Omega Pathogen: Despair

by J. G. Hicks Jr

  Royce quietly turned and whispered near Jim’s ear, “They feel the cold, too.”

  Jim turned his head and torso toward Royce and followed the direction of Royce’s gaze. The infected in the area were gathered in packs of three to ten, some more. They stayed close enough to each other that they were almost always touching. Even in the poor lighting, it also appeared that almost all shivered from the cold. Royce was right; they were affected by the cold, but Jim knew that already from observing the infected. Not to risk unnecessary noise, Jim quietly replied, “I see,” and ended the conversation there.

  The sound of a distant gunshot was followed by several more in staggered cadence. Suddenly, the infected ran and loped in the direction of the gunfire. Hopeful he would have an opportunity for escaping the top of the parking structure, Jim began to slowly move up onto his hands and knees and away from Royce to better see. Then the sounds of shoes and bare feet smacking pavement, growing louder, caused him to duck down and freeze. He could only see a few, but many infected were heard running nearby, in the direction of the noise. The sounds of their footfalls, heavy breathing, and deep raspy growls gave indication of large numbers near Jim and Royce’s position that they could not see.

  As the moon’s glow was replaced by that of the rising sun, the overcast skies and continued drizzle of rain prevented the glare of the new day’s sun from causing much noticeable reaction from the infected in the area. The seemingly endless night was finally over, but the dim sunlight now offered them little hope. The muted light of the day also hadn’t offered them warmth yet. Jim and Royce still lay on the cold, wet concrete structure and hoped the sun would break through the clouds to warm them and thin the numbers of the infected nearby. As the light fought through the twilight and then grey clouds, the infected dissipated. They slowly disappeared into the darkness of the interior of the hospital and surrounding buildings, which became more visible as the sun’s rays began to cut through.

  The rain stopped and the sun eventually broke all the way through. The clouds cleared, but left a cold day, with wind chilling Jim and Royce more. “Do you have a vehicle here?” Jim asked Royce, with cold and exhaustion slurring his voice.

  “Uh huh,” Royce muttered back in reply, reaching his left hand down and patting the left front pocket of his soaked scrubs.

  Hearing the faint sound of the keys in Royce’s pocket was a wonderful sound to Jim.

  “I parked my truck in the front parking lot,” Royce whispered through chattering teeth, and slowly rose from lying on his right side to sitting with legs crossed on the concrete.

  Jim and Royce sat back to back with arms and legs crossed. Both men shivered from the cool breeze and their wet clothes. As during the night before, that had seemed to have dragged on forever, they heard sporadic gunshots. This time, the reports of gunfire were more distant. Only a few of the infected came into view during the daylight; some of the infected headed to the sounds of the gunfire, while most headed into dark buildings and out of the increasingly bright day.

  Around 8:30 that morning, Jim and Royce confirmed that neither had seen any infected for about twenty minutes. They decided to stay put for a little longer before venturing off the parking structure.

  After another few minutes, Jim began to stand with some difficulty, his joints stiffened by the cold and by remaining motionless for so long. “Well, what do you say we see if we can make it to your truck?” Jim said.

  “Okay,” Royce replied and stood upright, as equally slow and stiff as Jim.

  Seeing their movement hadn’t seemed to have brought with it the attention of any infected, Jim and Royce began to walk off the parking structure toward the ramp in the direction of the front parking lot. Both men descended with an unsteady walk; they were both in their mid-forties and had lain on cold wet concrete for hours.

  “I hope your truck’s heater works,” Jim mumbled to Royce as they walked.

  “It did a few weeks ago, when I came in to work overtime because of this fucking plague,” Royce replied.

  Neither man looked directly at the other; both were looking around for infected as they walked down the ramp to the third level of the parking structure.

  Unlike the fourth level they had spent the night on, the third level had many areas partially concealed in shadow. Both men’s posture changed and their pace slowed as they readied themselves to react to threats.

  Jim brought his AR-15 up to the ready position, the muzzle following his eyes. Royce walked on Jim’s right and did the same with the Glock.

  Jim, not wanting to draw any unwanted attention with the low ammunition available, refrained from turning on the light mounted on his rifle’s foregrip. He kept his thumb on the switch, ready to use it the instant a threat presented.

  The men remained tense and didn’t speak until they made it to the bottom level and out into the sunlight. Relieved to be out of the structure, both men breathed easier and picked up their pace toward the front lot.

  Chapter 2

  Although out from the shadows of the parking structure, other shadows on ground-level offered possible hiding places for infected, a wide berth was given to those areas. Still present were the intermittent sounds of gunfire in the distance. At one point during their march to Royce’s truck, Jim couldn’t decide if he had imagined the distant sound of engine noise or if it had been real. Constantly on his mind, the real or imagined sounds made him more concerned for the safety of his family. The first priority was transportation, and then he could finally begin to search for his loved ones.

  Jim and Royce rounded the corner of the hospital, and the parking lot they were headed came into view. Every parking space was filled, and numerous other vehicles were parked haphazardly in and around the lot. Remains of people that were victims of the infected occupied some of the automobiles. Others bodies in late stages of decomposition lay scattered throughout the area. Crows and vultures had begun to gather in the morning light to resume their feasting on the corpses.

  Royce stopped walking and said, “There,” in a voice elevated with excitement, as he pointed ahead and to the left of their position.

  Startled by the word and its volume, Jim immediately went to a crouched position, brought his rifle up to the ready, and aimed in the direction Royce had pointed.

  “There’s my truck,” Royce added, and began to walk forward again. Royce looked to his right, and then a few feet behind him. He saw Jim, who’d stopped and was now rising from a crouched position.

  As Jim stood he exhaled loudly through his mouth and stared angrily at Royce for a couple of seconds. The reason for his anger quickly dawned on Royce.

  “Sorry, Jim. Mine’s the dark green Ford up there,” Royce said and pointed again at the vehicle.

  As they approached the dark green Ford pickup truck, Royce reached into his pocket and retrieved his keychain and unlocked the doors with the remote.

  Jim stopped, squatted, and checked the underside of Royce’s truck and the other vehicles parked close by.

  “They hide under cars?” Royce asked as he looked down at Jim and noticed his visual inspections. Royce stepped away from his truck and leaned down to look under the nearby vehicles. Seeing no infected lying in wait, “They’ve done it before,” Jim answered and stood upright. The men crossed the rest of the short distance to the truck and climbed inside.

  After two attempts, they were rewarded with the sound of the truck starting. Royce and Jim simultaneously reached for the heater. Jim got to the switch first and adjusted the temperature as high as it would go, but left the fan on low until the engine warmed.

  “Gas?” Jim asked, while he looked around outside the vehicle in multiple directions for any attention the engine noise may have brought.

  “Three-quarters of a tank,” Royce said as he put the truck’s automatic transmission into reverse and backed from the parking space. “Which way we going, Jim?” Royce asked as he approached the road.

  “Right. I’d like to do a search around the
hospital, working our way out in a concentric-type pattern. If we don’t find them . . .” Jim trailed off and after a pause continued, “Do you know where Ironwood Golf Course is?” Jim asked.

  “Yeah, I know where it is. NE 39th Avenue and SR 24,” Royce answered.

  “We camped there the night before last, maybe they headed back there,” Jim explained as he looked out the truck windows and continued to scan the area.

  “Okay. A change of clothes would be great if the chance presents itself,” Royce said as he pulled out onto the road and turned right.

  Working their way out from the hospital in a widening pattern, Jim and Royce came across convenience stores they hoped would have something to eat and drink. The first two were of no use; one had been burned and was nothing but four walls. The second was stripped of every food and beverage, even some of the shelving seemed to have been taken. The third store was intact, except for the window being shattered. Since it held more items and shelving and more places to hide, Jim and Royce had to spend more time as they carefully cleared the building. They were rewarded with some potato chips and six bottles of water.

  After several more times of circling out from the hospital, Jim and Royce came upon a military surplus store. After another long search to clear the building, their prize was a change of clothes, four balaclavas, and three backpacks, all in urban camouflage. Other scavengers had taken all the ammunition and weapons before them.

  “Do you guys live around here?” Royce asked.

  “We used to. We moved to Texas a few years ago,” Jim replied.

  “Where at in Texas?” Royce asked.

  Jim, not looking over at Royce, continued to scan the area as he responded, “Royce, if you don’t mind, let’s talk about this shit later.”

  Royce looked briefly at Jim and then back at the road. He understood Jim’s mood all too well. “Sure thing,” Royce said.

  Their search pattern continued to take them further away from the hospital as they circled further out. After a several long moments of neither man speaking, Jim asked Royce to stop the truck.

  Jim pointed to a house they were nearly in front of. It looked like all the others in the neighborhood. “I’ll be right back. I’m going to grab some hose so we can siphon gas.” Royce stopped the truck and saw the garden hose mounted on the side of the house and strung out in front yard. Royce stayed seated in the driver's seat, alternating between watching Jim retrieve the hose and watching the surrounding area.

  Jim cautiously approached the house and quickly cut about six feet of hose from a coil lying on the ground and returned to Royce’s truck. Royce resumed their drive through the neighborhood.

  “Do you want to stop and check any of these cars for gas?” Royce asked.

  “No. On the way back to the truck, I felt like I was being watched. Maybe its just nerves but I don’t like this neighborhood,” Jim replied.

  After an hour more of searching, Jim and Royce stopped and filled Royce’s truck by siphoning a car at a gas station. They were also able to scavenge more water, sports drinks, and some junk food from inside the building. The men sat in the truck in the parking lot of the gas station and ate and drank while looking at a map Royce had picked up while they were inside. While they discussed their route Royce had fallen silent mid-sentence and began looking around.

  “What is it?” Jim asked, although not sure why, he too started to look around.

  Royce held up his right hand and continued looking in every direction, but kept coming back to stare to their right. “A car engine, I think,” he whispered. After about thirty seconds, Jim heard the noise as well. Simultaneously, Jim and Royce looked to their right. The Chevrolet Tahoe that was making the noise came into view.

  Royce’s truck was parked with the front facing the road. The blue SUV approached from their right at a high rate of speed. Jim and Royce watched as the Tahoe braked and came to a stop just past the gas station parking lot. The tinted windows were covered with chain link fencing, prevented them seeing if anyone other than a driver occupied the Tahoe. The fencing had been cut to shape then welded and screwed to the frames.

  Jim and Royce both gripped their firearms and watched the Tahoe. A single reverse light on the passenger side of the Tahoe came on and the SUV slowly backed up. After passing the front of Royce’s truck going as it backed, the Tahoe stopped again, and then started forward and turned into the gas station parking lot next to Royce’s truck.

  Royce lifted Jim’s Glock from his lap and aimed it at the inside of his door, prepared to raise the muzzle over the door and fire out the window.

  Jim gripped his AR-15 with both hands as he sat facing the driver’s door. The Tahoe’s door opened slightly and they heard a male voice shout in a southern accent, “Y’all don’t shoot, I ain’t a bandit.”

  Both Jim and Royce maintained their positions and waited for the man behind the voice to emerge from behind the door.

  “Either step out or drive the fuck on,” Jim yelled at the man, startling Royce and causing him to flinch, but he maintained his attention on the Tahoe.

  The SUV’s door opened further and a pair of legs in jeans and western boots appeared under the door. After a pause, the man behind the voice peeked out from behind the door and then walked into the open. The driver of the Tahoe looked to be in his late thirties. He had a large revolver strapped to his right hip and his arms were held out to his sides. The man took a couple of steps toward Royce’s truck and then stopped.

  “I’ll go talk to him,” Jim said to Royce, and exited the pickup.

  Royce saw Jim from his peripheral vision as Jim walked around the front of his truck. Jim paused and looked around them and then his attention was back on the man that had exited the Tahoe.

  Jim approached the man with his rifle held in the low ready position, prepared to raise the muzzle and fire at the first sign of danger. He hoped his reflexes would be fast enough. Jim walked within about eight feet of the man and stopped.

  “What’s your name?” Jim asked, watching the man and eyeing the passenger in the front seat of the Tahoe that he could now see from his new position.

  “Hank,” responded the man as he slowly extended his right hand to Jim.

  Jim hesitated for a second and then released his right hand from the pistol grip of the rifle and shook Hank’s. “Jim. That’s Royce,” Jim introduced himself and motioned with his head toward Royce seated in the pickup.

  Hank introduced the woman sitting in the Tahoe as his wife, Jen.

  Royce exited his truck and approached the two men when he saw Hank and Jim seemed to be having a conversation. Hank’s wife, Jen, joined the three men standing in the parking lot. The four slowly relaxed their posture as they felt more at ease with each other during their short interaction.

  Hank and his wife Jen explained that they lived about forty miles west of Gainesville in a small town called Chiefland. The actual city limits of the town had a population of only around three thousand people — more were spread out in its county, Levy — but its population was no more than sixty to sixty-five thousand.

  Hank and his wife were preppers, and had been preparing for some sort of catastrophic event since they'd married in their early twenties. Hank and Jen were on a scouting mission for materials to finish construction on a fence they and some other survivors living on their farm had been working on.

  From Hank, Jim learned that other residents on Hank and Jen’s farm had reported to Hank that they had seen a large black military-style truck yesterday while they were in the area searching for supplies.

  Chapter 3

  Members of Hank’s group had seen the MRAP being pursued by a large dark red Ford F350 pickup truck. The MRAP had been weaving back and forth, they guessed to prevent the faster pickup truck from overtaking them.

  Jim questioned Hank more to get specifics about when, where, and the direction of travel of the vehicles. According to Hank, members of his group saw the MRAP heading south and gave the road number of SR
441. The best guess on when they saw the chase had been about an hour after Jim had entered the hospital yesterday.

  Before going their separate ways, Hank gave Royce a hand-drawn map with directions to their farm. Wasting no more time, Jim and Royce headed east on SR 24 and in a short time were at the intersection of SR 441 where they turned right and headed south.

  “You think these are the same people that shot your brother?” Royce asked.

  “Same color and model of truck,” Jim responded curtly.

  The time they spent searching for Jim’s family had used precious daylight. The time was approaching 12:45 PM; with the shorter days of winter, they would only have about five hours of sunlight left to keep the infected lurking in the shadows.

  “Royce, stop for a second and let me get into the bed of the truck,” Jim said.

  Royce slowed and came to a stop in the road. Jim retrieved a set of binoculars from his backpack.

  “Keep the speed at about thirty miles per hour. I’m going to try to make sure we don’t drive into something we’re not ready for,” Jim said.

  “Okay,” Royce replied and gave a nod of his head.

  Jim stepped onto the road and said, “I’ll tap on the roof of the truck when I need you to go or stop,” and closed the passenger door.

  After hearing Jim give the roof of the truck a couple light smacks, Royce eased the vehicle ahead and up to speed.

  Jim stood in the bed of the truck and scanned the road ahead and even took the occasional look behind them.

  It only took around twenty minutes before Royce heard three bangs from the roof signaling him to stop. He came to a stop and heard Jim call out to him quietly, asking him to step out of the truck.