Zombies! (Episode 6): Barriers Collapse (2 page)

So how had it gotten out?

And why had it started in the United States as opposed to the United Kingdom?

It didn't take them long to find out the answers to both of those questions. The day after Ludlow arrived, Luco took him on a tour of the facility, including the
Zoo
. She introduced him to their most famous zombies, including Zoe Koplowitz. It struck Ludlow a blow as he stared in at the little zombie girl, huddled under the bed.

Is there any relation to Lucy Koplowitz?

That was her mother. Larry, the father, was first zombie encountered. He was killed on the street.

Larry was not the first. Lucy was. Over the summer, Ludlow had met and had an affair with Lucy Koplowitz. He'd known she was married but she'd told him that her husband was cheating on her and their marriage was dead. He and she had gotten on very well very quickly and spent a week together. Then she'd gone back to the States and he hadn't heard from her again. Luco had tested Ludlow's blood immediately after that and discovered small traces of the bacterium. It seemed to be dormant. Daily tests showed the same thing. Three weeks later they still didn't know why.

Naughton and Ludlow shook hands and exchanged greetings. Luco was amazed at how at ease Naughton was with Ludlow, knowing that the two of them spent hours alone together in the lab. Sometimes over night. Silly things like that didn't seem to faze the police captain. He was just too good for something as petty as jealousy. And that was exactly one of the qualities that insured Luco's fidelity. His confidence in both himself and her was one of the things she loved about him.

"Anything?" Naughton asked Ludlow.

Ludlow shook his head. Normally a very enthusiastic and cheerful person, the weeks of testing and seeing the results of his work had taken their toll on the English doctor. He tried not to visit the
Zoo
. Now that he knew that Zoe and Lucy were related, he couldn't stand to look at her. He saw the mother in the child and it brought him a sadness with which he couldn't yet cope.

"What about Anthony?" he asked Luco.

"I told you not to start," she said.

"What is it?" Ludlow asked.

Naughton said, "Anthony Heron is the officer in charge of the zombie task force. Based on some recent events, he's worried that the zombie effect might be…reversible."

"Recent events?" Ludlow asked. "Like the scream?"

Naughton nodded. "He's out there every day and he's personally responsible for the destruction of every zombie we find. That'd be too much for him to bear if he suddenly found out they could be saved."

Luco threw her hands in the air. "No offense, Lance, but you and Heron are cops. Do your jobs and not ours. The zombies don't feel pain and they don't know how to shoot a gun."

Ludlow was nodding. "I must concur. My original research supports it."

"You'd better be right," Naughton said, then brightened. "Now who wants to go for lunch?"

***

THE
day went from bad to worse when Heron arrived at the office. He went first to Gregory Smith to see if there were any developments on his end. It had been Saturday evening when they'd responded to a text from Shawn Rudd informing him about a zombie hunt. He had found several zombies dead at the site as well as Shawn's cell phone. Shawn himself was missing. Heron had spoken to Shawn's parents that evening. That had gone badly. He had told them all that he knew, which was that Shawn had sent him an urgent text and he had responded as quickly as possible, dispatching units to the scene as well. Upon arrival, he'd found the scene of a battle with zombies. The only sign of Shawn had been his cell phone, left behind.

Shawn's parents had blamed him. He expected no less, but it was still difficult to have to withstand their venom.

Smith had nothing to report. Over the last two days, the
Angus Construction
yard had remained inactive. They'd caught sight of a couple of zombies stumbling across the grounds but none of them matched Shawn's description. That, at least, was good news. The other portion of Smith's assignment was to investigate any other sites that might house scores of the undead. He had teams going from abandoned warehouses to unused dock sites. There was nothing so far.

Satisfied with the report if not the results, Heron left Smith and went in search of Culph. The press conference had left him with the bitter taste of doubt in his mouth. His mind kept going back to the policeman zombie that had taken shots at Culph and his squad in the basement of
Saint Francis
church Saturday morning. It wasn't just the fact that the thing had had the wherewithal to pull the trigger. According to Culph, and according to what Heron had witnessed on Culph's shoulder camera, the other zombies had fallen in behind the cop. It looked very much to witnesses as if they were waiting for him to do the most damage so that they could then swarm forward. This troubled Heron. The first was Stemmy. It had been three months since his partner had been bitten by Zoe Koplowitz and had subsequently died from the infection. Three months since Heron had fulfilled his promise to prevent Stemmy from becoming a zombie himself by shooting Stemmy's lifeless body in the head. If there was a measure of intelligence inside those zombie brains, then perhaps he was guilty of murder. He wasn't sure he could live with that. Then again, an alleged intelligence didn't seem to stop them from killing and eating live human beings. It would have been much worse to have to face Stemmy under those circumstances.

Culph wasn't at his desk. He hadn't been in the day before but Heron hadn't thought twice about it. Though he saw Culph almost every day, Heron was the only one
required
to work seven days a week. Everyone else got to take a break from the zombie menace, spend time with their families and friends, and forget the danger for a little while. With Culph, though, the danger
was
his family. It was his best friend. For him to take two days off despite being sent home Saturday after the church incident, seemed odd.

Heron checked the basement next. There were sixteen men down there running drills. Al Henry, one of the first men to accept assignment to the zombie squad, was in charge. They'd set up sort of a Hogan's Alley area where they could move between obstacles and identify zombies from civilians. Despite all of the differences, it was sometimes hard to identify the living from the dead in the heat of the moment. Though no trigger happy cop had yet shot an uninfected person, there had been a few close calls. The Hogan's Alley exercise was an attempt to forestall that eventuality.

"Any sign of Culph?" Heron asked, pulling Henry aside. They could hardly hear with all of the shooting.

Henry shook his head. "Haven't seen him all day."

Heron scratched at his smooth head. His chemotherapy was coming to an end. Soon he would go for his evaluation, a formality at this point; the doctors said he was doing great. Then he'd have to start shaving again. Patting Henry on the shoulder, he turned to go. He'd taken four steps when Henry called him back.

"I almost forgot," Henry said. "A couple of detectives from homicide were looking for you. Swanson and…Mijaro?"

Heron nodded. He knew both of them. Thanking Henry, he left the basement and headed back up to his office. Once in his chair and breathing comfortably with a cup of coffee within reach, he picked up the phone. First he called Culph's cell phone. When there was no answer, he tried the apartment. Still no answer. Now he was worried. He was half tempted to go over there. First, he decided to call Mijaro. Pulling the number off of the computer, he dialed the phone and waited.

"Detective Mijaro," came the answer.

"Jamie, it's Anthony Heron. How are you?"

Mijaro breathed. "We miss you over here, Anthony."

"I miss the job," Heron answered with a laugh. Who the hell misses homicide? "What's up?"

"I wish I had better news."

Heron went cold. Even without any information, he knew it had something to do with Culph. The coincidence was too great. Culph gone for two days and homicide looking for him. He'd always considered the kid invincible.

"Have you got a Francis Culph under your command?"

Here it comes.
"You know I do, Jamie. What happened?"

"Is he at work?"

"Um…no. You're
looking
for him?"

"He's a suspect in a murder investigation."

Heron shook his head sadly. "Jesus, Jamie, I thought you were going to tell me he's dead. He hasn't been to work since Saturday morning."

"You mean for that church thing?"

"Yeah."

"You haven't seen him since?" Mijaro asked.

"No."

Her voice took on that dubious cop tone. "Are you sure?"

"Don't treat me like that," Heron told her. "Do you think I'd lie to you? He's not answering his cell or his home phone either. I was going to go by there. What have you got?"

"We've got a strangled woman found in her apartment last night. We checked around and got some video surveillance from outside one of the local bars. Culph was the last person seen with her."

"Any forensic evidence?"

"The lab technicians are working on it. We'll need a sample from Culph."

If we ever see him again,
thought Heron. "I'll let you know if I hear anything."

"Okay, Anthony. Thanks. I wish I could say it was good talking to you."

"Yeah," he answered. "Me, too."

***

AT
Sisters of Charity Hospital
, the chief of emergency medicine signed off on another transfer to
Arthur Conroy Memorial Hospital.
It was the third transfer since he'd been on shift. As he put his name on the paper,
Peter Ventura
, he pondered that fact that he'd rather kill them all himself. He supposed that there was some important work going on at
Arthur Conroy
. He expected that the doctors there would eventually find a cure or at least a viable treatment for the disease. It was that expectation that kept him signing his name. Otherwise he'd rather just release them and then show up on their doorsteps when his shift ended. To date, he'd only done that once. The transfer hadn't gone through and the mother had taken her sick son from the ER. Peter had gone there armed with a taser and several surgical instruments. After stunning the mother, he'd put the boy out of his misery. It had been a defining moment for him. Prior to that event, his experience with the zombies had always been as a victim. He'd been trapped by them in the hospital, and then trapped by his own fear of them in his apartment. When he'd come back to work, the trauma had lingered for a long time, eating away at his resolve. Acting against Jason Benford had been cathartic. Somewhere inside, he still understood that a child had died, but that hadn't been his responsibility. What was his responsibility was that anyone who might have been bitten by the resulting zombie, such as his mother, was now safe.

He realized then that he wanted to make more people safe.

After stunning Melissa Benford and killing her son before his time,
shortly
before his time, he'd expected to be arrested. He hadn't hidden his identity and he'd been unwilling to take measures that would insure Melissa Benford's silence. That far, he could not go. He wasn't built for running so he'd just gone back to his life, albeit from a very different perspective. Now, three weeks had gone by and there were no police. No questions and no arrests.

Glancing quickly at the televisions in the waiting area, he caught a glimpse of the news conference from that past Monday morning. It was Wednesday and they were still running it. Peter was no longer worried about the police coming for him. What worried him now was that news conference, or more specifically that it had been dominated by rhetoric originating with the
Zombie Rights Association
. By Peter's definition, they were a club full of crackpots who needed a crusade to fill their days. Zombie rights! What a lot of nonsense. He knew what would happen, too. These people would gain political leverage and force laws into place. Then what? When zombies were actually
protected
by the law, they would be unstoppable. Then they wouldn't need the law because there'd be no one left and no law at all.

Like many of these stupid organizations, the politicians would bend to the
ZRA
. Afraid to turn off prospective voters, they would institute a world of regulations on the handling and testing of zombies. What was needed was a strong opponent to the
ZRA
. Not a political opponent. Those who stood for something always tended to gain ground over those who stood against. Politics wouldn't work. Peter had already decided that he needed to spearhead more decisive action. For a week, he'd been planning and investigating. What he'd found out had slipped beneath the noses of the police and those who were supposed to be protecting the public.

When his shift ended, he grabbed his coat, said good day to his coworkers, and walked out the door. It was mid morning and the sun was shining high in the sky. The cold bit through his light coat but he tried to ignore it. He was working a lot of night shifts now, not normal behavior for the chief. But they'd been shorthanded ever since the panic of a couple of months before. Having been up all night, he should have been exhausted but he wasn't.