"You mean Clint Eastwood?" asked Briggs, taking aim.
"Yea! That's his name," he replied.
A shot rang out, echoing through the still evening. Even with the zombies growling in the background, the day had been surprisingly peaceful, Terry thought, even now standing atop the gatehouse. Although the mob outside the gate had grown steadily since they'd arrived, it was still nothing at all like at the mall.
"Okay, you're up," Briggs announced. "Tara Reid."
Terry searched over the crowd, finally spotting what had probably once been a pretty young blonde woman. Taking aim carefully, he squeezed the trigger. The shot took the zombie in the head, its body dropping soundlessly to the ground.
"Too bad, you missed her," Briggs said cheerfully.
"What do you mean?" Terry asked, surprised. "That was a clear head shot, you saw her fall."
"Wrong blonde," Briggs said, raising her own weapon again. "I was talking about the one over by the pine tree. Kinda looks like a cross between Streetwalker Barbie and a Goth zombie, the one you hit, way too Little House on the Prairie to be Tara Reid." She aimed and fired, bringing down the creature she'd described.
"Damn, I didn't look out that far," Terry complained. "I was just looking for a blonde right out in front."
Dennis stood quietly behind them, watching their 'game.'
"Can I try?" the boy asked suddenly.
"Do you really think you're up to it?" Briggs asked.
He nodded. "I'm not a little kid anymore."
Briggs looked at him for a moment, sadness washing over her. No kid in the world should have to live through something like this. Fortunately kids seemed more resilient than most gave them credit for. It was a good thing, kids the world over had been growing up facing horrors that had deprived them of their innocence for generations. Vietnam, Cambodia, Somalia, Bosnia, Iraq. Who knew the list would grow to include every major world power from the United States to the UK, Germany to China, Russia to Japan, nobody was immune now.
"Okay," she said at last, handing him a .22 rifle that had once hung in Andy's Gun Works, a place that seemed worlds removed now. The rifle wasn't anywhere near as powerful as the HK G3/SG1 Briggs used or the M16A2 that Terry currently wielded, but it got the job done and didn't have as much of a recoil as the other rifles either.
"Mel Gibson," Briggs said, peering out at the mob before them.
"Are you sure this is a good idea?" Terry asked as he moved up beside her, looking uncomfortable at the idea.
"No," she said truthfully. "But he needs to know how to take care of himself, especially after those of us who choose to go fly out of here."
"But why? I thought you said this place was safe," Terry said, his voice laced with confusion.
"It's as safe as it can be Terry, but until all those things out there are safely exterminated, no place is impenetrable."
"Mel Gibson was the guy in those Lethal Weapon moves, right?" Dennis suddenly called out, breaking Terry and Briggs out of their not-so-private conversation.
"Yea kid, I'm surprised you remember them," Briggs told him.
"My Uncle Tom used to watch them all the time, whenever my Mom and Dad asked him to baby-sit. Him and Zach would wait until they thought I was asleep and pop popcorn and just hang out watching Lethal Weapon movies all night 'til Mom and Dad got home. Mom was always mad that Uncle Tom let Zach stay up so late, but not Dad," he said, a faraway look in his eyes.
Sensing he was thinking about his missing father, Briggs asked, "So are you gonna give this a try or not?"
Turning silently, Dennis focused his attention on the zombies below once more. He looked through the rifle scope intently, carefully taking aim the way Briggs had shown him. Whispering under his breath to himself, he squeezed the trigger. The shot missed, going wide and harmlessly striking a nearby zombie in the arm, causing it to let out a furious snarl as it lunged in the direction the bullet had come from. "Dang it! You two make it look so easy," the boy complained.
"Did you see that?" Terry asked, surprised.
"Yea, Dennis, let me see that rifle for a minute," Briggs said.
"But I want to try again!" the boy protested fiercely. "I know I can hit him this time."
"In a minute, just let me see the rifle," she insisted, reaching for the .22 rifle. Reluctantly, Dennis relinquished his hold on the weapon.
Taking aim, Briggs fired into the arm of a second zombie. Just like the one that Dennis had inadvertently hit, this creature also uttered a furious snarl, lunging towards the gatehouse.
"How very interesting," Briggs muttered.
"It's like they're reacting to getting shot now," Terry commented. "Not like they feel pain, but like they know they've been sorta wounded, and who inflicted it. Look, both of them are pushing their way through the mob right towards us."
"Indeed," she replied, distractedly.
"Can I try to shoot again now?" Dennis asked, shaking Briggs from her thoughts.
Handing the rifle back to the boy, Briggs said, "Just relax, focus on the target and most importantly, don't close your eyes when you squeeze the trigger like you did last time. That's what threw off your aim."
Doing as she'd directed, he struggled to keep his eye open as he once more took aim. Carefully squeezing the trigger, the shot caught the Mel Gibson zombie high on its forehead. "Did you see that!" he yelled. Tightly gripping the rifle in his hands, Dennis did a little victory dance.
"That was so awesome," he continued, "Just like my Resident Evil games I used to play on my Playstation."
Grabbing him by the back of his neck, Briggs hauled him away from the edge of the roof where his strange little dance had left him. "It's not a game Dennis," she ground out. "Try to keep in mind that these things were all people once, just like you and me."
"But you and Terry was playing Hollywood Squares! That's a game too!" he replied defensively.
"Yea we did, and it was probably wrong of us. But we weren't doing victory dances or comparing our actions to video games, now were we? In a way we're giving these nameless creatures an identity, maybe not their own, but at least for a few minutes before they die for good they've got a name," she told him.
He hung his head for a moment, quietly muttering, "I was just trying to be like you."
Briggs shook her head, starting to grab up extra rounds of ammunition. "If that's the case kid, then God help you. I wouldn't wish that on my worst enemy."
Dennis and Terry both looked towards her in surprise.
"Come on, it's getting late. Let's call it a day and go grab some chow." She turned to the ladder they'd leaned against the side of the building, swiftly descending to the ground.
"Did I say something wrong?" Dennis asked.
"No, Briggs just has a lot on her mind right now. She can be a little 'intense' sometimes," Terry said reassuringly. "Come on, we'd better get going."
A short time later, most of the occupants of the house were gathered together in the formal dining room for dinner.The majorityof them sat in silence, watching as all hell broke loose between Chrissy and Briggs.
"How dare you take my son out and give him a gun," Chrissy slurred loudly. It was readily apparent that Dennis had been right about her having found a bit more to drink than a single bottle of wine. "You could have gotten him hurt, maybe even killed!" she shouted out belligerently.
Briggs looked at Dennis before caustically replying to his mother. "I guess I figured he should know how to defend himself, especially if his mother's going to be too drunk to look out for him."
"Are you trying to say that I'm some kind of a bad mother?" Chrissy demanded.
"Now Chris," Tom said cajolingly, "I'm sure the Sergeant isn't saying anything of the sort, were you Sergeant?"
"Better to just ignore Kendra, Chrissy dear. She can't help but be a bad influence on kids, it's genetic. Like father, like daughter, isn't that right Kendra?" Caroline said blandly.
Ignoring the Senator's wife, Briggs replied, "Nah Chrissy, I'm sure that when you're actually sober you're an okay mother. But right now isn't the time or the place to be falling off the wagon. If you're going to be drinking yourself into oblivion, Dennis and Zachary too for that matter, they're both going to need to know how to defend themselves."
"I'm not some kind of drunk," Chrissy insisted, rising to her feet ad nearly tripping over her own chair in the process. "Besides that, you just took off with my baby boy without ever bothering to ask me if it was okay. Then...Then you not only taught him how to use a gun, but had him killing people with it too!"
"For the record, Dennis only took out one of those things. And I'm not really sure why you consider shooting them as killing people," Briggs reasoned. "They died a couple months ago, for the most part, their bodies just haven't caught up with that fact."
"They're still human beings!" Chrissy insisted.
"But Mom, I was real careful!" Dennis cried out. "First, the Sergeant showed me how to load it. Then we set up some practice targets and she taught me how to aim. She said I was a natural at it. Terry found us while we were shooting at the targets, and then we went and got a ladder to go up on the roof of the gatehouse and they showed me how to aim for the heads of the zombies," he finished with a flourish.
Briggs felt a momentary twinge of relief that the boy hadn't mentioned anything about the 'Hollywood Squares' game she and Terry had shown him.
"What in the hell have you been doing to my baby boy?" Chrissy fairly shrieked.
"I told you already, I showed him what he needs to do in order to survive," Briggs replied coolly, pushing her barely touched plate of food away and giving up all pretense of eating.
"And of course you took it upon yourself to decide what the boy did and did not need to know," Caroline said, her words further agitating the boy's mother.
"Yea Caroline, I decided everything, it had absolutely nothing to do with the necessity created by those things out there."
Up until this point, the rest of the room had watched the exchange between the three women in started silence. It was something like a bad soap opera unfolding right before their eyes.
"I think I should have been the first to go shooting with you," groused Zachary. "I'm the oldest, practically an adult."
Everyone ignored Zachary's outburst. Briggs thought he was probably looking for something else in which to try and impress Nicole.
"Caroline, just what exactly would you do if those things broke in here, into this house right now?" Michael asked out of curiosity. His question got most of them thinking.
Momentarily caught off guard, Caroline replied, "I suppose I would run to the study and lock myself in there. Richard has always told me that with the security doors armed, the room is impregnable. And of course with the radio in there I could call for help."
"But how would you get there?" Kenneth asked. "According to Michael's little hypothetical situation those things would be all over in the house, hallways, rooms...how'd you get to the study without a weapon? And if you had one, would you know how to use it?"
"Oh my God! You two are actually defending what that crazy psycho bitch Briggs did showing the kid how to shoot a gun," Steve laughed. "That's sweet, really, I could be forced to vomit right about now or collapse into a diabetic coma or something," he said, reaching for a bottle of wine and refilling his own glass and raisingit in mock salute to the others.
"Go to hell Steve," Monica said bitterly. "Briggs has a point about making sure we at least know our heads from our asses when it comes to shooting a gun."
"If we can all stop acting like a group of two year olds I'll get to the point of why we're all here together right now," Briggs said stiffly.
"What's this Kendra? I thought we were just sitting down to a friendly dinner together," Caroline said derisively. "Always secretive, never fully telling the truth. Tell me Kendra, can you even tell the difference anymore between the truth and all the lies you've told?"
Refusing to show Caroline how much her words irritated her, Briggs merely shrugged and responded, "Yea, can you?"
Caroline narrowed her eyes but didn't speak, so Briggs continued to address the rest of the group. "Tomorrow my team is flying out at noon. Those of you who wish to accompany us, I suggest you be there. The rest of you, I'm sure Caroline won't be too put out if you wish to stay and avail yourself of her hospitality. That's all." She stood and strode from the room before anyone else could speak.
"Well, I for one will be staying here," Chrissy announced. "My boys too, I won't subject them to that sociopath any more."
"You're most welcome to stay here, dear," Caroline said imperiously. "With Catalina and Thomas both gone I could most definitely use some more help around here."
While some could only gape at her choice of words, Sanchez had no qualms about responding. "Damn bitch, that is some pretty cold shit. You're actually inviting this woman and her kids to stay because half your employees went and got themselves killed." He laughed bitterly. "That's bullshit lady, I may not be one of Briggs' biggest fans, but I'm damn sure glad I'll be heading out on the helicopter tomorrow."
"I'm not looking for them to by my servants," Caroline blustered. "I just thought that they'd be able to repay my kindness in allowing them to reside here, in my home for goodness sake, by helping with the household work."
"And how is that not asking them to work for you?" Sanchez asked.
"They'd be earning their keep!" Caroline said, agitated that he would have even brought up such a gauche topic.
"Oh my God! You're really serious about that aren't you?" Fran asked incredulously.
"You all are twisting my words around to make me sound like some kind of villain," Caroline stated, slightly shocked to realize that these people might actually side against her with Briggs.
CJ stood up and quietly exited the dining room. Pausing for a moment outside the door, he tried to guess which way Briggs might have gone. Finally he moved quickly in the direction of the Senator's study, figuring that she'd probably shut herself up there with Cowboy once more. The arguments from inside the dining room continued long after CJ was out of ear shot. Within moments he stood outside the door of the study. Just barely audible, he could here the sound of voices coming from within the room. Stepping quietly into the study, he stood and just listened.
"Are you sure you read the files right?" Briggs' voice carried from within the computer room to the study.
"I'm sure. Take a look for yourself Kenny, it's right here. It goes a long way to explain the reactions you witnessed," Cowboy said.
"Just when you think things are looking up something comes along to bite you in the ass. Does it say for how long?" she asked.
"Nothing definite, they were still in the process of trying to determine at what level they started exhibiting the properties when we blew the lab. The only definitive information here is that the virus would somehow stay the decomposition rate of those things once it reached a certain plateau that would begin affecting their mobility," he explained.
"Jesus, how is this even possible? A fail safe built into a goddamn virus to keep it from dying out a quick death," Briggs asked rhetorically, not even expecting an answer.
"The way I figure it, they needed a back up plan. If their fucking cannibal foot soldiers decayed too fast, literally falling to pieces on them, what good would they be?"
"Which explains why they were trying to beef up the second strain and make them faster," Briggs muttered.
"How's that?" Cowboy asked curiously. From out in the study, CJ silently asked the same question.
"Think about it. The second strain creatures, those fast reflexes, killer speed. They overran the cities in probably a third of the time it took the first strains to do it. With that kind of potential, they wouldn't need the fail safe. Why keep them around after they do the job?" Briggs reasoned.
"Then why are the second strain ones exhibiting the slowing decomposition?" he asked.
"They didn't have time to get it right before it got released. They were taking the original strain and trying to design a derivative that would have the same regenerative properties, bringing the clinically dead back to life, yet completely skipping that whole rigor mortis phase that kept the first strain victims limited to that slow stiff gait. They had all the primary functions of a living person with the exception of rational thought and memory. The test subjects, they went out and spread the disease like wildfire, they couldn't be contained. Somehow along the way the scientists failed to remove that little safety."
"Shit," Cowboy muttered. "So what you're saying now is they're going to be mobile a lot longer than what we'd counted on, our timetable for trying to launch some kind of counter attack and wipe them out just became obsolete."
"Exactly. Did you let Dillon know what we've learned?" Briggs asked.
"Yea, he didn't say much though, just wondered what your plans now are."
"That's all he had to say?" Briggs said, surprise in her voice.
"No, not entirely. He said he'd notify the president about what we'd learned, same kind of shit you always expect to hear. He also said to watch our asses out there."
"Did you tell him anything else? Like where were going?" Briggs questioned.
"Hell no. I told him you weren't sharing your plans with anyone, even me."
"Well done, I guess you can teach an old dog something after all."
"Yea, well, I guess its a good thing for you that all this secret agent kinda shit runs in the family," he grinned. "So, where the fuck are we going anyway little sis?"
"Uncle Mike's."
"Don't you think those things'll be at Mike's? Could be risky."
"I'm willing to bet Uncle Mike went underground as soon as this thing hit. Unless these things can sense human flesh in an underground bunker, it should be safe. The problem is going to be with the helicopters, those things are drawn to them."
"What makes you say that?" Cowboy asked, hoping she was wrong.
"They've beenfollowing us, and then they gather wherever we land. Obviously they can't follow us all the way once we're airborne, but they move in our direction unless something distracts them. If you don't believe me, you should see the numbers that are growing out there around the fence," she told him. "Their awareness is beginning to develop, it's only going to be a matter of time before they start learning how to communicate, to organize..."she trailed off.
"So what the fuck are we supposed to do now?" CJ's voice barked out from the study.
"How long have you been there?" Cowboy asked, irritated. CJ walked into the computer room.
"Long enough, but don't worry, unlike you two, I was smart enough to close the door behind me," CJ told him.
"Charlie, it's okay. We're going to have to let the others know about this anyway, at least the ones who are going back out into the thick of it with us," Briggs commented. "CJ, I need you to do something for me."
"What?"
"Bring Ana, Michael, Kenneth, Monica, and any of the others that you think are going to fly out of here with us tomorrow. Load up in the humvees in the garage, bring your weapons and meet me and Cowboy by the gatehouse. I've got something you all need to see, I'll explain everything then."
CJ looked reluctant to leave. Briggs walked over to him, wrapping her arms around his waist, she pulled him close for a moment, whispering something into his ear. Sighing, CJ looked her in the eyes and said, "You're crazy, you know that don't you?" Briggs only smiled. "All right, I'll do it, but I hope you're wrong about this."
"What's going through that head of yours Kenny?" Cowboy asked as CJ exited through the study door.
"Fear."
Cowboy looked at her in surprise, "In 25 years, I've never once heard you admit to being scared of anything until now."
"Dad never admitted to being scared either, but you knew he was terrified almost every day, right up until the end," she answered. "Let's grab some gear, we'll take a couple of the quads out to the gate, do some night firing when we're done."
It was a small group that assembled. CJ was only able to locate Michael, Ana, Monica, Kenneth, Terry, Peter, Roger, Fran, Tom, and Dennis. "So what's going on Briggs, or Kendra, or whoever the fuck you are?" Kenneth asked.
"Fair enough question. To clear a few things up, I was born Kendra Burke. As part of my cover it was necessary to eliminate that identity. Only a select few individuals even know she still exists."
"What do you mean eliminate?" called out Ana.
"Official records list Sergeant Kendra Burke as being buried in Arlington Cemetery, killed during a helicopter crash while serving in Kuwait roughly five years ago. Equipment malfunction during a routine patrol," Briggs told them. "That's neither here nor there though. Officially, to you all, I am Sergeant First Class Kennedy Briggs, United States Army. But that's not why I asked CJ to bring you out here."
"What are you talking about?" Monica now asked.
"You might want to save that question until after you hear what I have to say," Briggs said. "As Cowboy and I were going through the Senator's files, along with what I downloaded from the research lab, we've made a few discoveries about those zombies."
Cowboy stepped forward, "It seems that the virus strains were developed so that they would somehow slow the decomposition of the body after it started effecting the motor abilities. The second strain, with your fast movers, they were supposed to eliminate that ability, but it looks like someone in the lab goofed."
"They also appear to be developing an awareness level. They can't fully rationalize or communicate yet, but I think it's only a matter of time," Briggs added.
"Wait, are you saying that those things can think?" Michael said.
"No, at least not yet anyway. We're saying they have the potential to do that. Right now, they've learned to recognize that we're not only their food source, we're also a potential threat. If you injure one instead of bringing it down, it comprehends that there was an injury inflicted to its body, and it seeks out the cause of that injury. Earlier when Terry and I were out here doing some practice shooting with Dennis, we missed one, hit it in the arm. It recognized where we were standing and started to charge us."
"That doesn't mean anything," Fran said. "It probably just saw you standing here and randomly attacked, the way they all do."
"Maybe, but it doesn't explain the video footage of them along the wall. It looks like they're searching for a weak point where they can get through. If you'll also notice, they can see us standing here through the entry gate, but they're not trying to charge it and get us," Briggs pointed out.
"Are you kidding? Listen to them out there," Tom said, placing an arm around his nephew's shoulder. "They're snarling and in a frenzy out there."
"But they're not touching the fence," Cowboy said. "They've learned from watching others of their kind get fried that they can't touch it. That's the point we're trying to make here. These things have an animal mentality, but like all us animals, they can learn."
"It's going to be a tight fit, but I want everyone but Terry and Dennis up on the roof of the gatehouse to see for themselves what we're talking about. Fran, maybe you should stay down too," Briggs told her.
"I'll be fine," Fran said quickly, moving towards the ladder. Peter steadied it as she slowly began to ascend to the roof.
"Why can't me and Terry come up?" Dennis asked her.
"You've already seen what I'm about to show them, they need to see it for themselves kid. Stay here with Terry and keep an eye on the fence for us," she told him, squeezing his shoulder as she moved past towards the ladder.
"Okay, we're up here," Kenneth said. "What are we supposed to be seeing?"
"Look along the outer walls, the way they're moving along them. See what I mean about systematically looking for weaknesses. Cowboy, hand them the stuff," Briggs told him.
Cowboy began passing out field glasses and rifle scopes to the group assembled along the roof, as Briggs pulled out a pair of .22 rifles she and Cowboy had brought along. "Now watch down there along that treeline," Cowboy told them as he took the rifle Briggs handed him.
"I say again, what exactly are we supposed to be seeing here?" Kenneth asked once more.
"See how they're just kind of roaming right now, a little aimless? They haven't quite picked up on the scent of living flesh yet, we're downwind of them at the moment," Briggs called out. "Now watch." She and Cowboy both fired off a shot, catching a pair of zombies in the arm and shoulder respectively. As before, they snarled and began charging towards the gatehouse and fence.
"I'll be damned," Roger said.
"They recognize threat," Briggs pointed out, watching as the two zombies in question pushed their way through the mob until they stood beside the gatehouse. "And they also recognize our helicopters for what they are, a mobile feast."
"You don't seriously think all these things have followed us from where we landed last," Fran said incredulously.
"No, but the local ones are drawn to the sound. Whether or not they recognize the sound from their lives to understand what's causing it, or that they're used to haul people around in, that I can't tell you," Cowboy answered.
"This is all very interesting," Tom said, "But what exactly is this supposed to be showing us?"
"I'll be the first to admit to you all that we need some of you to come with us when we go tomorrow," Briggs responded. "But I also want you to be aware of what we're potentially going to be dealing with out there. They're going to be getting smarter, and we're going to need to be on alert 150 of the time. The quick end to all this from decomposing in the summer sun that I've been counting on, well, that's not in the cards anymore. You need to be absolutely certain that you're going to be ready to face it out there, with no walls to protect you."
"Are you trying to convince us to come with you or to stay here?" Tom asked.
"That's for you to decide."
"And you brought us all the way out here just for this?" Roger asked skeptically.
"I'm a big believer in visual evidence speaking volumes more than my words ever could."
"So now what?" Michael asked.
"Now, we're going to do a little bit of night firing," Cowboy told him, indicating himself and Briggs. "Y'all are welcome to do whatever you want."