The 300 pound bed exploded off the floor, flying across the gap between where it stood and the closet. It crashed into the young Filipino woman with the force of a car, pinning her body against the closet door, crushing her rib cage. As she slid to the floor, her eyes were frozen open in shock as life slowly faded from them. At 27 years old, she died there, her life cut short in an instant.
The crashing sound coming from the room had captured the attention of the nurses at the station closest to the room. They’d been focused on the insanity taking place in room 415, where the woman there had suddenly attacked Doctor Simmons after he’d shone a light into her eye to check her pupils. They stared at the room, frightened curiosity on their faces. One of the nurses called out, “Michelle, are you okay in there?” unwilling to move any closer.
A pounding came from the door. It was relentless, something heavy striking its surface over and over.
Shelly Ballinger, the senior nurse on staff stared at the door in awe, watching as it shook from the force of the repeated strikes. What if Michelle was trapped in there, in danger? It was her job, as the senior nurse, to take care of the other nurses, and a job she took very seriously. “Michelle, do you need help?” A groaning sound came from inside the room. Suddenly, she felt certain that Michelle was in trouble. Moving slowly toward the door, she called out again. “Michelle?” The pounding stopped.The groaning sound repeated, softer this time. Reaching out, she slowly turned the handle of the door and pushed open the door gently.
A figure burst forth from the room, covered only partially by a hospital gown. An IV line hung from its right arm, dangling loosely as it moved. Shelly Ballinger had been in the room where the Indian woman had been recovering, and had seen the woman several times. This creature bore similar features, but was anything but human. Spit ran down its chin as its head turned back and forth, surveying the nurse’s station. Its eyes were read and completely bloodshot. The left arm was clearly damaged, and hung lower than the right as the thing stood there, poised. Shelly took a step back, bringing her hands up in front of her.
That movement was all it took. The creature leapt forward, colliding with her in a violent tackle, driving her backward. Her legs came out from under her, sending her to the floor hard, where her head smacked the tile floor in a sickening wet crack. Blood flowed out of her head as her life left her. The thing atop her barely registered this as it pounded her face with its fists, smashing her nose, knocking out teeth, and breaking her cheekbones.
The other three nurses screamed, begging the thing to stop, unaware that any human rationale was gone from its singularly focused mind. “Oh my god, please stop!”
“Shelly!!”
“Stop, please!”
The thing coiled its legs under it and sprung, covering seven feet in one leap. It flew over the counter, its body slamming into the nearest woman. Intertwined, they fell to the ground in a heap. Fists rained down upon the woman, leaving her momentarily dazed. She tried to regain her focus when teeth closed around her jugular. The thing ripped that part of her throat away, leaving a gaping hole. Blood shot out and upward in a geyser, coating the creature as the woman died.
The remaining two nurses tried to get away. One succeeded, rounding the corner of the station and running in a full sprint towards the elevator.
The other tripped over one of the gel mats which they’d recently put down to reduce leg fatigue. She fell to the ground for a split second before quickly recovering, getting her feet under her and beginning to rise. She was too slow. The creature threw itself onto her, pinning her on her stomach. Fists hit the back of her skull, sending waves of pain through her. She heard the bones in the thing’s hands breaking as they came in contact with her skull, but the blows didn’t slow.
She heard something strike the creature with a thud. The assault on her stopped as the thing screamed loudly, rolling off of her.
“Stay back!” She recognized the voice as that of Mitchell, the third floor security guard. He must have come up in response to either the commotion or the alarms.
Rolling over, still woozy, she watched as the thing circled him, looking for an opening as he held out his baton.
Two other security guards showed up, backing up Mitchell. They formed a wall, keeping the thing away from her.
Maybe she’d survive this after all.
“Lady, I don’t know what your deal is, but you need to calm down!” Mitchell showed no fear as he wielded his baton, staring at the creature. The nurse didn’t know how he could be so calm, looking at the thing. Blood covered its face and torso. The remnants of its hospital gown hung loosely from its shoulders, leaving its breasts exposed. Not that it cared. It snarled at the three men, rage on its face.
“I’m not fucking around. Step. The. Fuck. Back!”
The thing withdrew on itself, leaning over as it turned from the group. It folded itself in half, making a gagging sound as it did so. Its body heaved in convulsions as they watched.
“What the fuck?” Mitchell wondered aloud.
Turning back towards the men, the creature shot a stream of blackish-red liquid from its mouth. The fluid splattered all over them, covering their faces, torsos, and arms. To the nurse’s shocked dismay, it hit her as well, coating the side of her face as she tried to turn away in vain.
The guards, momentarily distracted, became vulnerable. The creature, sensing an opening, lunged forward.
A crackling sound filled the air as taser barbs connected with the thing.
It fell to the ground and convulsed repeatedly as 50,000 volts coursed through its body.
Under normal circumstances, the guard would have allowed the five second burst to do the trick. Covered in the bloody vomit of the creature, surrounded by dead bodies and wanton destruction, the guard didn’t hesitate, giving it another blast of electricity. Losing control of its bodily functions, the thing went limp. The men cautiously put elastic cuffs on its wrists and ankles.
The nurse watched all of this, stunned. Bringing her hand up to her face, she wiped away some of the goo, bringing her hand in front of her to examine it. Mostly black, with streaks of red, she could make out bits of flesh in the liquid. It was like the thing was being eaten from the inside.
What would coming in contact with the creature’s discharge do to them?
She heard gunshots - actual gunshots - come from the far wing, where room 415 was. One of the guards ran off in that direction.
It seemed as if the world had gone mad in an instant.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Arriving at Seattle-Tacoma International Airport, commonly referred to as ‘SEATAC’ Raymond Liguria was unphased by the crowds. It was a busier-than-usual Wednesday, and arriving midday probably wasn’t the best choice, but he did have to work tomorrow, and he didn’t want to fly in late and spend the next day tired.
Smiling as he strode through the crowded terminal, he thought about his mother’s words, which she’d delivered with a smile, relief and happiness showing on her face: “I’m cancer free.”
It was quite literally unbelievable. Seven months ago, she’d called him first, before any of his younger siblings, to deliver the news that she had ovarian cancer. Worst of all, it was already Stage Two.To say things weren’t looking good would be an understatement of epic proportions. Calling it simply ‘ovarian cancer’ also seemed insufficient. The cancer had spread throughout her entire reproductive system, creating a hideously evil-looking shadow on the X-rays they’d been shown. Her uterus, Fallopian tubes, ovaries, and the space around all of it was a massive blob of white, shapeless and daunting, dominating the image.
Certain he would lose the woman who meant the world to him, the woman who’d defied the odds, working two jobs while raising him and his siblings on her own after their father had gotten himself killed in a drunk driving accident (which killed two others as well), he’d broken down in tears, unable to put on the brave face she’d asked of him.
He’d known then, and still knew today, that he
wouldn’t be the man he was today without her influence. When he’d snuck a beer and came home with the smell of alcohol on his breath at age 15, she’d removed his plate from the dinner table and showed him the door. ‘If I’m going to lose another person that I love to alcohol, I’d rather do it now before I grow to love you anymore than I already do.’ He’d begged and pleaded, but she’d insisted. He slept on the hallway floor outside their rundown apartment, wishing he’d never tried the bitter, warm, Miller High Life that his friend had offered.
Sometime after one a.m., she’d opened the door and looked down on him. ‘Still here?’ Rolling onto his knees, he’d looked up at her stern face and replied that yes, he was, and that he was sorry, that he’d never do it again.
‘I won’t lose you, Raymond. I’ve put too much into you.’ With that, she’d turned and walked away, leaving the door to the apartment open. Hearing the door to her bedroom close, he quietly entered the place, closing and locking the door behind him before making his way down the hallway towards the room he shared with his brother Antonio. Passing his sister Roberta’s room, he’d glanced in. His 5 year old sibling was looking over at him, relief showing on her face in the dim light cast by her Spongebob night light. Seeing him, she smiled and laid down, closing her eyes. Entering his room, he began climbing the steps to his top bunk, when he saw his brother Miguel looking up at him, his face streaked with tears. ‘Go to sleep, Miguel’ he said, before climbing the rest of the way up and gently laying down in his twin size bed. Embarrassed that he’d put the family through all of this, he’d vowed to be better.
To be a man.
He’d finished high school with a 4.1 GPA and been accepted to Cal Poly Pomona, where he’d earned a degree in computer science. After graduating, he’d found an opportunity with eTronix, a medium-sized software development company. He’d immediately set up an automatic transfer at his bank to send money home to his mother to help with bills, hoping that she’d use the money and leave one of the two jobs she’d worked for the last 20 years. She’d worked at a hotel, cleaning the rooms and the common areas throughout the day, and spent evenings performing janitorial duties at a local office building. Raymond had been able to send enough to make the nighttime job unnecessary, especially after he’d been promoted, but she’d simply set that money aside ‘for a rainy day’ until she’d gotten sick.
Fortunately, Raymond had been able (after some considerable effort) to add her and his siblings to his health insurance plan. That helped with a lot of unplanned costs, but she’d had to use the rainy day money to offset her lost wages during the first few weeks after the diagnosis.
Things seemed hopeless until she’d been approached to participate in a clinical study for a cancer treatment drug. His mother had been very skeptical, and although she’d agreed to participate (after his relentless urging) she’d placed her faith in God, praying nightly and going to mass as often as her schedule allowed.
A week ago she’d ask him to come down to see her so she could tell him something important about the cancer. She would say no more, insisting that she could only tell him in person. When he arrived, she’d gathered he and his siblings (Miguel was a junior in high school now, Roberta in her last year of middle school) in the small living room of their apartment. There she’d given all of them the incredible news of her recovery.
‘You see, I told you , God has a plan!’
He’d insisted on taking the family out to celebrate, after convincing his mother that although he loved her cooking, she deserved a break. Of all places, she’d chosen Benihana’s, where she cheered gleefully as the chef did his tricks over the hot griddle.
The next day she’d gotten sick, and the family assumed it was simply something she’d eaten at the restaurant.
“I told you I should have cooked for us.” She’d said as she laid in her bed, covered in sweat.
Gently wiping her forehead with a towel, then helped her blow her nose. “I know, mama, I know.”
After two days, they’d realized that it wasn’t food related, but rather a late springtime flu, which apparently was going around. His mother had insisted that he go home so he could get back to work. She was worried he’d be fired, even though he’d explained to her that his supervisor had cleared him to stay for a full week. As the weekend passed, Miguel had insisted that he could take care of her, and after walking through everything with him to make sure he understood, Raymond reluctantly agreed to keep his original return flight, returning to Seattle mid-week as promised.
This morning his mother had felt better, lifting all of their spirits. He’d kissed her on each cheek as he’d left, tasting the sweat that had permeated through her pores, and teasingly told her that the first thing she should do would be to take a shower.
Arriving at Baggage Claim, he stood there with the others from his flight, patiently waiting for the bags to start coming out of the back on the carousel. The crowd grew as they waited.
Suddenly, Raymond sneezed violently. The sneeze had caught him completely off guard, and he hadn’t been quick enough to cover his nose and mouth.
If humans could see at a microscopic level, he would have seen flecks of blood in the spray of his sneeze landing on the nearby travelers.
Within the area of his sneeze, Katy Rickman stood there waiting for her luggage, unaware of the microscopic particles landing on her skin, seeping into her pores. After a week away from home at a work conference in Los Angeles, she’d go home, where she and Mark, her husband of 7 years, would have perfunctory sex, trying in vain to recapture the spark that had left their marriage over the last year. Mark would then go on a business trip to Denver, where he’d spend half of his time participating in a financial consulting conference, and the other half with his new girlfriend, locked away in a honeymoon suite.
Near Katy was a small boy named Bobby Nichols, who was accompanied by his grandparents. After retrieving his suitcase, a hard case model with an Iron Man theme (which they’d bought for him as a Christmas present), they would go back to their house for the remainder of the day. In the morning, they would fly to Florida, where they’d spend the next week visiting Disneyworld and Universal Studios, coming in close contact with tens of thousands of people.
Also in close proximity was Ricky Watts, a 6’8” power forward who had just received word that he’d been signed to a contract with FC Barcelona Lassa, part of the Euroleague professional basketball association. He’d received word while visiting Los Angeles, where he’d watched the Lakers play the Utah Jazz, and immediately flew back to Seattle, where he’d played basketball for the University of Washington.
Within 36 hours he’d be in Barcelona, taking in the sights and mingling with the single women who, like many, found tall, muscular, hazel-eyed black men attractive.
The last person in the radius of Raymond’s sneeze was a young Chinese woman named Meizhen Zhao, a young college student who went by the nickname Mei-mei. Of all the people in the group, Mei-mei would be most justified in feeling that the universe was unfair when she became infected, since she had actually taken precautions, wearing a mask over her face and her mouth to keep germs out. Unfortunately, the microscopic particles dispersed by Raymond’s sneeze were able to enter her system through her eyes.
An electrical engineering student from UC Irvine who’d finished her semester the week before, Mei-mei would spend the next day waiting as her boyfriend finished up his finals at UW before they flew back to China.
Once back in Shanghai, she’d spend the next few days helping her family run their restaurant, where she’d prepare food for hundreds of people, unaware that she was helping the virus invade the Asian continent.
PART TWO
CHAPTER EIGHT
Mount Weather Emergency Operations Center, Virginia
Dr. Andrew Chang hurried down the hall, flanked by his colleagues, Dr. Lisa Bowman and Dr. Jonathan Reed. His medium height and thin build was in stark contrast to the two that walked with him. Tall and striking, Dr. Bowman w
as an attractive woman who maintained a hard exterior, in part because she knew people would try to judge her by her looks, and in part because her incredible mind was always working and didn’t have time for trivial talk. Dr. Reed, on the other hand, was very social. At 6’ 5” he was used to being the tallest of the group, and he frequently used his height, looks, and occupation to make himself the center of any social gathering.
For those who knew Dr. Chang, it would be a surprise that he needed any help at all. A child prodigy who had finished high school at 12 and his undergraduate degree at 16, he’d gone on to earn his medical degree from Harvard at the age of 20 and completed his residency by the young age of 26.
One might think six years was a long time for Dr. Chang to complete his residency when compared to the quick manner in which he’d completed his other studies, but the difference was that he’d taken on two specialties, and completed the education and residency for both, well before he reached 30 years of age.
His specialties? Hematology and Neurology, which made him the perfect person to spearhead the effort to stop what was being called the Rage Virus.
Much to the dismay of his aging parents, he was still single at 36, preferring to dedicate his time and energy towards helping people above anything else. Recently, however, he’d met a wonderful young lady named Karen at the gym in the building of his condominium in Atlanta. So far, though, it had only led to two dinner dates and a handful of coffees together. His next date with Karen was originally slated for several days ago, but that plan had been canceled, overcome by the crisis the country currently faced.
Five days ago, a pair of Army Officers had shown up at his office at Atlanta General Hospital in the late afternoon and explained that his presence at the Emergency Op Center was ‘requested’ by ‘senior government officials.’ When he balked at leaving with them, he’d been shown a letter signed by none other than President Martinez.
Surviving Rage | Book 1 Page 7
