Xombies: Apocalypse Blues by Walter Greatshell Read Free Book Online Page B

map.”
    “It’s a Navy base?”
    “During the war it used to be a training field for the Naval Air Station, but now it belongs to a big defense contractor. They’ve been keeping it running on an emergency basis as a matter of national security, offering safe shelter to families of employees if they stay on the job. I guess they were pretty hard up, because they came and tried to talk me outta retirement. Fat chance. I couldn’t see sleeping on no concrete floor at my age. I said to them, ‘I hope you fellas ain’t trying to turn that place into some kind of refugee center, because there’s no potable water and nowhere to run if things get hot. Oughta be a toxic-waste dump from all the lead and cadmium that’s leached into the soil over the years.’
    “They say to me, ‘Fred, that’s just it—we got all the water and power we could ever use, plus we got the whole Atlantic Ocean to escape to. We’re authorized to use any and all facilities at our disposal to safeguard sensitive technology. That includes moving it offshore. You can even bring a friend.’
    “‘What are you saying?’ I asked. ‘You gotta be kidding me.’
    “They get all spooky, and say, ‘Just consider it, Fred. You think things are bad out there now? This ain’t even a wet fart compared to the shit that’s coming down the pipe. Sandoval knows—that’s why he thought of you. The company needs you, Fred. You’re part of the family.’
    “I thought they were crazier than bedbugs and sent ’em packing, but I remember Beau looking me in the eye as he left, and saying, ‘This is privileged information, Fred, but Sandoval gives you his personal guarantee that if you come now, you’re a shoo-in for a seat on the board. How can you turn that down?’ I said, ‘Just watch me.’”
    We left the main road, turning right alongside a second fence and a row of low, shuttered buildings. Behind them was a storage yard strewn with heavy machinery and steel scrap, enormous items, but all dwarfed beneath the vast white hangar that towered like an iceberg over all. Many cars and trucks were parked before a second checkpoint, this one manned by only a few guards. Apparently they had been notified about us, because they let us through without any interrogation, keeping well clear of me.
    “How you doing, Sam?” Cowper called to one.
    “What did you do?” Sam demanded. “I can’t raise Reynolds.”
    “Reynolds is gone—you must’ve seen the explosion. If I were you, I’d get over there.”
    “You led them to us,” Sam said coldly, clicking his gun’s safety on and off. “We were doing okay until you led them here, Fred. You and that . . .” He couldn’t bring himself to say it. Keeping his eyes averted from mine, the man said, “You should’ve stayed away. You’re not going to get what you came for.”
    “All I’m after right now is Ed Albemarle. He in there?”
    “He’s in there, but he’s not going to be able to help you. Nobody is.”
    “Thanks, Sam. It’s good to see you, too.”
    To our backs, the man said, “I could shoot you for being out after lockdown! I’d be within my rights!”
    As we crossed the tarmac toward the hangar, Cowper noticed my upset, and whispered to me, “He doesn’t know what he’s saying. Don’t worry, he won’t shoot. And it’s not true, you know, what he said about us leading them in. Those things were already on their way—we just happened to come along at the same time they did. It’s that ‘critical mass’ the TV predicted: They saturate the urban areas, then fan out across the countryside when they run out of prey. Providence is spilling over—we just hit the wave front is all.” He was sweating.
    “What does he mean, we’re not going to get what we came for, nobody’s going to help us?”
    “Aw, nothin’—it’s nothing for you to worry about.”
    We approached a door and were buzzed through from the guard shack. At first all I saw was a cavernous room full of