Chapter 9

Babs discovered Mrs. Thorpe made scones for breakfast. They were lovely and Babs appreciated that the elderly woman had made an attempt to keep the cats out of the kitchen so they could eat in peace after she had an allergy attack in the middle of dinner and spilled potato soup everywhere.

"Mrs. Thorpe. I need to get back to the library. I haven't finished binding the information I printed from the online descriptions of the pandemic." Babs insisted as she sniffed and blew her nose into a tissue. She wanted to scrub her face, but she didn't know if the fur on her face was real or just a phantom sensation because of her allergies.

"Oh? How much time do you need?" Mrs. Thorpe demanded in an imperious tone as she added grumpily, "Because we need to leave before the snow covers the roads in the upper Midwest. It is the shortest route and I doubt there will be any snowplows to clear Interstate 80."

"I understand," Babs retorted, then refused. "But I have to preserve the written record. I can't just leave to drive you and your cats to Washington state. I have a job to do."

"What job?" Theodora scoffed. "The world has ended. There is no one else to want books on the latest political scandal or that damned written-for-market crap that passes for literature now."

Shocked by the elderly woman's use of profanity, Babs refuted her, "Mrs. Thorpe! It is my job as a librarian to make sure none of the information posted on the internet about Pandemic Five is lost."

"I was a Cambridge librarian... And an Egyptologist... And a fungal biologist... There are more important things to consider than dealing with the virtual whining of a bunch of young people over the internet who couldn't go to their trendy, overpriced coffee houses," huffed Mrs. Thorpe indignantly. "If they didn't have a cat, didn't pay attention to what the cats refused to eat, then they deserved what they got."

Babs stood up and pulled her mask over her face. "They weren't whining; they were terrified because no one knew what this was, and they were sick. Their loved ones were dying. Why didn't you call the CDC and warn them? Why didn't you tell the local doctors what you knew? They could have taken it out of the food before it killed everyone. There are medications for internal fungal infections that might have worked. You could have stopped the end of the world, but then your cats would no longer be special, you crazy old bat!" She sneezed violently as she opened the door to the kitchen allowing several cats to rush in around her feet. Stomping to the front door, she grabbed her coat, shook out the fur in one violent motion, then went out uncaring if the zombies were waiting for her or not.

Mrs. Thorpe didn't call after her. Babs shoved several of the cats off of her car, but saw no zombies when she glanced around. In a fit of pique, she left the bags of cat food on the stoop. Then she got in and drove back to the library without looking back. She ignored the dead people wandering in the streets. Stopping to let some cross in front of her, she noticed they didn't even look at her almost silent car. She drove around the block that held the library twice to make sure none were close to where she had to park. The only zombies she saw were across the street in the shadow the white marble basilica and, on a different side, four standing under the trees of the Unity Baptist church behind a metal gate. Satisfied it was safe for her to park, she pulled into the back of the library.

Worried that some of the undead might come up the drive like the man who tried to bite her did, Babs parked her car sideways across the entry. She would have to move it to plug it in. The city was eerily quiet without the sounds of traffic and commuting. The bells of the church across the street from the library rang for the 9:00 o'clock service, and it made her sad that no one would be going to mass that day or maybe ever again. She filled the cat food bowls on the back of the loading dock from the bag inside the door. Then went downstairs to her little apartment.

Stopping in the laundry room to shove her cat fur-covered clothes into the washing machine, she didn't care that she was walking naked through the bowels of the library. There was no one to see her. Standing under the warm spray, she cried for everyone who had been lost to such a stupid thing and wished she was one of them. Taking her antidepressant twelve hours late and a handful of allergy tablets, Babs laid in bed and stared at her TV as it played yet another scenic National Park Tour video. Soon, the medication kicked in and she fell into a deep, dreamless slumber.

^..^

Waking in the midafternoon, Babbette went back upstairs to begin collating and binding the information she had printed off the internet. She was almost finished with the blogs reporting how people had frozen the corpses of their loved ones in walk-in coolers or in large chest freezers. She wondered if those who were frozen stayed dead like Bill when the power went off. She wondered if they decayed. She decided she needed to talk to Lionel and the Navy doctors, so she sent him an e-mail.

Dear Lieutenant Lionel T.

I did not believe you when you said there were zombies, but after speaking with your elderly great-grandmother, I now understand. I have also seen the zombies first-hand and how the cats are able to overcome them. I am currently collating and binding as much of the information as I can download and print from posts, blogs, and message board threads local to the greater Baltimore area.

I was wondering if your doctors on the ships had tried freezing those who got sick and died? Your grandmother was very interested in the idea.

I can verify personally that at least one body which was frozen for three weeks before the power turned off, did not revive and is now decaying. There are also several posts that frozen corpses did not revive. I will send you the information.

Dr. Babette Bland

EPFPL Head Librarian

Babs hoped that he would get back to her quickly. If freezing the body's meant that the fungus was killed, there was hope that she could wait until spring before having to travel across the country with Mrs. Thorpe and her clowder of cats. The thought of driving thousands of miles without being able to put down a window in the very nice RV in Mrs. Thorpe's backyard, made her want to sneeze, her skin crawl, and her eyes water.

'It's psychosomatic! Stop it!' She mentally berated herself.

She wondered if there were any way she could talk Mrs. Thorpe into taking a semitruck with a sleeper cab instead of the forty-five-foot-long recreational vehicle. It was a very nice RV with all the modern conveniences. However, Babs knew that it would get very low gas mileage and be very difficult to turn and maneuver if the road became clogged.

Her e-mail chimed and she was surprised at how quickly Lionel got back to her.

Dear Dr. Bland,

Thank you for looking in on my great-grandmother. I apologize for how difficult she can be. Thank you for the information on freezing the bodies of the infected. It is something the naval doctors have not tried yet, but something they'll do as soon as we reach port again and can capture an infected undead person.

How is Theodora?

Lt. Lionel Thorpe

USS Abraham Lincoln (CVN-72)

Babs scowled as she considered how to reply then she decided to be honest.

Dear Lieutenant Lionel Thorpe,

Your great-grandmother is very difficult. She is insisting that I immediately drive her and her clowder of cats across the country to meet you at Kitsap Naval Base, Washington. This is not something I want to do because I am violently allergic to cats, but I realize how important the information she knows about the infection is. I will do my best to get her to you, but I cannot tell you when that will be. I am hoping to convince her to wait until spring. Baltimore is starting to be overrun with those who have died and revived. I was attacked outside her house only yesterday. She is safe and has everything she needs for herself and her cats. I will check on her again later this week.

Sincerely, Dr. Babette Bland

EPFPL Head Librarian

Babs sent the e-mail, then returned to collating and binding the information she had collected until the lights in the library dimmed. She went to check the security cameras and noticed several cats were in the loading dock, eating kibble. Going outside, she moved her car to its usual spot and plugged it in. Idly, Babette wondered if there was some way she could build a gate across the entryway to the delivery and loading dock area. Looking across the street at where the old brownstone had been torn down, Babs decided she would drag one of the construction fence panels over and prop it up across the entry. She knew she would have to do it when the sun was out, or risk having one of the undead infected trying to bite her again. After refilling the kibble bowls, she retreated to the safety of the building.

Inside, she made dinner and then a list of groceries she needed to try to find. She remembered the shrink-wrapped pallet in the back room of Lerling's Grocery Basket and wept for Bill as she sat down to finish reading the book on fungal zombiism in ants. After she took her medications and put the book aside, Babs decided she needed to go to the George Piedmont Library and get the medical textbooks used by the Johns Hopkins Medical School. In the private library collection of old medical books, she hoped to find more information on fungal pneumonias and systemic fungal infection than she could access from her Public Library computers. In a mildly truculent moment, she decided Lady Doctor Theodora Carnarvon-Thorpe would not be the only expert on this disease.

^..^

The heavy autumn rain thwarted Babs's plans to go out looking for groceries and stop at the Piedmont Library for old medical books. Oddly, she missed being able to watch the weather reporters and bemoan about them being wrong as she watched the fungal zombies wandering the streets in dirty clothes. They looked nothing like the zombies from the movies. There were no ghastly faces like that of the Crypt Keeper or the Walking Dead because none of them were decaying. The perfectly preserved corpses of Pandemic Five strolled the streets of Baltimore in the deluge. If it weren't for their slightly jerking, ambling gaits, she might be able to convince her horrified soul that they were just miserable middle-class people making their way to work in bad weather. A tear leaked down her cheek like the rain drawing watery streaks on the windows of the library as she pushed a dry dust mop over the black and white marble floors before she retreated to her basement apartment.

Spending the rest of the morning downstairs, she made noodles for herself for the week and took an inventory of the groceries she had remaining. If she ate frugally, she should be able to make her groceries last for the next two months, but she would only be eating homemade noodles, beans, nuts, and flatbread combined with freeze-dried vegetable soups and dry seasonings. She regretted that she had not been able to take the frozen vegetables from the stores before the power outage. There were so few canned goods that she could eat, none of which were made in the United States. Going up to the library, she logged into the computers to see if she could locate another Asian market or kosher grocery in the city, but her worry over the internet failing proved true. She had no access to any internet sites or email servers. Groaning, Babs was glad she had printed everything off. She had done all she could to preserve the written record, so she wasn't too upset about the internet outage, but it also meant that she could no longer e-mail Theodora, or her great-grandson Lieutenant Lionel Thorpe.

She finished binding the last of the documents she had printed off the internet from the post, blogs and message board threads describing the effects of the fungal pandemic. Absently, she wondered if the cat lady whose sister had bitten her was still alive as she glanced at the woman's claims about cats and that people should only eat pet kibble. The woman had not responded to Babs's comment on her post. Binding the last of the printed pages only took part of the afternoon so Babs began dusting the shelves. Glancing around the main floor, she was surprised to see someone standing at the window where the teller's drawer was.

Cautiously approaching the window, she was shocked to see it was Mr. Smith. The old mechanic was wearing pajamas and a heavy terrycloth robe that looked sodden. He would reach up, paw at the glass then drop his hand. The rain had washed his face, but his eyes looked like he was wearing heavy eyeliner above his purple-black lips. Knowing he couldn't get to her through the thick bulletproof glass, she remembered Mrs. Thorpe had said the dead continued their routines. Swallowing her horror, Babs put one of a popular author's mystery fictions in a bag. They had gotten a shipment of five books from the last big publishing house before the last shutdown. None of them had been checked out or read, even after it was announced he died. She folded the top of the bag and lifted the handles before putting it in the drawer. Opening it slowly, she watched Mr. Smith's corpse pat the bag then clasp the handles with amazing dexterity and leave with the bag. Pulling the drawer back in, she sprayed it with disinfectant and put paper towels in it to soak up the drips from his sleeve. Holding her hands over her mouth, she tried not to scream in anguish because Mrs. Thorpe warned her that noise would draw the zombies's attention. She suddenly felt ill and pulled the bin out from under the desk. She vomited until she thought she would see her toenails. Tying the bag up, she wished she had something strong to drink. She had never wanted to get drunk after the first time and the hangover that followed, but now, getting blackout drunk seemed like a wonderful idea.

^-,-^

Lionel had just gotten off his watch when Dr. Bland emailed. He sent her back a quick message asking about his grandmother, then the watch commander practically threw him out of the communication room. He stopped in the medical bay to tell the doctor about the frozen body of the infected boyfriend putrefying, and then ate a cold bowl of rice and milk from the galley before falling asleep. He woke up after only six hours in the rack. He felt like he could sleep sixty more, but when he went back to his duty station there was a lot of action in the Ops room and on the bridge.

"What's going on?" he murmured in a low tone to one of the radar techs.

"A tactical team is trying to recover the Truman. There is a late season tropical storm moving up the coast and the carrier is moving in a holding pattern north of Bermuda, putting it right in the path of the storm." The woman stiffened at the sound of someone screaming as he was torn apart and the panicked call to retreat.

"Access to one plant achieved, team is locked in. Bridge, locked down."

"Casualty report," Captain Lansing looked fierce as they all listened in silence. "Answer me, Lt. Commander Myers."

"We lost three men, Captain. They... They got mobbed and were cut off. We couldn't get them out." Myers sounded like he was going to rage, then he coldly requested, "The I.U.W.s are all below decks, we've secured the doors. Permission to being clearing the ship deck by deck."

"How many infected are onboard?"

"There are only infected."

The answer seemed to echo, but Lionel was certain it was just in his head. Not wanting to hear more, he went to his workstation. He read the printed email from Dr. Bland first then sighed in relief that she wanted to wait until spring to make the cross-country trek with his great-grandmother. As others from his watch came in, he tried to access the internet. Suddenly, he was grateful he had set all of Dr. Bland's email to print automatically. He stood and went to find ExO Cortez.

"Ma'am, we've lost internet access to the east coast. As far as I can tell the entire northeast is dark," Lionel explained, noticing both Admiral and Captain Lansing were watching him.

Admiral Lansing looked at him with a grim scowl. "What about Theodora?"

"I believe she will stay put where she is, sir. She has everything she could need." Lionel held out the printout of Dr. Bland's email, and the captain relaxed a little as the admiral said, "At least there's that. When they finish clearing the Truman's strike group, I'll send someone to retrieve her and this Dr. Bland. Hopefully, they will figure out more to help us."

"Sir, Team Norfolk has boarded the Eisenhower. Minimum I.U.W.s. Its reactors are completely shut down. Same as the Nimitz. The NMM says there is no way to get either back online without refueling the reactors. Either Shipyard pulled the rods or the crew did it before they died," Cortez revealed.

"Is there any good news?"

"The Washington and the Stennis and their full strike groups are both able to be put back out to sea once they have a crew. It looks like the I.U.W.s left the ships and never came back. The team closed the gates to the base to secure it," Cortez revealed.

Admiral Lansing looked thoughtful then ordered, "Contact the ExOs of the Ford, the Vinson, and the Roosevelt. We need skeleton crews to get those ships away from Norfolk before a couple million hungry I.U.W.s realize there's snacks there."

Captain Lansing looked at his father. "Why not send the entire Vinson Strike Group? They were due to be decommissioned soon anyway. They will need a few people from the rest of the Pacific Fleet, but there will be enough sailors to float the surviving Atlantic Fleet."

"Then they can start along the coast looking for survivors," the admiral agreed.