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Major was generally not a violent man. Ironic, for someone who had managed to become the "Chaos Killer", but it was true. He liked to resolve things peacefully … or he had, until zombieism had entered his life. But he didn't remember ever wanting to see anyone disemboweled as much as he wanted to see Vaughn du Clark's guts strewn across the pavement just like that poor kid in Thailand. All the way to his car, he tried to work out ways to get to du Clark and make him disappear—a lot more permanently than the zombies had. The way Major looked at it, that would be a public service.
But as far as he could tell, du Clark never left Max Rager, and the layers of security throughout the building meant that he was practically untouchable. Sure, Major had opportunities alone with him, but never when it wouldn't be obvious who had killed him, and Major wasn't ready to give up his life for du Clark. Not yet. Not while he could still make a difference.
Which meant that D.A. Baracus had to be the next name on his list, and he had to scratch off that name tonight, or some other poor kid was going to be obliterated for the high crime of criticizing Max Rager on social media.
So he drove out to the lake house, cutting the lights as he rolled to a careful stop near enough to the house that he could get the body out without being noticed but not so near that it would be obvious Baracus had a visitor. He snuck in through the unlocked door, but purposely made a noise in the process, so Baracus got up and came to look, and Major jumped him, trank gun at the ready. He was better at lifting and carrying limp bodies now than he used to be, but he made sure to seem to have some trouble with Baracus as he carried him to the car, just in case Max Rager was watching. It was always a good bet to assume that they were.
Major took an even longer route than usual to the storage area, constantly checking his rearview mirror. Was that a car just behind him? Had another one joined it? He was paranoid, but anyone would be, doing clandestine work for Vaughn du Clark. It wasn't until the roads were nearly clear as the middle of the night closed in, and he began to hear muffled sounds from the trunk that indicated that Baracus was waking up, that he finally pulled up in front of the storage area.
The D.A.'s eyes were wide open and blazingly angry.
Still masked, Major leaned over him. "I can explain everything, and I will … but if you make a sound, I can guarantee you will never see your son again." Baracus's glare didn't ease. "Do I make myself clear? Blink once if you're going to behave."
There was a noticeable pause as Baracus weighed his odds: a zombie, bound and gagged in the trunk of a car, still recovering from the effects of a heavy dose of tranquilizer—zombie sized—against a masked assailant who had proven already he could take down that zombie, as well as carry his dead weight.
At last his eyes closed and then opened again.
"All right." Major grabbed Baracus's bound hands and tugged on them to help him sit up. "You probably won't be surprised to know that this time, it really is the Chaos Killer that came for you. Except that I'm not a killer. At least, not if I can help it."
There was curiosity in the D.A.'s eyes as Major helped him out of the car.
"Now," Major went on, "I'm going to take the tape off your mouth and untie your wrists. If you make a sound, I won't be able to help it. If you come after me, you won't get far. Trust me, I am the only person coming for you who wants to keep you alive."
Baracus gave an obvious sigh, as if acknowledging the truth of that statement. Between Mr. Boss and Vaughn du Clark, he was in a tough place, and he didn't even know how tough.
Major nodded, and removed the tape and the zip tie. Then he took off his mask, and held out his hand to shake. "Major Lilywhite, Mr. Baracus."
Bewildered, Baracus shook. "What is this place?"
"It's a storage unit."
"I can see that. Why are we here? And … why are there freezers in the middle of the room?"
"Come on, I'll show you."
Major lifted the lid, and Baracus leaned over, catching his breath in shock when he recognized several of the frozen faces.
"They're … not dead."
"No, sir. Just waiting until the heat dies down. The … people who employ me want the zombie virus dealt with by killing all the zombies, and they hired me to do it."
"Why you?"
Major closed the freezer, as much to avoid the reminder of what he had become as to keep the occupants cold. "Because I know the signs, and because if I don't help them, they'll kill my g—ex-girlfriend. She's also a zombie, and they know it. So I work my way down the list they gave me, clear anyone I think I can get away with clearing, and the others … I bring here, or to another couple of facilities I rent. You'll go quietly to sleep, and when you wake up, we'll have a cure. My friend is working on one."
"A cure. Really," Baracus said skeptically.
"He believes he can do it. He used to work for the CDC, and he's … well, he's basically a genius. But cautious. He's testing on rats right now, hoping to have something ready for humans eventually."
Baracus echoed the last word. "Eventually … like when my son is fifteen, or thirty, and has forgotten all about me?"
"I hope not. I hope it will be sooner than that. I tried to tell my employers that you weren't a zombie, because I saw you with your son, but Mr. Boss and his people took care of that."
"How do they know? What tipped them off?"
"They track the spending patterns. Hot sauce. Spray tans. Hair dye. The zombie trifecta."
"I guess they are, at that. So what happens if I refuse to comply with this crazy freezer plan?"
"I won't have any choice, sir. They know about you now, because of the paper. They've already had one person killed to show me what happens when people lie to them, and I barely got out of that one. If you don't disappear, tonight, then more people will die. I don't want that, and I know you don't want that."
"What if I just … ran? Went somewhere no one can find me?"
"The person that was killed by my employers? Lived in Thailand. They can find you. And if they find you, and they know I let you go, they won't just kill you. They'll kill me, and my girlfriend, and every zombie on their list will die instead of being kept safe until there's a cure."
Baracus sighed. "I don't have much of a choice, do I?"
"No, I'm afraid you don't."
"So what will people think happened to me? Not another Chaos Killer attack, I presume?"
Major shook his head. He took a piece of paper and a pen out of his coat. "You need to write a suicide note."
"You want me to pretend to kill myself? No. I won't do that to my son."
"Sir, the alternatives are you disappearing without a word to him, or you being killed for real. Do you really want either of those?"
Baracus's face twisted as he fought against the inevitable, but at last he looked up at Major and nodded. "All right. What do you want me to say?"
"Whatever you want, as long as you're not giving anything away about me, or this. That would put a lot more people than just you in danger."
"Okay." He thought a minute, then wrote quickly and decisively before folding the note and handing it to Major.
Over his shoulder, Major had seen that the note was addressed to his son and spoke largely about his hope that they would see each other again one day. He tucked the note inside his coat pocket. Then Baracus took a deep breath, readying himself, and he nodded at Major, who tranked him one last time, catching the body as it went limp.
He spread the paper out over Baracus's chest and took the picture du Clark had demanded, texting it to Rita, who would pass it on. Then he lifted the limp body and dropped it into the freezer, taking the boots off so that they could weight down the suicide note and make the scene more believable when he staged it. Which he still had to do. God, would this night never end?
Dejectedly, he closed the lid of the freezer and closed and locked the storage unit. He had put on a brave face for Baracus, but … they were no closer to finding the tainted Utopium. Major was beginning to believe it wasn't buried in that field at all. And without that … would there ever be a cure? Could there be one? Or would he go on forever stealing people from their lives, lying to them about a cure, and locking them in freezers? Was this really all there was to his life?