All Our Tomorrows (23 page)

“I—I don’t know.”

“And in the simulation,” Elizabeth says. “Why did one zombie attack, while another stood still?”

“And why are they here now?” Doyle asks. “What do they want from you?”

I have no answers.

“Whatever the reason,” Ajeet says. “Our first act has to be to get more of those tablets and analyze their content. We have to understand the mode of action.”

“I’m worried about their behavior,” Johnson says, not content to move on. “The herd is erratic. All this time, zombies have been predictable. Now, they’re unstable. Why?”

“You’re an anthropologist,” Doyle says. “Of course you’re concerned about behavior.”

Ajeet smiles, saying, “I take your point, Johnson. But for now, if we can come up with a viable treatment for a zombie bite, that has to take precedence over field research. We can explore the behavioral characteristics of the undead at some other time.”

“The Tesla is charged,” Doyle says. “I can be there and back by sundown.”

“I’m going with you,” I say, unsure what a Tesla is, but feeling compelled to accompany Doyle.

“You’re not trained for this,” Doyle says.

“Doyle will be wearing a space suit,” Ajeet explains. “Even then, the suits aren’t invisible. They’re no guarantee you won’t be attacked. They lessen the odds, but one tear, just a tiny rip, and you might as well be standing there naked.”

“You’ll need me to identify the tablets,” I say, insisting.

“I could go,” Steve offers, but he’s in no condition to take on zombies.

“You need to rest,” Elizabeth says. She’s right.

“This is all my fault,” I say. “Let me help.”

“It’s not your fault,” Ajeet says, emphatically. “Zombies have brought this upon us, not you.”

I’m not sure Doyle agrees with Ajeet, but he seems to soften to the idea of having me tag along.

“All right. Me and the girl,” he says.

“Hazel,” I say, refusing to be intimidated by him.

“Hazel and I will retrieve what we can.”

Doyle gets to his feet and we follow him out of the control room.

As we walk down the corridor, Ajeet says, “We’ll monitor your progress from here. Don’t worry, Hazel. We’ll be in constant radio contact. You’ll be fine.”

I wasn’t worried until Ajeet insisted I would be fine. In theory, wearing a space suit sounds fun. Anything that avoids attracting attention from zombies is a good idea, but I suspect there’s more to this than I realize.

“Are you going to be okay?” Steve asks quietly as we walk into a laboratory.

“I’ll be fine,” I say, echoing Ajeet’s words. “In and out. We’ll get some of those tablets and we’ll leave. We’ll be back before you know it.”

The laboratory is a broad, open plan room, but a false wall separates one half of the room from the other. Floor-to-ceiling glass panels divide the room. There are space suits hanging on the walls, along with backpacks in various states of repair.

“Let’s get you suited up,” Elizabeth says, taking her own suit off and stashing it on a workbench. She strips down to what looks like a pair of long johns, but there’s a mesh of tiny tubes and wires woven into the material.

Elizabeth remains in her long johns, handing me an identical set. The material is stiff and thick.

“Put this on.”

I strip down to my tank top and tight shorts, slipping into the long johns feet first. It takes some effort to stretch the shoulders back far enough to slip my arms into the sleeves. Elizabeth pulls a zipper up my front, and I feel my insides compress with the material.

“This is a thermal undergarment,” she says. “It’s water cooled. Even with our stripped-down suits, you’ll be carrying close to a hundred and fifty pounds. You won’t be able to move quickly. Doyle will get you as close as he can in the Tesla.

“These suits are completely self-contained. They’re hermetically-sealed. No air comes in. No air goes out. Everything is either stored or recycled.

“These suits are a bunch of odds and ends, cobbled together to allow us access to the outside world.”

She’s speaking as though we’re on Mars.

Elizabeth helps me slip on the thick, outer layer of the space suit. The bulky white trousers are heavy, giving me some idea of how difficult it is going to be to move around in a spacesuit.

“It’s the seal that keeps you safe from zombies. They can’t smell you. The gold visor ensures they can’t see you. Don’t make any sudden noises and they won’t hear you.”

I nod as she positions a pair of what look like snow boots in front of me. I step into the boots, squeezing my feet firmly against the inner sole, and she fastens the seals, locking the boots and the pants together.

“You can talk to us through a headset. Just whisper and we’ll hear you loud and clear.”

I nod as she slips a skull cap over my head. A small microphone aligns with the corner of my lips and I feel hard insets position themselves over my ears, marking earphones or perhaps tiny speakers. Elizabeth adjusts the chin strap, making sure the cap is on straight.

Doyle is already suited up and waddling into what looks like an airlock leading into the sterile section of the room. He sits on a bench waiting for me. He has his visor up, chatting with Johnson and Ajeet.

Elizabeth connects a series of tubes from inside the suit with my undergarment, saying, “You’re wearing roughly half a million dollars worth of tech that really should be in a museum. Try to bring it back in one piece.”

She smiles, not wanting me to take her too seriously, and I nod in response. Joking around defuses the tension.

Steve helps Elizabeth lift the torso section of the spacesuit over my head. I feed my arms up into the bulky sleeves, feeling a little overwhelmed.

As she locks the waist band in place, Elizabeth says, “If you want to scratch your nose, now’s your last chance.”

“I’m fine,” I say.

Elizabeth fits a pair of gloves on my hands, twisting the locking mechanism in place. I feel like I’m about to launch into space. She leans inside the suit, pushing her hand down my back and fiddling with part of the undergarment. I can feel her connecting components to the outer suit.

“Okay. Helmet?” she says, gesturing to Steve. He raises the helmet over my head, lowering it gently. Both the outer golden visor and the inner glass faceplate are open so I can talk freely as Elizabeth aligns the collar ring and twists the helmet in place.

“I’m okay,” I say to Steve, even though he hadn’t actually said anything. It was the look on his face that told me he’s worried. “I’ll be fine.”

“You be careful out there,” he says. “Don’t take any risks.”

“Me?” I say, trying to sound sweet and innocent.

“All right,” Elizabeth says. “Turn around. Let’s get a look at you.”

I step forward, walking a bit like Frankenstein. I can see why they warned me about the weight of the suit. Even just a few steps is an effort. Space suits are designed for space, I decide. Up there, they’re weightless. Down here, they’re lead weights.

“Let’s get your backpack fitted,” Elizabeth says, and it’s only then I realize I’m not finished. I thought this was all the weight I had to lug around, but the heaviest part of the suit is yet to come.

“Turn around for me,” she says, gently guiding me as I twist to one side.

Elizabeth and Steve position the backpack behind me, attaching straps to the suit, hooking up air lines, electrical wires and flexible coolant pipes. Steve must be taking most of the weight as I don’t get the full force of the backpack until he steps back.

Damn!

It’s all I can do not to keel over backwards with the pack on. I lean forward, locking my knees as I struggle with the combined weight of the suit and backpack.

“Watch your balance,” Elizabeth says. “The last thing you want to do is to turtle.”

“Turtle?” I ask, not wanting to speak in anything more than single words. Single syllables would be better.

“If you fall on your back, it is extremely difficult to get up. Remember, your center of gravity is much higher and heavier than you’re used to. Also, it’s shifted to the rear, so don’t lean back or you’ll keel over.”

“Great,” I say, unable to think of anything else to say.

“If you fall, don’t rush. Take your time getting up. You’ll need to roll on your side, then onto your hands and knees. Find something to pull on to get back to your feet. Something like a chair or a desk. Whatever you do, don’t panic.”

“Got it,” I say, regretting my insistence on going along with Doyle. I just want to get this over with.

Steve helps me into the airlock. I sit next to Doyle. He’s checking his fancy gun. He ignores me. Although it’s probably not personal, it feels that way.

Elizabeth shows me the environmental controls on my suit, adjusts them and sets them running. She closes the inner glass visor, clipping a latch that locks it in place, saying, “Good luck.”

“Thanks,” I say, immediately noticing my voice sounds dull and muted inside the helmet. Air circulates softly around my face, coming in from vents designed to prevent the glass from fogging up. Suddenly, I’m acutely aware of the need to scratch my nose. It’s more psychological than real. My nose twitches, and I wonder if I have time to open my helmet when Doyle stands up. Time to go.

I get to my feet slowly, turning so I can see my thick, gloved hand pushing off the bench seat. My muscles aren’t used to such arduous work, but I take my place behind Doyle, looking at the back of his white pack and his smooth helmet. The US flag on his life-support pack looks strangely out of place and yet there’s comfort in seeing it again after so long. It reminds me of another time, a better time. Red and white stripes. A blue sky full of silver stars neatly ordered. Maybe, I dare to think. Maybe we can reclaim this land. Hope lifts the heart, and that small embroidered flag raises my spirits.

The airlock door closes and I hear Elizabeth talking in my ear.

“Okay. You guys are looking good. Telemetry is coming through. Initiating clean.”

Jets of steaming hot water rush out of the walls, ceiling and floor. Doyle holds his hands out and positions his legs slightly apart, so I copy him, feeling the pitter patter of water gently striking my helmet. Tiny soap bubbles form on my suit before being washed away.

“It’s nice to be inside the car for once,” I say.

Elizabeth speaks over the headset.

“Sorry, didn’t catch that. Say again.”

“Nothing,” I say as the steam is replaced with a high speed fan drying our suits.

Doyle doesn’t comment. He’s not the friendliest guy I’ve ever met. I’m pretty sure he and Ferguson would have fought to the death.

As we walk through the lab on the other side of the airlock I’m struck by the plain furniture. There’s no microscopes or racks of test tubes. Dust covers the tables and chairs.

Doyle pushes on a crossbar and opens a fire door. In his bulky suit, he can barely fit through the door. He walks slowly down a set of steel stairs leading to a parking lot. Again, I’m surprised. I thought a high security containment lab would have more doors or something, and it’s only then I realize we’re now on the regular side of the lab. We came out of the highly secure section.

I’m breathing hard as I catch the door with my thick gloved hands.

I’m so focused on what I’m doing, making sure I don’t fall down the steps, that I let the door slam behind me. It’s only after the sudden bang that I realize I should be more careful.

“What—the—hell?” he says, only his voice crackles, coming through over the radio in staccato.

Doyle turns, looking at me. He has his golden visor down, so I can’t see his face, but he’s pissed.

Zombies turn, looking at us from the road.

Quickly, I pull my outer visor down feeling stupid. I want to say, I’m sorry, but I don’t. I’m not sure if it’s pride or whether it’s just that I don’t want to compound my stupidity, but as the seconds pass, I feel more and more awkward.

Dozens of zombies lurch toward us, homing in on the door, and yet they’re strangely unaware of our presence. Just one step to the left and it’s quickly apparent they’re looking at the fire door, not us.

“Just relax,” Elizabeth whispers in my ear. “Your heart rate is one-thirty. Take slow, deep breaths.”

Doyle walks away in his white spacesuit, looking completely out of place in an empty parking lot. There’s a lone car on the far side of the lot, sitting next to a closed garage.

Zombies amble past me. I turn slowly, watching as they scratch at the fire door, searching for a way to get in.

All I can hear is my own breathing.

“Keep moving,” Elizabeth says.

My suit is so heavy, I can’t help but move slowly and methodically. Even a simple act, like turning, takes considerable effort and has to be done in several shuffling motions. As I turn back to Doyle, I’m confronted by a zombie not more than a foot away from me. He’s right on top of me.

I freeze.

“Don’t panic,” Elizabeth says. “Remember, he can’t see you.”

My heart pounds in my throat. I dare not whisper in reply.

Zee examines me closely, sniffing at the breeze and slowly rolling his rotten head from one side to another. His hair is matted like a bird’s nest, with scraps of sawdust and bits of wood meshed in with his hair. One ear has been torn off, leaving a festering sore oozing down his neck.

“Stay where you are,” Elizabeth whispers.

Dark bloodshot eyes lock with mine.

Under my breath, I whisper, “He can see me.”

“He can’t see you,” Elizabeth says. “Just relax. You’re heart rate is hitting one-fifty. Slow your breathing down. Just stay where you are. Don’t move. Doyle is coming to you.”

Sweat beads on my forehead.

“He’s not looking at you,” Elizabeth says with alluring calm. “He’s looking at his own reflection.”

I’m shaking.

I’ve never seen a zombie this close before. Even when I was attacked, Zee was little more than a blur, a wild animal lashing out in an instant, but this is different.

Veins bulge on the side of his neck, spreading out just under the surface of his skin like a tangled spider web. His gums have receded from his teeth, exposing the roots. Several of his teeth are missing or twisted at unnatural angles. With cracked lips and blisters on his nose, he looks sick. How his body functions is beyond me. Like all the other zombies, his skin is putrid, covered in clumps of green mold or moss. There’s a lump on the side of his neck. Something’s growing on him. Whatever it is, it’s black, like a slug or a big, fat blood-gorged leech.