I've Been Deader by Adam Sifre Page B

"Very well."
    Sam nodded to a technician, who discharged his duties in accordance with the highest government standards by pressing a button on a remote. The panel at the back of the room slid back, revealing a fancy shmancy viewing screen. The video started a moment later, showing what looked to Dobbs like an empty street intersection. Not exactly a rare picture these days .
    "This was taken from a traffic camera yesterday in Cherry Hill, New Jersey. There's no audio."
    Dobbs looked at Sam. "So what are we looking at here?"
    Sam removed a laser pointer from his pocket. "Notice the baby carriage here."
    A small red dot appeared on screen, right of center. The carriage, parked in front of a newspaper kiosk, faced away from the camera.
    A moment later three soldiers dressed in combat fatigues and riot head gear entered the scene, assault rifles at the ready.
    Sam continued. "This is a hunter squad attached to 2nd Division. Their mission was a standard s&c."
    Dobbs turned to Sam and raised his eyebrow in exasperation.
    "Sweep and clean, sir. Sorry, sir. As I'm sure you know, Mr. President, these operations have been highly successful. Against an organized, well-armed assault, a zombie is about as dangerous as a rabid dog. Until today, these types of operations had a hundred percent success rate."
    On the screen the three soldiers approached the stroller, one in the lead, the other two back a few feet and flanking. The man out front tilted his head toward his right shoulder and spoke something into a radio mike.
    Dobbs glanced at the Deputy Director. "What do you mean, until today ...?"
    "Holy shit!" Al Flint was on his feet looking at the screen, mouth open in shock.
    Dobbs turned back to the screen. Four zombies ran out from behind the kiosk and quickly closed in on the three soldiers. One immediately locked its mouth on the lead soldier's arm. Dobbs couldn't tell if the man wore body armor. Many soldiers were provided with Kevlar vests, but plenty had to go without. The soldier flanking the right raised his assault rifle and fired multiple shots at one zombie. Its head burst like an overripe melon.
    "Jesus," President Dobbs gasped. "They fucking RAN. How the hell did they do that?" Something else gnawed at his funny bone. All four of the zombies were children. Small children.
    Stone spoke quietly. "There's more, sir."
    On screen, seven adult-sized zombies appeared from behind the newsstand. These were slower, but they were fast enough. The solders, still entangled with the remaining three undead children, were slow to recognize the new threat. In a matter of moments the zombies overwhelmed the soldiers. The video was grainy, but not grainy enough. He turned away from the screen in disgust.
    "They can run now? They ambushed a squad of armed soldiers?"
    "Yes, sir. It would appear so, sir." Stone was still looking at the screen. "I'm afraid there's more."
    Dobbs forced his attention back to the screen. The undead dragged what was left of the soldiers back behind the newsstand and off camera. For a few moments the street remained blessedly empty.
    Then another zombie shambled into view. It entered from the bottom of the screen, opposite the newsstand. With its back to the camera it shambled to the stroller, bent down and reached inside. After a moment, it lifted what was clearly a live baby up into the air. It struggled and squirmed in the zombie's hand. The zombie turned, and unless Dobbs was imagining things the fucker purposely stared right at the camera. With the baby still squirming in its one hand, the zombie raised its other hand toward the camera. It looked like some sort of fucked-up referee announcing that the field goal was good.
    Dobbs noticed a patch over the thing's right eye. Five minutes ago, Dobbs would have found that very weird. But a zombie holding a baby in the air with one hand and knowingly staring at the traffic cam with its one good eye raised the weirdness bar. Dobbs watched in horrified silence, eyes