Nostrum sat grinning at Dr. Damico — a bizarre grin that made Henry uncomfortable. Nostrum then stood to impose his presence on the meeting. “Ladies and gentlemen!” the Senator spoke over the discussion until it quieted. “Now, Dr. Damico and I certainly have our differences — I have my reservations about the Gulf of Mexico, but I’m prepared to review these reports and make my decision about them with due diligence, but these Mexicans…” Alan Nostrum paused for effect, “these Mexicans have been harassing us for months now! We’ve lost civilians, soldiers, ships, and these are losses that we cannot sustain much longer. Am I right, Doctor?”
Dr. Damico hesitated before he answered. “That’s correct, Senator.”
“We should have nuked these bastards long ago.” Nostrum put on an air of gravity. “If one or two bombs can solve our Mexican problem, I say we push the button. Last night a military ship was sunk. Am I right, Admiral?”
“The Chancellorsville: Eight hundred people and two thousand tons of worth of supplies. It was a lucky hit, but it cost us,” the Admiral acknowledged.
“It was a lucky hit,” the Senator nodded. “Any one of us, any one of you could have been on that ship and next time, it could be your ship that takes that ‘lucky hit’.”
Debate erupted again, but this time, Admiral McMillan interrupted. “Everyone! Everyone! Listen, you have your report, and we have some decisions to make. Go back to your ships. Think about this, and we will reconvene in two days. Whether we do this or not, we’re going to want everyone’s input… so please consider all the details carefully.”
The meeting adjourned, and the prominent figures shuffled out of the room with a din of discontent. Tracy lingered for a few minutes before wheeling herself out of the room, a box of papers on her lap. Eventually, only the Admiral and Dr. Damico remained.
“Ed, you know I wouldn’t have made this recommendation if I wasn’t certain that it’s the only way.” Henry used the Admiral’s first name to take a personal tone.
“I know, Henry, but this isn’t a simple choice,” the Admiral responded. “If we do this, it’s something we’re going to have to live with… and it’s not going to be easy. It’s bad enough we’re fighting the WDs, but what does it say about us that we’d consider wiping out an entire country?”
“It doesn’t matter what it says about us,” Dr. Damico answered. “We’re close to the brink here, Ed… really damn close… and not as a country, but as a species. I’m sorry I put you in this position, but I don’t see any way around it.”
“History may paint us as monsters, Henry,” Admiral McMillan replied solemnly. “That’s a legacy that we’ll be carving in stone — that when the claws of the living dead gripped our throats and snarled in our face, we turned on each other first.”
“If there is any history to be written at all, it will be because we have done our jobs, Ed.” Dr. Damico responded somberly as he looked down at the table, the weight of his burdens growing heavy. “Frankly, I don’t care if I’m depicted as Satan himself so long as we survive this.”
“That’s a slippery slope, Henry. Keep that in mind,” the Admiral responded.
The two men made eye contact, and a chill rose up Dr. Damico’s spine. The Admiral was a man who walked that dangerous line every moment of his life. He could have sent a dozen nuclear missiles anywhere on earth if he had wanted.
“I’m sending some men over to the U.S.S. Boxer to help with cargo. Your wife should be landing there shortly. How’d you like to greet her when she lands?” The Admiral suggested, knowing that the Doctor badly needed a reprieve from his 24/7 pressure.
Henry’s eyes lit up. “That’d be… that’d be amazing.”
Admiral McMillan stood up and gestured for Dr. Damico to follow. “It’ll be at least two days before this fleet will be ready to go anywhere. Spend that time with your wife while we give everyone here some time to think about things. If you still think hitting Mexico is the only option when you get back here, let me know. I can’t promise that’ll be my choice, but this vacation will give you a little time to clear your head.”
Chapter 23
The cracked and broken stairwell door barely hung upon one hinge, its frame splintered. Bloody claw marks on one side implied that things within this DDC had gone badly. A dark-haired woman stood at the top of the stairs, gesturing for the team to hurry. “Come on. Up here!”
The soldiers ascended to the second floor quickly, but Miguel hesitated. His sense of caution, the obsessive compulsion that had kept him and his convoy alive through Walk-ins too numerous to count, forbade him to follow. Instead, he surveyed the derelict DDC — ruined furniture, shattered windows, and blood-covered walls. His eyes fell upon an odd collection of objects; a pile of clothes heaped around a stepstool sitting against a door. Metal pans sat in a clear plastic tray atop the stool.
“Come on!” Pam called after Miguel.
Reluctantly, Miguel followed his comrades up the stairs and into a hallway where a group of people greeted them with cries of relief. Two dozen survivors — most of them children—stood huddled together as a desperate rag-tag group. A lone DDC Private was not yet willing fully to embrace the possibility of rescue. He leaned against a wall, watching the convoy team suspiciously.
“Are you…” Pam produced her requisition list, “Dr. Thomson?” Whoever had inserted the black and white identification photos in her file had failed to label them.
The dark-haired woman gave orders to the people around her. “Everyone, start filling your packs with food and supplies… whatever you can carry. Private Stenson, start dumping all the medical provisions you can into boxes, please.” She then addressed Pam’s question. “I’m Dr. Kelly Damico. Unfortunately, Dr. Thomson is dead, so I’m in charge. I want you to know that I’ve personally cleared everyone in this room… At this point, anyone who can, needs to take an armful of supplies. If you could assist us, we can begin the evacuation immediately.” She gestured to boxes that were stashed in various corners and nooks throughout the DDC.
“I’m Private Stenson.” The young soldier stepped forward, nodded, and gave a half-hearted salute to Carl before limping off to collect supplies.
Soldiers and civilians fanned out and began grabbing boxes. Pam scanned her requisition orders and continued talking to Kelly. “What happened to Dr. Thomson?” She eyed her list carefully, and Pam saw that Dr. Thomson and Dr. Damico were the only two ‘Skill Assets’ on the list — a politically correct term for people who were of value to the fleet. Everything else on the list consisted of medical supplies and food. The two dozen others, even the lone soldier… the military had not intended on taking them as refugees. Pam inched her way to Carl, showed him her list, and shook her head.
Carl frowned. The thought of leaving two dozen innocents—nearly half of them children—behind was banished from his mind instantly. “Fuck the list.” He sighed. “Tear it up.”
“Okay, kids, line up on me.” Kelly squatted down as the children got in line in front of her. She began systematically to check each to ensure they were ready for the journey ahead. She filled Pam in on what had transpired. “Last night, we were compromised. Before we knew what had happened… Everyone started…” Kelly’s eyes began to stream with tears. She turned a young boy around and checked his Super Hero backpack for a change of clothes, antiseptic, and some non-perishable food. “Dr. Thomson used himself as bait to pull all the ghouls into the connecting music store. He drew them off us… we’d be dead without him.”