He had gotten free advertising for his business, which was nice. But the real benefit had been the private deals he was able to make with various organizations. The classic “I scratch your back and you scratch mine” had played very much a part in his life, and it had more than made up for his expenditures.
Never mind all the pussy he had gotten. His high-rise luxury apartment had rarely been empty. Women had thought of him as rich, fairly handsome (thanks to his daily gym routine with the best personal trainers in town), and even more importantly, a good guy. They had thrown themselves at the socialite like there was no tomorrow.
Until the day that there was no tomorrow.
Dermott got sick, just like most of the common people. He suffered with agonizing pain as his intestines and stomach were riddled with microscopic holes. He nearly drowned in his own blood as his lungs were punctured by a myriad of nanobots. He just about died when both his carotid artery and jugular vein were punctured.
Just about.
The nanobots quickly took control of the host before all brain neurons stopped firing.
Dermott was no more. But the corpse slowly started to move, nonetheless.
He got out of the fetal position and lumbered to his feet. He no longer felt the smooth marble tiles under his bare feet, and no longer had the urge to flex in the floor-to-ceiling mirror that adorned his bathroom.
Dermott stood still for a long period of time. A full day passed before the nanobots were positioned properly to move the automaton without outside stimuli. The zombie developed a simple form of awareness. Simple, yet beyond anything that living Dermott had ever experienced.
Dermott became aware of the open door. He took a step, then another, his gait bent-kneed like a primate’s. He shoved through the door, turned, and stumbled down the hallway, still somewhat clumsy as the nanobots were learning to exercise control over the body.
Dermott stopped in front of the door. He was not aware that it was called a door yet knew that he had to go this way. The others were calling out to him. They also instructed him. He reached for the door handle and twisted it. The door remained shut. Dermott stopped moving as analysis started.
A full five minutes later, Dermott lifted his hand again. He reached higher this time. It took him two tries, but he got his thumb and forefinger around the objective. He held the lever for well over a minute before twisting his fingers and unlocking the deadbolt.
Dermott was out of his apartment a minute later. He had to get to the others. They were nearby.
So was something else. A presence they were drawn to. A presence whose energies they needed to destroy.
Chapter 31
Joe
November 8, 10:15 A.M.
Joe was sitting down for a late breakfast. He wasn’t in a good mood. It all got triggered by Christine.
What did she see in that white boy anyway?
Rachel was livid, and it took all his persuasive power to lead his wife and his daughter back to their room so that they could fight about it in some semblance of privacy.
Talk about it. I meant talk about it privately. Joe thought as he toyed with the food in front of him. Then again, it wasn’t much of a talk. The highly charged members of his family rarely talked.
OK, it was a fight.
He was hard-pressed to keep Rachel from losing it while still laying down the law with Christine. But he managed it. After ten minutes of yelling and shoving furniture, he’d made it clear that she was to stay away from that boy.
Joe stabbed at his reconstituted eggs with his fork. He had helped clear the zombies at the fences this morning and was pleased to see that their numbers seemed to be dwindling. There had been fewer yesterday, and there were even fewer today.
Joe mulled it over as he took a bite of the reconstituted eggs.
Yeah. Maybe we’re getting on top of this thing? He took another bite with enthusiasm, ignoring the bland flavor.
Mel is doing better every day. And people haven’t been at each others’ throats. Even that Breanne character was civil this morning. He started to smile as he ate.
Then Ethan and Q came running into the cafeteria.
What Hispanic kid doesn’t speak Spanish? Joe wondered as they spotted him. He stopped his musings when he saw the look on their faces.
“Dad, there’s—there’s a guy outside. At the gate!”
Joe got up; his breakfast forgotten. “Ring the alarm.”
Ethan turned away.
“The slow alarm,” Joe called after him.
It would take nearly ten minutes before the front door of the school slowly swung open.
We’ve got to get better at that, Joe thought as he exited the school.
The man still stood outside the gate. He held his rifle over his head with both hands, indicating that he did not want trouble.
“Don’t make any sudden moves! We have several guns pointing at you right now,” Joe commanded as he strode forward slowly. That was a lie. Only Ern was up top, and Joe wasn’t sure if the old man was a good enough shot.
He glanced over his shoulder. At least he had decent back-up.
Keith walked a few feet behind and to the left of him and Emily to the right, just as John had taught. Romy had taken up a kneeling position at the planter behind them. She had the stranger in her sights.
And his own son, Ethan, was manning the door.
Rachel sure got furious when Joe pressed his son into service. But the kid knew how to handle a gun. He had showed that capability earlier in the morning when he’d helped clear the zombies at the fence. Joe had had to pull Rachel aside to avoid a scene.
“Honey, listen,” he had told her, trying to make eye contact.
“There ain’t no way I’m letting you endanger my baby—”
“Rachel!” He’d grabbed her shoulders. Her eyes were wild.
Oh,
