Dead State: Catalyst (A Post Apocalyptic Survival Thriller, Book 0)

by Derek Shupert

  Clint covers Cynthia’s face with the sheet. He stands back up, and adjusts the strap to his rifle.

  “This wasn’t Dr. Stevens.”

  Nora cocks her head slightly to the side. Confusion sets in as she wrestles with Clint’s words.

  “How could this not be her? Who else could’ve done this?”

  I chime in. “Dr. Johnson.” Nora glances at me, then to Clint who nods in agreement. “Just like Stan. Once she bit them, they contracted whatever she was exposed to. That’s the only possible explanation for all of this. It’s like Cynthia said. Otherwise, we’d be infected now.”

  “How did this happen? I thought he was under observation,” Nora demands.

  “We’re not sure what happened. After the shift change a guard called in saying that Dr. Johnson was missing. We started our search, and came across him doing this to her.” Clint’s eye fell to the body on the floor briefly, before coming back up. “He was shot several times, but didn’t go down. He ran off that way. One of my men gave pursuit, and finally took him out, outside.”

  “So even shooting him didn’t kill him?” I ask.

  Clint shakes his head. “Nope. Placed two in his chest. Knocked him flat on his ass, but it didn’t keep him down.”

  “Show me his body,” Nora flatly orders.

  “Right this way.”

  We retrieve our heavy parkas, and follow Clint out of the west side exit of the facility. Drops of blood speckle the floor that leads out into the snow.

  The wind howls. Large flakes of snow pelt me in the face. The frigid air brushes against my still moist skin, and sends a shiver coursing through my body.

  The red, tainted snow crunches under our boots. I wrap my arms across my chest, and hold firm to try and keep warm.

  Clint points to the edge of a small building just ahead of us.

  “Right up here.”

  I follow close behind Nora as we approach the structure. Another of the security guards stands at the ready to the left of the doctor’s body. Blood drips from his right hand as sweat beads on his forehead.

  The doctor’s body is embedded slightly into the snow. His face is pale with light black circles encompassing his glassy, septic eyes. A hole resides in the middle of his forehead.

  “Finally took him down with a slug to the head,” the wounded guard growls. “Son of a bitch got the drop on me, and got my arm. Piece of crap.”

  Concern floods my body. I pause, and stare intently at the teeth indentions in his arm. I look to Nora, who glances at the guards in a similar manner. She then peers down at Dr. Johnsons’ dead body.

  “What do you want us to do with the bodies?” Clint inquires.

  Nora remains silent, her sad gaze fixed on the doctor’s corpse. Tears flow from her swollen, puffy eyes as she struggles to maintain a strong presence.

  This outbreak, or whatever label you want to slap on it, has spiraled out of control...

  ...and the fate of everyone left hangs in the balance.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Clint glances at me, then back to Nora. “Ms. Sanchez. Where should we store the bodies?”

  Nora clears her throat, and wipes away the tears with her forefingers. “Wrap them up, and take them to the vehicle storage building until I can figure out what to do with them.”

  Clint nods. “Copy that.” He glances over to the other guard. “Kylan, go get that checked out.”

  He lifts his arm into the air. A scowl forms on his face as blood continues to drip from the gaping wound.

  Nora turns her attention to the security detail. “We’ll need to place your injured man here in a secured room. Not the medical ward. Until we know more about what’s going on, he could pose a threat to us all.”

  Kylan purses his lips, and guffaws at the request. “You think I’m going to turn and do what this dick bag did?” He holds his arm out to us, showing the grizzly wound. “It doesn’t look that bad. Just bandage me up, and give me some meds.”

  “So far, anyone who’s been bitten has gone mad. Until we know more, we can’t take the chance. We can give you some meds, but that will just be for the pain.” Nora directs her attention to Clint, who nods in agreement. “We need to do a head count of all base personnel. I want everyone secured in their rooms or labs. Also, access to Tak will be suspended until we can figure out whatever the hell is going on here.”

  That’s the smartest statement I’ve heard come out of Nora’s mouth since I’ve been here.

  Kylan huffs. “Come on, sir. I’m fine, really. If I start feeling ill or whatever, I’ll let you know, and we can take it from there. You need me out here.”

  “If what she is saying is true, then you being out will just compound an already messed up situation,” Clint responds. “Look at what happened with the doctor here. Same sort of bite on his arm, and his condition deteriorated in less than a day. Can’t take the risk. If it doesn’t get any worse and all, then we’ll go from there.”

  “And what if it does?” Kylan’s tone is more agitated as he waits for Clint’s response.

  “We’ll cross that bridge whenever we get to it,” Clint says.

  Nora holds out her arm, and turns to the side. “Here, I’ll take you to one of our labs. We’ll get you fixed up.”

  Sullen, Kylan’s shoulders drop, and he lowers his weapon. “Fine.”

  Nora escorts him away as I approach Clint. “Seems like the quickest way to take anyone infected down is with blunt force trauma to the head.”

  Clint peers down at the dead doctor’s body. “Yeah. I’m figuring that out.”

  “Probably wouldn’t be a bad idea to take care of Cynthia in the same manner. Just to be on the safe side. Curb any surprises before they spring on us.”

  Clint concurs. “I’ve got two more guards active besides me and Kylan, so we should be good. Hopefully, we’ll track down Dr. Stevens soon, and have this contained.”

  “So, if he does change, how are you going to handle it?” I pose.

  Clint doesn’t hesitate with his answer. It is as if he already knew what I was going to ask, and is ready to respond. “Like you said, blunt force trauma to the head. Do you think it’ll come to that?”

  I shrug. “No idea. This is all new to me as well.”

  Clint looks to his left, and peers out over the endless mounds of snow that blanket the area. My arms draw tighter across my chest as I follow his gaze.

  “What is it?” I ask.

  His eyes narrow at the dark blue and gray clouds that are building in the distance. “There’s a storm inbound. Supposed to be pretty rough. We were hoping it would go around, but it looks like it isn’t.”

  Great.

  “Should I assume that will interfere with communication?”

  “More than likely.” Clint places his hand on my right shoulder. “Head back to your room now and stay there. Lock the door and hold tight till we can track down Dr. Stevens. I’ll have one of my other men escort you to your room.”

  “What about you?” I ask.

  Clint points to Dr. Johnson’s corpse. “I need to get these bodies taken care of before that storm overruns us.”

  I nod in agreement. Besides, I want to reach out to Vincent before communications are completely down.

  Clint slings his rifle over his shoulder, and retrieves the radio that is clasped to the right side of his belt. He starts to speak into the microphone as I head back to the main building.

  Our footprints are already being covered up as the snowfall intensifies. My body shudders, my face stinging from the piercing cold attacking my exposed skin.

  I dash inside the west side entrance, and pause. I stomp my feet against the thick, black rug that glistens with melted snow.

  One of the security guards stands at the ready. His rifle is pressed firmly to his shoulder as he offers me a crisp nod. "Mam.” He takes the lead, and makes for my room. No detours are taken. Cynthia’s body has been removed from the hall. Only her smeared blood remains on the floor to remind me of what
happened.

  Our pace hastens. We arrive at my room in a hurried fashion. He goes in first, and checks the dimly lit space while I stand to the left of the entrance. My eyes play over the silent halls, wondering where Dr. Stevens is.

  “All clear, mam.” He steps out of the way, allowing me to gain entry to my room. He offers a final nod before leaving.

  I step inside and secure the door. I remove the parka, and drop it to the floor. My hands cup together, and come up to my mouth as I breathe inside of them.

  I take a seat in my chair and pause. The phone’s bulk reminds me of where it is. I pull it free, and place the charger into the bottom access port.

  My fingers work the key pad of the phone’s base. The screen illuminates as I punch in each number. “Connecting” flashes on the display. My legs shake, posture stiff and ridged.

  I haven’t bothered checking to see what time it is. It doesn’t really matter though. Even if it is the middle of the night, and he is dead asleep, this can’t wait. We need help, now.

  My world has been flipped upside down within a matter of days. What was once a golden opportunity, has now turned into a hellish nightmare that I’ll be lucky to escape.

  My eyes are glued to the phone, each ring keeping me on the edge of my seat. An endless loop of the dial tone taunts me with its nagging digital ringing.

  With each angry redial, I lose hope. Fate seems to have cornered me at the edge of the world, and now, I am at its mercy, powerless to defend myself.

  The call finally connects, which pulls a deep sigh of relief from my body. I sit up straight from my deflated posture across the desk’s top as Vincent answers.

  “Madison. How is everything coming along?”

  “Vincent, we have a problem.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  For the next hour or so, I lay everything out as best as I can. The ominous snowstorm starts to severely hamper communications. Vincent’s image fades in and out as the crackling of static in the line intensifies with every second that creeps by.

  It is challenging to tell what he has heard by the choppy responses he has given. For all I know, my words detailing the current situation are coming across as a garbled mess of gibberish.

  “Vincent, can you hear me?” I inquire.

  There is mostly static now. I can hear bits and pieces of his words bleed through as his voice attempts to penetrate the weakened connection. A brief moment of clarity channels in over the line.

  “Communications will more than likely be offline for a day or so with the storm cell that’s in the area. We won’t be able to send assistance until the weather clears up.”

  I sigh, lowering my head some before I continue on. “I’m not sure if we have days to spare. The situation here is dire. We need assistance now!”

  “Madison. This is... best that can... done. Hold tight...support... can.”

  ...

  Static.

  “Vincent? Can you hear me?”

  The line is dead. The annoying sound of being severed from civilization taunts my ears. I sigh from the irritation, and press the disconnect button on the base of the phone. It is hard to tell if he comprehended the severity of the situation, or not.

  From his response, it seems as though he heard enough. It’s hard to be sure, but I’m hopeful that I’m right.

  I’m desperate at this point, and desperate people do desperate things. And that scares me the most.

  The lights in my room dim, then flicker. A low buzzing noise emits from the desk lamp shortly thereafter. I push the chair away from the desk, move toward the door, and grab the knob. My hand twists slowly. The gears inside engage as I slowly pull toward me. Cautiously, I peer out into the hall.

  The overhead lights that run along the ceiling buzz and fade in and out. Is the power going out? Are we on the verge of going completely dark?

  As much as I try to stay the thoughts, different scenarios of my demise bombard my head. Not only do we have to contend with flesh eating cannibals, but now the threat of freezing to death is a real possibility.

  I feel lost. All alone in the coldness of this bleak winter landscape that grows less hospitable as the minutes tick by. My heart races. Breathing escalates. It feels like the walls in my already tiny room are closing in on me. I am losing control fast.

  Two deep breaths.

  In and out.

  I push the door to, and turn around. My back presses against the wall as I close my eyes. I long to hear my father’s voice. Some meaningful inspiration to gather myself, control the situation, and not allow it to control me.

  His voice whispers in my ear. His words calm my unnerved soul. I still hope that this is all a bad dream, and soon I will wake up back in my bed in the states. I know it isn’t, but it helps to distract my mind.

  A loud pop sounds from the hall, followed by the lights going dark. Blackness engulfs me. The thin sliver of light emitting from my phone’s screen draws me in.

  I retrieve it from the desk, and disconnect the charging cable. I flip it over to check its status. It is nearly charged at ninety five percent. There are no bars visible in the upper right-hand corner, though, which doesn’t surprise me. Other than using the flashlight, most of the functions are worthless.

  Two deep knocks pound on the door. I jump, and cover my mouth to muffle the scream. The anxiousness that has been plaguing me grips me tighter. Is Dr. Stevens waiting on the other side, ready to lay waste to my body, and turn me into a thoughtless killer?

  Two more hard raps pound against the wood, followed by a gruff voice. “Madison, are you in there?”

  I gulp, and cautiously approach. “Who is it?”

  “It’s Clint.”

  I reach for the doorknob, and slowly twist it to the left. I crack the door open, and peer out into the hall. Clint stands there with his rifle pressed against his left shoulder. His body is cloaked in a dark red hue that fills the hallway.

  “You ok?”

  I move back a step, and open the door farther. His head swivels from left to right. A concerned look fills his face. Something is wrong.

  “Yeah, I am. Have we completely lost power?” I ask.

  The radio on his hip crackles. He retrieves it from his belt. “Go for Clint, over.” He swipes the back of his hand across his forehead. “The storm knocked out the main power. The generators have kicked in, but that’s not why I’m here.”

  I am hesitant to probe further into the reason he is here. I’m unsure if I want to know more. From his flustered demeanor, it doesn’t appear to be good. “What’s going on? Is it Dr. Stevens?”

  The radio goes off again, but the voice is a garbled mess. Clint sighs. “Say your last, over.” He looks at me, the red coating his face from the emergency lights on the ceiling just above my entrance. “We’re missing some folks.”

  I draw a sharp breath. “Oh no. That’s not good.”

  “No, it is not. We’ve got multiple staff members MIA, and I’ve got two men that are missing as well.”

  The radio crackles once more, followed by a panicked voice bleeding through the static in the speakers. “I found Rutledge and Barnes.”

  Relieved, Clint exhales. “Thank God. What’s their status?” Silence “Cobb. Come in. What’s their status, over?”

  Cobb groans. He pants over the speaker and the mumbles under his breath. “Sorry, sir. Got a little banged up.”

  Clint brings the radio closer. The microphone is but a scant inch away from his lips. “I need you to focus here, and tell me where Rutledge and Barnes are.”

  Cobb grunts. “They attacked me. I came across them in the back room of the commissary. They were... eating one of the scientists. I managed to take down Rutledge, but not before he bit me. I shot Barnes in the chest three times, but he tore ass and left before I could finish him off.”

  Clint purses his lips. His face fills with anger as his eyes squint. He is pissed. “Hang in there, Cobb. I’ll head your way shortly.”

  Cobb guffaws. “Don’t both
er. We’ve seen what happens when you get bit. You get infected with whatever they have. I’m not going to turn into one of those things, sir.”

  “You just hang in there, and we’ll get this sorted-”

  A gunshot rings out through the speaker. He flinches. He stands there, shock filling his wide eyes. His face contorts with rage. He draws his arm back, and acts as though he wants to slam the radio against the wall, but refrains from doing so.

  Clint growls. “Damn it!”

  I offer a sympathetic nod.

  “I’m sorry about you’re men.”

  He lowers his arm, and clamps the radio onto his belt.

  The faint groan of a tortured voice looms from the deep red vacuum of the hall to our right. Clint spins on his heels, and drops to one knee. He brings his rifle to bear.

  Silence. Not a word escapes his lips. He is poised to strike. His form is steady, free of any hesitation. I suck back into the door jamb, and watch with a timid gaze.

  Heavy footsteps pound the tile floor. The silhouette of a body comes into view. It pauses, but only for a moment. A man, outfitted with thick black boots, and a dark gray winter set of pants and coat like Clint’s rushes headlong at us, grunting and growling as it closes the gap. Clint remains focused and vigilant, keeping perfectly still.

  The man doesn’t look like Kylan. It has to be Barnes.

  Fire spits from the end of Clint’s rifle. The orange glow of the muzzle lights up the space. Barnes’s head flies back violently. A faint mist of blood erupts from the back of his skull as his body crumples to the floor.

  Clint holds his steadfast position a moment longer before standing back up. He keeps his rifle pressed firmly to his shoulder with the barrel trained at the motionless corpse on the floor. He approaches with caution, and nudges the man’s arm with the toe of his boot. There is no reaction to the touch. He lowers to the ground, and grabs Barnes’s right arm.

  Clint pulls him onto the flat of his back. I crane my neck, and pull my phone free from my pocket. I turn on the light, and shine it toward the body.

  His skin is pale, mouth drenched in blood that encompasses most of his face. A lone hole resides in the middle of his forehead. Clint places his hand on top of his padded chest, and lowers his head. A moment of silence is offered to his fallen friend.