Zombie City: Episode 5: Zombie City, #5

Chapter 1

Shane looked down at the truck driver's face.  The whites of the man's eyes looked as red as the clotted blood smeared across his cheeks and chin.  His irises had shrunk to thin rings of color, skirting the black pit of each pupil.  And in the pupils themselves there was nothing—a gaping void, barren of all life.

Shane raised his head, taking in the naked corpses scattered around him, littering the campus courtyard.  The blood still glistened in the early morning light, the smell of it tainting the mild breeze.  He raised his head and looked past his friends, looked at the glass doors to the cancer building, looked at the nightmare taking place on the other side of that blood-splattered glass.  More naked bodies—and some in bloodied clothes, too—most of them moving, though it was hard to think of them as truly alive.  They lurched across shining tiles, stiff and awkward as marionettes.  They squatted in huddles around their massacred victims, feeding on the remains.  They stood at the windows, clawing the glass, eager to get through to Shane and his friends.

Shane let his eyes move back to his friends.  Ian, the young punk with the startling green eyes and the dark skin, watching the others, mind working silently.  Gloria, honey-hued and lean, the Mohawk on her head mostly collapsed, the shotgun in her hand held ready.  And Sameer, the little doctor with the thick glasses and the nimble mind, the mild-mannered gentleman whose last few words had set Shane's heart to hammering with slowly-building rage.

Shane locked his gaze on the doctor's eyes, huge behind the thick lenses.  Sameer, he said.  You know the man that did this?  He straightened his back, raised his head, made a vague gesture with his hands to give the statement broad meaning.  The man who did all of this?  And then, suddenly, he was angry, and quickly growing angrier.  You know where he is?

I know him, Mr. Shane, Sameer nodded.  I know him, and I know where he has been in the recent past.  I do not know if he continues to be there, now that all of this has happened.

Shane looked at the young doctor.  A wild heat had begun to blaze across his face and his shoulders.  He found himself clenching his fists.  Where, Sameer?  Where is the son of a bitch that did this?

Have you heard of Dreamtime? Sameer asked.  The movie-effects studio in the Presidio?

I've heard of it, Shane said.  I remember reading an article about it in the SF Weekly.  The board of city supervisors passed an amendment to allow sections of the Presidio to be leased to private companies, including a long-term lease to Geoff Lucid.  I remember the weekly made a big deal about it being public parkland, land that had been set aside for public use.  And the supervisors held a closed session to draft a new amendment that gave them the ability to lease the land.

Must have been a pretty sweet lease, Ian said, stepping forward.  I read about it, too.  Dreamtime Studios put a hundred million into construction on the site.  The weekly said it had something to do with the mayor being a fan of the Space Warriors movies.  He got a kick out of thinking the new movies would be made in the city.

Sameer nodded his head.  It's not just movies they're making in those studios.  Deu Novo—the man I know as Doug Novak—he was a major financer of Dreamtime.  He helped them get that lease, and he arranged to have a private building set aside for him.

A sudden thought came to Shane.  He turned toward Gloria.  Remember I told you about the supervisor I met—Supervisor Norris, of District Nine?

"I remember you said he talked a lot of tonterías, Gloria said, about voodoo brujeria and stuff like that."

Shane nodded his head.  He called Deu Novo his 'master.'  And he would have been on the council when the Presidio lease amendment was passed.

Looks like certain pieces of this puzzle are starting to fall together.

And then, in the brief silence that followed, a clear, high bell dinged.  It sounded like two quick chimes on a crystal glass, like a butler calling rich people to dinner.

They all looked over at Ian, who had just climbed down from the cab of the semi.

What the hell was that? Shane asked.

The ringing bell sounded again.  Ian looked down at the trucker's phone, clenched in his hand.

It... it's a text message, he said.  It says, 'have you injected the antidote?'  He looked at the dead man at their feet, blood still weeping from the needle hole in his arm.  Someone's checking up on the truck driver.

Sameer, I thought you said there hasn't been any cell service in more than a day.  I thought you said all the cell towers were down.  How is that phone getting text messages?

Sameer had already pulled his own cell phone out, his delicate finger mashing down the power button.  I do not know, Mr. Shane, he said.  Cell phones, radios, landlines, none of these things have been functioning for many hours.  His phone played a bright little melody as it turned on.  He fixed his eyes on the his cell's tiny screen.  My cell phone continues to show a lack of signal, he said, sounding confused.

It's a jammer, Gloria said, her dark eyes shining.  Whoever is behind all of this must have a jammer working.

A jammer? Shane said.  What the hell is that?

A jammer transmits a signal that blocks other signals.  It can work on AM and FM frequencies, cell phones, CB radios.  You can even block cops' walkie talkies.  We used them in direct action missions.  Jam a lab's communication, then bust in to let the animals out.  You can program your own devices to work on a special, unblocked frequency, and then you can communicate while everyone else is shut down.

How large of an area can they block? Shane asked.

I don't know.  The strongest one we had could take out four city blocks, but only for an hour or so.

The whole city's shut down.  It's been shut down for more than a day.

Well, this Doug Novak guy must have a better jammer than what we did.  And then she blinked, her eyes going distant.  Or maybe... maybe he's tying into a better transmitter.

Sutro Tower, Ian said.

Sutro Tower, Gloria agreed.  All the radio and television in the city is broadcast through it.  If Novak could tie in to Sutro Tower, he'd be able to block all of San Francisco.

Assuming it is a jammer, Shane said, thinking, if we could turn it off or disable it, would cell phones work again?

Assuming it's a jammer, yes, Gloria responded. Service wouldn't be great, but some cell towers run on solar, or independent energy, so there should still be some sort of signal.

Well, let's go.  We can kill the jammer at Sutro Tower, and then swing through to the Presidio to pay Doug Novak a little visit.

My friends, there is one problem, Sameer said.  You are speaking of traveling through some of the most populated parts of the city.  We have already encountered surprising numbers of infected individuals out here on the outskirts.  In the Mission District things will be much more dire.

They turned and looked to the west, where dozens of columns of smoke rose from the Mission, staining the low-lying fog.

We've got to do it, Shane said.  The rage storming within him had calmed, had matured into motivation, into purpose.  We might be the only people who know about the jammer, who know about Doug Novak.  We've got to get the word out.  We've got to let other people know.  Maybe they can help us.  Maybe we can capture Novak.  Maybe he has an antidote.

He looked back down at the motionless trucker, sprawled out on the bricks at their feet.

Maybe we can bring this to an end.

Chapter 2

But as Shane's gaze touched the trucker's reddened, lifeless eyes, he realized something: those vacant eyes were looking back.

Oh crap, Shane said, leaning back.

The man's eyes slid after him, glassy and raw, following his movements.  And then the man's chest swelled with an indrawn breath, the air rattling in his throat and lungs.

Before Shane had a chance to step out of reach, the truck driver rolled toward him, caught hold of Shane's ankle with an eager, clutching hand.  A long moan began to flow out of his mouth.

Shane hefted his axe, brought the blade up over his head and swung it down into the man's back with all of his strength.  The man's legs kicked out and went limp, but he didn't give up his grip.

Shane jerked at the axe, but the blade had caught in the trucker's spine and he couldn't move his feet to get better leverage.  A sudden burst of fear rushed through him. The man dragged himself toward Shane's trapped leg, lips pulling back to bare bloody teeth.

Gloria's boot slammed into the trucker's cheek, knocking his face to the side.  She stomped the infected man's head to the ground, pinning it there with her heel as she snatched a pistol from her hip holster.  She knelt quickly, putting the pistol's muzzle to the man's temple, pulling the trigger once.

The man's hands went slack, and Shane stumbled backward.

Gloria stood up, holstered her handgun.  She wrenched the axe out of the dead man's back and held it out to Shane, regarding him with cold eyes.

He stepped forward, put his hand on the axe handle.  She didn't let it go.

You've gotten lucky, Shane, plenty times, she said.  That doesn't mean you can rely on it.  Luck runs out.  It did for Johnny.

The mention of her dead friend stung him.  He made himself meet her eyes.

Like Sameer said, we've been on the outskirts of the city so far, Gloria continued.  "We're about to go into its heart.  You need to be on your A game.  We all do.  No more tonterías."

He nodded his head.  You're right, he said.

She let go of the axe.  He took it.

All right then, she said.  "Vámanos."

They made their way back to the utility truck, moving quickly but with care.  Gloria got behind the wheel, Sameer in the passenger's seat, and Shane and Ian in the truck bed.

The engine started with a coughing vroom and they drove down 3rd Street, pulling a right on 16th.  Gloria picked up the speed, swerving around an abandoned police car, the lights still flashing on its roof.

Wait! Sameer said.  I have an idea.  Turn right at that corner.

Doesn't that lead back into campus? Gloria said.

Indeed, directly to the quad.  But we needn't go that far.  The campus police office is just opposite Genentech Hall, near the parking lot.

Campus police?  You think they're going to help?

"I am not thinking so, no.  The state of the campus leads me to assume that the police have abandoned its protection.  But perhaps they have also abandoned items useful to us.  Firearms.  Ammunition.  Perhaps medical supplies that we can obtain