The Down Home Zombie Blues (41 page)

“David’s got dispatch,” Zeke said, closing his hand over Theo’s phone. “We—”

Voices shouted something behind him. But not in English. Something…

“…Mikkalah! Mister Zeke!”

Theo looked quickly over his shoulder. Tamlynne Herryck and a team of Guardians sprinted toward him across the sand.

Tammy?

“Tammy!” Zeke thrust himself to his feet.

“Mister Zeke,” she answered, then it was all Alarsh and hands shoving Theo away, scanners beeping and pinging and something that looked like a short Wookiee placing silvery pads on Jorie’s wounds.

“Time is critical,” a familiar voice said behind him.

Rordan, blood dripping down the side of his face and staining one arm of his uniform where the C-Prime’s claw had ripped through. He leaned heavily on a shorter man’s shoulder. Another Guardian in green and black. “Serious injury, she has,” Rordan added.

The shorter Guardian said something. Rordan shrugged, then winced. “I go med-tech. Jorie go med-tech.”

Med-tech. Theo’s brain finally kicked into gear, overriding the panic that had encompassed him. Med-tech. “Your ship’s here?”

“New ship,” Rordan said. “Find Tamlynne. Search us. See Tresh. We go now.” He hesitated. “Thank you, Theo Petrakos.”

Something in the man’s tone chilled Theo. “You go to the ship?” But he asked the question of thin, cold air. Rordan and his escort faded before his eyes. “No! Jorie!” Theo whipped around. Jorie, the Wookiee, and the medical team were gone. Only Tammy remained, hand on the transcomm unit on her belt.

Jorie. His Jorie was gone. Desperately, he motioned toward the night sky. “Beam me up there, Tammy.”

“Regrets, Sergeant Petrakos.” Tammy’s voice was soft, her words uttered slowly. “Mission is over. It is good. The C-Prime is with herd.”

Theo shot a glance to his right, only then realizing the towering zombie was gone.

“Virus spreads now,” Tammy continued. “Tresh lose this herd.”

“And Jorie?”

Tammy hesitated, drawing a breath. Then: “She, my commander, is strong. She hurts much, much serious. You…” and she stopped again, glancing first at Zeke, then at David. “You have deity? Faith? Yes? You pray. I pray very much now. For my commander.”

Cristos, Cristos.
Yes, he could pray. But he didn’t believe anymore that his prayers would be answered.

Tammy splayed one hand outward. “Mister Zeke, tell Miss Suzanne much thanks. You are very bright stars in my sky of memory. You understand?”

“I’ll tell her, Tamlynne,” Zeke said quietly. “We’ll miss you. And we’ll pray for Jorie.”

A tremulous smile played across Tammy’s lips. She tapped her transcomm. Theo watched—his shoulders so stiff they hurt almost as much as his heart—as she faded into the darkness.

Jorie. A bright star in the sky of my memory.

A breeze kicked up, peppering his face with fine grains of sand. The air tasted of fish and salt. Lights twinkled on the Skyway Bridge across the water, which made a soft, shushing sound as it lapped invisibly against the sand.

In the distance, a siren wailed.

“Theo.” David said his name.

Theo shook his head. He couldn’t speak, because to speak he’d have to unclench his jaw, and if he did that, he wouldn’t be able to contain the pained, anguished cry he knew would come out.

“Theo, the EMTs will be here shortly.”

He’d never see her again. He’d never know if she lived or died.

“Guess we can give them those Tresh guys,” Zeke intoned. “And the zombie arm. The ME might enjoy that. What do you think,
amigo
?”

The siren grew louder. Theo looked away from the lights on the bridge and toward the southern horizon, where the dark water met the dark sky. Flashes of light caught the corner of his eye. Fireworks off to the west, like shooting stars. He’d never be able to see them again without thinking of her.

“She’s safe, Theo.” Zeke’s voice softened. “They have technology we don’t. She’ll be fine. She’s back with her own people now.”

Back with Rordan.
Jorie has dream to be captain. You can give her this?

He had, he realized. If she lived, he had given her the chance for her captaincy. The C-Prime was infected, the herd would die soon. The Tresh were out of business. All because of one Commander Jorie Mikkalah.

Captain
Jorie Mikkalah.

He held on to that thought, his prayer for her.

It was all he had.

30

“Captain Mikkalah, glad you’re back with us. You’ve had us worried.”

Jorie slowly opened her eyes at the sound of the unfamiliar female voice. The high-pitched tone with the clipped Gendari accent wasn’t Marai, the med-tech on the
Sakanah.
The
Sakanah
was…She blinked from the room’s bright lights. This wasn’t the
Sakanah,
but she was in a sick bay. She’d been here for several days being poked and prodded and hooked up to tech because…because…

It came back to her in a rush: the C-Prime, Rordan’s use of her program to lure it
and
stimulate the formation of a portal to send it back once it had been dealt with—a complicated little maneuver that had taken her years to create—and Rordan’s failure to attach the altered tech to the zombie’s arm.

She’d done it so many times to a normal zombie. Never before to a C-Prime.

Neither had Rordan. Thieving ass-faced demon’s spawn. Try for
her
captaincy, would he?

Captaincy. Captain.
Captain
Mikkalah?

She blinked again. The unfamiliar female voice belonged to a familiar female face. She’d never met Admiral Nerzanya, but she recognized the thin, pale-eyed Gendari woman with the bright yellow hair. Who in the Guardian ranks wouldn’t? And there was thieving ass-faced demon’s spawn Kip Rordan behind her.

“Admiral, sir,” she said, her voice sounding distinctly rusty. Her body felt correspondingly disused.

Of course. The C-Prime. The Tresh. And Theo—

Theo. The man with the very good face. The man who—She glanced quickly around the room. No Theo. The Tresh…no. She remembered him firing at Prow. Just after Prow fired at her. So Theo had to be alive. Where was he?

Her heart sank. Rordan. Thieving bastard. Rordan knew about the restrainer implant. Rordan knew Theo knew about the Guardians. Theo might already be on Paroo. Or worse. Admiral Nerzanya hated nils even more than Captain Pietr did.

Pietr. “The
Sakanah
?”

“The ship was rescued by a battle squadron that we diverted to this sector, based on new intelligence the Vekrans provided. They tracked one of their missionary ships missing for over half a century now…”

Missionary ship? Theo’s misquote sounded in Jorie’s mind:
The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the one
. Is that how he, his people, knew Vekran sacred text? And starship warp factors?

“…to this system, and they alerted us to Tresh energy trails,” the admiral was saying. “My flagship was part of that squadron. The
Sakanah
took damage, but casualties were light. And my cruisers destroyed the Tresh ship that attacked her. So rest easy, Captain.”

Captain.
Nerzanya said it again. “My rank is commander,” Jorie chanced, knowing that correcting Nerzanya wasn’t something one did if one wanted to stay a Guardian.

The woman smiled. “I’m aware of Pietr’s offer. You have more than earned the promotion.”

Jorie held herself very still, while every fiber in her body wanted to dance with blissful glee. Captain. Captain Jorie Mikkalah! She did it! She—

Theo.

“We’re establishing an outpost in this sector,” Nerzanya was saying. “This nil world is a useless ball of dirt, but the Tresh want it. We need to find out if it’s for more than to breed zombies. Plus, as we expand the Hatches, it might become useful. This sector, if you accept the commission, would be under your command, Mikkalah.”

This sector. Earth, the planet aptly named after dirt. The planet that was Theo’s home.

Theo. She couldn’t ask yet.

“Earth’s planetary governments are aware of this?”

“I don’t think the nils are yet ready for us, though that is something that will be considered at a later date. We’ve deleted all traces of our visit by reclaiming Agent Wain’s body and the zombie corpses.”

Jorie hesitated, not sure she wanted to know the answer. “And Th—Sergeant Petrakos and his people?”

“Unfortunate casualties but not unexpected, knowing the Tresh,” the admiral said with a slight nod to Rordan. “Full details are in the commander’s report. Fortunately, he neutralized the nil sergeant’s implant, so there will be no record of it if the bodies are autopsied.”

The bodies…
Theo. Theo, Zeke and David Gray.

Theo. Her breath caught painfully. Please,
please,
no…

She stared at Rordan, her body rigid. He stared back at her.

The admiral—who’d made her a captain, who had little respect for nils—waited.

“Thank you, Commander Rordan,” Jorie said evenly.

Nerzanya smiled. “Congratulations on your promotion, Captain.” With a nod, she turned and left the small room.

Rordan stayed, with only the sound of voices in the main sick bay and then the muted thump of the large doors closing behind the admiral filling the silence between them.

“
I
neutralized Theo’s restrainer,” Jorie said finally.

“I know. You have a knack for those kinds of things. I’m still learning.” He pulled his scanner from his belt and held it out toward her. “Here’s the report. What do you think?”

She almost couldn’t look at it. Zeke Martinez. David Gray. Theo…

She changed screens, looked at the coding behind the images, looked at time-date stamps, looked at everything, even though her heart was breaking and the tears filling her eyes sometimes made it damned near impossible to see.

And then Tamlynne’s report on Suzanne’s death…

Tamlynne…

Tamlynne wasn’t nearly as skilled as Rordan in forgeries. But she was good enough to put this one by Nerzanya’s scrutiny.

“You slut-bucket bastard,” Jorie whispered, but she was smiling.

Rordan smiled too.

“The admiral’s shuttle departs within the sweep,” he said. “I told her you weren’t one for any kind of captain’s ceremony. You’d want to get right to work. She’s leaving us this ship—a rather decent Red Star Class Seven. Not as big as the
Sakanah,
but it has an upgraded PMaT. Much less disconcerting. I thought—once Nerzanya was gone—you’d want to test it. Until then, as your first officer, I suggest you take a relaxing cleanser and find something to eat. Captain.” He inclined his head in a gesture of respect. “I’ll be on the bridge if you need me.”

Jorie watched him leave, tears of gratitude and amazement spilling down her cheeks.

“I’ve always loved a man in uniform.”

Theo closed the door of his marked patrol car and turned at the sound of Sophie Goldstein’s voice. She strode up his driveway, a veritable rainbow of colors, from her red shoes to her blue-and-red polka-dot pants to her yellow-and-blue shirt with a green-and-blue polka-dot vest. She held some kind of covered dish in her arms. Again. He couldn’t imagine what it was this afternoon. So far this week he’d been treated to brisket, cheese blintzes, noodle kugel, potato pancakes, and more honey puffs.

“Kasha varnishkes.” She shoved the dish at him. “It’s got rice, noodles, and mushrooms. It’s good for you. Have you heard from your lady friend?”

His “lady friend” had returned to northern Canada to be with her family for some kind of emergency. It was somewhat the truth. And it kept Sophie from poking further into his obvious blue mood.

A mood that had little to do with his return to uniform.

That early-morning meeting almost a week ago with Chief Brantley and DHS hadn’t gone so well. The zombie corpses—including Baby—had disappeared, giving DHS little to put into their top-secret file on the matter other than the Paroo cube, his G-1, and his, Brantley’s, and his team’s accounts. And sworn statements by all involved to reveal nothing without explicit permission from the feds. But at least Internal Affairs hadn’t been there, and Theo hadn’t lost his job. Nor his rank. He was still a sergeant. He was just a sergeant in uniform working street patrol.

It was a way to keep his mind off Jorie. And to do his penance to Saint Brantley.

He was damned lucky to still have a job.

He transferred his duty duffel bag to his left hand and took the covered dish. “You’re spoiling me, Sophie.” The dish was still warm, and the aroma, as always, was tantalizing. But in truth he’d found it hard to enjoy much of anything since New Year’s Eve.

“So what’s the news from Jorie?”

“Still tied up with family.” He tried to smile and failed.

Sophie Goldstein made the
tsk-tsk
noise that some women had down to a fine art. She patted his arm. “Things will work out.”

Juggling the dish and his duffel, Theo unlocked his back door, then dropped the duffel on the floor. He slid the dish onto the counter. A cold orange soda waited for him in the fridge.

He took a swig, then plodded through his living room, stripping off his uniform shirt as he went. A wry grin played over his mouth at Sophie’s comment about a “man in uniform.” There was nothing remotely sexy about a white polyester shirt and green polyester pants. And a bulky tac vest. Though Aunt Tootie might not agree. She always said Uncle Stavros—

“Theo?”

He stopped dead in his tracks in his bedroom doorway, shirt halfway down one arm, and stared at the woman in the green-and-black jumpsuit rising from the edge of his bed. His heart thumped so loudly in his chest that it momentarily trapped the name he was trying to say.

She looked like…

“Jorie?” His voice rasped with emotion. He unglued his feet from the floor and sent the command to his legs to move, now! “Jorie!”

Then she was against his chest and in his arms, and warm and real, and,
Cristos, Cristos,
she was alive. She was alive and he was holding her, touching her, kissing her. He tasted the salt of the tears on her face as they mixed with his own.

Jorie.

He yanked the shirt off his arm, then thrust his hands in her hair, giving her mouth no escape from his. But she leaned into him, her arms locked around his neck. He had no escape either. And this was a wonderful, beautiful prison.

Only when his hands roamed down her body and up again did he remember the ugly charred wounds on her skin. “Are you okay?” He ran his fingers lightly over her shoulder.

“Now, yes.” She tilted her head slightly, her eyes half-closed, her smile incredibly enticing.

“What happened? Can you—” A hundred questions raced through his mind, but as desperately as he wanted answers, he had to kiss her again.

“Please tell me you’re not here to say good-bye,” he murmured as he released her mouth.

Keeping her hands linked around his neck, she leaned back and looked up at him. “Actually, I’m here to offer you a job.”

A job? With the Guardians? Relief flooded him—and a surge of excitement. There’d be problems if he left, but somehow, some way, he’d handle them. “Do I have time to see Tootie and Stavros?”

She grinned broadly. “No good-byes, Theo Petrakos.
We’re
staying here.” Her expression turned more serious, in direct contrast to the seductive way her fingers were playing with his hair at the nape of his neck. “The C-Prime and the herd are dead. But we believe the Tresh have the code and will be back. Your world—especially your Florida—is too perfect for what they want to do with the zombies. We also suspect they’re here for other reasons and may still have operatives on your world. We need to know where they are. And stop whatever else they try to do.”

She nodded upward. “My ship will guard your world. But the Tresh appear to be able to manipulate the zombie portals in ways we cannot. Yet. So we need someone on the surface, someone who knows this locale and knows zombies. Someone”—and her voice turned throaty and soft—“I can work closely with. As head of the mission. As
captain
of the ship.”

Captain. Her dreams had come true. And his prayers had been answered.

He pulled her closer, weapons—his and hers—and bodies—soft and hard—merging. “That calls for a special celebration. Your place or mine?”

She touched her lips to his. “Yours,” she whispered, her fingers already working to undo his tac vest. “You have glorious peanut butter.”