There was a line of patient rooms on each side of the corridor before them, and approximately fifty yards of open travel before they reached the aisle that would take them to the security office. In another time, there wouldn’t be a thought about the distance, but now it looked as daunting as crossing the Grand Canyon—in a single bound. The doorways to each of the rooms weren’t directly opposite each other in the corridor, but offset.
“Stick to the wall.” Tilford said, loud enough for the others to hear but, hopefully, no one else. This allowed them to peer into the patient rooms opposite them as they inched their way along, step by step, one foot after the—
The lights in the hospital suddenly went out.
“Oh my God!” Childs shrieked at the top of her voice which jolted the other three.
“Jesus!” Sanders also called to the deities.
“Hang on. Don’t move, the generator should kick in any moment.” Tilford remembered the emergency training drill from last year and the detail about the generator. It also kept patients hooked up to life-saving devices alive; well, that was until bloodsucking, infected ghouls were let loose.
“They shut off the phones, now they’re cutting power. Bastards, fucking bastards!” Grace angrily commented.
“Who shut off the phones or cut power? What are you talking about?” Sanders wanted to know if the CDC officer knew more than she’d let on.
An electronic hum was heard through the walls as the generator powered up; within moments the emergency lights came on in the corridor, bathing their view in an unearthly yellowish glow.
“How far down is the security office?” Grace avoided Sanders’ question by asking one of her own.
“Down that hallway. It’s the first on our right.” Sanders answered. With the lights back on the goal of reaching the security office became paramount.
“Let’s make a run for it, huh?” Grace suggested.
“We don’t know what could be waiting for us… and I don’t fancy running headlong into a group of these things, y’know?” Tilford understood Grace’s excitement, especially as they were so close, but he knew that if they made a run for it, Childs would be left behind. No, they had to stay together, safety in numbers and all that. Nurse Childs was a likable person with a bubbly personality, and he was sure she’d taken more than her far share of taunts over the years.
Would she leave any of us behind in a similar situation? He asked himself. He had no way of answering that but he doubted it.
All they had, for better or worse, was each other. As they neared the first doorway of a patients room, Tilford held his hand up for the others behind him to halt. He edged along the wall, the sinews in his neck bulging as he strained to look inside the darkened room. He motioned for them to follow along. “Just slide against the wall, easy, easy does it.” He whispered.
Childs slammed her three-hundred-plus pounds against the wall, resulting in a loud thud and a crack in the dry—wall appeared. Tilford’s eyes bulged and his stomach muscle’s tightened. Grace bit down on her bottom lip, while Sanders eyes shot daggers at Childs. In the dim light, Nurse Childs could only offer a silently mouthed, “Sorry”.
“Come on, we need to—” Tilford started but the sound of a woman’s voice, caught him mid-sentence.
“Help me, h-e-l-p…”
Tilford reached out and grabbed Sanders, who instinctively moved toward the distressed call, by the arm and pulled her back. “Wait. We don’t know what’s in there.”
“There’s a woman in there, begging for help. We have to!” Sanders frantically answered.
“Damn…a flashlight or two…some weapons, maybe a platoon of soldiers.” Grace muttered.
Tilford looked over to her. She’d coped well so far, trying to stay alive can keep you focused, but nothing was going right and they still hadn’t come close to finding a way out. They weren’t in a good position, and Tilford could see it was getting to her. They didn’t have any weapons or a platoon of soldiers not even a Boy Scout group but no one was callous enough to abandon a woman crying out for help.
“Get behind me.” Tilford waved with his free hand.
If a bloodsucker was inside the room, then maybe, he reasoned, maybe the women could run to the security office while he jousted with the ghoul. He didn’t like the idea of playing hero, but he didn’t have much in the way of choices.
I bet if Nurse Childs body slammed them, that would fix them… but good! He allowed a tiny smile to creep onto his face over his humorous thought. He motioned with his open hand three times in the air as if pushing against an invisible wall; stay there, stay there, STAY THERE. If any infected charged from the corridor, they’d have nowhere to go but inside the patient’s room. Options were fewer and fewer.
Shit!
9
Nine
“Yes, sir, of course, sir,” Calgleef told one of the presidents’ personal assistants with confidence. “It is unfortunate, but it was out of our control. The vials were packed in England and rushed onto a waiting plane, and everyone from the manufacturing point to the airport luggage handlers had been informed of the necessity for haste, and that’s just what we got. I’m sorry to say, sir, but haste equals waste, as I’m sure you’ve heard many times before.”
Calgleef listened attentively to the assistant before he continued.
“The outbreak of the Legionnaires’ disease took everyone by surprise, sir, and it’s fair to say there have been some bizarre reactions with the contaminated vaccine. But as soon as we can contain the Legionnaires’ we can begin initial treatments. We may lose some of the elderly and the newborn but…” Calgleef didn’t want to focus too much on the negative, “we shouldn’t let this slow down the schedule to produce the vaccine here in the United States. It will be of the utmost importance if we’re to prevent the spread of the Baltic flu. Have you seen the latest casualty figures from Europe?”
Calgleef knew the secretary hadn’t, and when he replied as much, the director of the CDC was more than delighted to elucidate. “Well, after a short lull, where fatalities actually receded—which caused a false hope—there’s now been another spike and an increase of five percent in recorded deaths.” He paused once more for the assistant’s response. “Yes, sir, that’s correct,” Calgleef answered, his admonitions and recommendations alone wouldn’t be enough to sway government policy nor would those of the FDA. But figures, figures don’t lie, and one thing politician’s love is to manipulate figures to their benefit.
“Thank you, sir.” Calgleef ended the call satisfied he’d convinced one of the president’s most trusted aides not only of the need to continue with the vaccination program but almost guarantee the manufacture of the vaccines here in the US, before it was too late.
It already was too late of course. Not for Noel Thorncroft, who would have his contract fulfilled, but for the millions of Americans, their fate had been decided. The Baltic flu wouldn’t find its way to the North American shores, instead it would be introduced. Deliberately. The fear and panic that would follow would assure Thorncroft and his accomplices of their massive profits as panicked millions lined up for their vaccinations. One in ten thousand recipients of the vaccine would contract the Baltic flu, which was the original plan but somehow the vials containing the virus were packed into the same storage unit and shipped to Des Moines, were everyone who received a shot got it. The “one in ten thousand” would be enough to ensure the pestilence would spread far and wide but at a rate that wouldn’t bring down the entire infrastructure; just enough to guarantee the public’s desire for prevention through vaccinations. The demand for Thorncroft’s serum would be overwhelming and so would the profits. The government would make it compulsory out of concern for public safety, and doctors would eagerly distribute the lies that it was done in the interests of America and its people. Nobody would question the motives, not at a time like this.
It wouldn’t be a hard sell, not in the United States.
Most still believed the world was
created in seven days or that a fat man with a white beard, dressed in a red jumpsuit brought gifts on December 25 each year after gaining entrance to your residence via the chimney.
The initial batch of vaccines, manufactured in Europe and transported to the United States, were meant to execute the “one-ten thousand” action, as referred to by many in the pharmaceutical industry, but the mix—up meant that only those at Riverside Hospital received the dose.
Thorncroft wasn’t the only one who understood that healthy people are of no value to the industry or the medical profession either.
Live strains of the Baltic flu placed in vaccines, then distributed throughout the United States. It was a recipe for disaster if ever there was one. Perhaps it was Thorncroft’s plan or maybe someone with another agenda, terrorist’s for instance. It didn’t look promising, regardless of who was responsible. Calgleef ran all these thoughts and possibilities through his head. Like Moya, he felt a decided chill in his feet.
“Now might be a good time to get the house in St. Martin’s ready. I might need it soon.”
Tilford crept into the patient’s room as best as he could without overbalancing; he never was any good at sneaking up on anyone. He kept an eye on the bed where the woman lay, her cries for help subsided to a sob. It was darker in the room with only the light from the corridor to aid him, he didn’t help his night vision by constantly glancing back to Grace who waited nervously at the doorway.
“I’m a doctor,” he whispered as he neared the edge of the bed. “Are you injured?”
“I-I-I don’t know, but I feel weak, very weak…” She rolled her head toward the sound of Tilford’s voice. “I was resting. I just gave birth and my baby is in an incubator and—OH MY, MY GOD! MY BABY, MY BABY… WHERE’S MY BABY?” the woman screamed and waved her arms about Tilford’s face.
“Your baby is all right,” he lied; he had to. Every blood-eyed ghoul in the hospital would hear. “Just relax, your baby is fine.”
“What’s wrong?” Grace came up behind Tilford too fast.
“Jee-zuz!” Tilford felt his bones jump several inches inside. “You scared the—”
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to—”
“I was just lying here when someone took my arm, a doctor, I thought,” the woman in bed continued, the presence of another woman’s voice had a calming effect. “I felt a sharp sensation, many in fact, and I assumed he gave me a needle and I-I…”
“What happened, what…? Oh my God!” Grace’s eyesight adjusted faster than Tilford’s. She saw the large bite marks along the patient’s sleeveless arm. Human bite marks. Blood ran from the wounds and pooled on the floor below. “Oh shit…”
“What—” Tilford heard Grace’s anguished cry but hadn’t caught on.
“We have to get out of here, Isaac, we have to get out—NOW!” It was no longer necessary to remain quiet.
“My baybeeeee!” The woman who had given birth scowled at Tilford. “You killed my baybeeeee!”
She lifted up from her prone position, shooting both arms out at Tilford, who now had become accustomed to the lower light. He noticed the dark ovals where her eyes would be—they were covered in a film of blood.
She was one of the infected.
Tilford didn’t have time to think, only react. He Dropped his mop and grabbed the edges of one side of the thin hospital mattress, lifted it to where he could get his body weight behind and gave an almighty shove. The patient–turned–blood-thirster, fell to the floor with a thud, and the mattress followed. A screeching war cry from behind, turned Grace and Tilford into pillars of stone as they feared an attack, before they were brushed aside by a charging Jenny Childs wielding the small metal wastebasket above her head. Still trying to get their hearts out of their mouths, neither Grace nor Tilford could prevent Childs as she launched onto the infected woman struggling to free herself from under the mattress. The wastebasket came down with a resounding clank when the woman lifted her head up from the floor. The wastebasket buckled with the force of the blow, but Childs struck again and again and…
“Jenny! Jenny!” Sanders implored. “Stop, she’s dead! You killed her already!”
Childs dropped the wastebasket to the floor as Sanders pulled her away. It made a hollow echo-like sound; every sound seemed louder in the deserted hospital. Like a mausoleum, it wasn’t really deserted; as long as you counted the dead.
“She-she… she was turning into one of them, one of those things that attacked Mr. Gerard. They, they—”
“It’s all right, Nurse, we understand. You haven’t done anything wrong, but we have to get moving.” Grace reassured, while at the same time eager to get everyone moving. She was certain with all the commotion their presence had been detected. “Grab your mop, Isaac, and let’s go!”
Grace gave Tilford some room to lead them out while Childs continued to try explain her actions.“I had no choice, I had no choice… she was going to turn into one of those things” as they picked up the tempo of their step.
“Is the security office lo—” Grace caught herself in time, answering her own question. Wouldn’t be much of a security office if it wasn’t locked, would it?
“There!” Sanders, who was in middle of the small group as they turned the corner, said.
“Wait for us!” Grace had taken it upon herself to watch over Nurse Childs, who, despite having traveled less than forty yards, struggled for breath. The physical effort she displayed in the dispatching of the soon to be ghoul, had taken its toll.
“Can we stop for a moment? I need to catch my—”
“Not now, Nurse!” Grace looked down the corridor. “You better get your fat ass into gear!” She hated to speak to Childs like that but when five blood-eyed creeps, led by the naked woman Tilford had first come across, burst through the doors of the main corridor she had two choices; get Childs moving, or leave her to die. Grace noticed the blood smeared over the mouths of the blood seeking infected, it reminded her of the mess young children made after devouring a chocolate ice cream cone. The eyes of all five were full of blood. Blood covered the body of the naked woman body most especially over her breasts’.
“Don’t look, just run, fucking run!” Grace grabbed Childs’s puffy hand and led, her along.
Tilford was at the security office door when Grace and Childs round the corner and into the smaller aisle. “Its open, its open!” Tilford announced surprise in his voice.
“Well, get in, get in. Those things are right behind us!” Grace prayed Childs didn’t collapse while she had a hold of her hand. “Go, go, go!”
Growls, like a pack mangy dogs, came from the corridor behind signifying the approaching horror. Tilford slammed the door after Grace, with Childs in tow, raced through. He didn’t hesitate, dead-bolting the door and switching off the overhead light.
“Do you think that will hold?” Grace asked him after helping Childs to a chair.
“Shh, stay quiet!” He whispered.
“Over here, over here.” Grace eased a chair away from an office desk and quietly summoned Sanders and Childs over. Tilford slid his back against the wall on the hinge side of the door, which, was away from the window. The staccato of clapping feet was heard outside in the aisle as the infected ran down the passed the office; aware their prey was near.
Grace whispered from behind the desk. “Listen, sounds like they’ve gone.”
Tilford nodded and crawled over to where the others were. There was more than enough light coming through the window to see. “The room behind us is the security storeroom.” He told Grace. “There might be something in there that could help us, but I think we should wait until our guests have left, don’t you?”
“Sure. Does security keep any guns in there?” Grace wanted something more substantial than a mop.
“I don’t know, I—”
“They keep a couple in there for emergencies, but they’re kept in a safe.” An out of breath Childs managed to answer. “I helped transfer some files onto their computer once
and noticed it.”
”I don’t suppose anyone has the combination?” The silence that followed was answer enough for Grace Delaney.
They all huddled behind the desk, which wasn’t large enough to hide four grown people, especially when one was the size of three on her own. They kept their chatter to a whisper in the dimly lit office.
“Well, let’s cross the bridge when we come to it,” Tilford said. “Anyway, what do you know about guns?”
Grace had noticed that, even in the midst of this danger, the more time spent together the more questions he asked.
Was he becoming interested? She asked herself.
“I’m no expert, but I have a .38 revolver and practice with it regularly. My first husband was a cop, and he taught me how to shoot.”
“Your first husband?” Tilford’s attention quickly switched to her marital status.
Grace noted the change of pitch in his voice. This wasn’t the appropriate time, but she leaned forward to answer his question, touching him lightly on the shoulder and…
“OH SHIT!” The cell phone in the pocket of her doctor’s coat blasted like the brass section of an orchestra in the small office room. Grace, startled by the phone call, bumped the back of her head against the edge of the desk.
“Oh, fuck!” Sanders and Childs screeched together.
“Quiet, quiet!” Tilford pleaded.
Grace fumbled with her cell. Her first reaction was to turn it off, but considering the situation and all calls were now monitored, she didn’t think it would be a telemarketer.
Pestilence Boxed Set [Books 1 & 2] Page 7
