Tainted Cure (The Rememdium Series Book 1)

by Ashley Fontainne

  Lamar shook his head and smiled. “Hell no.”

  They changed quickly. Once all three were fully armed, wearing similar outfits of their enemy, and masks in place, Walt moved to the front of the truck. He motioned for them to come closer while leaning over and hiding the key under the front tire.

  “We’ll leave the truck here. Martha and I are gonna let the military handle the situation from the freeway. We were just headin’ back to get Turner when you hit us up, so if you want to go fight with…”

  Lamar gave Walt a disgusted look. “If we weren’t in the middle of a shit-storm, I’d punch you for that comment. I’ve been preppin’ my entire adult life to fight against the government. Ain’t no way I’d get on their side now! It’s bad enough I’m wearin’ clothes that make me look like I’m one of them. Hell, hope Curt ain’t out there somewhere, hidin’ in the shadows just waitin’ to pick them off. With my luck, he’d shoot me! So, you say they got your boy? How do you know for sure?”

  “We heard it on the ham. They’re takin’ Turner, Jesse Parker and Reed Newberry to the high school for testin.’ I don’t like the idea of my boy bein’ a pin cushion for the U.S. Military,” Martha answered.

  Walt huffed and patted the AR-10 resting by his side. “Darlin’, we got this. Ain’t nothin’ more that scares the government than armed rednecks. Let’s go get our boy and the others.”

  Martha smiled but Lamar remained cautious as he followed. “That used to be true until the dead started eatin’ the livin’.”

  The trio only made it to the side of Walt and Martha’s house when gunfire from across town shattered the stillness of the morning.

  ADDRESSING THE NATION - Saturday - December 20th – 9:25 a.m. – Eastern Standard Time

  President Arthur Thompson closed his eyes and took a deep, cleansing breath. He was a jumbled mass of fear on the inside but couldn’t let the terror shine through on his countenance. After a thorough debriefing by all his upper-level staff members earlier, and the reports he’d reviewed about the worldwide catastrophe, remaining calm was beyond difficult.

  Press Secretary Ari Newburg stood next to him in the ready room. President Thompson could actually smell the fear wafting from his most trusted advisor. Ari’s normally arrogant attitude had disappeared, along with his impeccable attire. The rotund man’s gray suit was disheveled and beads of sweat glistened on his bald head and brow.

  After the last three hours of briefings from across the globe, and the horrifying reports flooding in, President Thompson worried Ari was close to suffering another heart attack.

  “They are ready for you, sir. Here are your notes.”

  President Thompson adjusted his tie. The sweat pooling under his shirt made his neck itch. Taking the sheets of paper, he nodded and opened the door.

  The White House Press Room erupted with noise as reporters shouted questions from the galley. Unaccustomed to such behavior, President Thompson forced himself not to wince at the onslaught. A sea of familiar faces—and a few new ones—screamed for his attention. The room was packed and no one sat in the chairs. Two men near the front were covered in sweat, their faces pale, as they struggled to hold off the others from taking over their positions.

  Holding up his hands in an attempt to silence the crowd, President Thompson stepped up to the podium. It took several seconds for the shouting voices to quiet down.

  Looking down at the prepared notes, President Thompson grimaced. Something inside his mind told him now was not the time to be politically correct. People were dying in droves across the world, and survivors didn’t need to have the news sugar-coated. They needed solid, real answers and leadership to guide them through the unexpected, global crisis.

  So, instead of reading the prepared speech, he turned the notes over.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, fellow Americans, and citizens of our world. It is with immense sadness I come to you today as not only our great nation, but the entire world, mourns the losses of so many lives. The terrifying events happening across the globe during the last twenty-four hours have left us all shell-shocked and fearful. We have witnessed scenes we never thought possible across the globe, and the images have caused us all to be scared.

  “I am here today to assure you that the United States government is working diligently with the governments of every country around the world affected by the outbreak. What you need to know is the pandemic affecting the world is not terrorist related. Though scientists across the globe have yet to isolate the cause, we do know what we are facing was not released upon humanity by any particular group. Now is not the time to let old prejudices and fears pervade our thoughts and attitudes toward others. Now is the time to unite as one collective group of humanity.

  “Precautions need to be taken to stem the spread of the disease. Researchers at the CDC have discovered the disease is only spread through contact with bodily fluids such as blood and saliva. This contagion is not airborne, and can only be contracted through contact with an infected individual, which includes being bitten.

  “To ensure the safety of all citizens of our country, at nine a.m. this morning, all fifty states are now under martial law. All international and national air travel has been suspended, as well as interstate travel from state to state through any other means. As you have been informed by the Emergency Broadcast System, every single person must report to their local county seat where testing facilities have been erected. If you are traveling and not in your home state, please proceed to the closest county seat and present your identification for testing. Once tested and cleared, you will be required to remain inside the boundaries of the county until everyone has been tested. Please know we are working on a cure…”

  President Thompson’s words were drowned out by a barrage of questions. Some of the staff writers from various news agencies around the world tried to push their way to the podium. Though he attempted to regain control of the room, President Thompson failed.

  The voices from the crowd grew louder, demanding answers. President Thompson could see they were more than panicked—they were hysterical. Some tried to even push their way past the Secret Service agents standing in front of the podium.

  The two men he noticed earlier in the front weren’t moving. They stood motionless, eyes glazed over as they stared at the floor. When the other reporters behind them crushed forward, one of the men fell to his knees.

  He didn’t stay down for long.

  When the man jumped back up, President Thompson gasped when he saw his eyes. They were solid black, no white or color visible. His skin had transformed into a dull, gray color, the blue of his veins made weird, zigzag patterns under the skin. Crouching, lips curled into a snarl, the man lunged and threw himself into the crowd.

  The questions ceased as the room filled with screams and the thunder of feet as people tried to escape. The other sick looking man joined in the melee. He grabbed the female reporter next to him and buried his teeth into her shoulder. In mere seconds, the once beautiful room was coated with blood.

  The four agents in front of the podium opened fire. The two monsters tearing apart the hapless reporters moved with lightning speed. Before he even had time to blink, or the agents get off another shot, the things descended on them. Biting, clawing, ripping, and shredding the well-trained men in seconds into nothing more than a bloody mass of flesh and bone.

  Stunned, mind unwilling to accept the images flooding in, President Thompson froze. Seeing the same scenes on a monitor was disturbing enough. Experiencing a person rip apart another like a wild animal was quite another.

  He felt someone behind him grab his jacket and pull backward. Turning, President Thompson stared into the dark brown eyes of Ari Newburg. “We need to go. Now.”

  All the years he’d been President, Arthur Thompson had never witnessed such chaos.

  Then again, the world had never been overrun with the dead.

  Once out in the hallway, Ari Newburg shut the door to the press room and locked it. The soun
d-proof walls blocked the loud noises from the other side, allowing President Thompson’s ears a respite. Chief of Staff Roger Buffett ran down the hallway toward them, the look on his face sent President Thompson’s nerves into overdrive.

  Sweat droplets covered Roger’s wide forehead. President Thompson could see the tremors of fear making his hands shake as they reached out toward him. “You need to come with me. Right now, sir. Need to get you to PEOC.”

  President Thompson wouldn’t budge from his position. In nearly eight years, he’d never had to go underground to the Emergency Operations Center in the East Wing. The request made his stomach lurch.

  “I’m not going anywhere without my daughter. Where is she?”

  Ari Newburg responded, “Sir, the perimeter has been breached and our sole focus is your protection. Melissa will be fine. Agent Roseburg will take care of her.”

  “No, she won’t. They are both gone. President Thompson, I’m sorry but we must go. Right fucking now!”

  “Oh, my God. You’re sure?” President Thompson whispered, tears blurring his vision. “What happened? How?”

  Roger Buffett cleared his throat. “Please, sir. We need to get you underground. Now. I’ll explain everything once you are safe. Now is not the time for this discussion. The world needs its leader safe. And alive.”

  President Thompson felt the hallway spin. Overwhelmed by the events of the last two minutes, his mind threatened to shut down. Blood thrummed in his head, making the sounds around him disappear. His heart physically ached at the loss of his daughter, and what was happening to the country he loved. He closed his eyes and prayed Melissa hadn’t turned into one of the living dead.

  His gridlocked brain snapped to attention when a large group of Secret Service agents burst out of the Cabinet Room. They formed a circle around him, Ari, and Roger in seconds, guns drawn.

  “PEOC. Now!” Roger screamed.

  “Oh, shit!”

  The hallway exploded in a clatter of gunfire. Ducking down inside the circle, President Thompson clasped his hands over his head and waited for the deafening noise to end.

  He didn’t have long to wait.

  The gunfire stopped. He could hear the wails of grown men screaming all around him. One screamed, “White House down! Jesus, White House down!” The last thing President Thompson heard was someone yell, “We can’t stop them!”

  President Arthur Reginald Thompson—graduate of Harvard, Vietnam veteran, husband, father, and leader of the greatest nation on earth—never had a chance to see what the agent closest to him was yelling about.

  Because a bloodied hand reached through the throng of dying agents on top of him and ripped his eyes out.

  ESCAPE - Saturday - December 20th – 8:30 a.m.

  Walt, Martha, and Lamar flattened themselves in a ditch by the back of the high school. An eight-foot chain-link fence loomed above them. Rather than being exposed by climbing it, Walt pulled a pair of clippers from his pack. In seconds, he made a hole big enough for the three of them to scoot through.

  The back of the school was filled with Humvees. Scanning the perimeter, Walt saw no one. In a low crouch, the trio ran across the dead grass until they reached the door leading to the gym, which also served as the cafeteria. Since it was the biggest, open area inside of the building, they’d figured that’s where everyone was being taken to.

  Walt peeked in a window and sure enough, they were right. The entire gym was full of men and women in combat fatigues, masks in place, gloves on. The lunch tables were full of computers, lab equipment, and needles. People were lined up in three rows: men, women, and children. Walt saw the metal doors open and a fresh group shoved inside. A young couple clung to each other, trying to shield their infant daughter from the soldier’s hands. The woman sobbed and collapsed onto the floor when a female in fatigues yanked the child from her arms.

  Motioning for Lamar to hand him the binoculars, Walt scoured the room, looking for Turner or the others. He spotted Regina Parker first.

  The Chief wasn’t moving. Her body stretched out on a cot at the far edge of the room. The right side of her face was swollen and she had several stitches closing up a wide gash. Her eyes were closed and wrists bound by a set of handcuffs. She was unarmed.

  Any other time, Walt would have chuckled at her predicament, assuming her smart mouth got her ass kicked.

  Not today.

  At the end of the cot sat her twin brother and Turner. Both of them were pale, gazes darting around the room as they watched their friends and neighbors stand in line to be tested. Reed Newberry had a bandage over his nose and his lip was swollen. Blood stained the front of his shirt.

  Thankfully, Turner had no visible injuries. His boy sat motionless next to Reed, a look of fury and sadness beaming from his face. Walt said a silent prayer of thanks, grateful Turner was okay.

  “Do you see Turner?” Martha whispered.

  Walt nodded and lowered himself into a crouch. “They got Chief Parker and her brother, too. Both look like they let their mouths get them an ass whoopin’. Parker’s unconscious, and she’s in cuffs.”

  “Well that ain’t good! You think she might be infected or somethin’?” Lamar asked.

  “No. Other than bein’ banged up, she looks fine.”

  “What about Jesse?”

  “I didn’t see her, honey.”

  Lamar scooted closer, his back pressed tight against the bricks. “So, how we doin’ this? Stormin’ or silent?”

  Martha piped up, “Silent. We’ve got to get them out without anyone realizin’ they’re missin’. And I know my son—he won’t go anywhere until we find Jesse. I say we locate her first.”

  “Do you think maybe she tested positive and they took her away?” Lamar asked.

  His question hung in the air like a thick cloud. Walt knew it was a distinct possibility, and he could tell Martha did as well when he looked her way.

  The back door burst open and two soldiers in full biosuits exited. In between them wriggled a screaming, terrified Jesse. “I told you I’m not sick! The blood test confirmed it, so why are you taking me away?”

  Oblivious to the trio crouched to their right, the two soldiers continued forward toward the closest Humvee. “We aren’t taking any chances. You exhibit all the signs of contamination.”

  “I already explained! I have allergies, and that’s why I’m sneezing and my eyes are red!”

  “Maybe so, but to be safe, we’re taking you to the jail to keep watch for the next twenty-four hours. If you haven’t turned by then, you’ll be free to go.”

  As the soldiers walked further away, Walt and the others couldn’t make out what they were saying. Walt glanced at the back door, which was still open. He raised his arm and pointed to the door. The trio stood and slipped in.

  They were inside the back of the kitchen. No one else was inside the small space, so they continued forward until they reached the double doors leading to the cafeteria.

  “Walk with a purpose, yet try to avoid speakin’ to anyone. Follow my lead. We’ll head straight over to get Turner, Reed, and Regina. That little spectacle with Jesse will help. We’ll lead them out this way, and if anyone asks what’s goin’ on, I’ll handle it. Got it?”

  Martha and Lamar nodded in agreement. They pulled their masks on and stepped through the doors.

  The sound of terrified voices—some crying and others yelling—filled the gym. Walt’s heart thundered in his chest. Their presence went unnoticed as they made their way across the room over to Turner.

  Walt was first to reach his son. Turner looked up at him, eyes full of rage until he realized he was staring at his father. Turner shifted his gaze to his mother and Lamar and though he didn’t smile, his eyes reflected his gratitude.

  Glancing around to make sure they were out of earshot of the others, Walt whispered, “We’re gettin’ y’all outta here. It ain’t gonna be easy, so forgive me for what I’m about to say. Now, both of you get her up and take a side. Head to the kitche
n.”

  Reed Newberry nodded and stood. Turner followed, and in seconds, they hoisted Regina’s limp body off the cot. She groaned but didn’t wake up.

  Walt stepped aside and let the men lug Regina past him. The trio fell into step behind them. They were close to half way when a voice behind them queried, “What the hell are you doing?”

  Stopping, Walt turned around and faced a soldier no older than Turner. The kid’s features, except his eyes, were hidden by a mask. The boy’s dark brown eyes reflected his struggle to remain calm.

  “Takin’ them to the jail. A family member tested positive, so to be safe, we’re going to quarantine the entire family. Can’t afford any to slip through the cracks, right?”

  The kid took several steps backward. “Oh, okay. Good idea. Best to be cautious, that’s for sure.”

  Walt gave the boy a nod and the group continued forward. When they reached the door to the kitchen, their sense of accomplishment was short lived.

  “Oh, my God!” someone screamed.

  “Run!” another yelled.

  The cafeteria erupted in chaos. People scattered…and they were all heading toward the kitchen.

  “What the hell?” Martha asked.

  The answer was a barrage of gunfire.

  “Jesus, some made it in here!” Turner yelled.

  “Move! Now! Follow me!”

  Walt shoved the door open and the group ran through the kitchen. Whether it was the noise or movement that did the trick, Regina woke up. Without a sound, Reed and Turner let go, and they burst through the back door.

  “This way, come on!”

  The six of them barely made it twenty yards before a stream of panicked people exited the doors. The back parking lot filled up with hundreds of bodies—some living, some dead—in seconds. Shrieks of terror drowned out the sounds of their feet on the blacktop.

  “Through here,” Walt yelled. He grabbed the section of fence he’d cut through earlier and pulled back. “Hurry!”

  Lamar was the last one to go through. His weapon stuck in the links of metal. Pausing to free it, he wasn’t looking behind him.