39 Demo Day

Demo Day was special, in every way. Sandy was dressed in a blue brocade frock with a slight bustle at the back, hair up under a pillbox hat. I was in a gray coat and dark trousers, with a brocaded waistcoat to match Sandy. My hair was cut and coiffed in an unfamiliar short style. I didn't mind the hair or the jacket or the collared shirt, but the waistcoat and the ascot made me feel too enclosed, like I was slowly suffocating for the sake of our event's costume theme. They were the most uncomfortable clothes I had worn since Before, and I took a fair amount of ribbing from the men. But Sandy was stunning, and we were told we made quite a pair.

The train was led by Fan Girl, equipped with our most power turbine to date, followed by two gas cars, the special viewing platform for VIPs, and then passenger cars for a mix of kingdom officials and lesser guests, mostly representatives from the many colonies. The demonstration wasn't for Ludovic at all: I knew from Helen that he had already been to the site and watched the test runs. The demo was for all those visitors from the colonies, especially the newest colonies, as proof of what New Kingdom could accomplish.

I had seen the train move but I had never ridden it properly until we left the Yard to make our way to Ludovic Union Station, what used to be Denver Union Station. Sandy and I had packed very light for our escape, just a few zombie control devices and some running shoes, and for a moment I thought about seizing our small bags from under the bar and jumping off the train right then and there, in the short distance between Imperial Yard and the Ludovic Union. But Alvarez and Hector and three more soldiers were in the dining car with us, and Alvarez was personally watching me. I couldn't so much as twitch right then, not without him knowing, so I had to wait.

Fan Girl backed into Ludovic Union Station to let the passengers board. Sire was the first to board, with a fistfull of greenies and a pack of ministers behind him. I noticed Dragon Ball was there, and Green Unicorn was not. Sandy and I stood at attention to welcome him, the same as the trained waitstaff who were there to serve drinks while the other passengers climbed on. He was resplendent, in that understated robber-baron way. His dark suit was perfectly fit to his frame, cut to make him appear more slender than he was. The golden pocket chain, and the fat star sapphire he wore as a tie pin were the only giveaways to his vanity. That, and the fact he had renamed the station after himself. I thought the top hat was ridiculous, but so was dressing up like golden-age aristocrats after an apocalypse.

His party was similarly dressed, with the men in dark suits and the women all in bright colors. Even the greenies wore morning coats and ties under their helmets. Ludovic and company hung their hats in a row, on a grid of hooks by the door.

"It's a big day for you, Director. I expect we'll see a good demonstration."

"Yes, Sire." I kept my head up and made sure not to look away. I had seen how little he respected anyone who couldn't look at him. Looking down was for errand boys and females. I expected a little more conversation from him, but he turned his attention to the ministers instead.

Alvarez and his few people leave the car when the greenies board, to go keep an eye on the guest cars.

Possibly the second most important person on the train was Roger Dane, one of the kingdom's radio personalities. From the moment he stepped into the VIP car he was talking into a microphone clipped to his archaic lapel. He talked about the importance of the event, all the "luminaries" in the VIP car, the beauty of the car itself, the fishtank, and on and on. His spiel was sent to the first passenger car where it was picked up by a portable broadcasting station, relayed to a radio station in Denver, where his signal was remixed and rebroadcast again for all the kingdom to hear. Occasionally he would stop for a measured number of minutes while performers at the studio would do their bits: songs of praise for Ludovic, the national anthem, or news about the kingdom's latest conquests. A director/timekeeper followed him around, told him when to start and when to stop. I never got to hear the finished show but I'm sure it sounded professional. On thing New Kingdom did well was entertain the masses.

It's a short ride from Union Station to Strasburg, a half hour I had to kill by talking to ministers while Sandy helped tend bar. She was very good at mixing drinks, even better than the man appointed to the task, and it kept her within my line of sight. The choices were somewhat limited by whatever could be scavenged that was still good, but somebody in New Kingdom was making carbonated lemon-lime soda, club soda, and ginger beer, so we had all of those as mixers. Roger did a whole two minutes on mixers produced by the kingdom, and all the flavors that would be available starting next year.

Eventually, Roger cornered me and stuck a mic in my face. "Do you think the demonstration will go off well?"

There was little chance of the demonstration not going well. We kept two million zombies parked on the plains for three days, and all of the equipment had been running since before they arrived. The gas storage was already half-full. We actually had to stop the burn that morning, so it wouldn't be running when the train pulled up. But I didn't need to say any of that.

"I'd be shocked if anything went wrong. We've been running this equipment for a long while now. This is just the public's first view of it."

"How significant would you say this invention of yours is to the kingdom?" A layup question I had been given in advance.

"It changes everything, Roger. Zombies go from being a menace to being a source of fuel. They'll power our trains and heat our homes in winter. But it isn't just my invention … " I'm about to give credit to the yard, especially to Helen and Marcello, when the radio host gasps.

"Dear Living Jesus, save us!" he whispered. The entire train car went silent. Even the sounds from the car next door ceased, as we rolled up on more zombies than most of the attendees had ever seen in one place. The train slowed, sooner than it needed to, to ensure the audience got a good long look at the horde we had parked on the south side of the tracks.

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After three seconds of dead air, Roger remembers he's supposed to be talking. "I have never seen so many zombies from this close. There must be a million of them, all the way to the horizon. And they're just standing there, ignoring us!"

"Two million, Roger."

Imagine those vast expanses of parking lot, near the old airports or amusement parks, the ones so huge they had to be lettered and numbered in double digits. Instead of street lamps looming over cars, we had telephone poles looming over zombies. Each pole had a traffic signal attached, aimed so they could be seen from the control room of the machine. Red meant the antenna mounted on the pole was set to repel, green meant attract, and yellow meant the antenna was off. Beneath the poles were two million zombies, packed shoulder to shoulder, waiting for their turn on the last ride of their afterlives. There was a square mile of zombies that we could see clearly, and the horde extended out to the far beyond. They were packed into a cone-shaped area extending south from the machine installation, the sides clearly marked by poles with red lights attached. If you watched closely, once in a while some of the poles in the center of the cone would flash green for a few seconds, just long enough to keep the horde's interest and pack them in tight.

The majority of ministers had spent the Plague Years in Ludovic's shadow, under the protection of an army whose job it was to face the ravenous dead on their behalf. I don't believe any of them had seen so many zombies at one time. Even most of the colonists in the guest cars hadn't seen hordes like that, not packed so densely, and certainly not so close to themselves. If they had, there was a better than average chance they would already be zombies themselves. The soldiers, and people like myself or Merced, were mostly calmer but more watchful. Your nerves twist and squirm, they want a weapon when you face that many enemies, and everyone who had guns put their hands on them for reassurance. The zombies gave no indication they knew about the train. They all looked up, at whatever pole was nearest to them that had last sent out an "I am food" signal.

Roger started talking again, breathless, about how the undead were under my spell, as Fan Girl glided up to the viewing area. Instead of parking behind the machine and not being able to see much, we came around a curve that let us view it from the side and slightly in front. We had a good view of the two conversion stacks, the covered chute where zombies were dried out as they approached, the scaffolding and switchback staircases that led up to the top of the stacks, and the plain prefab silos that held gas storage balloons. Between the stacks were a power generator and the boiler that made steam, also housed in shipping containers. Beyond them where the crew quarters. Each part of the machine was labeled in huge letters: Stack; Crew; Power; Water; Gas.

The control tower looked like it was made of tinker toys, plastic poles stuck into hubs to create a series of cubes stacked on top of each other. Guy wires were placed at intervals and tied to concrete supports, to keep the flimsy-looking thing from falling over. The station at the top of the tower looked like it was made of thin sheets of hard plastic, with clear panels for windows. I could see people up there. Some were watching us, while the rest looked over the horde through oversized field glasses.

As soon as the train stopped I got on a walkie and called out to our ground crew. Soon, we heard boots on the roof and a cranking noise. On the north side of the car, three men with hammers drove a huge stake into the ground, then ran a thick aluminum cable from the car to the spike. As soon as we were properly grounded, and the antenna was locked into place, I threw the first toggle. I listened to Fan Girl's turbine drop down a few notes as the capacitors began to store power, and then slowly rise again as she adjusted to the new load. The gauge needle that measured the charge began to move, and I gave the event coordinator a thumbs up. We could start whenever Sire was ready.

"W-what's that?" asked Roger.

"There's a massive omni on top of the train car," I explained, "powerful enough to lay down every zombie you see here. We call it Omega. What you hear is the capacitors charging up."

Roger's tone was playful, mocking. "I thought you said this equipment was tested, E."

"Well, our Sire is on board so we're wearing belts and suspenders today. With the right equipment you could just walk right out there, and the horde would part for you like the Red Sea."

Roger shushed me dramatically. "Sire is about to speak!"

"Before the demonstration begins," said Sire Ludovic, sounding expansive after his third glass of New Kingdom whiskey, "We must acknowledge the talents of E, Director of the Denver Imperial Yard. Come! Come and stand before us, E!"

I did as I was told and stood before Sire Ludovic, King of New Kingdom, Master of the Mountain Hold, Liberator of Denver, et cetera.

"For your technical achievements in service to New Kingdom, We hereby name you a hero of the kingdom." Dragon Ball, of all people, stepped between us and put a red and white striped ribbon over my head, with a medal hanging at the end. The audience, ministers and greenies and ladies and waitstaff, applauded for what seemed a long time while I tried to figure out if this affected my plans at all. Not knowing what else to do, I gave them a slight bow, and one to the king as well.

There were sighs of appreciation for Sire's magnanimity and more applause. I felt hands clap me on the back from all around as I made my way around to the bar. Sandy handed over the "flashlight", Alfred's bomb.

"And now," said Roger in his best announcer's voice, "it's time for executions! For the crime of betrayal by desertion, the punishment is death!" From farther down the train a party of six prisoners walked forward on shaking legs, to a point between the train and the horde. They were goaded onward by two greenies with guns.

While everyone else is eagerly watching the prisoners, I activate the bomb and slide it into the water. Fish scatter in silver curtains. I have seconds to get to the safe zone next to Sandy. Roger is describing the scene for his listeners, as I shoulder my way though ministers and greenies and the occasional courtesan. Sandy's hand is on the toggles, and I hear the magnetic locks slide home.

The executioners' rifles come up, but they don't fire. The condemned flee in terror, right towards the horde, into a different and worse death than a bullet, while the audience in the VIP car laughs. Only one bright individual has the presence of mind to run away from both the guns and the zombies, by going sideways, parallel to the train. The fellow is fleet too, knees pumping, bound hands raised before him in prayer. Most of the royal car tracks the five headed for their toothy doom, anticipating slaughter. I root for the runner, but I don't have time to watch him.

Just in case it's the last chance we ever have, I press Sandy against me, thighs and bellies and breasts, my mouth parting her lips. I want to inhale her. By all the Jesuses Living and Dead, she was pretty! Her breath in my chest, her tongue in my mouth, her arms around my neck, our last kiss in bondage. Maybe our last anything.