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  Wiley was in the front of the room, leading the session. His assistant, Mr. Sills, another nice black man, was recording their ideas. And there were a lot of good ideas. Becky Sings wondered if anyone would see those ideas. Possibly moments from death, she was saddened by the loss of their intellectual output.

  The doors to the lodge's Great Room were closed but they had been closed all weekend. It was nothing new.

  What were new were the metal globes that rained down from the ceiling. First there were smiles and laughter, thinking that Wiley had arranged trinkets for the attendees, mementos to recall the successful conference.

  The smiles faded when the globes began to explode, raining darts down onto the attendees. Becky Sings' first concern was for Secretary Wiley. She figured that this was a terrorist attack and they were targeting him. Or maybe they really wanted to get Obama but something malfunctioned and the globes fell down way too late. She dodged the darts by hiding under her table but that cover did not last long as the bodies began toppling like bowling pins on a Bud soaked alley.

  When they stopped toppling about eight hundred pounds of human beings lay on top of her. Cynthia Robinski, the nice but morbidly obese blond from Idaho, had fallen onto Rebecca along with two men whom she did not know. She knew one of the men had a phone or something on his belt because it jammed her in the ribs. She knew that Robinski or one of the men had defecated on himself because the stench found her nose. It actually was difficult to find Rebecca Singler's nose or any other part of her body as Robinski's marshmallow of a body swallowed her up, making breathing almost impossible but also protecting her from the cloud of death overhead. She became very familiar with the term 'dead weight' as the people on top of her seemingly expired. She heard nothing of the transformative words coming from the numerous second shell breached devices.

  She was relieved as the bodies were finally peeled off of hers. She was happier still when she noticed that everyone was still alive. And she was relieved when Ben Wiley appeared before her. He smiled at her and she smiled back.

  She was shocked when he grabbed her, forced open her mouth and examined her teeth. "Put her with the others," he said. And here she was, locked up in a dog cage.

  Becky Sings heard the door to their prison opening – a couple others had also survived and were being kept in cages.

  In a moment she was again face to face with Secretary Ben Wiley. He crouched beside her cage. He wore a black suit and white shirt and a large smile. His bulk blotted out the sparse light in the room.

  "We have had a wonderful conference," he said. "Let me get you out of there."

  He waved a woman over – young, dark haired and pretty like Becky Sings – who unlocked her cage. Soon her arms and feet were freed and she was standing with the help of Wiley. He gave her some water and she felt herself capable of speech. "What is happening here? Why was I placed in that cage?"

  Wiley patted her arm as they left the barn where she had been held. It was dawn – the sun transited over distant snow covered peaks.

  "What you witnessed is the beginning of a new age of mankind," Wiley said. "You see, your coworkers were transformed into zombies."

  Becky Sings stopped, stared at her leader. "Zombies? I thought they were make-believe."

  "They're as real as you are, Rebecca. In fact, I'm a zombie myself."

  "But…but…I thought zombies wandered around eating people's brains. I thought they looked all disgusting and crude."

  "We fixed all that," Wiley said. He nodded at the dark haired woman and she smiled, and then wandered away.

  They started walking again. They appeared to be heading to the main house, which seemed to Becky Sings to be a very great distance away.

  They were quiet for a minute before she spoke again. "But I don't understand, Secretary Wiley. Why ever would you make people into zombies?"

  "Because, Rebecca, the world is in trouble. We are destroying the planet, crumbling into a moral abyss where we are incapable of saving ourselves. The most vulnerable – the elderly, poor or sick – have no chance in the world we have created. I plan to create a new world. I am the instrument of God's plan for mankind."

  Wiley continued his pitch as Rebecca had breakfast. The more he spoke, the more reasonable it sounded. It really was hopeless, wasn't it? This world was only going to get worse – more violent, more immoral, more diseased, more polluted.

  "I need your help," he said as she sipped her coffee. "I read your performance reviews and you would make an excellent department lead. We have roles for humans in our organization and you could be a tremendous asset."

  Rebecca Singler felt a strange disappointment that he did not choose to kill her and transform her into one of the "new vanguard". Why was that fat excuse for nothing Cynthia Robinski killed and not her? Why did Cynthia get to be a zombie?

  She agreed to join him, extracting only the promise that once he had completed the monumental task of transforming the world, he wouldn't forget to make her into a zombie.

  SEVENTEEN

  The following is a script excerpt from the 60 Minutes report "Master of Change" which aired on October 30, 2011. Scott Pelley is correspondent, Bob Anderson and Nicole Young, producers.

  Scott Pelley stands in the day room of Bleak House, a HUD sponsored housing unit for the elderly located outside Boston. A group of residents, arrayed in five neat rows, shout as they practice judo moves. A middle aged African American man can be seen up front leading the group of mostly Caucasian seniors.

  Scott Pelley (voiceover): Goaded by the impact of the Great Recession, never before have there been so many voices calling for change in how the federal government goes about its business. The incumbent president ran on a platform of change. The amorphous Tea Party has emerged as voices of radical change, a scaling back of the government's role in the lives of everyday Americans.

  It would surprise the Tea Party and most Americans to discover that radical change is occurring in the Federal government, in the most unlikely of places – that hidebound relic of the Great Society, the Department of Housing and Urban Development or HUD.

  The architect of that change is HUD Secretary Benjamin Wiley, the impromptu leader of this self defense class at the property named Bleak House. Wiley has been in charge of HUD since April. The secretary and I took a walk around Bleak House.

  Scott Pelley: This place really was bleak, wasn't it?

  Ben Wiley: HUD management let a group of criminals ironically named The Guardians run this place. They beat, robbed and generally harassed the residents. So, yes, it was a bleak place to live.

  Scott Pelley: What did you do to fix it?

  Ben Wiley: First, I fired the management.

  Scott Pelley: You've fired a lot of HUD managers. I've seen reports that HUD has downsized about thirty percent of its management workforce in the six months since you've taken over.

  Ben Wiley: Driftwood, bums and criminals, allowed to squat in federal jobs by past administrations. Not on my watch.

  Scott Pelley: How did you deal with The Guardians?

  Ben Wiley: I brought in a reduced staff and told them to give the residents the power. The residents told The Guardians to leave and my managers had their back.

  Scott Pelley: That simple? The Guardians left on their own accord?

  Ben Wiley: At his core, a bully is nothing but a coward. If you stand up to him, he will back down pretty quickly.

  Scott Pelley (voiceover): And this situation is not unique. Across the nation there have been reports of a sharp reduction in criminal activity, including drug dealing and prostitution, on HUD sponsored properties. We spoke to Newark's Mayor Corey Booker.

  Mayor Booker: My police department has reported a sharp decline – in some cases an elimination – of violent crime in and about HUD subsidized properties. We have actually begun to redirect police resources to other parts of the city which in the past have suffered from a lack of police attention.

  Scott Pelley: Any idea what has lead to th
is decline in violence?

  Mayor Booker: An abrupt cultural change. Secretary Wiley has cleaned house, getting rid of the old HUD management and replacing them with energetic people who listen to the people, including people like me.

  Scott Pelley: You're smiling. It feels good to be listened to?

  Mayor Booker: Yes it does.

  Scott Pelley: So, the culture was changed. That pushed the criminals out of the buildings?

  Mayor Booker: That and Wiley's Warriors.

  Scott Pelley (voiceover): In a HUD sponsored property outside of Dubuque Iowa, I asked the secretary to define Wiley's Warriors.

  Ben Wiley: This is a core group of residents that are accountable for their building. They run their building, every aspect, in cooperation with the HUD managers.

  Scott Pelley: What are some of the things they do?

  Ben Wiley: They manage building security. We no longer need security guards in our buildings.

  (Scott's mouth opens, and then closes. He is momentarily speechless.)

  Scott Pelley: You're letting go every security guard HUD employs?

  Ben Wiley: That's what we're doing. As we extend Wiley's Warriors to every property sponsored by HUD, we don't need guards.

  Scott Pelley: Most Americans see HUD properties as dangerous places, hotbeds of crime and violence.

  Ben Wiley: Not anymore.

  Scott Pelley (voiceover): Still disbelieving we traveled from the north to the Deep South. We found ourselves in Clarksdale Mississippi speaking to Republican Mayor Henry Espy, a man you would expect to have not very kind words for anything emanating from the Obama administration. We stood outside HUD sponsored housing in Clarksdale.

  Mayor Espy: I wouldn't spit in Obama's mouth if'n his teeth were on fire.

  Scott Pelley: But he got public housing right.

  Mayor Espy: I hate to admit this but yes, he did. He brought this feller Wiley in and he turned the whole shebang around.

  Scott Pelley: What did he do?

  Mayor Espy: He brought in new managers who actually did their jobs. The first thing they did was to get the low-life's out of the buildings. Next, they fired up the residents to care for their buildings. Anytime I ride past here I see someone out tending their lawn. I never saw that 'fore.

  Scott Pelley: You sound like the big city mayor we spoke to, Cory Booker of Newark New Jersey.

  Mayor Espy: That's probably the only time me and a feller like that will ever agree on anything.

  Scott Pelley (voiceover): Indeed there were people outside on a blazing hot day tending to their gardens. We spoke to one such person, Eula Boteen. She greeted us with a very wide, very white smile.

  Scott Pelley: You have a very beautiful garden. I understand it didn't always look this way?

  Eula Boteen: No sah. This is my home and I take pride in it.

  Scott Pelley: Is this a change?

  Eula Boteen: Yes, we've been taught by Mr. Wiley that this is our home, not HUD's. He told us that we should show pride in where we live.

  Scott Pelley: (Wipes his brow.) Is that why you're out here in this heat? You're not even sweating.

  Eula Boteen: (Smiles the wide smile again.) I'm lived here for near seventy years, Mr. Pelley. I guess dat I'm done all sweated out. (Big smile.)

  Scott Pelley: You look like you want to get back to work. One last question: what is it about Ben Wiley that makes people like you so devoted to him?

  Eula Boteen: He has changed us – we are no longer people.

  Scott Pelley: What do you mean?

  Eula Boteen: We are Wiley's Warriors, new beings full of pride.

  Scott Pelley (voiceover): I spoke to Secretary Wiley back in his DC office.

  Scott Pelley: Some might say it sounds like a cult.

  Ben Wiley: It is a cult, Scott. We're changing mindsets from failure to success, from despair to pride.

  Scott Pelley: Where does it stop?

  Ben Wiley: (Shrugs and smiles.) Not until we've transformed every American.

  Scott Pelley: Can you do that?

  Ben Wiley: Watch me.

  EIGHTEEN

  HARLEM NEW YORK – NOVEMBER 2011

  The day before the special election for Wiley's congressional seat, Elias Turnbull stood in front of Hakeem's Market on a beautiful mid fall afternoon greeting voters. The grocery store's owner was a supporter and encouraged Elias to greet post workday Harlem residents as they shopped on their way home. Frankly, Hakeem had said, business was down and perhaps Elias' presence could draw more people into his small grocery store.

  Elias Turnbull, after nearly two decades as Benjamin Wiley's sidekick, had discovered himself to be a consummate politician – slippery as an eel and as changeable as a chameleon. He had a warm handshake and encouraging words for every Harlem resident within arm's length.

  As he schmoozed the multitudes that shopped and socialized on Harlem's Main Street – Lexington Avenue – it dawned on him why business was down for his supporter. It was clear that Harlem was fertile ground for Wiley's zombies. Out of every ten people whom he greeted, one 'person' was a zombie. If you reduce the eating population by ten percent, a grocery store would naturally suffer. Zombies did eat, of course, but Hakeem could not very easily stock live human beings for their purchase and consumption.

  A mother and her tween daughter approached Elias. Based on their features Elias quickly identified the pair as the undead.

  How long has Wiley been transforming children into zombies?

  The woman came uncomfortably close and clasped both her hands on Elias' extended right hand. Her hands were cold and her breath smelled of raw flesh. Elias heroically maintained his smile as the woman leaned in to peck him on the cheek. Her lips were cold also.

  "I just want you to know, Congressman Turnbull, that Wiley's Warriors are gonna come out strong for you in the Morningside Homes."

  Elias was familiar with the property – a HUD sponsored development near the Columbia campus. He took a half step back, distancing himself slightly from the woman's wretched breath.

  She, unfortunately, leaned in again to him. "Me and my daughter here made sure we got everyone in line. Everyone at Morningside thinks and acts just like us," she said. She still held his hand and gave it a reassuring pat.

  Elias looked down at the tween who directed a brilliant grin in his direction. As her teeth parted, her tongue revealed itself to be decorated with the blood of her latest victim.

  He managed to pull his hand from the woman's grasp. "Thank you for your support," he said. "I'll be sure to mention to Secretary Wiley that the residents of Morningside are bringing it strong for him."

  The woman's smile widened grotesquely and she thanked Elias profusely. She offered Elias a home cooked meal, which Elias quickly but warmly declined. Finally, the woman and her daughter moved on.

  Someone brought Elias a milk crate from the market and Elias gave an impromptu speech urging the residents to turn out to vote.

  Speaking atop a milk crate in Harlem was a tradition that spread back to the Harlem Renaissance – hip souls from Langston Hughes and Ida B. Wells to Malcolm X down to LL Cool J.

  Elias did not disappoint. In the middle of the Great Recession he promised the crowd jobs and health care and food. He soon had several hundred people listening, blocking traffic on Lexington in the process. Given the high sign by the cops, he was winding up his remarks when he heard his first heckler, another Harlem tradition.

  "Tell 'em 'bout the zombies!" the person shouted.

  Elias paused for a half second then continued. "I need everyone to come out tomorrow. We can still lose this thing."

  "What 'bout all these zombies eating the animals 'round here!" the voice said. Elias scanned the crowd. There was a man who looked normal – suit and tie, conservative glasses, clean shaved and trim – standing with one foot on the sidewalk and the other out in the street. Those surrounding him – especially the undead – were giving him the fish eye or outright dirty looks.

 
"Someone help that brother – obviously he's confused."

  "I ain't confused," the man said as several strong hands grabbed his arms. "There be zombies in Harlem and I've seen 'em. They ate my dog Fluffy."

  The arms – among them a cop who Elias recognized as being undead – dragged the man away. In seconds he was gone, the crowd focused on Elias once again and the candidate finished his remarks.

  As he walked away, headed back to his apartment, he wondered how many others knew the truth.

  One thing he didn't have to wonder about was the fate of his heckler. He was either someone's meal or he soon would be feasting on the two and four legged beasts that roamed Harlem.

  Tamesha's accepted her friend Lonniece's offer to ride bikes after school. After getting her grandmother's permission the two girls rode along Montecito Avenue down to Lee Street and over Jayne Avenue to Perkins Street. There, they were on the outskirts of Paladin Park, a green oasis in the midst of urban blight.

  "Let's go in," Lonneice suggested.

  Tamesha shook her head. She knew that the drug dealers ruled Paladin Park and had done so long before she moved in with her granny. Granny T said that even the cops were afraid to go into the park with all the dealers, users, pimps and hookers.

  "I was here the other day," Lonneice said. "It was okay, you'll see." The long limbed girl took off on her no speed bike and Tamesha had no choice but to follow. If nothing else, she could tell Lonniece's momma where to find her daughter's body.

  To Tamesha's astonishment, her friend was right; there was no danger in the park. There were children playing at the playground, typically a shooting gallery for the dealers and hop heads. The ground was needle and condom free, the trash cans neatly covered. Tamesha wondered where all the bad people had gone.

  The basketball courts were filled with young kids like herself, not the criminals and thugs that usually clogged the courts. The crisp air overflowed with actual laughter from the surrounding people and the sweet songs of birds coming from the trees.