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  She said a prayer of thanks before placing the shotgun over her shoulder. She had no idea who else Hank had invited to her wedding but she wouldn't be here when they arrived.

  She went back into the house and put on her socks and sneakers. She found a plastic grocery bag and went back into the tack room. She gathered as much ammo as possible and stuffed it into the plastic bag. Finally she found a shovel and brought that with her.

  Dawn was still several hours away when she stopped outside of her foster parents' home.

  She dug into the soft soil of the flower garden until she had created a large enough hole for the weapon and ammo. She buried the objects under the soil and mulch until they were invisible.

  Finally, she rang the doorbell.

  It would be several hours before Tamesha fell asleep – there was the story of the kidnapping by the strange white man to tell to her foster parents, then to the police. And how he just decided to bring her back home unharmed.

  Finally, at midmorning of what could have been her wedding day, Tamesha Holloway fell into a deep, peaceful sleep.

  THIRTY-ONE

  Elias stood inches from Mira's face. "Seventy percent," he said. He kept repeating the same thing at a high volume.

  "You did something, I know you did."

  "I need to work on the mixture," she said.

  "All our models said the mixture was correct," said Rothmans, the lead scientist. "I don't understand why it didn't work. Unless it was sabotaged, of course."

  "Did you sabotage our trial, Mira?" Elias circled her. He ran a long finger up one side of her body and down the other. "Lover, what did you do?"

  "I did nothing. It's the mix."

  "It's sabotage, Elias. You need to call Wiley to get the authorization to dispose of her. I won't take responsibility for failure….."

  Suddenly the man was flying across the room, the result of one powerful kick from Elias.

  He calmly walked over and crouched down next to the prone zombie. "Don't you ever tell me what to do. And I don't want to hear the name of our leader cross your lips again. You are not worthy of speaking his name, you miserable failure. If you were any type of scientist we wouldn't need her in the first place. Now, get the hell out of here."

  The zombie got to his feet and left the room. Mira stood aghast, stunned at the physical strength Elias possessed, enough to manhandle a fellow undead.

  What has Wiley done to him? Will her reverse zombie bomb work on him? Clearly, like his boss, he has some extra mojo.

  Elias reclaimed his position inches from her face. Mira felt a stream of sweat flow down her back. She had shielded parts of the island with a spell to block the conversion spell, limiting the bomb's effectiveness. It was a gamble. She had sabotaged the trial to give her more time to improve the reverse zombie bombs. She had an idea on the flight over – could her magic make the nanobots inhabiting her reverse bombs more aggressive and more effective? Could she bewitch them to make them 'think' in an organic sense?

  Had she succeeded? She did not know and would only know the answer when her life likely hung in the balance.

  Would she live long enough to deploy any of her bombs?

  "I will contact Wiley after our second trial tomorrow, on Levuka. Fortunately for you, the C-130's second pass over Ovalau seems to have gotten us to one hundred percent. But I need to see one hundred percent tomorrow, in a single pass over the island. If not, I guess there's no more need to have you around." He smiled. "Perhaps I'll feed you to Rothmans after I'm done with you. He seems to be a fan of yours."

  "I'll give you one hundred percent," Mira said. "After that, I want my freedom."

  He laughed in her face. "After that, darling, we will have some fun," he said. "And after that, you won't want to be free from all this," he said with a grin.

  She shook her head and walked out of the room.

  The following is a transcript from 'The NBC Nightly News with Brian Williams', broadcast August 26, 2012.

  Brian Williams (voiceover): We met Ben Wiley, the Democratic vice presidential candidate, at the White House. He was here for discussions with the president and his political advisers. He took a few moments to speak with us outside the South Portico.

  Williams: (looks back at the White House, points to the balcony) That balcony leads to the president's living quarters. Many people think you are destined to live there yourself. Your critics, some in your own party, think that is your entire focus.

  Secretary Benjamin Wiley: Anyone who knows me knows that I am a patriot. As a man of the cloth I never served in the military but I have served my country by holding office and doing what the people ask. The people want and need the current occupant of this magnificent home to continue in office. Your own polls show that and I hear it every day on the campaign trail. It's not about Ben Wiley, it's about re-electing Barack Obama and obeying the will of the American people.

  Williams: If the election was held today you and the president would win every state except Utah and Mississippi.

  Wiley: Exactly, it’s the will of the people Brian.

  Williams: So, you have no ambition to be president?

  Wiley: (smiles) Again, I want the best for the American people.

  Williams: And you’re the best?

  Wiley: Next to the current office holder, yes.

  Williams: Perhaps out of desperation the campaign has turned ugly. They bring up your past drug addiction, your philandering ways and your first wife, who was declared legally dead after only a few months of being missing. There is even talk that you're a spaceman or zombie.

  Wiley: As a preacher Brian, I first owe my life to the Lord God. He has held me tight through difficult times. I do not owe it to any of these misguided folks who are telling lies about me or seek to trip me up with the past.

  Williams: Why entertain these wild claims? You recently endured a medical exam on live TV.

  Wiley: The Bible teaches us to love thy enemies. It is an expression of that love to show them the error of their ways. (Smiles) Plus, my wife has been on me about getting to the doctor. So it helped to remove one thing from her 'Honey Do' list.

  Williams: As we discussed the poll numbers are outstanding but some Democrats are critical. How do you respond when they accuse you of shifting Obama and the federal government to the right? For example, they accuse you of forcibly removing residents from federally sponsored public housing buildings.

  Wiley: And I'm yet to see any witnesses to that effect, Brian. And, believe me, I've been searching for witnesses to what would be a heinous act by my department – if it was true. But it's not true.

  Williams: Are you a conservative?

  Wiley: I am a man of God. I think by definition that makes me conservative. But does that mean I don't love the American people? That I don't want to care for and protect the most vulnerable? Of course not. I just want to do it in a responsible manner because the United States of America is broke and we need to get our financial house in order.

  Williams: (smiles) You could always get a bailout from your zombie friends.

  Wiley: (grins widely, the Sun reflects off his white teeth) I'll speak with all my well heeled zombie friends and let you know what they can do.

  Williams: Thank you for your time, Mr. Secretary.

  Wiley: Thank you, Brian, it's been a pleasure.

  Jan Wiley fought the urge to throw the remote at the seventy-two inch LCD screen. She pressed a button and shut the device off.

  'Honey Do' list? Ben Wiley hadn't been a husband to her in weeks. Since he started campaigning with Obama he simply hasn't been around.

  Yeah, His Most High's security people were around – in larger numbers than ever.

  She looked up from the couch in the family room. One stood just outside the door while another was visible just outside the window. She was a prisoner, plain and simple. 'For her own sake', she was no longer permitted to leave the property. Her only fresh air came on strolls around the tiny garden.

  W
hat prompted her husband to clamp down on her?

  Did he find out about the money she was siphoning away from his Super PAC? Did he discover her real estate purchase?

  She hadn't heard from Elias in weeks. They were supposed to work together to destroy Ben. Had he been converted?

  She had thought about that for days, finally concluding that yes, he was one of them. And he probably had told Wiley about their meeting, and her betrayal.

  She needed a plan B, some way to escape this prison and have her baby while anonymous and free.

  A week ago she had reached out to some of her former associates in Harlem, the ones who had 'sponsored' her former career as a killer for hire. She had arranged for her Aunt Celia to get her wedding dress laundered and boxed for storage as a memento. She told her aunt, a former drug addict drawn back into her life by the promise of Wiley's riches, the specific Harlem dry cleaner to which to take the gown. There, her friends would enhance the box with some objects that would assist her when it came time to leave the Georgetown brownstone.

  Of course, what would be cleaned was a duplicate of her actual gown. The real gown, saturated in the blood of her closest female relatives, had been destroyed.

  This evening her gown would be delivered by Aunt Celia, the unwitting mule.

  Later, at the huge dinner table, being served her meal by yet another zombie, she had not heard the doorbell. Her aunt simply appeared in the doorway to the dining room.

  Celia Sugerfoot stood wide eyed as she scanned the room. Jan quickly got to her feet and went to her aunt's side. "Hi, Aunt Celia," she said and hugged the woman fiercely.

  Celia Sugerfoot pulled away from her relative's hug and continued looking around. "Your husband sure has a lot of money. I just can't believe this house."

  "It's really much more than we need."

  "It's much more than anyone needs, child. And him being a reverend too." She sucked her tongue in disgust. "This ain't nothing but the Devil's work, child. He, more than anyone, should know that."

  "Would you like some dinner?" Jan asked.

  "Later, child. Don't you want to see your dress?"

  Jan nodded, straining not to be too eager. "I can have Ben's people take it upstairs, auntie. I'm going to store it in my closet."

  "'Ben's people'? Ain't theys yourn people?" She narrowed her street hardened eyes. "Are theys here to keep people out or keep you in?"

  Jan grabbed her aunt's hand and squeezed. "Please, Aunt Celia."

  The women exchanged looks and Celia Sugerfoot sat down at Jan's place. She began to dig into Jan's meal as a female zombie watched from a corner of the room.

  "You go get the box brought upstairs. I'm feeling kinda hungry after all," Celia said between bites.

  After dinner the two women retreated to Jan and Wiley's bedroom. Jan suspected that there were listening devices so her first act was to hand her aunt pen and paper so that they could communicate.

  "Cameras in each corner of the room," she wrote, careful to let the box and her body shield her writing.

  Jan opened the box and examined her wedding dress. "It looks perfect," she said out loud.

  "I'm glad you told me to take it to Winslow's. They did an excellent job."

  "I better put it back so it's protected," Jan said.

  Her aunt scribbled a note, doing her best to hide her activity from the cameras: "Aren't you going to open the other part of the box?"

  Jan froze. "Other part?" she wrote in reply. Her aunt was not to be told about the hidden weapon.

  "I'll help you carry the box into the closet," her aunt said out loud.

  The two women carried the box into the walk-in closet. They purposely failed to turn on the light.

  Celia Sugerfoot wrote: "The guns are below the dress in a hidden compartment. Let me show you."

  Jan struggled to read the note in the semi-darkness as her rough hewn aunt proceeded to open the box from the bottom. The older woman pulled more than the expected shotgun from the box: there was a machine gun of some type, several grenades, along with the shotgun. The weapons were not metal but fiberglass.

  "How'd you find out what I was doing?" Jan wrote.

  Her aunt carefully printed her reply. "I wasn't gonna come all the way down here without looking over the job them niggers did. I discovered the shotgun and knew you be in trouble."

  Jan read the reply and wrote back: "Who gave you the rest of this stuff? I didn't ask for a machine gun."

  Celia looked at her niece for a long moment. "You got a rough and ready rep child." she said. "You think you the only Sugerfoot woman like that?"

  Celia Sugerfoot wrote: "What them niggers gave you was no good. I wanted my niece to be well armed for whatever. I got my Ronnie to get his hands on the machine gun, flash bang grenades and wide yield splinter grenades, and the shotgun. Everything is non metallic to escape them detector machines and be easier for a girl to carry."

  Jan Sugerfoot opened her mouth, shut it. "Thank you, auntie," she said. She walked to the back of the huge closet, took a corner of the carpet and peeled it back. Under the carpet she removed several floorboards. In this hidden space she placed the weapons.

  "How can I repay you?" Jan asked.

  "With twenty-five large in small bills," replied Celia. The woman's eyes told Jan that she was serious. Jan nodded to indicate her agreement. She had more than enough cash on hand to pay her aunt.

  The two women exited the closet and sat facing each other on the bed. They looked at each other for a long while. Both wiped away tears.

  "So, niece, tell me about this baby of yours. Have you and Ben decided on a name?"

  Jan looked around the room. She smiled for the cameras. "Benjamin Junior, of course."

  "You know it's a boy?"

  Jan nodded. "A healthy boy and I can't wait to see his father hold our son in his arms."

  "I can't either," Celia Sugerfoot replied. "Maybe one day you can bring your son to visit me in New York."

  Jan shook her head. "After giving birth I think Junior and I will take some time to bond, especially with Ben being away so much."

  Her aunt smiled. "I think that is best, child. Find a quiet place and be with your son, somewhere no one can disturb you."

  "That's my intention, auntie, that's my intention."

  Ben Wiley walked into his office followed by Mookie Sills. Inside the building, away from prying eyes, he carried his new scepter featuring the dead Latina's head. He gently propped the strange object in the corner.

  He sat at his desk and Mookie sat opposite.

  "Tell me about Obama's Secret Service detail," he said.

  "Eighty percent of the presidential detail has been converted. There are times when the president is entirely protected by our people."

  "His military escorts with the 'football'?"

  "Entirely converted – the escorts, their back-ups, their immediate superiors and all family members."

  "You're telling me that we can convert Obama any time we want?"

  Mookie nodded. "Yes, sir."

  Ben Wiley smiled. "That is excellent news. Give my congratulations to all your people."

  "Of course, sir. Would you like to discuss timing? "

  "Yes. What is the true morbidity rate for the zombie bomb?"

  "We kill and are not able to raise about one percent of the subjects."

  "So, for discussion's sake, I would have a one in one hundred chance of not being able to convert Obama."

  "Correct."

  "Is that an acceptable risk?"

  "In my opinion, sir, I say it is not. Currently he is no threat to you or your plans. He has named you his running mate and tomorrow in Charlotte you will be formally nominated as vice president at the convention. His untimely death would place everything at risk. A Biden-Wiley ticket could lose the election. Biden is very unpopular and is widely seen as incompetent."

  Wiley thought for a few moments. "I cannot find any holes in your argument old friend. We postpone Obama's conversion
until after the inauguration in January. He will conveniently resign due to health reasons – perhaps we'll give him AIDS in deference to his beloved gays." He smiled at his joke. "Then we can proceed with our plans."

  "We'll have the military command structure converted by January. It would be excellent timing, sir."

  "I agree," Wiley said. He stood, looked out the window. "In less than six months this country will belong to the undead, Mookie."

  Sills took his place at his boss' side. "They won't realize what's happening before it's too late, sir."

  Wiley clapped Sills on the shoulder. "No my friend, they won't. And that's just the way I like it."

  Elenoa Mary heard the rain fall on the thatch rooftop of her small three room hut on the island of Levuka. It was not supposed to rain today, according to the Fijian national radio network, an admittedly unreliable source. After several minutes of very intense downpours, she took a break from feeding her one year old, Ashmita Ruth, and looked out the window. What she saw shocked her.

  Several of her neighbors were on the ground, most shaking as if they were having seizures, being drenched by a golden rain. She closed the shudders and ran to the front door of the shack. She opened the door and was startled as the rain flew sideways into her home. She slammed shut the front door.

  Inside, fat golden drops fell from the ceiling, despite the fact that her husband, Jenou Joseph, had recently installed a new roof.

  Instinctively, Elenoa ran over to her child and took her out of her highchair. The child immediately wailed at the prospect of being separated from her strained peas and bananas. The rain was entering the home in greater amounts and, stranger yet, it seemed to be collecting or pooling into one or two large puddles.

  Was this a toxic rain? Is that what had struck down her neighbors?

  Elenoa watched as the rainwater began to move. First, two puddles became one large puddle, with individual drops hopping across her floor to join the main body. Second, this main puddle began to move in her direction.

  She moved to the right. The puddle adjusted course and tacked toward her. When she moved back to the left, it followed.