Free Z-Volution by David Sakmyster, Rick Chesler Page A

of his opponent’s possible moves.
    He watched the same screens Veronica was looking at, but from an opposing tactical standpoint, rooting for the little red bogies, urging them on, but knowing deep down that there was very little doubt as to how this ended.
    The enemy had to stop each and every one of those intrepid little invaders, and DeKirk only needed one of them to get past the blockade and unleash its infectious cargo.
    He liked his chances… He liked a lot of things these days.
    Sighing, he licked his lips. He would have to call down for more food soon. The hunger, while temporarily in check with a host of enzyme blockers and neurotransmitter dampeners, stirred regardless. His stomach rumbled and his mouth watered.
    Focus. There would be more than enough time to give in—occasionally—to the primal need and allow himself to gorge, to feel the bloodlust and satiating pleasure of tearing into the freshest possible flesh—live flesh—devouring the living amidst their screams. He had tamed that primitive urge for now—focused it, made it bow in service to the larger picture, to the ultimate feast.
    The world would soon be his.
    This ancient life form—well, it would have its wish. Its evolutionary paradigm would be fulfilled, despite its chaotic chemistry, despite its self-destructive nature. DeKirk had tamed it and given it the means to achieve its destiny—and his.
    He watched, taking in the little dots of red, those that engaged the blue ones, those that skipped by on the way to softer targets, those deemed low priority risks. Not the big cities, but smaller, softer locations. Nevertheless, they were real places where real people lived. Real America.
    Perfect targets, ideal footholds on the climb to conquer the nation.
    His fingers tapped at keys to call up an overlay to the screen’s real-time events: a projection based on his modeling program layered in with each team’s mission.
    Red lines streaked ahead from their points of origin. A good portion of them fizzled and winked out, expected casualties, while others dashed through unabated, touched down—and spread a crimson tide that gushed out in all directions, streaming faster toward the nearest populated center, then expanding and expanding some more. From the south and northeast, from the Mid-Atlantic, it was unstoppable once it began, expanding across the country until America was bright red.
    DeKirk’s saliva poured out now, dripping onto the keyboard until he noticed and pushed it away, licking his lips and swallowing.
    Maybe he would call for an aide right now. Everything was going so perfectly, he could afford a little snack.
    Besides, he thought, it wouldn’t do to be distracted by hunger when the moment came, when the grand revelation and master stroke of his plan would finally be revealed, when he would announce his presence and his position.
    The world would fall to the undead and undying.

 
    12.
     
    National Harbor, just south of Washington, D.C.
    The Jefferson family strolled along a boardwalk constructed on the bank of the Potomac River. Peter Jefferson and his wife, Pamela, had a tough time convincing their two teenagers, Sandi and Aimee, to forgo their usual Caribbean trip to visit the nation’s capital. Even now, walking past a row of touristy shops along the water’s edge, it was clear the girls weren’t thrilled with the decision.
    “I sure wish I were lying on a nice hot beach right about now,” Sandi said.
    Peter raised his hands in a come-on-now gesture. “We’ve gone to the Caribbean every year for the last five. It’s time to mix it up a little! And you know, with our last name, we must be related to one of the founding fathers. It’s time to pay homage, am I right?”
    “No.” This from Aimee, the younger of the two by a year, who somehow managed to hear what was going on, even with her ever-present ear buds.
    Sandi took over. “If we’re direct descendants of Thomas Jefferson, then how come they won’t put us