you.”  He shook the flask back and forth.  “This is chlorine.”

“Shoot him,” said Dudley, as Sarah's eyes widened, and she held up a warning hand.

He was a runner, not a sprinter, but he had desperation behind him as he bolted through the window, glass and wood frame shattering around him and out into the empty air, fifteen stories over Winthrop University.  Could he hear the vial he had dropped smash onto the tessellated marble floor?  He thought he could, and he knew he caught a whiff of choking gas as his body began to speed, faster and faster, like one of those terrible dreams he’d nearly forgotten over seven sleepless months where he tried to scrabble onto something and there was nothing and faster and faster and cold and the high screaming whistle of the wind--

He hit feet first, and he could feel his leg bones shatter into powder as they shoved his spine upwards breaking into marbles shoving into his skull, a white sleep that smelled like burning chalk--