Omega Pathogen: Despair

by J. G. Hicks Jr

  Jim angled his body position more to the left, pie-ing the window as he went. He then saw three figures near the closet in the corner of the schoolhouse. They were infected trying to get through the door. Fearful of hitting anyone inside the closet, he whispered to tell Chris about the three infected and that they were moving to the south side where the entrance was.

  The only door to the school was closed. Jim counted out with his left hand; when he raised the third finger he turned the knob and pulled open the door. Jim covered straight ahead and to the right and Chris covered the left. From this new angle Chris had clear shots and fired into the sides of the three infected. One after the other fell as they tried to turn toward the new arrivals.

  Chris approached the battered closet door the infected had been fixated on. As he grew closer, he heard the muffled sobs of children. The infected had broken a hole in the thin faux-wood door. Chris saw part of his grandmother’s back as she crouched with her arms out, shielding the small group of surviving children inside. “Grandma,” Chris whispered. He received no reply and reached for the doorknob.

  Jim was keeping an eye on the door they had entered and the broken window, and tried to check the bodies on the floor. Most of the dead were children. While he checked the victims, Jim kept glancing toward Chris at the closet nearby and approached. The battered doorknob was hanging from its proper position in the door. As Chris moved the flimsy knob to its normal position and attempted to open the door, a growl came from inside the closet and the children screamed.

  Chris heard the guttural sound as the doorknob caught and he had swung open the door. His father had just arrived at his right side. As the door swung open Chris saw his grandmother rise from the shielding position she’d been in over the children. Chris called “Grandma,” again and Judith spun around. Frothy yellowish white sputum dripped from her mouth and down her chin. She looked at Chris without any recognition and leapt for him.

  Chris felt himself jerked violently to his right and heard his father shout, “No!” as he was flung away from the doorway to the floor. Chris landed on his side to the right and slightly behind his father. His grandmother adjusted her course and turned to his father. Chris watched in disbelief. His grandmother stalked toward his father. His dad begged her to stop. She growled again and lunged at his father with her face in a mask of rage. His father shot four times in rapid succession and the rounds impacted in the center of her chest.

  Her forward momentum stopped and his grandmother fell to the floor. His father fell to his knees beside her head. Motionless for several long seconds, his father stared down at her and then softly stroked her hair. Chris couldn’t move.

  Jim couldn’t catch his breath. It grew quicker by the second, and his vision narrowed, blocking out everything but his mother lying on the floor. He would never be able to put into words the pain he felt for what he had done. His mind began to register the sounds of gunfire. He started to manage his breathing and was able to take in a deep breath; he raised his head and screamed until he had no more air in his lungs. His throat ached. He inhaled and screamed again longer than the first.

  Fear for what remained of his family then entered his mind along with the emotional pain. He tried to regain his focus. He had to focus. He had the rest of his family to try and protect.

  He looked over at Chris and opened his mouth to speak then closed it. Jim stood and quickly went to Chris; he bent and extended his hand. “Are you hurt, son?” Jim asked.

  Chris took his father’s hand and was helped to his feet. “No, Dad,” Chris answered as he slowly shook his head with his eyes locked on his grandmother’s body. His eyes blurred as the tears fell.

  “Let’s check these kids and get them out of here,” Jim said to his son and turned to the closet.

  Chapter 10

  The battle for the Yates’ farm lasted for another day and a half. After the rain stopped the following day the visibility had improved and those that remained were able to turn the tide against the infected.

  There had been over one hundred and twenty residents on the compound. Twenty-seven survived the attack. The survivors included the Matthews and the rest of their new family. The five children that had been shielded by Judith in the closet had not been bitten, and survived, but as a precaution those children were quarantined to be certain they had not been infected.

  Hank was one of the dead. Jen and some of her family had survived. Everyone except the Matthews had fallen back and barricaded themselves up in the Yates’ home. The Matthews extended family was joined by Royce and remained secure in the MRAP.

  The residents regrouped and reclaimed much of the area with the help of the MRAP. The armored vehicle was able to move and attract infected away from the home and outside the fence. Not all the infected followed, but it had reduced the numbers nearby enough for those trapped inside the house to fight their way out.

  Among the survivors was Hank’s uncle, Rick Yates. Rick was in his late fifties and stood a little less than six feet tall. He was a lean and fit man, and like Hank had a very personable demeanor.

  Steve and Janice Cutler had no children, and both had been working odd jobs while putting themselves through college. They had lived in Gainesville and joined the residents of the farm soon after the outbreak. Both had made it through the fray. They were both in their late twenties. Janice was about five feet three inches tall. Steve towered above her at six feet four inches and had a muscular build.

  Steve’s older brother Brent had survived. He had been recently divorced when the infection had began and was living with Steve and Janice until he could get back on his feet. Brent had a background in electronic and information technology from training in the Navy and from some community college classes. Like Steve, Brent was tall and muscular, but his younger sibling was taller by two or three inches.

  Another of the survivors was Marlene Yates, Hank’s older sister. She had been visiting Hank and Jen from Atlanta, Georgia. The night before she was to fly back home, the outbreak occurred. Marlene was a pleasant person in her middle fifties. She was very thin and seemed to hardly ever sleep.

  Rob Parker also remained. He was in his late forties and about five feet eight inches tall. He had an average build, but he had been a triathlete and his endurance was that of a man half his age.

  The survivors repaired where the fencing and barricades had been breached to prevent more coming inside. The fortifications would need to be improved soon, especially since they now had less people to patrol. They systematically cleared the compound of infected from every possible hiding place.

  The heavy losses the group had suffered forced them to shrink back the area they secured. It had been difficult before to monitor the fencing and improvised barriers they had put in place, but now it would be impossible to control all the acreage.

  What they could move with the heavy lift equipment they moved back to a perimeter of roughly four acres. They hoped they could reclaim the rest of the land back soon. They would need it if they were to try to keep livestock and plant gardens.

  When they finally had the time to bury the dead, Jim and his family took his mother’s remains and laid her to rest at the nearest Catholic cemetery. They helped the others bury their dead as well. Livestock had to be culled; those that were alive after receiving bites from the infected were put down and burned. No one knew what the infection would do to the animals, and they could take no chances.

  Not long after Christmas at one of the group dinners, Jim brought up an idea he’d had about heading to the northern part of the United States. Somewhere colder. Maybe the freezing temperatures would kill off the infected. Hank’s uncle Rick thought it was a great idea. However, he pointed out that trying to head too far north in December with no way to get a weather forecast could leave them stranded and freezing. Jim agreed, but would keep it as an option.

  The important topic of the perimeter fence and barricades was the main focus of all their planning. Arzu made several suggestions and re
ceived a mixture of questions. With her experience as a civil engineer, she fielded the questions well and it was decided she’d be in charge of planning and supervising further reinforcement of the perimeter.

  Arzu and Kathy, with input from the others, began to make lists of items they would need. The other members of the group suggested locations where they could obtain the supplies. Arzu’s solution was to use twelve-foot high T-walls they had removed from a local concrete company. The large pre-fabricated walls were moved by crane onsite.

  The group began with the highest of their priorities and worked at reinforcing the protective fence. Larger numbers of infected had been appearing more frequently, still drawn by the activity at the Yates’ property and home, as well as by the livestock pens.

  More infected were seen that were less coordinated and more spastic in their movements. They still ambulated well enough to be very dangerous.

  The primary goal would remain erecting a wall, but the group also made it a point to gather items they would need to construct a greenhouse. Although the Florida winters were generally mild in comparison to the northern part of the country, it did get cold and could get near or even below freezing for short periods of time.

  Medicine was also something that was collected on scavenging missions whenever someone came across it. Even if the person didn’t know what it was for, they would turn it in to have its purpose identified later. That task had fallen on Jim and Royce. With the death of Dr. Shultz, they would now be in charge of cataloguing, storage, and dissemination.

  Jim excused himself from dinner with his family before he had finished and got up from the table. It was nearly sundown and he would be on the second watch that evening. Before guard duty, he wanted to at least try and take a nap. Sleep had been hard to get enough of. As he approached the large industrial sink to wash his plate and utensils, he heard “An airplane,” from one of the men. Everyone gathered for dinner stopped speaking.

  Jim listened but heard nothing. He slowly turned his head and heard it. The sound came from the southwest. Jim and the others left the covered deck and looked for the plane responsible for the noise. “It sounds low,” Rick said, just before the aircraft appeared from behind the treetops and flew over the home.

  Rick was right; it was low. It was low enough that the three working engines were deafening for the second it was overhead. It was a C130. The markings identified it as U.S. Air Force and it was obviously experiencing mechanical problems. The starboard side engine’s propeller barely turned as smoke billowed out.

  “Isn’t there a military base northeast of here?” Linda asked.

  “Yeah, Camp Blanding. It’s Army and Air Force, but I don’t think they fly C130s out of there. Or didn’t,” Rick answered.

  “The plane’s obviously having problems, why not just go to Gainesville’s airport and land there?” Royce asked.

  “It would have to turn. I’m no pilot, but I think if you turn planes that are mostly gliding, you’ll cut your airspeed and it will cause you to . . . well, not glide so good any more,” Rick answered.

  The rest of the residents finished their meal and cleaned up without hearing any more from the aircraft. Later that night, during his turn on security watch, Jim heard the distant sound of what he believed to be another prop-driven aircraft to the northeast of the farm. Toward the direction the previous malfunctioning aircraft had gone.

  The next day, Jim and the other three on security watch the previous night told the group they had heard the other aircraft. Four days had passed since they saw the Air Force transport plane fly over and heard the sound of the second aircraft. Curiosity got the best of him; Jim told Arzu he wanted to investigate the recent activity of the aircraft.

  “We can’t leave the people here shorthanded,” Arzu said.

  “I was planning on taking Chris and Jeremy. You guys would stay here.”

  Arzu stared daggers at him. “No. I don’t like it one bit,” she said.

  Jim explained that perhaps they could get help from the military in the form of supplies. Maybe information. “They could have a safe camp there,” Jim said.

  Arzu saw it in his face and heard it in his voice. She wouldn’t be able to keep him from going. Besides, maybe he was right.

  Jim told the others of his plans. He felt apprehensive about leaving but their recent efforts to fortify the Yates’ home and the perimeter had been going well. All the remaining survivors had proven themselves capable, especially his family.

  Jim planned on trying to make the approximately one hundred and forty-eight mile round trip in one day. They would start out early and be back before dark if possible. If the situation dictated it, he, Chris, and Jeremy could always spend the night in the MRAP.

  Jim, Chris, and Jeremy prepared that evening for their trip to Camp Blanding. Jim learned from Rick that the base was tens of thousands of acres and home to the Florida National Guard, as well as some non-flying units of the Florida Air National Guard.

  Rick wondered out loud why they hadn’t seen any patrols from such a large military base. Rick and the others in the group reasoned the lack of patrols could mean the military was occupied with trying to control larger populated cities like Jacksonville or even helping in the south in Orlando or Miami. “Or they could be all gone,” Arzu added.

  Jim and his eldest sons finished preparing the MRAP and then went over possible routes to the base. They picked the shortest route and decided on secondary courses if they had problems. They would travel east through Gainesville and then head northeast. They had already been in and around the city, but not that far on the northeast side.

  Brent had installed a Ham radio in the MRAP in hopes they could maintain contact with the farm’s base station. Brent had already set up one in the house, with a power pole serving as a base for the antenna. The residents had been using radios from the local police department for their communications. On the compound and close by, the radios had worked well, but without a repeating device yet for its base station, the handheld radios would be useless at distances of over a few miles. The plan was for Jim, Chris, and Jeremy to check in by the Ham radio once they arrived.

  With the vehicle and equipment checked and stowed for the trip the next day, Jim, Chris, and Jeremy tried to sleep but only drifted intermittently. When Chris and his father closed their eyes, they both saw what had happened at the schoolhouse replayed in their minds. The rest of the family was aware of what had occurred, but had not seen it and were spared at least that nightmare.

  Chapter 11

  The three woke before most of the others. Jim, Chris, and Jeremy had said their goodbyes the night before. They ate quickly and climbed inside the MRAP and rechecked equipment and weapons. While doing their final preparations, Arzu, Chelsea, Kathy, and Linda came to say their goodbyes again and to wish them luck. After hugs and kisses were finished the three set out.

  The guard on the section of fence near the gate drew the attention of the infected. Jen dragged a pipe along the fencing as she walked away from the gate. The loud clinking got their attention, and they walked and staggered and limped after her. Jen cursed and shot some with her pistol, but they still reached for her through the fencing, not aware enough to realize they were being led away.

  Jeremy saw their chance and quickly drove toward the gate. Chris stayed in the turret and covered the area with the M249 machine gun. Jim leapt out the passenger door before the MRAP came to a halt. He ran to the gate, unlocked it and pushed it open. Jeremy had started moving forward before the gate was opened. The MRAP passed through, Jim slammed the gate closed and pulled the lever down to lock it. No one wanted to risk one infected accidentally unlatching the gate or take a chance that one may suddenly become intelligent enough to work simple mechanisms. Jen would come back and padlock it, but thus far even simple latches had been too sophisticated for the infected.

  A glance to his left reveled five or six of the infected that had followed Jen had now noticed the MRAP’s exit and now spr
inted in their direction. Jim raced for the MRAP. Chris let loose with a couple of bursts from the M249 and four of the closest infected fell to the ground. The front passenger door of the MRAP had closed with its forward momentum, so Jeremy crawled over and opened it as his father reached the door. Jim jumped in and slammed the door.

  “Jeremy, drive away slow. Let’s try to draw some away,” Jim said. Jeremy kept the speed away low enough for the infected to follow as they traveled into and then out of the small city limits. More infected came to greet them and add to the hundred or more that pursued. After putting about ten miles between them and the compound, Jim asked Jeremy to pick up speed.

  Jim had Chris come down from the turret and lock it. Jeremy kept the speed of the heavy armored truck around forty miles per hour where long stretches of road allowed it. More than a few of the infected always made their way onto the roads, even when it was daylight, but they didn’t want to take a chance and hit some and lose control of the steering if they could avoid it. Some were still run over or bounced off the MRAP despite the effort. Once the sun rose, they could increase their speed.

  The steady flow of infected continued until right before sunup. Jeremy was able to pick up the pace. The drive to Camp Blanding took them about three and a half hours, though normally it would have been around an hour and a half. Slow moving infected and other obstacles on the road had delayed them.

  They were disappointed to find the base unguarded and apparently unoccupied by anyone other than infected. They took time and reconnoitered the area with binoculars. Chris pointed out some smoke he saw from further inside the base. It wasn’t a large amount, but could’ve been a sign of life.

  While they sat on the roof of the MRAP scanning the area, they shot infected that had taken notice and came in their direction. Either the use of suppressed rifles prevented them from attracting more of the daylight-immune infected, or there weren’t many around. The trickle of infected had nearly stopped before they decided to drive through the open gate of the base and head for the smoke first.