The plane spiraled down toward the rows of firelight. Alexander dropped to the ground between them, and the plane rattled and shook, jarring Jenny back and forth and up and down as it bounced across the rough, uneven earth. The weedy dirt landing strip was illuminated by a row of old oil drums on either side of it, with raw flames pouring out the top. Each barrel was immediately extinguished as the plane rolled past.
“This is such an impressive airport,” Jenny said. “Do they have a Starbucks?”
“Welcome to Chiapas International, specializing in people and cargo looking to avoid, ah, excessive government regulations.” Alexander braked the plane, and it dragged to a halt between the last pair of flaming oil drums. These, too, were extinguished. In the plane's own lights, Jenny could see the rocky track extending forward several more yards, before it the view turned to rocks and thick forest.
“You're a smuggler,” Jenny said.
“Nope. I have friends who are smugglers. The only thing I'm smuggling is you.” Alexander flipped off the landing lights, leaving them in darkness.
“And you're sure we're safe here?” Jenny looked at the solid black outside the window.
“Safety is something no honest person can guarantee,” Alexander said. “But if anybody tries to mess with you, just kill them.”
Jenny laughed. “Great advice. Do you handle all your problems that way?”
“I try to avoid problems before they ever happen.” Alexander opened his door, and Jenny heard men speaking in Spanish outside. “But sometimes, people just have to die. Welcome home.”
He hopped out of the plane. Jenny opened her door but couldn't see where she was going, so she waited for him to help her down.
CHAPTER FIVE
Dr. Heather Reynard of the Center for Disease Control stood in the morgue of the Medical University of South Carolina and looked at the bodies that had been collected from the residential street in downtown Charleston. There were just over two dozen of them, every age, every condition.
Also in the room were the dean of the medical school as well as the county medical examiner Cordell Nolan, who had returned the bodies with the help of local police, and two morgue assistants who had witnessed the bodies' departure from the morgue. She wasn't sure what to make of their story.
“So,” Heather said, “He comes through this door. He opens the drawers. And then...could you review the next part again?” She looked at the two morgue assistants, one an older black man named Corinthius, the other a twenty-four-year-old kid with dark green hair, whose name was Steve.
“And then that's where it gets fucked up,” Steve said. “He starts bringing them back to life. Bam, bam, bam, one after the other they sit up, and he sicks them on us like a pack of wild dogs—”
“Not like a pack of dogs,” Corinthius interrupted. “More like a pack of turtles. They were slow, dragging their feet, but they were coming for us. He could make them attack.”
“And how exactly did he bring them back?”
“Hell if I know,” Steve said.
“I meant, what exactly did you see him do?” Heather asked.
“He touched 'em,” Corinthius said. “That's all. He touched each of them one time. Then he did kind of a funny wave with his hand—” Corinthius raised his own hand, “And then they got up and walked toward us. That's when we ran the hell out of here.”
“It's not my job to deal with zombies,” the green-haired kid whined. “They're supposed to be fully dead when they get here, and then stay that way. I ought to get hazard pay or overtime or something.”
“Kid's got a point,” Corinthius said, with a glance at the dean. “Ought to at least get some extra vacation time.”
“We'll see,” the dean said.
“Every one of 'em was dead last time I saw 'em,” the county medical examiner said. “Got more injuries now than they did before. All post-mortem, of course. Mostly cuts and scrapes.”
“That's all he did?” Heather asked. “He just laid his hands on them, and then he could animate them?”
“You gotta believe us,” Steve said.
“I do believe you,” Heather said. “I've reviewed the hospital's security footage. I saw them walk. I just can't begin to figure out how.”
“Sure would be easy if we could write it off as some kind of frat prank,” the medical examiner said. “College kids horsing around.”
“Easy, but not true,” Heather said.
“Hell, I've worked in government for years,” the medical examiner said. “Nobody gives a possum's ass hair about the truth. Everybody wants what's easy.”