Switching off the NVGs, Jim raises them, then squeezes his eyes shut and rubs them. Replacing the NVGs, Jim sets about his circular search pattern again. Upon making a full 360-degree circle he’s met with the sight of a face, contorted in a demented expression, pressed against the turret’s porthole window.
Immediately Jim’s right hand goes to his Glock in his thigh holster. Maintaining eye contact with the infected female peering through the small window, Jim realizes it doesn’t see him. He slowly releases a breath he’d been holding and continues to watch the thing with purulent-looking saliva drooling down its chin.
The infected female stands and walks over the hatch of the turret and squats on the other side. Slowly following the sound as it does this, Jim is then met with the sight of its bare ass as the infected female pauses before jumping to the ground and trotting off.
Jim then sees four more infected converge on the female’s right and left, and all seemed to be heading somewhere with evil intent. Through the rest of his time on watch, Jim sees distant figures. Some in ones and twos, but most in groups of six or larger.
In the distance--he’s not certain how far--he sees the static discharge of spinning rotor blades from low-flying helicopters. Sometimes their sound is barely heard; mostly they seem to travel without sound. Also in the distance, and less frequently, he sees a jet or pairs of jets speeding in seemingly random directions. Some of the mechanical birds of prey turnabout, circle, and then spit out fire at targets below. Jim’s shift ends when he hears Jeremy stir behind him.
Taking a few swigs from his water bottle and then pouring some in his cupped hand, Jeremy wets his face to clear away the sleep. Donning his set of NVGs before he stands, he switches them on to avoid tripping over anyone as he makes his way to the turret platform where his dad sits and waits to whisper his report.
Berk and Kayra and Chris sleep through the shift change. Arzu and Chelsea are awakened to a degree as Jeremy quietly moves toward his father and receives the report of activity. No one can make out the words said. Before the report is finished, they fall back to sleep.
Jeremy’s watch goes much the same, as his dad’s except no infected scale the MRAP. Some approach and touch it. Some approach and push or strike it with a fist or two and then continue on with what appear to be bad intentions.
Chris is awakened when it’s his turn at watch. Again Arzu wakes, even though they can’t be any quieter. Jim receives a gentle nudge from Arzu to quiet his increasing snores. Jim, on the other hand, would describe it as a forceful elbow jab to the ribs.
Dawn comes, the signal of the end of Chris’ watch. The occupants in the rear of the MRAP begin to stir and stretch and yawn. Jim and Arzu wake. Arzu begins to attend to Berk and Kayra while Jim deflates and stows away their air mattresses. Chelsea and Jeremy do the same with theirs.
Jim tells Chris to put in some ear buds to silence the ambient noise and try to get a nap. Chris doesn’t argue. But after the MRAP is opened up, letting in the cool fresh morning air, and now familiar smell of reconstituted freeze-dried omelets and coffee brewing in the coffee pot his dad had found and plugged into an AC outlet in the MRAP, Chris can take no more and rises for the day.
Chapter 26
Present
Chelsea and Zach take the lead, and begin the task of putting up a tarp in the nearby sand trap to act as a privacy wall before setting up the portable shower. Jim, Jeremy and Berk void their bladders and bowels of the day’s food and drink. He instructs everyone going to tend to the necessary bodily functions to do so in pairs, with at least one to provide security while the other is do their business. Arzu, Chelsea and Kayra go next, with Chris and Zach following.
Chelsea and Zach have been helpful to the group and are fitting in well with the family. Both Zach and Chelsea are skilled at camping, whether using modern accessories or roughing it. Besides being likable kids, Jim appreciates the knowledge they bring. He had been concerned about the pair not pulling their own weight and had been ready to address that.
Jim climbs the MRAP and inspects the roof, seeing the vague outlines of footprints and smeared dried saliva on the roof and turret. Taking no chances, Jim sprays the area with a bleach and water mixture and leaves it to dry on its own.
Climbing down, Jim’s met by some inquisitive looks. He explains what he had previously reported to Jeremy, and what Jeremy had relayed to Chris when they changed watch. “I don’t know for sure, and it isn’t like the rabies I’ve learned about, but the infected look like they have a version of rabies on steroids,” Jim explains. “Normally, people that get rabies can act aggressive, but nothing like this. They’re not this ambulatory, their movements not as coordinated. And then they deteriorate quickly and die. They just don’t act like this.” He further explains, “With rabies, the saliva is very infectious. We all need to keep that in mind.”
During the rest of their breakfast, they prioritize which emergent care centers they’ll try first. The one that seems the most obvious isn’t the nearest, but one that Jim himself had to visit with a broken foot about a year ago. Although it’s been a long time, at least one of them had been inside before, and they want to avoid attempting to raid a large medical center, reasoning that it could be full of infected, or the dead, or both.
Arriving at the Emergent Care Clinic beside I-10, they go through the same routine of pausing and checking for threats. The care center is in a strip mall, and the businesses and care center in the structure seem undamaged. After seeing no obvious threats, Jim, Chris, and Jeremy prepare their weapons and gear for entry. Comms checks are done. Lights are checked, as well as NVGs in case they’re needed.
They approach the doorway in a single file crouch. Reaching the doorway, they can see into the waiting area. With a pause and no visible threats seen, Jim pulls on the intact aluminum-framed glass door and finds it unlocked. They quietly enter.
With a wall immediately on the right, the waiting area opens in a rectangular shape, with the waiting room extending further to the left of the doorway. Directly across from the door they entered is a closed frosted-glass sliding partition that starts about waist high and extends to nearly the ceiling.
The frosted glass blocks any view further in, but reasoning dictates a receptionist station is likely on the other side. To the left, about five feet from the receptionist's window, is a closed door that should open into the treatment areas. On the left wall is a closed door marked Restroom with male and female figures side by side, indicating a single restroom to be used by both sexes.
The design of the building, and the sign posted in the singular, makes it unlikely that the doorway leads to more than one restroom. But knowing some assumptions can get you killed, Jim has Chris slide past to his left and take up a position where he can easily cover the closed partition and the doorway leading to the treatment rooms. Jim and Jeremy stalk to the restroom door, Jim’s rifle aimed at the restroom doorway and Jeremy’s at the doorway leading to the treatment area.
Once past the treatment room door, Jeremy puts his AR-15 in a low-ready position as Chris takes on over watch of the door and reception window. Jim pauses and waits a second. Then a squeeze on his left shoulder, a non-verbal indication from Jeremy, tells him that he's ready.
With a nod, Jim eases the final step closer and grabs the doorknob in his left hand and keeps the AR-15 muzzle aimed at the door with his right. A quick glance to Chris is returned with a nod, and then Chris’ attention is back to the other doorway and window. Jim tightens his grip on the doorknob, and quietly begins to turn it. The knob stops with what seems to be an unusually loud click that echoes throughout the waiting area and behind the restroom door.
The door is thrust open so fast Jim doesn't have time to pull his arm away before he's struck in the forearm edge of the door. He's able to raise his AR-15, but not before the scrub-wearing African-American infected woman is on top of him, forcing him to his back. The barrel of his rifle, being lodged under the salivating woman's left armpit, is now o
f no use.
Jeremy quickly aims his weapon-mounted light into the restroom to see if any other rabid infected are present. Seeing it's clear, he immediately goes about pummeling the scrub-wearing abomination with the buttstock of his AR-15. Chris, knowing he's responsible for covering the other door and window, fights the urge to intervene, knowing he would leave them vulnerable to attack from those areas he’d leave uncovered.
The infected alternates, without a pattern, between wildly thrown punches and attempts to bite anything near her mouth. Although Jeremy's buttstroking the frothing woman doesn't knock her off of Jim, it does prevent her from being able to steady her head enough to aim a bite. Finally, Jim's able to get his left hand under her chin and around her throat, aware of the frothy yellowish-colored saliva drooling down the infected woman's chin and onto his hand and forearm.
Jim uses all the remaining strength in his left arm to angle her head to the left. Releasing the grip on his AR, Jim fumbles for his pistol in his thigh holster. As soon as his hand grips it, he clears it from the holster. Yelling "Down!" to warn Jeremy and Chris, Jim sticks the suppressed barrel about half an inch from the infected woman's nose and double-taps two 9 mm hollow-point rounds into her face. The over pressurization caused by expansion of the rounds in her skull causes her eyes to bulge almost out of their orbits. The back of her head explodes outward ejecting brain matter.
The infected woman goes limp. "Get her off me, please,” Jim says, trying to catch his breath as he looks up from the floor and back at Jeremy.
After getting to his right knee, Jim looks at Jeremy and, between breaths, says, “Bleach, please,” and points to his backpack with his thumb. Jeremy retrieves the bottle of bleach and water they all carry now, and washes the saliva from his dad’s hand and forearm.
Taking a few extra minutes to catch his breath, Jim then rises to a crouch and, looking at each of his sons, says, “You guys couldn’t have done it any better. We can talk about it more if you want, but you guys both did great. Now let’s get this shit over with.”
The rest of their search goes well. They find almost everything they could think of needing in the way of equipment and medications. They find eight more bodies inside, either killed by the infected woman in the restroom or by others. They are all chewed on to varying degrees.
They gather in the MRAP and decide now is as good as time as any to start their long trip to Florida.
Chapter 27
Present
They make one more stop to be sure to top off their diesel tanks, but it takes little to fill the tanks after filling the day before. They begin their journey with the intention of circumventing the larger populated areas as much as possible. The plan is to restock supplies when opportunity presents.
They head north, staying on smaller back roads paralleling the 99 toll road. As they travel through areas of more population, more homes, and neighborhoods, they see an increase in the mayhem that’s apparently spreading. More people having been in an area equals more signs of infection and destruction.
Some buildings are gutted by fire. Others seem to be untouched. Many give the feeling of being watched from within as they pass by in the MRAP.
They see people along the way. Some wave at them. Some aim weapons and hide behind vehicles or other cover. They stop and talk to some. Some are disappointed, but understand that they have no more room to take them along, and thankfully accept medical supplies and some water.
Others curse them for not taking them. Some throw objects in anger. A few shoot at the MRAP but although it’s unnerving, their rounds are not of large enough caliber to penetrate its thick armor.
Mostly, they see surprisingly few people. Standing sentry in the turret, Jim sees the familiar sight of distant helicopters circling the city of Houston. The patterns are unpredictable, but their shapes are unmistakable. They’re Apache and Cobra attack helicopters. Intermixed in the swarm, flying higher than the helicopters but lower than normal over a U.S. city, are fighter jets. Their numbers aren't as many as the rotor-driven birds of prey.
Crossing 290 and traveling between Tomball and Conroe, two more suburbs to the north of Houston, they come to a stop. Jim, looking behind them for threats, starts to ask Arzu why they’ve stopped as he turns to the front and sees his answer.
Just visible around a bend in the road to the right, and slightly elevated on an incline, is a roadblock of two armored HUMVEEs flanking a Bradley armored personnel carrier in the center of the road. Judging by the several soldiers aiming M4s and large vehicle-mounted 50 calibers at them, they’ve obviously been seen as well.
“Stay still, everyone,” Jim says as he slowly releases his AR-15 from its sling and then unholsters his Glock and sets it on the small workstation nearby.
“I’m going to go say hi,” Jim says quietly as he slowly climbs out of the open turret and onto the roof. He raises both hands and waves. Pausing with his arms in the air, he then slowly lowers himself down the windshield to the hood and then hops to the pavement.
He pauses to make sure they register his hands raised in a display of capitulation before slowly walking toward the roadblock. As he approaches and can better make eye contact, he sees that the faces seem to relax as he gets nearer.
He stops about twenty-five yards from the roadblock, with his hands still raised, and he slowly makes a complete turn, showing his back and then continuing until he faces them again. He exhales a breath he’d been holding when he hears a southern male voice say, “Stand down, gents.”
The men, and two women he notices in the group of about twenty soldiers, lower their M4s and rest them across their chests. The large 50 calibers are aimed slightly upward, above his head and above the MRAP behind him.
“You can lower your arms and relax, but go easy, son,” the male voice with the southern drawl says. Jim lowers his arms and shifts his eyes around to see who’s been speaking to him, and likely the man in charge.
Standing between the Bradley vehicle and the HUMVEE to his right, a Hispanic man about six-four begins walking toward him. As he approaches, Jim notices the Eagle with a shielded chest with arrows gripped in its talons, recognizing the rank as a Colonel, a ‘Full-Bird Colonel’.
The man approaches and looks Jim over from head to toe. Stopping about three feet away, the Colonel extends his right hand and introduces himself, “I’m Colonel Jose Salas, United States Army.”
“Jim. Jim Matthews,” Jim says as he takes the offered hand and shakes it. “Colonel Salas, what the fuck is going on?” he asks with a small shake of his head.
“If you’re referring to the recent and rampant spread of infection that causes those infected to act like a rabid fuckin’ animal, then I can give you some information,” the Colonel says with the unexpected southern drawl.
“Yes, sir. That would be the question,” Jim confirms.
“I’ll tell you what I can. First, you can have that rig you came in pull up here near us. We have extra food and water if y'all need some,” Colonel Salas offers.
“Thank you, Colonel. That’d be great, we need whatever we can get,” Jim says and then calls Arzu over his comms set to bring the MRAP closer.
“Where’d you get that thing?” the Colonel asks.
“I found it abandoned at a hospital near our home in Katy. I think the SWAT team responded there and was overrun by infected,” Jim recalls.
“That’s happenin’ a lot, Jim,” the Colonel says in a lower voice than he’d been using.
After introductions are made, Jim and Colonel Salas head to the back of the Bradley vehicle while the rest of Jim’s family and Chelsea take the opportunity to stretch their legs, take bathroom breaks and eat and drink.
“Well, Jim this is what I can tell you,” the Colonel begins. “You saw this shit storm spread on TV, I bet.” Jim nods and takes a drink of instant coffee. The Colonel continues, “It was a terrorist act. They planned it well and were able to have multiple operatives spread this shit throughout the world. They concentrate
d on the larger cities. The bigger the city populace, the bigger the shit storm.” The Colonel pauses, seeming to know Jim has another question. “What is it?” Jim asks.
The Colonel clears his throat and takes a sip of his own coffee. “It’s some type of rabies. But our scientists haven’t seen it before. It’s similar, but not the same. Right now they’re trying to find out if it’s just been an unknown form to us, or if it’s been genetically engineered, or both, the Colonel finishes.
Chapter 28
Present
“So by what you’ve said, I’d be safe to assume that there’s no vaccine or cure?” Jim asks.
“No. There’s no known cure or vaccine right now. From what intel I’ve been given, the brain damage is also irreversible once infected. It fucks up your brain bad,” the Colonel says, pointing to his head. “I’m not telling you any national secrets here. But what I tell you is so you can protect yourself and your family and friends. This world has turned to shit, Mr. Matthews. We, the U.S. Military, have our hands full. There’s little to no law enforcement left. Hell, even some of my men and women have deserted to try to reach their families, the same as a lot of law enforcement. Can’t say I blame them though. Martial law has been declared for the entire United States and its Territories. Every country that hasn’t completely collapsed has done the same.” He stops and takes another sip of coffee.
Jim then learns that the Speaker of the House, James Brannon, is now leading the U.S. Government, being next in the line of succession after the President was killed when Marine One crashed for unknown reasons, and the Vice President became a victim of the infection after being attacked by his granddaughter.
Not much else of any importance is discussed. The Colonel doesn’t seem to be holding back. He just doesn’t seem to know any more.
Omega Pathogen: Mayhem Page 12
