Fall of Night (Dead of Night 2)

“Even so, how will they be able to move then? Will they get fast again?”

Sam said, “We don’t know. There hasn’t been that much time yet. The first infection was early yesterday, so we’re not even one full day into this thing.”

The bounded infected continued to struggle.

“So…” drawled Shortstop, “what do we do with Sparky here? Do we take him back so they can study him? Is that what they want?”

“No,” said Sam. “The Guard can get as many samples as they want. We’re on the lookout for anything out of the ordinary. And yes, I realize how that just sounded. Zombies and all.”

Everyone grinned at him.

“Point is that if we go on the basis that there are zombies and that a combination of injuries and the onset of rigor will explain most of how they walk and act, then what we look for is something that doesn’t fit that model. A mutation, maybe.”

“Why?” asked Moonshiner.

“Because we’re hoping this disease isn’t as perfect as everyone thinks it is,” said Sam. When the others looked blank, he explained. “A mutation, should one even exist, is more likely to tell the scientists something about the stability of Dr. Volker’s variation of the Lucifer plague. If mutations are possible and—better yet—reproducible, then that opens a door for introducing other mutations that could disrupt the function of the parasite.”

Boxer said, “Wow, I actually understood that.”

They stood for a moment longer, all of them in a loose circle around the writhing dead man.

“Again,” said Shortstop, “what do we do with Sparky here? Strap him to the hood like a six-point buck?”

“No,” said Sam. “We leave him.”

“Like that?” asked Boxer, pointing to the cuffs and spit hood. “It doesn’t seem right.”

Gypsy shrugged. “It’s not like he’s suffering, man.”

Moonshiner leaned close and whispered, “He’s dead, Jim.”

Boxer shoved him away. “Yeah, yeah, very funny.”

“Leave him,” repeated Sam.

Nobody moved, though. They glanced around, at the rainswept road, at the body that lay struggling at their feet, and back the way they’d come.

“Boss,” said Shortstop, “if these three kept walking down the road they’d have come right up to the checkpoint we passed.”

“Uh huh,” agreed Sam.

“Three of these fuckers against those two kids back there?”

“Uh huh.”

“You think those kids would have stopped them?”

“What do you think?” Sam said, making it an open question.

They looked down at the infected. The man continued to writhe and fight against the restraints. His jaws snapped at the material of the spit hood. Gypsy made a disgusted noise. Moonshiner’s grunt was dismissive. But it was Shortstop who answered the question.

“Not a chance in hell, boss,” he sa

id. “Not one chance in hell.”

Together the Boy Scouts walked up the slope to the Humvee. The big Browning .50 mounted on the roof looked ominous. Waiting.

Hungry.