The Killing Floor

Tonight, he will read the last letter, aware it may have to last him for a while.

“What do you want me to do?” the scientist asks him, breaking his reverie. “Can I help?”

Fielding stands with his back against a light pole and stares at the scientist with an amused expression, as if the entire mission is an experiment to test the other man’s response to stress. Rod senses he is not here to help, but as a minder. The good doctor is something like a prisoner.

During the airlift and subsequent drive in the Stryker, Rod found himself warming to the scientist. Dr. Price does not fit the egghead stereotype. The man appears to be socially detached and unable to connect with other people, but he is not haughty or arrogant. Instead, he beamed with obvious excitement at the chance to elaborate on his theories, half of which involved molecular biology that went straight over Rod’s head. Otherwise, the man’s entire being appears to be focused on coping with his terror and trying to stay alive.

Fielding is another matter. The man is unreadable. He appears to have no value to the mission other than to keep an eye on Price. Rod wonders what orders the man has, and who gave them to him. He will have to treat Fielding as a wildcard—a potential threat to mission integrity.

“We’re going to set up our roadblock right over there by the entrance to the parking lot,” Rod tells Price. “Just you, me and Captain Fielding.”

He gazes down the road past the Walmart and takes in the bowling alley, gas station and seedy shopping center with a bar. On the other side of the street, the small office building stands dark and derelict. He imagines Typhoid Jody’s approach and tries to visualize the outcome. If the man is on foot, they may be here for a while. Typhoid Jody will see the signs and have miles to ditch his entourage if he agrees to give up. If he doesn’t, the Hellraisers will have ample warning to jump in the Stryker and get the hell out of here.

If the man arrives in a vehicle, he will be alone. They’ll detect his approach from miles away and have plenty of time to get ready even if he’s driving fast. When he sees the roadblock, he will either stop to negotiate, or keep driving. If he agrees to surrender, they will slap a bio suit on him and put him in the Stryker. If he does not, or if he tries to run the roadblock, they are authorized to use deadly force. Because if he does not surrender, he is a threat and must be terminated.

Is that why Fielding is here? To make sure Typhoid Jody dies?

“How much time will we have?” Price asks him. “When the time comes, Fielding and I will have to get into our Racal suits.”

“Anywhere from ten minutes, if he’s driving fast, to hours, if he’s on foot.”

“We should be able to make that work. You should know that our suits are yellow, and the subject’s suit is orange, so you will be able to tell us apart at a glance.”

“Dr. Price, you might as well ring a dinner bell.”

The scientist gapes at him. “What do you mean?”

“The Jodies make a beeline for bright colors like yellow. Red, orange, anything like that.”

“Well,” Price says.

“Not to worry. We should have enough spray paint for you and the Captain to use.”

“Thank you.”

Rod nods. “So why don’t you tell me how much danger we’re in here?”

“Danger?”

“From Typhoid Jody. What kind of a threat is he, exactly?”

“You want facts or speculation?”

“Facts, please.”

“The man you call Typhoid Jody is an asymptomatic carrier of an airborne variant of the Wildfire Agent. But we know about as much about how he does it as we do about Wildfire itself—that is to say, not a whole hell of a lot.”

Rod laughs at the man’s candor. As usual, facts appear to be in short supply. “So we don’t even know if our MOPP suits will offer any real protection.”

“I wouldn’t bank on it.”

“Great,” he says dryly. “What do we know for sure about how he controls the Infected?”

“Again, very little,” Price tells him. “All we know is the human Infected are drawn to him. Thousands are following him. But we don’t know otherwise what level of control he has. With hope, he won’t have any Infected with him.”

“That’s what we’re hoping,” Rod agrees, and then adds, “Do you really think he could end the war?”

“I definitely think it’s very possible.”

Another ironclad, definite, absolute, solid maybe, Rod thinks, and sighs.

And yet the world has gotten so bad even maybe sounds like something worth fighting for. He thinks about Gabriela, and his kids, and wants to believe.

It’s a slippery slope for sure, but Rod cannot help but begin to feel hope.

Anne

Anne whistles, letting Marcus know she is approaching and to stand to arms. The large man stiffens and snatches up his rifle.

She emerges from the woods, sniper rifle slung across her back, the brim of her cap pulled down low, casting her face in shadow.

She is finding it difficult to process what she has just seen; she wonders how she is going to communicate it to the others. Visions of the Infected swarming over each other like termites to build human pyramids continue to haunt her, making her feel nauseous and frazzled.

Evan and Ramona sit cross-legged on the ground, eating cold ravioli from cans with chopsticks. Evan nods to her, stands and throws his can into the woods.

“Thank God,” Jean says, her Chanel suit now wrinkled to the point of looking like a wrung out washcloth. She and Gary sit huddled on the ground, their backs against the side of the bus. She looks furious. “Now we can go to Camp Nightingale, right?”

Anne ignores her, scowling.

“Was he there?” Marcus asks her.

“He was there.”

The Rangers gather around, waiting for her to explain.

“What’s with her now?” Anne says, tilting her heard toward Jean.

“She said you were dead and we should leave,” Ramona tells her with a sigh. “The minute you left, she started in on us.”

“Sorry to disappoint her,” Anne says. “Where’s Todd?”

The others glance at each other.

“He split,” Marcus tells her. “Headed the same way as you, in fact.”

“And you didn’t think to stop him?”

His face reddens. “I’m not the boss of him.”

Anne cannot argue. It is her own logic come back to haunt her. We are here by consent, she always told them. When we are fighting, you will do your job or face judgment from the rest of us. But when the fighting stops, nobody owns you. If you want to leave, then leave.

She herself was willing to abandon them all to pursue Ray Young out of a sense of a higher purpose that trumped her loyalty to the team she created. Todd must feel he has a greater loyalty to obey, and Anne can guess what it is.

The dumb kid is going to get himself killed over an infected girl.

“He said to tell you he’ll catch up with us east,” Ramona says. “And that he’s sorry. He said he had to go see for himself.”

Anne points toward the trees and says, “On the other side of that hill, there are tens of thousands of the Infected. That’s where Todd is going.”

“All right,” Marcus said. “You want us to track him?”