Zombie Fever: Origins by B.M. Hodges Page B

said, not realizing that he’d used the ‘D’ word for the first time since he was a small boy.
    Tomas walked briskly to the moving van in the RV parking section of the parking lot. He’d secured the coffin and his motorcycle inside the rear the night before. He set the duffel bag on the front seat and climbed inside. The smell of the fresh pearl white paint was strong in his nose. He started the van and pulled away.
    Dr. Greer had said that the best time to attempt an infiltration into the compound undetected was during the change of shifts at three a.m. But Tomas wasn’t sneaking in. His plan was to hide in plain sight. After all, he needed to get his father out of there and the only way he believed that would be possible would be to sneak in with a transport van similar to the ones he’d observed parked in the compound. He figured that once he made it through the front gate, the rest of his plan would fall into place.
    He turned on the windshield wipers as droplets of early summer rain began to fall. His vision was limited as he’d painted most of the windshield with a dull gray paint to obscure his face from the security cameras out in front of the Vitura compound. He had to lean forward close to the wheel to see out the small clear horizontal line he’d left as his only means of seeing ahead.
    The rain began to beat a steady rhythm on top of the van as he waited at one of the many stop lights along Mira Mesa Boulevard. He held his breath, hoping that a random police officer on patrol wouldn’t come up behind him and run the plates he’d stolen off one of Andy’s neighbor’s trucks, or notice that his windshield was intentionally obscured and pull him over for a vehicle violation.
    But the promise of rain must have driven most late-night commuters indoors as the boulevard was virtually empty and less than five minutes later he was driving along Sorrento Valley Road.
    Before turning into the small dead end lane where Vitura Pharmaceuticals was located, Tomas pulled to the side of the road and switched off the lights. When the road was clear of vehicles, he climbed out of the cab, went to the back of the van and, as quietly as possible, lifted the rear door, pulled down the ramp and rolled the motorcycle out of the bed, parking it off the road under a cluster of trees. Every getaway movie he’d ever seen had a Plan B. The motorcycle was his Plan B; - a means of escape in the event everything went haywire.
    He got back in the van and drove into Vitura’s drive. His stomach started doing summersaults as he got closer. While he wasn’t opposed to ingesting the occasional illicit drug or breaking an inconsequential law to, say, skinny dip with his ex in a hotel pool after hours, he was an exceptionally law-abiding person when it came to other people’s welfare - his moral compass holding steady when it came to harming people. But his plan involved committing several serious and potentially violent felonies. Breaking bad was something new to him and wracked his nervous system.
    “Doc, you there?” Tomas asked. His throat was dry and his voice cracked.
    “I’m here, Tomas.”
    “I’m turning towards the gate now.”
    “Tomas. Focus and don’t hesitate or you’ll look suspicious. Remember, fluid movements. Calm and serene. You can do this.”
    The van pulled up to the gate. Tomas cranked down the window and held the badge out high towards the cameras. He turned his head away and waited.
    There was a clank and the gates trundled open.
    Tomas rolled up the window and drove through. It was a mystery to him why his father’s old security badge was still functioning and he couldn’t help but wonder if Dr. Greer didn’t have something to do with it. Even exiled, he imagined she still had colleagues working inside the compound sympathetic to her cause and willing to do her favors when called upon.
    The white cargo van stopped alongside a line of similar white vans. As casually as possible, Tomas exited the