The Last Town (Book 2): Preparing For The Dead (8 page)

Reese looked at the nurse, who said, “Maybe about fourteen.”

Reese was surprised at the number, and so was Narvaez. “Fourteen?” the Guard commander said. “We’ve seen like maybe seven or eight cases come in through emergency. How can there be fourteen?”

“They come in through different parts of the hospital,” the nurse said. “Some of them were here undergoing treatment for another illness, and … well, they got sick.” She stopped for a moment, then looked at Reese directly. “There’s actually more than fourteen. Fourteen patients are likely to turn, but I’ve been told we have almost thirty people who are potentially … infected.”

Jesus.
“All of them are in isolation, right?” Reese asked.

“No. The ward is full. We’re isolating them in different areas of the hospital.”

Reese did an epic face palm. “Do you know
where
in the hospital these other cases are?” he asked. An LAPD squad car rolled up then, and Sergeant Bates emerged from behind the wheel. Three other police officers stepped out of the vehicle as well. The squad car was a full house. Reese waved him over, and Bates sauntered toward them, hitching up his heavy patrol belt.

“I don’t know exactly where all of them are,” the nurse said.

“Well, holy jumping shit, ma’am, who does?” Narvaez asked.

“The chief of staff’s office is—”

She was cut off by gunfire from somewhere inside the hospital. Gunfire that, if Reese was correct, came from above them.

“W
ell, if it
isn’t my billionaire guardian angel,” Danielle said as Corbett perused the menu before him.

“Hello there, Dani,” he said, tilting his head to the right a bit so she could kiss his cheek. “How are things?”

“Same as always,” she told him, putting her hands on her hips and she stood beside the booth he sat in. “You know how things are in Single Tree—nothing happens until the snow falls. Didn’t know you were in town. What brings you back here?”

Corbett spread his hands. “What, you don’t watch the news?”

Danielle nodded. “Yeah, I’ve seen it. The world’s going to hell, I guess. Looks like New York got hit pretty hard. Are things headed south in Dallas, too?”

“Actually, Dallas was fine when I left. Now that the FAA has shut down the airspace, maybe it’ll stay that way for a while longer. But I decided I’d be better off here than there.”

“Huh. Why’s that? Single Tree is so boring, even the zombies wouldn’t pay attention to it?”

“Well, I don’t know about that.” Corbett jerked his thumb toward the window beside him. The diner faced the main drag, and there were more than a few cars and trucks tooling past in both directions. It was almost six o’clock, and darkness was slowly uncoiling over the town. The traffic flow was unusual for this time of year.

“Seems like Single Tree is kind of popular these days,” he said.

Danielle looked around the diner. It was only half full. “I don’t know about that,” she said. “Seems to me most people are staying home for dinner tonight.”

“Business off?”

“Well, just for today,” she said. “Yesterday, it was normal. Today, it’s been off.”

“Talked to your father earlier today,” Corbett said. “His tanks are getting sucked dry. Says he had to put in an emergency request for more gas and diesel, but he’s not sure anything’s going to be available.”

Danielle ran a hand through her short brown hair. “Really? I think he just got a delivery.”

“Three days ago, he said. As of then, he had about forty-seven thousand gallons of product available. Now, he has a little over fifteen thousand.” Corbett pointed out the window again. “They’re the ones who are taking it. All the transients. People out of Los Angeles and Las Vegas, each trying to get to someplace where they’ll feel safe. Though I don’t know what qualifies as ‘safe’ right now.”

“Well, if you need some gas, Barry, I can get you squared away,” Danielle said.

Corbett smiled. “Thanks, Marine, but I’m good. Believe me.”

“Okay, but if times get tough, keep me in mind. I owe you and all that.”

“Thanks.” Corbett looked up at her critically. “Well, I see no engagement rings or anything of the sort, so it looks like you’re still on the market. Maybe you should let your hair grow out a bit, slap on some nail polish, and stop dressing like such the tomboy, huh?”

She laughed. “Not happening. Besides, no one’s very interested in a peg-leg.”

Corbett clucked his tongue and shook his head. “Self-pity, Marine? Really?”

“Reality, Marine … reality,” she replied. “No one in a one-horse town is interested in a one-legged girl. Except for maybe Willy Simmonds, and he’s a known deviant. I’m not missing out on anything, anyway.”

Corbett grunted and looked down at the menu again. He wasn’t terribly hungry, but he knew it would be a long night. He needed something.

“So what’ll it be?” Danielle asked, her pad at the ready.

“Tomato soup and a grilled ham and cheese,” he said.

“What, shouldn’t you be watching your cholesterol level?”

“Cholesterol isn’t the thing that’s going to kill me.”

Danielle smiled. “And to drink?”

“Unless you guys suddenly received a liquor license while I was away, just water will do.” Corbett looked out at the traffic moving past the diner. “Though Lord knows I could use a couple of bottles of tequila, right now.”

*

Gary Norton was
among the first to arrive at the town hall that night, and he let himself into the meeting hall. Single Tree’s major, Max Booker, was there, along with Chief Grady, the head of the town police. They sat at the curved table at the front of the room, and they looked up expectantly when Norton walked in. Booker got to his feet and leaned to his right, as if trying to look past Norton.

“It’s just me,” Norton said.

“Well, where’s Corbett?” Booker asked.

Norton shrugged. “He’ll be here, Mayor. Where do you want me?”

“Are you going to be, well, presenting anything?”

Norton shook his head. “Only my award-winning smile.”

Booker returned to his seat, a disappointed look on his face. “Just take a seat wherever, then.”

There were three rows of auditorium-style seats facing the curved desk, behind which the town council would sit. Norton sat down in a second row aisle seat and leaned back, trying to get comfortable in the seat’s narrow confines. It was an impossible task.

The rest of the town council slowly entered the chamber. Norton groaned when he saw Hector Aguilar head toward the front of the room. The pharmacy owner shot him a nasty look, then descended upon Chief Grady like a vulture swooping down on fresh roadkill. Grady leaned back in his seat and steepled his hands before him. Norton wondered if the chief was praying that Aguilar would leave him alone. If so, his prayers went unanswered.

“Chief, I want to talk to you about one of your officers,” Aguilar snapped. “He
released
three shoplifters today!”

“You mean after he shot Wally Whittaker?” Grady said. “He told me about it. I thought it was kind of odd that you didn’t mention it then.”

“Well … well, we’d just had a
shooting
, for God’s sake! Of course I wasn’t going to bring it up!”

“Hector, sit down,” Booker said.

Aguilar glared at the mayor. “I have legitimate business to discuss here, Max.”

“Not now, you don’t,” Booker said. “Sit down, or leave the chamber.”

Aguilar blinked behind his glasses. “Excuse me?”

Booker looked at Aguilar evenly. “I didn’t stutter, Hector. Sit quietly or leave. Your call.”

Aguilar laughed mirthlessly. “I don’t believe you have much authority over me, Max. I’m a sitting member of the council, a representative of the town. You don’t tell me what to do!”

“He does tonight,” Grady said. “Sit down, or I’ll escort you out.”

A middle-aged woman named Gemma Washington took her seat beside Grady. She looked at Aguilar as she lowered her heavy frame into the chair, then nudged Grady with one pointy elbow.

“If he resists, will you promise to shoot him?” she asked.

Grady smiled. “We’ve had enough shooting in this town for one day.”

“Well, get ready. There’s more coming.”

Everyone looked to the door as Barry Corbett stalked through it like a hungry lion scouring the savanna for prey. Three men followed him, one carrying a box. Norton recognized them from the airport. Part of Corbett’s security detail. He wondered why old Barry had brought them inside. As he approached Norton’s seat, Corbett stopped short and looked down at him.

“You read my e-mail?” he asked.

“Yep. Quite the eye opener. Seen the news about New York?”

“I have.”

“Then I hope your guys are starting work, because LA’s starting to go the same route.”

“Excuse me, just what is this about?” Aguilar said. He turned to Booker. “Do you mean to tell me that
Corbett
called this ‘special session’ tonight?”

“No. I did,” Booker said. “But Mister Corbett has some specific agenda items that he’d like to discuss.”

“What agenda might that be?” Grady asked. There was no trace of confrontation in the police chief’s voice, and Norton figured it was a fair question.

“I’ll have that socialized in just a moment.” Norton turned to the man behind him holding the box, and he pointed at Norton. “Mister Norton will need one, then distribute a copy to everyone else in the room.”

“Yes, sir,” the man said. He put the box on the floor, pulled off the lid, and handed Norton a thick, spiral-bound document before moving on. Norton paged through the heavy document. It was a printout of everything Corbett had sent him via e-mail, plus an executive summary titled PREPARING SINGLE TREE FOR THE APOCALYPSE. He chuckled quietly when he saw that.

As the rest of the documents were being passed out, the door to the chamber opened again. Norton turned and watched as Victor Kuruk eased into the room. The leader of the Paiute-Shoshone reservation that sat between the town of Single Tree and the airport was a solid sort of guy, and he dressed the part: faded jeans, well-worn work boots, and a long-sleeved denim shirt rolled up at the elbows. He carried a leather jacket over one arm, and his long, silver-streaked hair was pulled back in a ponytail. He was maybe ten years younger than Corbett but he carried himself like a much younger man. Norton knew he was a favorite among the Hollywood elite when it came time to casting calls for older, wise-looking Native Americans, and Victor had made a good chunk of change appearing in everything from television commercials to feature films. He also had a magnificent speaking voice, a rich baritone that was as flexible as a yoga instructor. That gift had made him a millionaire. As if those accolades weren’t enough, Victor had written several nonfiction books about the regional Native American population that had been picked up by the University of California Press. But like everyone else who called the Single Tree vicinity home, success hadn’t been enough to dislodge Victor Kuruk. Even if home was a small reservation community with a population of less than four hundred.

“Hello, Victor. Thanks for coming,” Max Brooks said with a wave.

Corbett cracked a small smile. “Fashionably late as always, Vic.”

“I had trouble deciding what to wear,” Victor replied.

“What were the choices, denim and flannel?”

Victor nodded. “It’s a bit nippy out tonight, but still not really cold enough for flannel. In the end, it wasn’t that tough of a choice, which is too bad. I wanted to show off my latest shirt from Lands End. How is everyone?” he asked, as he sauntered down the aisle.

“Doing fine,” Corbett said. “Grab a handout and have a seat. We have some territory to cover, and it’s going to affect your people, as well.”

“Is this meeting about how we’re going to handle the zombies?” Victor asked. He regarded one of Corbett’s men with hooded eyes as the man handed him one of the spiral-bound books. He turned his dark eyes back toward Corbett. “I see you’ve brought some help.”

“Have a seat, Vic,” Corbett said again.

Victor nodded to Norton as he walked past and settled into a seat in the first row. He reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a pair of reading glasses and slipped them on.