Fall of Night (Dead of Night 2)

Transportation is going to be tied up for a long time. And probably the most significant impact for a lot of people, in addition to flooding, is going to be getting power back on. We anticipate that there are going to be a lot of trees down, a lot of water. And despite the fact that the power companies are working very closely with their various state officials and local officials to make sure they are bringing in as many assets as possible and getting those ready in preparation for the storm, the fact is that a lot of these emergency crews are not going to be able to get into position to start restoring power until some of these winds have died down. And because of the nature of this storm, that may take several days. So the public should anticipate that there’s going to be a lot of power outages, and it may take time for that power to get back on.”

Blair glanced at his own copy of the prepared message. The groundwork was established, but the real game was about to begin.

Don’t fuck it up, thought Blair, knowing the president’s tendency to go off script.

“Now we come to the second matter before us this evening,” said the president in a voice that changed from firm control to something approaching cold steel. “Many of you are already aware of reports of an outbreak of a new kind of flu virus. This outbreak was first reported in Stebbins, a small town on the border of Pennsylvania and Maryland. There has been some wild speculation in the press as to the nature and severity of this disease, and that speculation has sparked a rash of irresponsible and inaccurate posts on social media. Much of the information being shared about this outbreak is false, and some persons have posted faked videos and audio files purporting to be from reporters in that town.”

The president paused for effect, and Blair believed that everyone in the country paused with him, taking the same deep breath, holding it in their chests, waiting for the heavy punch that follows the tentative jab.

“Those reports are false,” said the president with real edge in his voice, “and they pose a serious threat to the efforts of FEMA and the Centers for Disease Control. Reports like that are the worst kind of Internet manipulation, and investigations are currently under way to determine if these posts are an attempt to deliberately disrupt our ability to provide effective emergency response. I can assure you that the substance of these posts are false and I will promise you that the persons responsible will be found and prosecuted as cyber-terrorists. It is abhorrent when a misguided or malicious few attempt to exploit a catastrophic event in order to further their own agendas, especially if that goal is at the expense of the American people. We will not allow them to succeed, and we will protect the people of this great nation.”

Good—nailed it, word for fucking word, thought Blair, and he wanted to fist-pump, but didn’t.

The president almost glared at the camera. “Last point I’ll make, though—this is going to be a difficult storm, but the great thing about America is when we go through tough times like this we all pull together. We look out for our friends. We look out for our neighbors. And w

e set aside whatever issues we may have otherwise to make sure that we respond appropriately and with swiftness. And that’s exactly what I anticipate is going to happen here.

“So I want to thank all the federal teams, state and local teams that are in place. I’m confident that we’re ready. But I think the public needs to prepare for the fact that this is going to take a long time for us to clean up. The good news is we will clean up and we will get through this. Thank you. God bless you and God bless the United States of America.”

The camera lingered on the president’s face for a moment, then cut to a place card of the presidential seal.

“And we’re out,” said the cameraman.

The president sagged back and closed his eyes. He looked as exhausted as Blair felt. It was nearly an hour into a new day and they’d been at this since early yesterday. Blair knew that there was little chance any of them would get a moment’s rest any time soon. They were all wired with caffeine and whatever prescription stimulants they each had in pockets or handbags.

Even so, Blair smiled and nodded to himself, well pleased with the statement that had just gone out. He leaned toward Sylvia Ruddy. “That was letter perfect.”

The chief of staff swiveled her head like a praying mantis and glared at him with absolute hatred in her eyes.

“We’re all going to hell for this,” she said.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

OVER STEBBINS COUNTY

Sergeant Hap Rollins crouched over the minigun and peered through the slanting rain at the endless rows of stalked corn eddying like waves beneath the rotor wash.

“Anything?”

The voice in his headphones was the pilot, Sully. It was maybe the fortieth time he’d asked the question since they’d come out to the farm country. Rollins wished Sully would shut the hell up. If he saw something he’d say so, and Rollins didn’t see shit. Nothing human, anyway. Bunch of cows lying down to try and get out of the wind and a few horses running free from an overrun farm. The farmhouse and outbuildings had already been destroyed by rockets. Thirty or forty times they flew over dead bodies lying on the road or on lawns or in the middle of fields. Dead bodies. Not walking dead.

Rollins was still processing that distinction.

The officers wanted them to use the word “infected,” but most of the guys were calling them zombies. A word from old Bela Lugosi movies. A word from comic books and horror novels.

Zombies.

Rollins didn’t like the word, didn’t like the way the word fit inside his head. It had too many sharp edges. It nicked the walls of his worldview. And it didn’t do anything good for his faith. Rollins was a Catholic and the only dead that were supposed to be walking around were the ones Jesus raised, like that little girl he said was only sleeping. Lazarus, too. And JC himself.

Only saints and saviors were supposed to be walking around if they were dead. Those were the rules, and Rollins didn’t remember reading anything about infected ordinary dead people getting up and walking around biting people.

That wasn’t death, no matter what the mission intel said.

That was something else. Something bad, sure, but dead people don’t do what these people were doing.

Even though Rollins believed in Jesus and God, he wasn’t as sure about the concept of the Devil. He knew he was supposed to believe that, and even though he could imagine a place where sinners went—his ex-wife and her boyfriend came to mind—a guy with hooves and horns directing traffic for lost souls was hard for a grown man to accept.

He wiped raindrops from his goggles and leaned out to look down the rows of corn.