The Amygdala Syndrome (Book 1): Unstable

by Hunt, Jack

  The second time Sorenson looked out the window, Gina rushed forward, knife at waist height. Sorenson’s eyes flared, and he reacted, unloading two rounds just as she drove the knife into him. It all happened so fast. Both of them slumped onto the floor, Gina coughed and spluttered and Sorenson tried to catch his breath.

  Pete rushed forward and retrieved the gun from him while Jenna checked on Gina.

  It was too late. She was struggling to breathe.

  Sorenson stared blankly as if realizing his fate was sealed.

  “Jenna. My kids. Would you…”

  She inhaled sharply and then never took the next breath. Her eyes glazed over and Jenna ran her hand over her face to close the lids. She was so angry, not just with Sorenson but the government. How could they let this happen? All their attempts to meddle had unleashed something so deadly that it didn’t just kill; it destroyed families, stealing loved ones away from each other. For what? An attempt to make soldiers feel no fear?

  Pete placed a hand on her shoulder.

  “Jenna, we need to go.”

  The sound of a chopper could be heard getting closer.

  She nodded, looked at Sorenson who was still alive and shook her head in disgust before darting out into the night in a final attempt to avoid becoming guinea pigs in further experiments.

  Chapter 25

  Angela had been acting strange ever since being attacked by her landlord. Twenty minutes earlier, they’d been waiting in the idling Chevy for Emerick and Nick when the violence erupted. Although they didn’t want to leave them behind they had no choice. It was either that or be overrun, and they’d already seen a couple get dragged from their car and beaten to death in the street.

  It was insane.

  Callie couldn’t believe it was happening.

  Not in her town. Not in her country.

  Initially Angela had driven a few blocks away with the idea to swing back around when the crowd dispersed but it never did. It only increased in size. It was as if the entire town had come out to celebrate some event, except pockets of violence dominated.

  It was too risky to stay on the streets so Angela had taken them to her apartment, a gorgeous block on the south side. It was upscale, at least for Marfa. Angela said she got in when the prices were low but they’d soared over the past five years. She was convinced that Emerick would make his way there after getting out of the school, but Callie wasn’t so sure. She’d seen the knot of people heading for the doors of the school; they’d witnessed the extreme acts of brutality. Things weren’t going to get better.

  They’d spent the last few hours in her apartment huddled around a flashlight, eating canned beans and peaches, as there was no electricity. If it wasn’t for the fact that it was summer the situation could have been a lot worse.

  Everything had been calm and peaceful until her landlord knocked on the door.

  Angela had got up and peered out the peephole. For a brief moment she had contemplated not opening but when he called out her name, she figured it was safe — it wasn’t. That was clear from the moment the door opened.

  The six-foot, approximately 260-pound man pushed his way inside acting all erratic. He kept pacing back and forth biting on his nails, except he must have been doing it for some time as he’d worn them down so much that they were bleeding.

  “Gerald,” Angela said, backing up and keeping a hand out. “What do you want?”

  “I need the rent. I need…” He initially sounded logical but then he would spill out words that didn’t make any sense, and every few seconds he would stop walking and just stare at the wall as if he was stoned. The second Angela touched his arm to try and break the trancelike state he would cower back, his hands shaking so hard that he looked as if he was having a seizure.

  “I’ve already paid you this month. Remember, I came into the office and cut you a check.”

  That was when it happened. It was like a switch being turned on. One second he was acting like he was afraid and the next a sneer formed on his face and he lunged forward, his hands wrapping around Angela’s throat. She stumbled back over the coffee table and they collapsed on the floor. Shocked, Callie looked on unsure of what to do. Frantically, Angela raked at his face with her nails trying to pry him off but it had little effect on him. Her choking sounds got worse the longer he held her down. Angela turned her face and gestured by flaring her eyes. Callie came to her senses and grabbed hold of Gerald by the collar and began yanking at him. It was useless, one quick swipe of his arm and he knocked the wind out of her. Now both of them were coughing and gasping for air. Determined to not let him kill her, she rose, bent over and clung to her stomach as she staggered over to the kitchen. On one of the burners was a pan that must have been used the night before, as there was grease in it. Callie grabbed it up and turned. A second of hesitation and she brought it down as hard as she could across Gerald’s face. It knocked him loose and he rolled over. Angela gasped for air and crawled away trying to put as much distance as she could between Gerald and her.

  While the crack to the head had worked to get him off, it hadn’t knocked him out, and had only angered him more. Angela was of no use as she was still trying to suck in air. There was no telling how damaged her throat was. Gerald tried to rise to his feet but Callie acted swiftly and cracked him again, this time around the back of the head. Then she followed through once, twice, four more times until he was no longer moving. She didn’t know if he was dead but he was unconscious, that was for sure.

  Callie hurried over to Angela and placed a hand on her back.

  “Are you okay?”

  She grunted, and nodded while still holding her neck. Callie looked back at Gerald, and saw a pool of blood beginning to form around his head. The very sight of it made her feel sick to her stomach. She raced to the bathroom and threw up.

  When she reemerged, Angela snatched up the keys off the counter.

  “We can’t stay here.” She looked down at him, tucked the keys into her pocket and then began to drag his limp body out of her apartment. Callie offered to help but she refused. If anyone was going to get blame for this, she was. Angela kept saying that she was indebted to Callie and apologized for opening the door.

  “You don’t need to apologize,” Callie said as she watched Angela stuff Gerald into a closet off the hallway. It was filled with cleaning fluid, a vacuum and a machine for cleaning carpets. As soon as he was out of the way they hurried to the vehicle with the intention of heading over to Callie’s home and checking on her parents.

  That was six hours ago.

  They never made it to the apartment. Instead, they found themselves driving in circles, stopping, hiding and doing everything they could to avoid crazed lunatics who had taken to the streets. All the while Angela was getting more peculiar by the hour. At first it was nothing more than a faraway look in her eyes, then she began mumbling incoherently, then she would slam on the brakes and just stare down the road as if frozen. But it was when her hands started to shake, and she snapped at any suggestions Callie had that she became really worried.

  “Angela, maybe…”

  “NO!” she bellowed not even looking at her.

  Now as if defaulting in her mind back to her old routine, she headed east towards the radio station. She kept saying they needed to go on the air and warn people. People needed to be warned, she said three or four times. Any attempt by Callie to sway her from that resulted in an angry glare. Eventually, Callie remained quiet hoping that when they made it to the station she would go in and Callie would part ways with her. The only thing that mattered to her right then was returning home and making sure her parents were okay.

  As they turned onto Highland Avenue and got closer to the station, Angela slammed the brakes on and stared at the building off in the distance. She revved the engine a few times and Callie looked at her out the corner of her eye.

  “Angela.”

  No response.

  Callie went for the door but it was locked.

>   “Angela, let me out.”

  Nothing. No reply.

  “Angela.”

  The engine roared, and Callie grabbed her seat belt and snapped it on. In that instant, Angela hit the accelerator as hard as she could. The wheels spun, and let out a squeal as they surged forward. She glanced at Angela who wasn’t strapped in. Within seconds, the vehicle swerved off the road across the sidewalk and slammed straight through the front windows of the radio station, plowing through tables and chairs until it hit the rear wall and catapulted Angela out of her seat through the windshield.

  That was the last image she remembered before the world went black.

  Chapter 26

  His heart beat a mile a minute. Brody exited the school building, shocked by the aftermath of violence. The three of them had to kill four people just to discover that Nick wasn’t among the dead. Upon arriving in Marfa, they’d checked his home, thinking that Nick would have gone there and let himself in. The place was empty. There wasn’t even any sign that he’d been there. No food had been taken out of the cupboards. The windows hadn’t been opened. And his neighbor hadn’t heard anyone. The school was the obvious next stop in the search.

  As they emerged from the school and returned to Gottman’s vehicle, Brody tried to think where else he might have gone. The only name that came to mind was Devan, Emerick’s son. They’d practically grown up together, attended the same school and were like two peas in a pod. Although since his separation from Jenna he’d fallen out of touch with Nick, he knew him well enough to know that wherever Devan was, Nick wouldn’t be that far behind, especially in a situation like this.

  They tore out of the lot, clipping a few lunatics in the process.

  Gottman was outraged but it was unavoidable. The sheer number of people that had taken to the streets was overwhelming. They were either trying to escape the town or attack it. The GT screamed through the streets, a throaty rumble kicking out of the exhaust pipe as Gottman slalomed around abandoned vehicles and people who chose to stand in the street despite the GT barreling towards them.

  “Move here, my girlfriend said. It’s beautiful, she said. The people are real nice. Oh yeah, real nice, more like fifty shades of crazy!” Michael said leaning forward from the back seat.

  As they came around onto Lincoln Street they could finally see what all the commotion was. It was like a war zone. Various individuals had positioned themselves behind burnt-out cars and were taking potshots at each other.

  Gottman slammed the brakes on and squinted. “That’s a school bus up ahead.”

  He glanced at Brody and didn’t need to say anything, they were thinking the same. They were positioned about two blocks down from the white church where the school bus was embedded. Although they were out of range, they were far from out of trouble.

  “I’ve got to see.”

  “Hey, I’m all for finding your son, chief, but we go driving into the town square, we are signing our death warrant. We’ll be lucky to make it of this vehicle alive.”

  Gottman slammed the gearstick into reverse and was about to back up when Brody opened the door. “I’m going in. I don’t expect you to follow but that could be my son in there.”

  “Chief!”

  “Just go check the radio station. Devan might have gone there.”

  Michael got out. “I’m going with him.”

  Gottman slammed his hands against the steering wheel. “Great.” Now he felt like a complete dick. Here was an orderly willing to put his neck on the line. What was he meant to do? Drive away? “Ugh. Hold up.” He groaned and swung the vehicle into a driveway. Got out, pulled an AR-15 from the back of the trunk and patted the top of his vehicle while nervously looking around. “I’ll be back for you.”

  Brody watched him from the corner treat his car like it had feelings. He shook his head in disbelief and cast a glance down the road. Although he was determined to find Nick, he understood what Gottman was trying to say. An eruption of gunfire, and a Jeep zipping into view made it clear that it wasn’t just the infected they might be up against. It was to be expected. Fear of being infected or harmed would throw the nation into a fight-or-flight mentality. It wasn’t like those infected were easy to spot until their eyes and skin changed. People only had seconds to determine if someone walking up on them was going to attack or infect them.

  They broke into a jog, keeping close to the buildings and staying in a single line with Gottman watching their six. The blackness of night provided much needed cover.

  Sergeant Radcliff bellowed over the radio. “We leave in five minutes, they want us on the roof ready for extraction.”

  Damian Welch stuck a finger in his ear trying to hear over the sound of gunfire. “What about the kids?”

  “No one is to leave.”

  “But sarge, we don’t know if they’re infected yet. It’s been six hours. If they were infected they would have—”

  “No one is to leave, private. That is an order!” he bellowed cutting him off.

  “Roger that.”

  Two weeks a year. That’s all, he’d been told. He figured he would do simple shit like being posted at a gate and letting people on and off the base. At the worst he figured he might have to do some time overseas, or handle border control with the influx of Mexicans. But this… No, he didn’t expect to deal with this. He didn’t sign up to kill Americans, to kill his own kind. He looked over the group of roughly twenty-five students huddled together, a mask of fear on their faces. Most had their hands over their ears, some were crying, others he’d heard asking for their parents. They were just kids. Not monsters. They weren’t like those outside the walls that were trying to get in. Insane, lunatics, unable to control their rage.

  “What did the sarge say?” Barett asked.

  Welch didn’t want to tell him. Barett wouldn’t think twice about putting a slug in one of those kids, he’d been itching to do it since the attack in the school. If he’d had his way he would have wiped out all of them.

  “Just give me a minute.” Welch eyed a black kid who’d been eyeballing them since they’d arrived, watching their every move, listening in on their conversations. “You,” he said pointing and gesturing for the kid to meet him across the room away from the others. The tall, muscular kid got up and made his way over.

  “What’s your name, kid?”

  “Devan Jones.”

  Welch looked over at Barett who had gone off to help a couple of the other soldiers hold the tide back from the front entrance. “How old are you?”

  “Seventeen.”

  He nodded. “I have a son a few years younger than you. Look, I’m not going to cherry coat this. I think you know this doesn’t end well, right?”

  Devan gulped and pursed his lips.

  “Although the odds are against you making it out of this alive, if you go out there you stand a better chance of survival. Do I make myself clear?”

  The kid nodded.

  “I have my orders and I have no choice but to follow them but between now and when I take action, there is a small window of opportunity to leave. But you’re going to have to decide if you’re ready to take it. You won’t get all of these kids out of here. I can’t help you with that but I can make sure that emergency exit back there is unlocked. You understand?”

  He nodded. Welch jerked his head towards the students to have Devan join them again. He knew he was breaking protocol, and going against a direct order but was he meant to look away as he shot them? How could he ever look his own son in his face and tell him that the nation that he lived in was worth dying for if he had killed his own? Maybe Barett would gladly step over the line but not him.

  Welch took a moment to unlock the chain around the emergency exit and cast a glance towards Devan. He was about to head off to inform Barett and the others of the sergeant’s instructions when he turned straight into Barett.

  “Oh, hey, I was about to come find you.”

  Barett scowled. “Yeah?” He sidestepped and looked at the
door. “Why did you unlock it, Welch?”

  There was no easy answer to that, at least none that would satisfy him.

  Before he could utter a word, Barett reached for his radio. “Come in, sarge!”

  Welch lunged forward tackling him to the ground.

  “Devan, now!”

  Out the corner of his eye, as he struggled to hold down Barett, he saw the kid and many of the other students race towards the door. A hard fist connected with Welch’s face, and they rolled over. Welch hung on for dear life and gritted his teeth. Seeing every kid escape into the night brought more satisfaction than any other point in his career and made every painful blow to his face worth it.

  Chapter 27

  It was a chaotic scene that played out before them. Nick and the others had taken cover behind a 4 x 4 truck, and were picking off threats in every direction when the door burst open and students scattered.

  “Emerick!” Nick said, slapping him on the arm. He turned, and his eyes widened as he too spotted Devan ducking rounds zipping overhead. He went to dash towards him when Chad grabbed his arm.

  “Don’t be a fool.”

  “That’s my son.”

  Chad motioned with his head, as students buckled under gunfire. It was hard to tell who was responsible — the military on the roof, or those on the ground. Muzzle flashes had been lighting up the night since they’d run for cover.

  Nick lifted his head at the sound of a chopper coming in for landing.

  “I can’t stand here and do nothing.”

  Before Emerick or Chad could stop him, Nick darted to the next vehicle, then the next, heading in the direction of Devan. He heard Emerick yelling behind him but couldn’t hear exactly what he said. Running with a Glock in his hand, he fired at anyone who came at him. That amounted to two people, a woman holding what looked like a butcher knife, and a young guy gripping a shotgun. There was no time to think, no time for grief or regrets. He acted out of self-preservation, driven by fear of death. The very thing that was devastating the community was keeping him alive. Eventually he made it to a parked Jeep and hopped into the back. Devan was resting behind a tree, looking both ways.