“Do you have anyone who can take you to the hospital, ma’am?” Patterno asked as Young draped a sheet over her husband’s body.
The man had been in his seventies and yet had thrown off two taser hits. Some of them did that. Some of them dropped and some of them just kept coming. The new ROE was clear: If a 10–64 Hotel didn’t stop with the tasers, deadly force was authorized.
The department, with concurrence of the state and local authorities, had had to do it. Not only was it already the de facto rule of engagement, based upon how many shooting had been officer involved over the last few weeks, they’d lost too many officers to the Plague. And more than half of those had gone zombie themselves. The “squad” room meeting was starting to look like the “team” room meeting. Many more of them went down and it would be no meeting at all.
The wife had a bite on her arm and another on her shoulder. They’d hit both with antiseptic for all the good it would do. They were probably looking at another zombie in a few hours.
“A friend is on the way over…” the woman said, shakily.
“We’ll stay here until they get here,” Patterno said. “The Coroner’s office team will need to have access to your home. Can I get a verbal confirmation on that? Is it okay if the coroner’s team handles the management of your husband’s remains?”
“Yes,” the woman said, shaking her head. “Yes, I suppose they have to… Why did you have to shoot him?” she said angrily. “He was just
The woman suddenly lunged at Patterno, howling. Joe instinctively threw up his hand to fend her off. Unfortunately, he’d taken off his tactical gloves after dealing with her husband.
The woman’s teeth sank into the web of muscle and skin between his thumb and forefinger, ripping out a chunk. She lunged at him again, chewing.
At the first howl, Young had ripped out his taser and as Patterno rolled backwards off the sofa the taser round hit the woman in the side. She fell onto the floral print, blood splattered sofa, spasming.
“Shit, shit, shit, shit…” Patterno said as Young slapped a tranquilizer into the woman’s thigh muscles. The zombie started to stand up and he tapped her, hard, on the back of the head with his baton. She might be dead or not. He wasn’t really caring at the moment.
“How bad?” Young asked.
“Bad.” Patterno had his hand clamped on the wound but it was still streaming blood.
“Let it bleed,” Young said. “Maybe it will get some of it out.”
“Shit, she turned fast,” Patterno said.
“Really fast,” Young replied. He opened the med kit back up and as Patterno held out his hand started pouring betadine over the wound and then roughly bandaging it. He pulled out an antibody kit from the medical bag and did a quick bloodtest on the tranquilized subject.
“What’s it read?” Patterno asked, cradling his arm. They both knew she’d zombied but it was still possible she’d just had a really bad freak-out.
“Positive,” Young said, unhappily.
“Call for pickup,” Patterno said. “Then back to the station. Sentara Hospital is overloaded. And there’s not much they can do for me that one of the paramedics can’t. Hell, there’s not much they can do, period.”
“Unit four-six-four,” Young said into his microphone. “One Sixty-Four Hotel Kilo India Alpha. One Sixty-Four Hotel Tango. One officer possible infected, bite. Ten-nineteen for medical…”
“Good news,” Joe said, holding up his hand. “You get to do the paperwork.”
* * *
“I don’t want to go to the Warehouse,” Joe said as they were driving back to the station. He had his hand elevated and was staring at it.
“The warehouse makes Dachau look like Disneyland,” Young said.
“Billy’s…not going to be able to handle that,” Joe said. “You know that, right?”
“Yeah,” Young said. There was a zombie running down the street. Ten-year-old or so boy. A clothed woman was running after him. She was already bitten. Just another zombie in the making.
“We should have started at shoot-to-kill,” Joe said, watching the scene unfold. The woman was waving at the cop car as it passed, trying to get help. She’d be pissed off. Maybe she’d complain. Maybe somebody would hear it. Then she’d turn and the complaint would be sort of moot.
“You’ve got a spare, right?” Young asked. The Department required that you turn in your issue firearm as you were going off-duty. Since it was legal to carry for officers off-duty, most had at least one spare.
“Yeah,” Joe said. “I’d say stop so I could shoot both of them. But then they’d lock me up. And then I’d go to the Warehouse. And either starve to death or get eaten when it all goes down. Or, worse, get free and be one of them. I don’t want to be one of them.”
“I’ll come by after I get off-shift,” Young said. “Can Billy…secure you?”
“Heh,” Patterno said, starting to laugh. It turned into a full-bore belly-laugh. He finally stopped, wiping his eyes. “Yeah, he can.”
“What’s so funny?” Young asked.
“You’ve never had a problem with my lifestyle,” Patterno said, looking at him. “Any reason for that?”
“I don’t give a shit what a cop does with his or her genitals as long as they’re a good cop?” Young answered. “And you’re a good cop.”
“Oh, I’ve had my times being a bad cop,” Joe said, musingly. “But I’ve always appreciated that you weren’t a flake about it. So I’ve never really tried to screw with you. Don’t screw with me, I won’t screw back. So just… When you come by, just don’t get freaked out that Billy is able to secure me really,
“Oh,” Young said, grimacing. “Okay. Yeah. I’d say TMI but it’s useful, if, yeah, disturbing information.”
“Hey,” Patterno said. “Guy’s got to have a hobby…”
* * *
“Hi, Bill,” Young said. He didn’t want to be at Joe’s house. He didn’t want to go through with this. But duty was like that. “How’s he doing?” he asked as he stepped through the door.
“Not…well,” Bill Jacobus said. The electrical engineer was tall and slender in contrast to his partner. Young had never seen him wear anything but a golf shirt and fine slacks and that, at least, had not changed. The odd part was that his pant legs were covered in dirt. Then Young realized why. Bill started to stick out his hand, then remembered and ended up wringing them together. “His fever is very high. I’ve given him motrin and water. He’s…” He shrugged. “Thank you for coming. You’re a…good friend.”
“You know why I’m here?” Young said. “If you do…maybe you want to go out for a walk or something?”
“At night with zombies roaming?” Bill said with a breathless chuckle. He gestured up the stairs. “My first husband died of AIDs. I was always careful, even with Thomas, so I never contracted it. The one mercy of this plague is that it’s decently quick. I…since we are in this situation, I will tell you that I…gave the same grace to Thomas. But here…I don’t have the contacts, the materials.”
“It only takes one thing,” Young said, walking to the stairs.
“I could…turn up a morphine drip,” Bill admitted. “Add…some chemicals. I could not have pulled a trigger. That is why you are a good friend. Would you mind if I…? No, I should stay to say good-bye.”
Joe was in the master bedroom spread-eagled on the bed. There was a band across the top of the bed that restrained both his wrists and his head via a collar and his legs were spread and chained. He was dressed in black tacticals and wearing an SFPD badge.
“You guys are serious about your restraints, aren’t you?” Young said.
“I said a guy needs a hobby,” Patterno said. He was visibly sweating and racked with chills.
“How are you doing, honey?” Bill asked, sitting on the side of the bed and wiping his forehead. He leaned over and kissed him where he’d wiped.
“Guys, I’m real supportive of your relationship,” Young said, neutrally. “But I’m still the kid who was raised Southern Baptist at some level. So I’m just going to go outside. You two…chat. When you’re ready, Bill, I’ll be right in the hallway. Sorry.”
“Nah, it’s okay,” Joe growled. “I get it. I mean, I don’t get it but I get it.”
After about fifteen minutes, Bill came out wiping his eyes.
“Just…don’t…” Bill said, his face working.
