Rotter World Read online

  “I’m Jennifer,” the young woman said, holding out her hand, “Jennifer Wilson.”

  Robson shook her hand, preferring the gentler grip. “No rank?”

  “Nope. I’m a civilian detailee to the Department of Defense, at least when there was a DOD.”

  “Well, welcome to paradise.”

  “Is that what you call this place?” asked Thompson as he shoveled a fork full of green beans into his mouth.

  “Depends on who you talk to. Some around here think of it as paradise compared to what’s outside. Others call it Martin’s Madhouse or the Tenth Circle of Hell.”

  “What do you call it?”

  Robson forced a smile. “Home.”

  “Whatever you call it, you’ve got a nice set up here. I took a walk around the compound this afternoon.” Thompson bit off a piece of beef jerky and munched it as he talked. “Your own garden and livestock, a secure perimeter. Pretty nice accommodations, even if they are a bit Spartan.”

  “You’ve probably seen worse.”

  Thompson nodded. “Desert Storm. Mogadishu. Bosnia. Iraq. This place is a five-star hotel compared to them.”

  “What about you?” Robson asked Jennifer.

  “It’s not my townhouse back in Maryland, but it’s a hell of a lot better than being out there.”

  “Amen to that.” Robson took a drink of coffee. “Paul’s done well by us. He made sure that we not only survived but thrived. It took awhile to bring in the steel containers, generators, and livestock, but we’re at a point now where the camp is self-sustained, and we can easily ride out the rotters.”

  “It’s impressive,” said Jennifer.

  “It seems your commander’s only problem is in identifying the enemy,” added Thompson.

  “You mean the vampires.”

  “Roger that.”

  “It does seem strange,” Jennifer said, carefully choosing her words so as not to start an argument with her hosts. “I mean, we wouldn’t be in this mess if it wasn’t for them.”

  Robson nodded. “It took most of us awhile to get used to the idea, too, but it works. And you should see them in a melee. They can take out ten times the number of rotters we can without even breaking a sweat.”

  Thompson stopped eating and swallowed what he had in his mouth. “Which means the five bloodsuckers could take out this whole camp if they had half a mind to.”

  Robson did not respond. He could not. All these months he spent convincing himself that the vampires were actually a benefit to the camp because of their strength and fighting skills, and never once had he considered the vampires could just as easily turn on them. What other dangers had he been so fucking naïve about?

  Jennifer realized the conversation had reached an awkward point. “What do you do here?”

  “I head up the raiding party,” said Robson, grateful for the change of subject.

  “That’s all?”

  Robson took a drink of coffee. “Paul has a rule that if you go out into rotter territory and put your life on the line to keep the camp supplied, then you don’t have to do any of the menial work on the compound.”

  “Sweet deal,” said Thompson through a mouthful of food.

  “It is. But most of us still help out, otherwise the boredom would drive us nuts.” Robson put down the empty coffee mug and pushed it aside. “What about you two?”

  Thompson picked up the last piece of jerky and popped it into his mouth. “I’m chief of security for the eggheads.”

  “And I suppose you’re one of the eggheads?” Robson asked Jennifer.

  “More like an assistant egghead. I run lab tests for Doctor Compton and take notes for him.”

  “What’s so important that you’d still be working on it during the outbreak?”

  Thompson raised his left hand and held it up between Robson and Jennifer. “Sorry, but we’re not at liberty to talk about that.”

  You can kill off most of mankind, but bureaucracy survives, thought Robson. Even though he knew the answer to the next question, he asked it anyway. “Is it true that Compton is the one who created the Zombie Virus?”

  Jennifer became uneasy and looked down at her plate.

  Thompson stopped eating and fixed his eyes on Robson. “Where did you hear that?”

  “From Mad Dog. He mentioned it this morning when you arrived.”

  “Who’s Mad Dog?”

  “He’s over there. Two tables over, facing us.”

  Only then did Robson realize that Mad Dog was staring at them intently, the same look of disgust on his face as he’d had that morning when he first saw Compton. His gaze locked onto Thompson and the two glared at each other for several seconds. A cold hatred flared in Mad Dog’s eyes. He stood up, dropped his tray off in the plastic barrel to be washed, and headed their way, never once breaking eye contact with the colonel. For a moment, Robson thought Mad Dog would start something, but luckily he continued on past the table. Thompson kept an eye on him until he left the dining hall.

  “Do you know him?” asked Robson.

  Thompson pretended he did not hear the question. “What’s his name?”

  “He never told us.”

  “Where’s he from?”

  “He never told us that either. We ran across him about five months ago held up in a gas station just outside of Newington. A pack of rotters had jumped him while he was fueling his Hummer. He had taken down over a dozen with nothing more than a baseball bat. We call him Mad Dog because of the way he tears into them.”

  “I wonder what his story is,” said Jennifer. Robson could not be sure if her curiosity stemmed from genuine concern.

  “You’ll find a lot of stories around here,” said Robson. “Most of us lived within sixty miles of this place before the outbreak. Some tried to escape but were overtaken by rotters and eventually made their way here. Others tried to hold out in their homes, which was where we picked them up during our supply runs.”

  “Which one are you?” asked Thompson.

  “I was a deputy up in Kennebunkport. My fiancé and I tried to head west when the outbreak got really bad. We were overrun not far from here. Susan didn’t make it. I did.” Robson felt that familiar self-loathing blackening his soul. He reached for the cup of coffee as a distraction, annoyed to find it empty.

  “I’m sorry.” Jennifer noticed his discomfort, mistaking it for anguish. “I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

  “Don’t worry about it. There’s not a single person here who hasn’t lost family or loved ones. The guy in the NASCAR cap is Daytona, one of our drivers. He made his way up here from Florida. Witnessed the whole east coast go to hell. The guy sitting with him is Whitehouse. He used to be an ambulance driver in Boston. He was at Mass General when the first bite victims turned and attacked the other patients and hospital staff. He barely made it out alive. And see those girls over there?” Robson pointed to the table where Natalie’s Angels sat, each one wearing leather pants and a white shirt. “One of them spent weeks in a rape gang until rotters overran their camp. She’s probably the only person here thankful for the living dead.”

  “What’s with the leather?” asked Thompson. “Some type of fetish?”

  “No. They’re the camp security detail. The leather outfits make it impossible for the rotters to bite anything but exposed flesh.”

  Thompson shrugged

  “What about you two?” asked Robson. “Did you lose someone during the outbreak?”

  Thompson shook his head. “I’ve been a widower for ten years. I have only one son who was with the Army in Baghdad when the shit hit the fan. Last I heard, his unit had fallen back to a defensive position somewhere in Saudi Arabia.”

  “I lost my parents in a car accident when I was eight,” said Jennifer. “Ever since I started working with the military at Fort Detrick, I’ve been too busy to even date. Right after the outbreak I was assigned to Doctor Compton’s staff. Shortly after that we flew out to Site R. I hadn’t even seen a rotter until we tried to make it t
o Portsmouth.”

  “You gotta understand,” added Thompson, “the military did it that way on purpose. Everyone assigned to Compton’s staff had no family, so there was no one to worry about. They thought we would all concentrate on our work and not be distracted by wondering where our loved ones were.”

  Robson opened his mouth to ask where Site R was located when Paul entered the dining hall. He stopped in front of the middle table, picked up a spoon, and clanged it against the side of a water glass until everyone had quieted down. Paul placed the spoon back onto the table.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, listen up. We’re going to have an all hands tonight at seven o’clock. Everyone needs to be here, so make sure you pass the word around. Thank you.”

  Paul turned around and left the dining hall as quickly as he had entered. Robson did not know what to make of it since Paul was never that abrupt. “What the hell was that all about?” he said to no one in particular.

  Thompson stood, picked up his tray, and headed out. “I guess you’ll find out tonight.”

  Robson noted that the colonel did not say “we”.

  Chapter Nine

  Robson entered the dining hall a few minutes before the all-hands began. The din of dozens of people idly talking could be heard on the way up the stairs to the blockhouse. The dining tables had been folded and stored against the rear wall, replaced by rows of metal folding chairs. Almost all of them were filled. Robson scanned the crowd. The four vampires, except for Elena, sat in the rear corner seats, Tibor’s scarred face looking exceptionally disgruntled at having to spend any more time than necessary with the humans. The Angels sat next to them in the back two rows, talking amongst themselves in small groups. In fact, nearly everyone sat in their own cliques: Daytona, Clark, and Whitehouse huddled in the middle with Hodges’ motor pool crew; the cooks, farm hands, medical staff, and various work crews all hung out together. Even the newcomers seemed to have been accepted, for he noticed the two engineers joking with the maintenance crew and the Air Force non-com chatting with Hodges.

  Robson looked around for Mad Dog, surprised to find him sitting in the front row near the podium Paul spoke from. Mad Dog always sat at the rear of the hall, pulling a chair over to one of the blockhouse windows to be as far removed from the group as possible, and that was on those rare occasions when he even showed up for such meetings. Robson knew that Mad Dog’s presence tonight was because of Compton, which did not bode well. Thankfully, O’Bannon sat between Mad Dog and the podium so he could intervene if trouble erupted.

  Natalie sat directly in front of the podium, looking very attractive in her leather pants and white blouse that she filled out quite nicely, her long brown hair cascading over her shoulders. Robson suddenly remembered what Thompson had said about the Angels having a fetish appearance and smiled, knowing he would never get that image of her out of his mind. When Natalie spotted him, her eyes beamed. She greeted him with a smile and waved him over to the empty seat to her right. Jennifer, who sat in the next chair, turned to him and nodded.

  “Any idea what this is about?” asked Natalie.

  “None,” said Robson as he slid into the seat. He glanced over at Jennifer. “I hoped you’d know since this has to deal with Compton.”

  Jennifer responded with a shrug. “The doctor kept me out of the loop on just about everything. I was little more than his office girl.”

  Robson wondered what other services she provided for the good doctor, but chastised himself for thinking so crassly. Suddenly realizing that someone was missing, he scanned the room. “Where’s the colonel?”

  “After supper he met up with the doctor and your bosses. I haven’t seen him since.”

  “That figures,” grunted O’Bannon from a few chairs down. “This place has become too damn secretive ever since Compton showed up. No offense, miss.”

  “None taken,” said Jennifer. “It’s been like this ever since the Pentagon assigned me to work with him. He and Thompson would go off somewhere and talk for hours, sometimes by themselves, other times on a VTC with Omaha. They never told me a thing. Half the notes I’d type up for him were so cryptic—”

  A bustle at the door announced the arrival of Paul and the others. Paul entered first alongside Compton, the two chatting quietly. Elena followed next. Usually Paul took special care to show that Elena and he were equal, a deliberate effort to display the unity between humans and vampires. This time he and Compton took center stage, with Elena merely along for show. Robson definitely did not like the hold Compton seemed to have over him. Thompson followed several feet behind, the dutiful officer bringing up the rear and protecting his boss. The four of them gathered around the podium, with Paul in the middle and Elena and Compton on either side. Thompson hovered in the background. Paul stepped up to the podium and called out over the noise for everyone to quiet down. The talking died off as the room’s attention focused on the group standing before them.

  “I know you’ve all been curious about last night’s raid into Portsmouth and whether it was important enough to risk so many lives, and to lose a good friend, just to rescue a handful of people. I apologize for all the secrecy. Trust me, it was worth it.” Paul gestured toward the doctor. “This is Dr. Robert Compton, chief biologist out of Fort Detrick.”

  “He’s a fucking murderer.”

  Everyone turned. Mad Dog had stood up, pointing at Compton, his face scarlet with fury. O’Bannon sat forward in his chair, ready to tackle Mad Dog if he tried anything violent. Robson noticed that Thompson took a few steps forward, ready to do the same.

  As usual, Paul attempted to be conciliatory. “Mad Dog, please. You’ll have your chance to spe—”

  “Did Compton tell you he’s the creator of the Zombie Virus?”

  A murmur erupted throughout the hall.

  “Is that true?” asked O’Bannon.

  Paul started to respond, but Compton held up his hand and cut him off. He stepped up to the podium and looked O’Bannon straight in the eyes. “Yes.”

  A sense of rage erupted through the hall, interrupted only by Mad Dog yelling out, “Then you admit to genocide.”

  “Nothing of the kind,” said Compton. His voice was firm, with no guilt or defensiveness.

  “Bullshit!”

  The colonel placed himself between Mad Dog and Compton. “You better watch your language, son.”

  The entire hall was in turmoil by now. Compton quickly took control of the situation.

  “Both of you stand down and let me explain.” Compton glared at the colonel. Thompson stepped back and took up his position by the wall. Then Compton faced off with Mad Dog. The two men stared each other down, neither one giving in. O’Bannon finally sat forward in his chair and whispered for Mad Dog to take his seat. Mumbling under his breath, Mad Dog dropped back into his chair, his arms tightly folded across his chest.

  Compton took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “Yes, it’s true I created the R Virus, or what you call the Zombie Virus, but I never intended it to be a bioweapon. My unit was trying to find a way to rejuvenate the scar tissue on vets wounded by IEDs in Iraq. We finally had some success with one particular strain, albeit minimal, and concentrated on that one. Unfortunately, the final variation of the strain not only succeeded in reanimating dead scar tissue, it also killed off all the living tissue and reanimated it. Once reanimated, the revenants possessed an uncontrollable urge to feed off of the living, as best as I can tell because the original virus needs to consume live tissue in order to replicate itself. Of course, we didn’t realize this until almost a dozen researchers and guards had been bitten and became reanimated as revenants.”

  “Why didn’t you destroy the virus?” asked O’Bannon.

  “We didn’t weaponize it, if that’s what you’re referring to,” answered Compton. “But you can’t just destroy something like this and hope it’ll go away. It’s like nuclear weapons. If one country knows how to make it, others do, too. So the Pentagon classified all information pertaining to th
e virus as compartmented Top Secret and restricted access to the data to myself and a few trusted members of my staff. We were working on countermeasures to the R Virus in case some other country developed it. Unfortunately, our enemies used the R Virus against us before we had developed a defense against it.”

  Elena lowered her eyes at the comment. Robson heard Tibor in the rear corner mutter, “Fuck you.”

  If Compton heard the mumblings from the vampires, he made no notice of it. “Once the outbreak occurred and Fort Detrick was threatened, the government moved us to a secret underground facility where we continued our research. It wasn’t easy working under such conditions and with limited resources, but after three months we completed our work. The government told us to bring it to the Portsmouth Navy yard and they would extract us. But, as you know, the Navy Yard fell before we got there. We lost everything when the revenants attacked us. That’s why we have to go back to the facility and get more.”

  “Wait a minute,” Robson stood up, waving his hand to catch Compton’s attention. “You keep on referring to ‘it’. What are you talking about?”

  Compton stared at him, a confused look on his face. “I’m talking about the vaccine for the R Virus, of course.”

  Chapter Ten

  A stunned silence filled the hall as everyone registered what Compton had just said.

  Robson spoke first. “You discovered a vaccine for the Zombie Virus?”

  “Yes,” Compton said in a matter-of-fact tone.

  “Then you can reverse the outbreak?” asked Natalie.

  Compton shook his head. “Nothing can cure the virus. Once infected, death and reanimation are imminent. The vaccine will only prevent its further spread.”

  “That’s more than enough,” said Robson

  “More than enough for what?” asked Ari, one of the Angels.

  “To take the fight to the rotters.”

  “But we face them all the time.”

  “We avoid them and defend ourselves when necessary.” Robson shifted in his chair so he could face Ari. “Up to now we’ve always been cautious when dealing with rotters because even the smallest bite is a death sentence. Think about it. How many other camps fell when someone snuck in without revealing they’d been bitten, turned, and spread the virus? We don’t have to fear the rotters anymore. They can’t turn us. We can face them down and kill them.”