Omega Plague: Collapse

by P. R. Principe

  The night enveloped him, and though the air swirling about him was cold, Bruno had begun to sweat. Grasping the frame and ledge, he stood up. He pushed the window shut as best as he could from the outside. His back to the cold stone of the wall, he shuffled to the leftmost edge. He looked over at the ledge, his target, and the world started to spin.

  Bruno squeezed his eyes shut, willing the vertigo to pass. He took one deep breath after another. Then he opened his eyes again. He would have to get this right. Too much and he would overshoot and crash into the edge of the window. Too little and he would miss the ledge altogether. Either would probably mean death. Turning with his left shoulder to the wall, he focused on his goal, took one step back with his right leg . . . and then he jumped.

  Chapter 9

  In the long moment he was airborne, panic hit Bruno. He crashed onto the edge and lost his footing, slipping, his chest thudding against the ledge. His fingers scrabbled and he caught himself, hands grasping the ledge, then through the open window. Pain shot through his already sore ribs and his arms as they bore his entire body weight while he hung. Panting, Bruno struggled to pull himself up. He swung one leg up, then another, and rolled with a grunt and a smack onto the floor of the dark room.

  He lay on the cool stone floor, not caring if there was anyone there, only caring that he was still alive. He trembled like he had fallen into a vat of cold water. But he didn’t have time to savor the exhilaration of survival. Bruno forced himself up and shut the window. No one was there. The room looked just like the one he’d escaped from, except this one had a TV on the wall and a telephone by the bed. He moved the phone behind the bed and used the bed as cover from the door. Bruno picked up the phone, dialed, and waited, hoping that no matter what had happened to the hospital’s external communication, internal ones still functioned.

  A tired voice on the other end answered after only two rings.

  “Ricasso here.”

  “Carla, it’s Bruno,” he whispered.

  “You’re in the hospital?”

  “Some guy named Battisti had me locked up in one of the rooms. They don’t know I’m out.”

  “Christ, that was you they captured?” Carla didn’t give him a chance to answer. “Shit—all right—let me think—caller ID says you’re on the fourth floor, room 432. There’s an elevator just down the hall. Take it up to the seventh floor. Go to my office. I’ll be there.”

  “Okay—I’m wearing scrubs.”

  “Good!” said Carla. “But be careful—it’s almost shift change. If you see anyone, act like you know what you’re doing. We’ve got enough shit going on here that they won’t bother you. See you in five minutes.” Carla hung up without waiting for his reply.

  Bruno hung up the phone and went to the door. He looked down the hall. The guard was now sitting in front of Bruno’s old room, one room away. Bruno’s mind whirred. What could he do? Then from down the hall to the right, Bruno heard the faint ding of an elevator. The doors opened, and five people in scrubs and masks came out, talking with animated gestures. Two others now came from the opposite direction, heading towards Bruno from around a bend in the hallway past his old room. Here was his chance. As the groups milled past his room, obscuring the guard’s view, Bruno opened the door and slipped out, walking to the right, towards the elevator at the end of the hall.

  He walked just ahead of two people talking. Bruno kept his eyes forward, waiting for the shout of the guard, but none came. They caught up to Bruno just as he reached the elevator. Still talking, one of them leaned past Bruno and pushed the down button, just after Bruno pushed the up button. Unfortunately for Bruno, when the elevator stopped, it was on its way down. Not wanting to linger in the hallway, Bruno got on with the other two.

  The elevator chimed as it went by each floor. Bruno tried to meld into the back corner, pretending to be preoccupied with the watch on his wrist and hoping that the two men—doctors, orderlies, or whoever they were—would leave him alone. They exited on the second floor, still talking. When they left, Bruno slumped against the back wall. Then he pushed the button for the seventh floor harder than necessary. Just as the doors began to shut, an arm reached in. The elevator dinged. The doors opened, and a man dressed exactly like Bruno’s tormentors stepped in. Bruno froze, standing where he was in front of the panel.

  “Four please,” the guard said.

  “Oh sure,” responded Bruno as he hit the button. He pushed and held the “close” button, hoping that would speed up the doors. It didn’t.

  The elevator began to go up. Bruno looked at his feet as the guard glanced his way.

  “Going to the seventh floor? That’s Administration.” The guard’s question lingered in the air.

  “Oh, procurement cocked up the last shipment of medical supplies. Not enough syringes. Ricasso called downstairs. They sent me up to deal with her.”

  “At midnight, huh?” The guard grunted. “I’m not surprised. I’ve heard she can be a real pain in the ass.”

  The door chimed. Fourth floor. The guard stepped out. “Still, that beats sitting around guarding some sleeping idiot, like I’m going to do for the rest of the night.” He strode out with a wave. “Buona serata.”

  Bruno mumbled a reply as he pushed the close button. Finally, the doors shut. Bruno let out a great puff of air as the elevator arrived at the seventh floor. Although he’d only been there a few times, Bruno remembered the way to his sister’s office. Right out of the elevator, then left down the hall. His footsteps were only a whisper on the floor. No one was there, but he felt exposed in the harsh fluorescent light. The door to Carla’s suite was half-open. He pushed the door wider and walked in.

  The reception desk was empty, but Bruno saw Carla in the next room through the glass wall at the same time she spotted him. She got up from her desk and waved him in. They embraced for a moment. She’d always been small, but now her slight frame felt almost bony. A strong wind could carry her away, he thought. She was dressed in scrubs and a white coat with her name embossed over the coat’s pocket, a respirator covering the lower half of her face. There were dark circles under Carla’s brown eyes.

  “Carla, what the hell is going on here? I—”

  “Bruno, listen, you’ve got to get out of here.”

  “I need my gear. I need my weapon.”

  She nodded. “I think I know where they are. Locked up on the eighth floor. It’s a restricted level. Let’s go.”

  They walked out of Carla’s office back to the elevator. Carla pushed the up button. Bruno’s mind churned with a thousand questions.

  “Where are the guards?”

  “Shift change staff meeting—for now, anyway. We should have a few minutes.”

  “All of them?”

  “Most of them. Battisti is a little martinet,” said Carla. “He has to have his staff meeting every shift change. Doesn’t matter if the world is going to shit. And there are only seven guards for the whole hospital, counting Battisti.”

  The elevator door opened and they entered. Carla swiped a card on the panel and pushed “8.”

  Bruno felt the elevator lurch slightly as it went up.

  “Why are you still here, Carla? Why don’t you leave?”

  “We activated the pandemic emergency plans, and I was already here when they recalled all staff.” She paused. “Then ten days ago, the Ministry of Health took direct control over all hospitals. They won’t let me leave.”

  “What do you mean they won’t let you leave? And since when does the Ministry of Health kill unarmed—”

  The elevator doors opened, and Carla cut him off.

  “Come on,” she said. “Quietly.”

  They exited the elevator and made a right down the hallway. To Bruno this restricted level looked no different than any other part of the hospital. They walked for what seemed like forever down a long hallway. Then it turned at a right angle and Bruno heard a voice. It sounded like he was talking on a phone.

  “Cazzo,” she cursed. “
Here, take this key—it’s a master key. Go back to the stairwell near the elevator. I’ll meet you there with your gear.”

  “But without the key, you won’t be able to—”

  “I’ve got extra keys. Just go,” she hissed.

  He tiptoed down the hallway as best he could. Carla walked in the opposite direction, her shoes echoing down the hall. The sound of her footsteps faded as Bruno retraced his steps. He reached the elevator and saw the door to the stairwell on the other side. But there was another smaller hallway just before the stairs. Bruno thought he could hear muffled moaning and cursing.

  Curiosity overcame his common sense, and Bruno followed the sounds down the narrow hallway. There were more rooms. The voices were louder now, and he couldn’t help but look in one of the windows. He saw two figures, hospital gowns flapping as they wandered around the room, and thought he saw two more on the beds. One wandering figure turned toward him. The man’s eyes widened as he saw Bruno standing at the door. He scampered over to the window. Bruno jumped back as the man approached, stifling a shout, now seeing for the first time up close the ravages of the Shakes. The wispy white hair around the old man’s head framed a face covered in pustules that ran down his neck. His whole body quaked with tremors.

  “Please! Let us out!” he croaked, pressing his face on the glass. Some of the pustules had burst, the pus oozing around the corners of his mouth, and he left slime on the window as he pressed his face against it. “Open the door! They’ve got us trapped! We’re going to die here!”

  The door must have been specially sealed, since it deadened the man’s voice more than seemed possible. Even if he could, there was no chance of Bruno opening the door—he’d be infected for sure. He shook his head and mouthed, “I can’t.” Bruno took one step backwards, then turned and retreated down the hallway to the stairwell as fast as he dared. Bruno heard the old man’s muffled voice call out, “They’re going to kill us!”

  Arriving at the stairwell, Bruno fumbled with the key and rushed through the door. Now on the landing, Bruno looked up and down the stairs. He was alone.

  Fidgeting as the minutes ticked by, his mind wandered from the old man in the hospital room, to Carla, to a million other things. The loss of his gear gnawed at him. He hoped they’d stored his pistol with his gear, otherwise he might as well go back and strap himself to the mattress again. For a moment, he contemplated striking out on his own, but then he heard the metallic click of the door’s latch.

  “Carla!” he whispered.

  She started, then came through the door with Bruno’s duffel bag, talking as she moved. “Took me longer than I thought.”

  “How did you manage to get—”

  She handed him his bag. “Don’t ask. Your uniform and gear should be in there.”

  He rummaged through his bag and found his uniform, his gun, knife, and the rest of his gear. But something was missing.

  “I had body armor. Where is it?” Without his body armor, Bruno felt soft as a slug, and just as easily squashed.

  Carla shook her head. “That’s all there was.”

  Bruno dressed as fast as he could while Carla kept a lookout through the stairwell door’s window. Without turning to face him, she said one word.

  “Cristian?”

  “He’s gone,” said Bruno. “He’s trying to make it back to Tivoli, back to his daughter.” She nodded.

  “We both tried to contact you, but couldn’t get through.” Then Bruno’s anger at his former friend boiled over. “But when he left, that bastard took the only decent weapons at the station—he left me with nothing!”

  For the first time she glanced back at him. “Hurry up!” she said. She looked back out the door’s window before she responded. “They confiscated my phone and restricted Internet access. They didn’t want us to have any contact with outside. I think external calls are monitored. I had no way of knowing anyone was trying to reach me.” Carla exhaled loud enough for Bruno to hear. “And if he did that to you, then he really is a bastard.”

  Bruno said nothing and pulled on his boots.

  She pointed towards the bottom of the stairwell. “Come on, down to the basement. With luck, everyone will take the elevators tonight.”

  Bruno followed her down the flights of stairs. At least he still had his pistol. When they arrived at the bottom of the stairwell, Carla opened the door as quietly as she could, leaning her body weight onto the metal bar. She peered into the space beyond the door, then looked back and nodded. Bruno followed.

  They walked down a hallway, finally coming to a locked door, with a window that showed darkness beyond. The musty odor and cramped quarters of the tunnel reminded him of the catacombs in Rome he had visited as a boy. Both were places of death.

  Carla’s voice sounded loud in the narrow tunnel. “I need the key that I gave you. It’s a master key. The one I used upstairs won’t work.”

  Bruno handed her the key and kept watch while Carla fumbled, taking longer than Bruno wanted. Then with nearly no sound, the door opened, and she flipped the light switch, bathing the storage room in flickering florescent light.

  The low, stone ceiling made Bruno feel shut in, but his eyes widened as they fell on the free-standing metal shelves brimming with medical supplies. He followed Carla as she walked between the shelves, the lights humming above their heads.

  She walked methodically down the rows, grabbing things here and there, but didn’t pause to look as she spoke. “We got a helicopter drop three days ago. Maybe the last one for a while. But there are plenty of supplies, medicines, and antibiotics.”

  Her arms quickly filled with supplies and she stopped so fast, Bruno ran into her.

  “Here,” she said, as she handed him the armload. “Put these in your bag, you’ll need them. There’s a real respirator in there. You might as well wear a goddamn dust mask for all the good a regular surgical mask would do.”

  “So, the ones that everyone’s been wearing—”

  “Aren’t worth shit. They might stop someone with the disease from infecting others, but the other way around, keeping someone from catching the virus? Probably not.”

  “But the respirators will prevent infection, right?”

  She paused. “Maybe. The science on that isn’t good. But they’re a hell of a lot better than a surgical mask.”

  “Fucking great,” said Bruno as he stuffed the medical supplies into his duffle bag.

  Carla set out again down the rows of shelves. He followed her as she wound down the aisles until they returned to the door where they had come in. Bruno dropped his bag to the ground. He wanted some answers.

  “Carla, what is going on? They captured me, they killed that man . . . and those people trapped on the eighth floor—why?”

  Carla looked down. “There was a secret directive adopted by the EU Ministries of Health not long after that last Ebola scare. I knew about it, but I was only briefed on the exact details a week ago. In the event of an outbreak of a previously unknown virus, certain emergency measures are authorized. Like trying to stop the spread to healthy people by concentrating the sick in hospitals.” Now she looked Bruno in the eyes. “No one would be stupid enough to go to a group shelter in a pandemic, but they might go to a hospital, if they thought they could be helped.”

  “I heard Battisti’s guards say something about ICP 151. Is that it?”

  “Infection Control Protocol 151—that’s the directive.”

  Bruno frowned. “But concentrating the sick? That doesn’t make any sense, unless . . .” Bruno’s eyes lit up as he remembered the old man’s words. Trapped. “So, going to hospital is a death sentence, is that it? They’re never going to be let out, are they? And the government is lying about it!”

  Carla said nothing.

  “I don’t believe it! Ministry of Health? Ministry of fucking Death! They’re telling people to go to the hospital when all they’re doing is rounding them up to die like—like—cattle!”

  Carla shook her head. “Almost
all of them will die anyway. There’s nothing we can do.”

  “Maybe they’re even giving the poor bastards a push!” Bruno looked at Carla, thinking she would contradict his exaggeration. Then he saw the look in Carla’s eyes.

  Carla held his gaze, with no emotion. “Like I said, Protocol 151 authorizes certain emergency measures. If they’ve come to a hospital, they’re dead already.”

  “But why hold me? Because I saw—”

  “The Protocol authorizes detention and, if necessary, liquidation of individuals who are unauthorized witnesses to infection control.”

  “‘Liquidation’? You mean fucking murder! Christ, you’re a doctor! How could they do this? How could you?”

  “The Protocol requires a chief hospital administrator to countersign the Ministry of Health’s order before liquidation of a witness. I was waiting to hear what Battisti said you saw before—before—I—”

  “Before you signed my death warrant!”

  “Bruno, I didn’t know it was you! He didn’t tell me! I didn’t ask who it was—I didn’t want to know!” Then her voice hardened. “You judge me? You don’t know how close we came to a real shit-storm when Ebola hit a few years back—and this is a thousand—no, ten thousand times worse!” She grabbed Bruno’s arm. “Wouldn’t you kill if there were a chance to stop the spread? Wouldn’t you kill, if you thought you had to?”

  Bruno pulled his arm away and started to speak, to tell her she was wrong. Then he stopped, the vision of that dead woman’s eyes from last night freezing the retort in his throat.