Degeneration

by Mark Campbell

If a train crashed in a major city, Howell expected to see all sorts of first responders. However, the only people at the scene were six people in hazmat suits checking corpses. One of the white-suits spotted him.

  The white-suit unslung the rifle from his shoulder and started to cross the street–

  A Humvee honked and caused the white-suit to stumble backwards onto the curb. A long convoy of Humvees sped past and weaved in-between the train wreckage that littered the street.

  The white-suit stared at the procession, momentarily forgetting about the man on the other side of the street. When the convoy finally passed, Howell was gone. The white-suit grumbled and figured that the man would get rounded up by another patrol, so it didn’t matter. He went back to work checking corpses.

  Howell staggered along the side of McDowell Street, heading deeper into downtown, gripping his bleeding left side. Abandoned vehicles, many loaded down with luggage, haphazardly clogged the road. He lurched along the glass-littered sidewalk past shops and cafes that had their windows shattered and their contents looted out.

  The city looked empty.

  Howell trudged on as the shouts and gunfire echoing in the distance started to ebb and the pedestrian traffic started to dissipate.

  As Howell passed a Starbucks, a man leapt out through the shattered storefront window carrying a cash register with the cords still attached. The man stared at Howell for a second and took off running down the opposite direction, headed towards an intersection.

  Howell watched, stunned, and then raised a hand-

  “Wait! What the hell is going on?” Howell shouted.

  Suddenly, two white vans careened into the intersection and skidded to a stop. The man dropped the cash register and ran back towards Howell but tripped and landed on the sidewalk, coughing violently, struggling to get back on his feet.

  Four white-suits hopped out of the vans, each totting automatic weapons. They surrounded the man at gunpoint.

  “Freeze!” one of the white-suits ordered, his voice muffled by his plastic faceshield. “Put your hands above your head! Now!”

  The man placed his hands above his head, shaking, terrified.

  One of the other white-suits opened one of the van’s rear doors. Inside the back of the van, people, all coughing and sneezing, sat on metallic benches with their hands zip-cuffed in their laps. They looked at Howell with feverish faces.

  A white-suit bound the man’s hands together with zip-cuffs and shoved him inside the van.

  “Where are you taking me?” the man asked, terrified.

  “We’re taking you to a FEMA staging center,” a white-suit replied. Before the man could protest, the rear door of the van slammed shut.

  Howell watched in confusion, clinching his wounded side.

  One of the white-suits pointed at Howell and quickly alerted the other white-suited soldiers. They all turned and aimed their rifles at Howell.

  “You! On the sidewalk! Stay where you are!” one of them ordered.

  Howell abruptly turned and ran inside the Starbucks.

  A spray of bullets struck the sidewalk in Howell’s wake and ricocheted off of the Starbucks’ facade, chipping bricks and shattering what little glass remained intact along the store’s windowsill.

  The white-suits stopped firing and ran towards the Starbucks, breathing frantically through their suit respirators.

  “I thought Charley-Ten’s group already cleared this block!” one of the suited soldiers yelled as he ran.

  “Those fucking weekend soldiers can’t get anything right!” another white-suit angrily replied.

  Howell ran through the Starbucks, clutching his duffle tightly. Tables lay on their side, chairs were scattered, the pastry case was emptied, and the shelves were wiped clean. He slid across the countertop and fell on the other side, landing on a toppled espresso machine. He groaned and forced himself back onto his feet, still clutching his bleeding side.

  The white-suits ran through the front door, scanning the looted shop with their rifles.

  “Where did he go?” one of the soldiers asked out loud.

  Howell searched frantically until he spotted a door in the corner a few feet away from him.

  “There he is! He’s behind the counter!”

  “Stop running, civilian! We’re here to take you to safety!”

  Howell crouched behind the counter and ran towards the door.

  Bullets peppered against the front of the counter and shattered the glass display case, narrowly missing him.

  Howell slammed against the door and swung it open against a large metallic supply rack. He shut the door behind him and toppled the supply rack against the door, barricading himself in. Breathing wildly, he backed away from the door but he couldn’t shake the feeling that he wasn’t alone in the dark storeroom.

  The doorknob rattled as the soldiers tried to open the door.

  “He’s blocking it!”

  Bullets punched through the wooden door and ricocheted off of the makeshift barricade, narrowly missing Howell as he dove down to the floor.

  He heard a woman whimper behind him and turned.

  Light streamed in through the bullet-riddled door and afforded the dark room minor visibility. Howell’s eyes adjusted to the faint light and he saw the woman huddled up in the corner. The front of her shirt was caked with vomit and her eyes were hazy. She stared at Howell with a sweaty face, wheezing.

  Howell crawled over towards her, grabbed her wrist, and pulled her closer.

  She shrieked loudly and stared at him, terrified.

  The white-suited soldiers slammed repeatedly against the door.

  “Quiet!” Howell snapped. “What the fuck is going on here?”

  She looked at him, baffled by his ignorance.

  “Didn’t you pay attention to the news? The Muslims bombed us with some sort of biological stuff,” She cried, hacking. “Everyone is getting sick! And the soldiers are–”

  Muslims, Howell thought with distaste. Could it be possible? Could they have planned an attack on the same day as his? Howell’s mouth twisted in a sardonic grin and he slowly shook his head.

  The woman pulled her wrist free from his grip and stared at him, sobbing and coughing.

  “The soldiers are shooting at us!!! We tried to-tried to get-go out down the 401 but- The army won’t let us leave! They’re rounding up people and forcing them inside buildings at gunpoint!”

  The storeroom door started to buckle and splinter.

  Howell stood and stared at the door.

  “And now you led them right to me! They’re going to take me and lock me away with the others! You idiot!” the woman screamed, sobbing, coughing. “They didn’t know I was hiding in here before you came,” the woman stammered in-between rattling coughs.

  Howell slid the 9mm out from his waistband, aimed it at the door, and fired four shots in rapid succession. The woman covered her ears and screamed.

  Return gunfire tore through the door and ricocheted off of the makeshift barricade, narrowly missing Howell as he ducked back down onto the ground.

  The gunfire ceased and empty clips fell against the floor as the white-suits frantically reloaded.

  “Shit! He got my thigh!” one of the white-suited soldiers cried.

  “His suit has been compromised!” another shouted.

  “No! It’s–”

  Gunfire muffled the soldier’s screams.

  The remaining white-suits turned their weapons back towards the door and vindictively opened fire, ripping it to splinters.

  Howell, keeping low against the ground, aimed his pistol at the door and he prepared to make his last stand.

  The sick woman suddenly stood up. Her long dark hair was matted down with sweat.

  “I’m… going to… find a new spot… Don’t follow me…” she stammered as she staggered towards the back of the dark storeroom.

  Before Howell could say anything, the woman burst through a fire exit at the back of the room that he didn’t notice befor
e.

  Sunlight flooded into the storeroom and sirens filled the air as the door opened.

  Howell shielded his eyes with his forearm, squinted, stood, and walked towards the open door. He stepped cautiously through the door and found himself in an alley.

  Howell ran along the alley with his duffle clutched tightly against his chest. Blood soaked the side of his shirt and his chest pulsated with sharp pain. He could feel the glass shards working their way deeper into him with each step he took.

  The woman ran a few feet ahead of him and kept turning her head towards him, giving terrified glances.

  Howell continued to limp after her, gripping the pistol with one hand and the duffle with the other.

  “Stop following me!” the woman screamed before erupting into a coughing spasm. She tripped, stumbled against a dumpster, and slid down onto her knees. She vomited bloody bile on the pavement and stared down at it with wide eyes. Strands of salvia hung from her pale lips as she gasped for air.

  “What the fuck is the matter with you?” Howell asked as he took a cautious step towards her.

  Helicopters hovered overhead and sirens honed in.

  A single gunshot reverberated down the alley–

  The woman’s head erupted and splattered Howell with bloody splotches; Howell flinched. She collapsed against the pavement.

  Two white-suits stood at the end of the alley with their weapons pointed towards him.

  Howell aimed the pistol at–

  “Stop or you’re dead,” a voice behind Howell ordered. “Drop the gun and put your goddamn hands above your head.”

  Howell cursed and dropped the pistol to the ground. He slung his duffle over his shoulder and slowly raised his hands above his head.

  “Turn around you piece of shit.”

  Howell turned and faced two soldiers wearing white hazmat suits. He had a defiant smirk plastered across his blood-splattered face. “What are you going to do, shoot me in cold blood, too? Do your worst, you fucking pig scum.”

  One of the white-suits stepped forward and slammed the butt of his rifle into Howell’s face.

  Howell’s nose cracked and blood flow profusely. He gave a savage scream and collapsed down onto his knees, clutching his broken nose.

  The white-suit stepped back and aimed the rifle at Howell’s head.

  “Rot in hell,” the white-suit said as his fingertip tightened around the trigger.

  “Mike, stop,” the other white-suit said, stepping forward.

  “Fuck protocol! This bastard killed Tillman, Kirk,” Mike yelled; the rifle trembled in his hands.

  Kirk placed a hand on Mike’s trembling rifle.

  “He killed Tillman, and you don’t want him to pay?” Mike asked as he angrily turned towards Kirk.

  Howell stayed on his knees, holding his broken nose.

  “I want him to pay, but I want him to suffer even more,” Kirk said, smirking behind his suit’s silver reflective facemask. “A bullet to the head is way too fast and easy.”

  Mike hesitantly lowered his weapon.

  “I say…” Kirk trailed off and pointed up at one of the skyscrapers. “That’s much worse. Just imagine that hell.”

  “Yeah, let him stew in there with the others, that’s good,” Mike said.

  “What are you going to–”

  Kirk slammed the butt of his rifle against Howell’s head.

  Howell’s jaw shattered and he slumped facedown onto the pavement, unconscious.

  The two white-suited soldiers brought Howell down the alley by his legs and pulled him out onto Fayetteville Street. White vans cluttered the street. Civilians, disarmed police officers, and rescue personnel were herded out of the back of the vans at gunpoint with their hands raised above their heads and led into nearby skyscrapers by white-suits. Nearby, white-suited soldiers unloaded multiple rolls of clear plastic sheeting and stacks of plywood off of the back of flatbed trucks.

  Helicopters flew in-between the skyscrapers, repeating the same message over and over:

  “This is the United States Army. Please, remain calm. We are here to help you. You are being led into a FEMA staging area. You will receive medical services and additional processing once you get inside. Do not panic. Remain calm. After you are processed, you will be taken to a safe place. Repeating, this is the United…”

  The two white-suits led Howell towards the crowd being herded into the RBC skyscraper. As they got closer to the crowd, they could see that most of the frightened civilians were already displaying symptoms; the disease was communicating faster than predicted.

  Howell’s eyes fluttered opened as he regained consciousness.

  “Where… are I… mean, where are you taking me?” Howell slurred, weakly resisting as he was led towards the building, feet dragging.

  The white-suits didn’t answer and kept leading him forward.

  A man amongst the stream of people being herded into the RBC skyscraper stumbled back as he climbed up the entrance steps. Two other men caught him and supported him as they trudged towards the RBC lobby doors together. White-suits watched over the line with their weapons ready.

  “Hey!” Mike called out to one of the white-suits guarding the RBC skyscraper entrance.

  The white-suit turned and looked at him.

  “How close are you guys to capacity?” Mike asked.

  “Nobody inside has turned yet, so we’re hoping to squeeze in another three van loads,” the white-suit said. “Who–”

  Suddenly, an older woman ran out from the RBC tower lobby and shoved her way through the crowd herding inside. The supervising white-suits sighted-in on her and ordered her to go back in at gunpoint.

  “Help us! There’s a man up on the second floor attacking people and there is nobody inside to do anything! You said there would be help! There are no soldiers, no police, no FEMA, no nothing! People are hurt! Where–”

  The white-suits opened fire.

  The woman and the other civilians caught in the crossfire let out blood curdling cries and collapsed to the ground. The rest of the crowd panicked and started to jostle with each other, trying to flee.

  “Get inside the building! Get inside the building!” the white-suits screamed at the crowd, brandishing their weapons. They surrounded the crowd and herded the people through the lobby entrance at gunpoint.

  Within seconds, the crowd was inside. White-suits stood outside the lobby with their weapons pointed towards the doors, deterring anybody from running back outside. The panicked screams coming from inside the lobby were deafening.

  “Bravo Detail to Omega Camp, RBC is hot. Repeat, RBC is hot. Rear exits and roof hatches have been welded shut. Permission to seal main entrance, over,” one of the white-suits said into his radio.

  “Copy, Bravo Detail, seal her up and start filling the next location, over,” a man’s voice responded.

  Additional white-suited soldiers rushed over towards the RBC lobby doors with thick sheets of plywood. They started covering the doors with the plywood while a secondary team bolted the wood into the steel frame with pneumatic drills.

  The people inside the lobby realized what was happening and screamed for help, pleading, but the soldiers kept their weapons pointed towards the lobby doors.

  The soldiers held the last piece of plywood in place while two other soldiers wielding pneumatic drills ran up to secure it in place when–

  “Wait, before you seal it, can we throw this one in?” Kirk asked the supervising white-suit.

  The white-suit turned, looked down at Howell, and groaned.

  “Fine, but hurry up. We need to wrap this one up and start filling the hotel.”

  Kirk and Mike pulled Howell up the stairs towards the RBC tower lobby entrance when a man wearing a grey business suit pushed past the unbolted piece of plywood and ran towards the street with his arms waving frantically.

  “I am unarmed! I am unarmed! Don’t s–”

  The white-suited soldiers opened fire and sent the man’s bullet-riddle
d body tumbling down the steps past Kirk, Mike, and Howell. Terrified screams billowed out from the lobby.

  Kirk and Mike hurled Howell into the RBC Tower lobby.

  As they turned and descended back down the steps, satisfied, the last sheet of plywood was quickly sealed behind them.

  “Let that bastard rot in there with them,” Kirk said.

  “He’ll be wishing we just shot him by the time those people rip him apart,” Mike added.

  A white-suit walked past them and trudged up the steps towards the lobby holding a large orange sign.

  He stapled the sign onto the plywood.

  The sign read:

  QUARANTINE

  WARNING: HIGHLY COMMUNICABLE CONTAGION INSIDE

  THIS AREA HAS BEEN DEEMED UNSAFE

  ABSOLUTELY NO ENTRY PERMITTED

  ABSOLUTELY NO EXIT PERMITTED

  USE OF DEADLY FORCE IS AUTHORIZED

  10

  Howell landed hard in the RBC tower lobby and the duffle containing the bomb went sliding across the floor amongst the panicked sea of people.

  Most of the crowd had gathered by the elevators, shoving each other, trampling the unfortunate ones who had fallen to the ground. People pressed the elevator call buttons in a fevered frenzy, coughing and shouting, terrified.

  Others ran aimlessly in the lobby, searching frantically for another set of exit doors that didn’t exist. Some of them limped and staggered, barely able to keep conscious, covered with human bite-marks.

  Two Raleigh police officers, stripped of their weapons and radios by the white-suits, attempted to maintain order in the center of the lobby, but their shouts were drowned out.

  Howell spotted his duffle lying in the middle of the floor, lost amongst the crowd. He hastily stood and staggered towards–

  A man wearing a sweat-soaked suit ran across the duffle and tripped over it, sending it sliding across the lobby.

  Howell cursed and–

  A woman wearing a kitchen apron ran into Howell and sent both of them tumbling to the ground.

  “Watch it, you stupid bitch!” Howell shouted as he shoved the woman off of him.

  The woman looked at him with a pallid expression and coughed in his face. She got up and limped away, hurrying towards the other side of the packed lobby, holding her bit left arm.