Zoey and the Zombies (A Mondamin Court Adventure)

Chapter Ten #4

Jessica Crighton heard her cell phone ringing on the table and cussed. The electricity had just come back on, and she had just got an increasingly skittish Jacob back to sleep. She dashed down the stairs and snatched the phone up. It was her husband's number.

She answered and was greeted by a long blast of foul language. "Michael?" she said.

"Wait! She's answering," Michael shouted at someone on the other end. "Jessica, is that you?"

"Yes, is something wrong?"

"Thank God I finally got you."

She wanted to snap at him. She'd been with their child, after all. She bit her tongue. "What's going on?"

"I . . ." His voice faltered. "I gotta stay at work."

"They need you," she said, nodding.

"No. I gotta stay."

Something in his voice made her freeze. "What do you mean?"

"Look, it's probably nothing. Some homeless asshole—" He asked her to hold on, then yelled, "Yeah, I'm talking about you, asshole." Then he was back and quieter. "Some asshole bit me. On the hand. It's nothing."

"Bit you?" Jessica screeched. "Is he . . .?"

"No, I don't think so. But the asshole won't say where he's from, and the CDC has policies—"

"What policies?"

"Quarantine policies."

"But you said he's not—"

"Yeah, but he won't say where he's from."

"Why not?"

"Jess, haven't you been paying attention?" he snapped. "No one is saying shit."

"Just calm down and tell me what's going on, Michael."

He took a deep breath. "The CDC has policies in effect for quarantining individuals who may been exposed. Only there have been rumors, rumors of attacks inside quarantine camps as people convert. So no one wants to go to the camps. They won't say where they are from.

"Only it doesn't matter, cuz if they can't document where they've been for the last two weeks, they get sent to a camp anyway. This asshole got testy about that and went ballistic. We were trying to restrain him, give him a shot, and he bit me."

"But," Jessica protested, "we are so far from Florida. Where is the safe line?"

"Mississippi River," Michael answered. "There are currently suspicious but unconfirmed reports as far east as Cincinnati and up and down most of the East Coast."

Jessica reeled in shock. The government kept saying they had this under control.

"What's this mean, Michael?" she forced herself to ask. "You staying?"

"Seventy-two hours," a new voice said. Jessica thought she recognized it as that of one of the residents who worked at the hospital. "We are going to keep your husband in the psych ward, under lockup, for seventy-two hours. But he has to go now."

She could hear Michael cussing, asking for the phone back. "Look, Jessica, I know your husband is pissed about this, but you've got to make him understand. We are supposed to send him to a government camp. But people don't come back. We hear they are safe, but . . . Michael's one of us. We are keeping him here. Maybe later, he'll see what a favor that is. Right now, you've got to convince him to cooperate."

Then Michael was back. Jessica started talking, before he could start ranting again. She told him about Jacob's suicide attempt, how he thought this was his fault for wanting zombies like on the video games.

"Why are you telling me this now?" he snapped.

"Because," she replied, fighting at the tears, "you need to know how much we need you here. You've got to do whatever you need to do and then get home. In seventy-two hours."

When he answered, he sounded defeated. "I gotta go, don't I?"

"Yes. Stay strong, honey. We will be there when you get out. Just promise me you'll cooperate."

"I will. I love you, you know that. And Jacob. Tell him in the morning, I love him."

"I will," she promised.

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