The Inroad Chronicles (Book 1): Legion Seed

by Erickson, Brian

  Meg saw her and tried to run around the group, but they had spread out across the road.

  Laura gasped as she saw a hand swipe within inches of Meg’s flopping hair as she tried to get around the pack. “No!” She put her hands to the side of her head. “Meg, get outta there, just keep runnin’! Go down the road! We’ll pick you up.” Laura yelled at the top of her lungs.

  Meg nodded and sprinted away. Soon she disappeared as her head dropped below the crest of a small hill.

  Laura got back in the driver’s seat and took off after her with Donnie still at the turret. They pulled out of the gate and Jim closed it behind them. He wrapped the chain around the bars, grabbed the ends, and leaned back.

  The mob had not moved too far away, and when the Humvee pulled out a few of them turned around just in time to see the grill as it smacked them in their chests. The engine roared and the cab bounced around as Laura pressed the gas pedal, crushing several bodies. Donnie sprayed the minigun into the crowd and several more faltered and fell over. As they disappeared down the hill after Meg a few of the creatures followed, while the others still numbering about twenty, looked back at Jim and walked toward the gate.

  Jim saw them coming and he reached for the plastic ties. He picked one up with trembling fingers and tried to put it on backwards. The male end would not go into the slot, and he ripped it out and started over. He looked and saw the lead creature only a few feet away as he threaded the tie through the chain’s links. His fingers still trembled wildly, and he felt his knees almost buckle. Sweat poured down his face, and, when he almost had it, the first one arrived and started pushing on the gap in the doors forcing one door in and the other out. Then another arrived to push and then the rest. The chain started clinking as the links slipped past each other, and Jim’s fingers moved apart as the tie started pulling free. He grunted and let go. He grabbed the free ends of the chain and pulled with all his remaining strength to try and get the doors back together. A few of the links clinked tighter around the fence, but the undead pushed harder. Several fully extended arms reached through the gap between the doors and grasped the air wildly near his legs. He gritted his teeth, veins rippled on his neck, and his muscles bulged underneath his shirt. Then a link slipped through his fingers. He redoubled his efforts and pulled harder, with a cherry colored face.

  Down the road, the Humvee caught up with Meg and slowed down. She hopped in, gasping for air. “I haven’t run like that in two years, since high school cross-country.”

  Laura turned and embraced her in a tight hug. “God you scared me.”

  “I’m sorry. It’s just that worthless Jim gave up on you. I had to do somethin’.”

  “Thanks.” Laura turned the vehicle around and headed back toward the factory.

  They mounted the hill and saw a few creatures lumbering toward them. Donnie squeezed the trigger and a series of small crimson explosions erupted on the creatures’ heads before they slumped to the ground. The minigun whined as the last one fell then emitted a series of metallic clicks, and Donnie released the trigger. “Out of bullets!” He slammed his palm into the gun and got back down into the cab. “No more ammo. What now?”

  As they approached the gate, they first noticed that the mob surrounded it. With wide eyes they examined the situation then one by one their lips parted and hung as they saw Jim holding onto the chains having the fight of his life. They could see sweat glistening on his red face. A stream of blood coursed over his lips and dripped off is chin from is broken nose.

  Donnie climbed back up in the turret. “Jim! Get outta there!” He waved his hand to the side quickly. “You can’t keep ‘em out like that much longer.” He stuck his head in the cab again. “Laura, ram those things. This is the best weapon we have left.”

  “Hold on!” Laura floored the gas pedal and the tires spun as smoke rose up from the wheels, and then they caught the road and shot the vehicle forward. Her face tensed up and her teeth chattered as she rammed the group from the side, just as Jim let go of the chains. Laura pulled the vehicle around and prepared for another run. When she got the Humvee turned around her eyes shot open as she noticed that several of the undead were already inside chasing Jim. She threw the gear into first and floored the gas pedal again.

  Jim looked over his shoulder as he ran from the remaining undead in tow. He ran down the perimeter of the fence, latched on, and started climbing not far from where he had been taunting them earlier. He took a look back and smiled when he saw the undead still some distance away, but when he started climbing his forearms immediately began burning again. He clung onto the fence pulling with all his might and rose up a few inches, but when he let go with one hand to reach up, his other fingers slipped, and he fell off. He looked back again and screamed, then jumped back on the fence and pulled with all the force left in his lithe body.

  Laura punched through the gate and flattened a couple more of the undead that straggled behind. She came up behind the mob and hit a couple more, but slammed on the brakes when she looked up and saw the fence quickly approaching. She cut the wheel hard and reversed until she flanked the pack. She slammed the gear back into first and revved the engine, then looked up, and her face contorted. “Oh shit! Climb, Jim, climb!” She watched, gripping the steering wheel with the whites of her knuckles showing.

  Jim pulled himself halfway up, grunting as he reached up. He caught hold of the bar running along the top of the fence between the links and the barbwire. His other hand latched onto the bar and he pushed himself up with his legs. His arms shook as he balanced in front of the barbs. He started slipping between the wires and gasped as a barb scraped his skin and opened him up, but he pressed on. He got his head through and angled his shoulders while lifting his leg which still dangled over the undead.

  Everyone in the Humvee shrieked as the creatures clambered for Jim’s foot.

  “Damn it Jim, lift your leg! Meg’s hands partially covered her face.

  Then as Jim hit a barb and cringed, he slid out a little to get it off his back, and one of the hands caught his foot and wrapped around it tight as an eagle's talon. A few more hands locked on, while others grabbed anything in reach and all pulled in unison. Their prize came with them.

  Jim screamed as they tried to yank him off the fence. His hands caught the barbwire and he fought to pull himself free. Jim’s other leg had tasted freedom on the other side of the fence and was wrapped over the top of the fence. The mob jerked and pulled at him as blood trickled out of his clenched fists and dribbled down the fence. The sight and smell of the blood only excited the horde more. They pulled harder and harder, yanking until his hands finally lost their grasp. When Jim’s other leg slid back over the fence it caught several barbs and ripped his pants open and stopped on his foot where they dug into his shoe. The mob had his upper body, but the barbwire held his foot there, and he didn't look much different than a rabbit caught upside down in a snare. He tried to pull himself back toward his foot but could not shake off the hands wrapping around his face and pulling him down. Grimy, decayed flesh and blood-stained teeth covered him and blocked out the light of day, providing his last tragic memory.

  Inside the Humvee they could only watch as the blood curdling screams ebbed off into gurgles. They cringed as they saw a frenzy of hands rip into his exposed belly and disembowel him. It reminded Donnie of a fish flopping around on a hook as sharks hit it from every angle. When the animals dropped down to feast on his entrails, they could see his face still contorted into his last pained expression.

  “Oh…oh God.” Meg had her hand over her mouth and gagged as she doubled over and turned away. “Laura drive. Please just drive away.” Her voice trembled and a tear welled in her eye.

  Laura let up off the brake and pushed the accelerator. She rammed the pack as they crouched feasting on Jim’s remains. Several of them smashed up against the fence, while others ground under the tires. She only let up before the Hummer tore the fence down then reversed and stopped.

 
“What are we gonna do now?” Meg asked as she kept her eyes averted from the butchery.

  Donnie stuck his head down into the cab from the turret, “Listen! I think I hear somethin’.”

  Laura looked around. “What is it?” Just as she finished her sentence, she heard a faint popping off in the distance.

  “There it is again. D’you hear it?”

  “Yeah, it sounded like someone’s shootin’ again.”

  “Let’s go up there, not like we need to stay here now.”

  “We don’t have any more ammo, Donnie.”

  “Yeah, but we’ve got this.” He drummed his hand on the roof of the Humvee. “Come on, let’s go, or do you want to let those things kill everyone today?”

  Laura sighed as she turned the wheel and drove out of the parking lot toward the hill across town.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  In an underground military research lab, a man in a white coat placed a slide with a red dot on it underneath a dark-field microscope’s lens. Behind him lay a cadaver with a blown open head and bite marks on the arm. The torso had a Y-incision down the center revealing an empty cavity, and a bucket containing entrails sat on the floor.

  The man brushed a delicate hand through his blond hair and swiped away the bangs from around his eyes. He removed his steel-rimmed glasses and his aqua colored eyes shrank when the lenses came away. Under the microscope he looked at distorted red blood cells that had been invaded by the pathogen and occasionally leaned over to type on his laptop. He rubbed his red eyes and leaned back while pinching his eyebrows close to the bridge of his nose.

  “Doctor Linkmen!” A raspy voice came from across the room accompanied by the squeaks of metal hinges.

  The doctor looked up and walked over to a bed surrounded by a curtain attached to an oval-shaped track in the ceiling. He pulled the curtain back to reveal a man strapped to a bed with a bandage on his neck. “What is it?”

  The man worked his hands in the thick leather straps that bound them, and tried to lift his arms, but stopped abruptly as the cuffs tightened around his wrists. Still pulling on the straps, he looked Dr. Linkmen in the eyes. “It hurts. Can you give me something for the pain?”

  “I can only administer more of the same.”

  The patient shook his head back and forth. “No, please! I can’t take it anymore, feels like my blood’s on fire.”

  “But if it makes you better won’t it all be worth it?”

  “I don’t feel better. I’m just slowly getting worse.”

  “Yes, but we’ve slowed it down considerably. You were bitten, let me see, five days ago. Now if that’s not progress, I don’t know what is.”

  “Can’t you try a different drug?”

  “‘Fraid not.” He picked up an inhaler from a cart near the bed. “I have to see the effects of this one played out until the end.”

  “What if it kills me?”

  The doctor let out a long breath and shook his head. “If I weren’t trying to save you, you’d already be dead. If I fail then you can rest easier knowing you made a sacrifice for science that will help others one day. I’m sorry, but that is the best I can do. I hope you understand that I don’t view you as an experiment. I am trying to help you, okay? Here we go.” He pulled a cover off the inhaler and placed it over the man’s mouth and nose and turned the nozzle on the cylinder. “Five breaths this time, deep, there you go.” He removed the equipment, checked his watch, and wrote on the clipboard at the foot of the bed: Virazole – 5 br. – 11:58 A.M.

  The soldier let out the last breath and sat still for a few moments, then cringed and jerked on the straps again. “Here it comes. It burns!” His back arched, and the straps squeaked, and the metal rattled. He opened his mouth to scream, but the veins on his neck rose up followed by several short grunts through gritted teeth, drool, and drawn lips. Then, as suddenly as it had started, he collapsed and passed out.

  The doctor checked his watch and mumbled to himself. “It gets faster every time.” He added to the clipboard: Unconscious – 11:59 A.M. His eyes scanned up to the first entry which read: Virazole – 1 br. – 2:11 P.M. – Unconscious – 2:51 P.M. He hung the clipboard back on the foot of the bed, and turned away without lifting his head.

  A low guttural growl started up behind another curtain several feet away and his eyes squinted as he started toward it. He pulled back the curtain and turned away shaking his head. “Shit!”

  Still strapped down, a lost man fought the bindings, seemingly unaware of its bloodied wrists as the cuffs chafed the skin with every tug. It did not move slowly like the undead outside. The creature had speed and twisted its hands in every direction as the cuffs clacked on the bars. A light seemed to show behind its bloodshot eyes as they widened while Dr. Linkmen stared with a frown. It drooled, opened its mouth, and thrashed its head up and down and bit the air. Muscles and veins on the face and neck swelled up and branched across the skin. As it continued to fight it never slowed down or relaxed but only gained in intensity.

  Still frowning, the doctor checked his watch again and grabbed the clipboard at the bottom of the bed and wrote down: Alpha-Interferon Failure – 3 days – Max 10cc’s – 12:01 P.M. He scribbled his signature across the bottom and walked back to his desk where he opened a drawer and pulled out a pistol he placed in his coat pocket. Then he wheeled the bed into an adjacent room through a swinging door.

  The entire time the undead creature on the bed yanked its restraints and growled. The doctor pushed the end of the bed up against a white, tiled wall with layers of crimson stains plastered on it. In several places the walls in the room had red stains from arterial sprays, and the floor was caked with dried pools of blood. The doctor stepped outside and returned a minute later wearing a plastic, face shield and face mask, latex gloves, and a plastic smock. He retrieved a scalpel from the cart and stepped up to the writhing creature. “Let’s see where should we start on you? This would be much easier if you could just tell me what your mutations will be, but seeing as you can’t, this is the only way.”

  He sank the blade into the creature’s flesh on its chest and dragged it down toward the navel. The whole time it fought it bindings, seemingly unaware of its injury. The doctor inspected the wound as blood poured out and pooled on the table. He tapped the flat side of the scalpel against his palm as he stared at the incision and checked his watch. Nothing happened. “Okay, so you don’t heal. What do you do? Let’s get more aggressive, shall we?” He laid the scalpel back on the cart and reached down to get a bone saw. He set the teeth on the creature’s thigh and set into it with long strokes. Just as with the cut to the torso the monster continued fighting its bindings without acknowledging its injury. Then something happened that the doctor would later conclude was the key to understanding how everything had happened, maybe even a clue to the mystery of life itself.

  He had worked the saw almost completely through the leg, and the monster suddenly arched its body in the opposite direction which ripped its stump away from the nearly severed leg, still attached by a sliver of skin. When this happened, the doctor jumped back with a gasp and looked on as the undead thing writhed back and forth, working against the other three bindings, harder than before. Blood gushed across the table and pooled on the floor and sprayed the wall when it swung its stump back and forth. What the doctor saw next made him drop the saw on the floor and reach for the gun in his lab coat without bothering to remove his soiled gloves. He could not tear his eyes away from the creature as his hands slid on the plastic smock searching for the pocket underneath. Then he paused and looked on in horror as the creature’s leg underwent a transformation.

  Out of the blood and ravaged tissue a narrow bone pushed its way out, first slowly then with increasing speed. Doctor Linkmen could only stare when he saw that the creature was not growing another leg but an arm. It pushed its way out dripping with blood as ligaments, tendons, and muscle formed around the bone, and before it had fully formed fingers, it had already reached across the
body and begun working on the strap holding its right arm down. The doctor looked on wide-eyed as it learned to work a buckle by playing the fingers over the frame and hook, feeling the end of the strap, and then pulling back to slide the leather out of the frame. It almost had the hook out of the loop when the doctor jammed his hand in his pocket and drew out the gun. When he did so the monster redoubled its efforts and tugged the strap more quickly. Just as it almost had the hand free, he aimed and fired a round into the forehead right between the eyes. The creature fell silent with a dripping wound on the back of the head, and Doctor Linkmen let out a long sigh and crouched beside the wall breathing rapid breaths.

  When he pulled himself together, he got cleaned up, changed into a fresh lab coat, and wheeled the creature back out, blood dripping on the floor, and placed it beside the other cadaver in the autopsy section of the room. He made some notes on his laptop and slapped on a fresh pair of latex gloves as he approached the cadaver. He stopped at an intercom on the wall and pressed a button. “Commencing with postmortem examination, please hold all communications.” He released the button and selected a scalpel from a jar containing blue alcohol. Then he turned with the edge poised, and placed a finger on its chest, felt around, stopped on the sternum, and lowered the scalpel to the spot.

  The door opened and a tall man with muscles bristling under his shirt with white hair walked in. His eyes never wavered nor did the wrinkles streaking across his forehead. He wore military fatigues, and, with each long stride, his feet landed on the floor with a clump. “How’s it coming doctor?”

  “General Riggs, I guess you must not have heard my announcement that I was beginning an autopsy and should not be disturbed.” He lifted the scalpel and placed it on the table.

  “It’s important.” The General studied the doctor with fixed eyes.