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“That’s theory,” insisted Boxer. “We don’t know that. It’s not like this thing’s ever been field tested.”
Moonshiner made a dismissive sound. “Kid, look at this fucker. He’s cold. I’ll bet his body temp is already down five, six degrees. Take his pulse if you want to. Check for pupillary dilation. Do whatever you need to do, but he’s not sick, Boxer, he’s dead.”
But Boxer shook his head. “Seen a lot of dead, man, and he doesn’t look dead to me.”
“Okay, then deadish. Deadlike. Pick whatever word you want to use. Make something up. Point is, this stuff’s already eating his brain. What do you think the docs could do for him? Build him a cage with an exercise wheel?”
“It’s not—”
“No,” said Sam, cutting him off, “it’s not fair and it’s not right and it’s damn well not normal. But it is what’s happening. The assholes who invented this took the concept of death and broke it. Doesn’t mean what it used to and we have to accept that. No matter how it looks, this man is dead. He’s also infected and dangerous.”
“Okay,” said Gypsy, “so what’s the call?”
“We have a to-do list and one item on it is to determine if all of the infected are at the same level of coordination, aggression, and mobile speed.”
“We saw some variety right here,” said Gypsy. “All three of these cats were different.”
“Yeah,” agreed Shortstop, “but why?”
“I’ll take all theories,” said Sam.
They thought about it as they watched the bound infected struggle.
“Damage,” said Moonshiner after a few moments. “That could be some of it. Head trauma, joint damage, even other infected gnawing on their tendons.”
“Jesus,” breathed Boxer.
“It makes sense,” insisted Moonshiner. “They’re all injured, right? So, think about any group of ordinary people who are injured in a battle or an explosion. You get all kinds of different mobility.”
“Makes sense,” agreed Gypsy. “These are all going to be walking wounded.”
“That covers coordination,” said Sam. “What about speed?”
Boxer said, “Maybe … rigor mortis?”
They looked at him.
“C’mon,” he said, “think about it. If these things are really supposed to be dead, and only some of them are functioning because of those parasites, then wouldn’t the rest of them do what pretty much all dead bodies do?”
Gypsy glanced around. “How fast does rigor set in? Three to four hours, something like that? Up to that point the infected—actually, can we call them zombies? Infected makes them seem like sick people.”
“And what?” asked Shortstop. “‘Zombies’ is easier?”
She shrugged. “It’s not as real.”
They all got that. Everyone nodded.
“So, these zombies start stiffening up within a couple of hours, so that’ll account for different rates of movement right there. Freshies move more like real people, stiffies kind of stagger, like we saw on the video feeds we watched.”
Shortstop nodded. “Rigor hits maximum stiffness in something like ten, twelve hours, right? Makes me wonder if there are any zombies out there who can’t move at all. Or can’t move worth a damn. Standing there, or maybe lying in a field somewhere ’cause they can’t move.”
“Okay,” said Boxer, playing devil’s advocate, “but nobody’s reported a bunch of human scarecrows. These things are walking.”
“But not well,” observed Shortstop. “General Zetter’s report talked about a lot of the infected moving in a slow, shuffling manner. I think that’s full rigor right there.”
“What about when the rigor wears off,” asked Boxer. “It does that. Wears off.”
“Sure, but in like four, five days after death,” said Gypsy.
