Rise of the Plague (Book 1): Endemic

by Jeannie Rae

  A chubby man grabbed a plank of wood from the ground near the concession stand. He began swinging it wildly at two women that were closing in on him. One of the women rushed toward him, and he struck her in the face with the board. She sank to a knee, but wasted little time rising back to her feet. A crazed, tall man in a plaid shirt grabbed the board-wielding man from behind and sank his teeth into his shoulder. The two women moved in, one biting his neck and the other tearing into his arm. The chubby man dropped the wood and disappeared beneath the three of them, with more people joining the pile on top of him.

  Kate’s eyes scanned the groups of people within the mob. The scenes were similar. The attackers seemed peculiar. Kate couldn’t quite figure out what was wrong with them, but they were…different. She scanned the mob looking at the attackers. All were injured, having bleeding wounds, and hanging their heads in an odd way.

  In the wake behind the mob, along the course they had traveled, bodies were strewn out all over the pavement. Blood pooled and stained the ground. Some of the bloody people were unsteadily rising up from the ground and getting to their feet. They staggered around confused and lost. A woman stumbled toward the concession stand whose arm had been torn from her body. Blood spurted out from her shoulder, yet she shuffled forward. A man not too far from her had just climbed to his feet, with a broken-looking ankle. He limped a few steps on his ankle with his foot awkwardly twisted inward.

  The crowd rapidly moved across the carnival, some already reaching the bottom of the Ferris Wheel. Several members of the crowd surrounded the conductor. In desperation, he searched for the nearest thing to a weapon within reach. He positioned his hands around the lever that controlled the ride. As he pulled the rusty, white lever out of the socket that it lay upon, the wheel switched gears to the rotate, then to the stop position again, causing the wheel to rotate a few feet, then suddenly stop, swinging the carts erratically.

  “Dad!” Kate’s scream sounded nearly muffled by the agonizing screams from the fearful riders in the seventeen other carts on the wheel.

  “I got you,” Joe’s strong eyes locked onto Kate’s face as he braced his muscular arm in front of her and held the other side of the cart. In that moment, she transported back to her younger years when her father seemed like the strongest man alive. She nodded, accepting his reassuring arm, her small fingers seizing the bar restraint with all her strength.

  Joe and Kate looked down to the control station of the ride, and could see the conductor swinging the white pole at the mob surrounding him. Within seconds, he disappeared into the mob along with two carts at the bottom of the wheel. The riders had no chance to attempt an evacuation of the carts. The mob had now reached massive proportions, shambling beneath the Ferris Wheel. Some of them began to look skyward, perhaps noticing that there were more people still on the ride.

  “Oh my gosh!” Kate said looking out at the ravaged scene, “Are we gonna make it out of here?”

  In a matter of minutes, this mob had taken out nearly the entire carnival. The only ordinary people nearby were in the remaining carts on the Ferris Wheel. Kate could still hear people screaming on the Zipper. The ride rotated, with no conductor at the controls of the ride. Few crazed people could be seen darting around the carnival, but most of the remaining carnival goers were under the wheel.

  “Yes, Kate. We’re gonna make it, we’ll be fine. I’m going to call the police,” Joe pulled out his silver and black cell phone, pressing just one number he placed it to his ear. He tightened his jaw and hung up the phone. “All circuits are busy.”

  He looked down trying another call.

  “Hey Roxy, why aren’t you picking up your cell? Kate and I are at The Harvest Carnival in the Willow Lake Marketplace parking lot. There are riots or something going on here. We’re stuck on the Ferris Wheel and can’t get through to the police. We’ll keep trying, but can you call for us? Call me back. I’ll call you if we make it out of here before I hear back from you. I want you to stay in the house, until I get home. Do not go outside! I want you to—hello. Hello,” dialing once more, he sighed and hung up. Shoving the phone into his pocket, he repositioned his arm from in front of Kate to around her shoulder. “The line went dead.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Randy pulled out his yellow and black phone, shutting the back hatch of the SUV. Noticing the time at six-thirty, he needed to hear from his men on the status of their assignments. The bodies of Mr. and Mrs. Bishop were wrapped in a tarp—that Randy had found in the garage—and stuffed behind the backseat. As he pulled on the Bishop’s garage door, Randy heard a thud from inside the house. It sounded as if an object had fallen to the floor, like a picture from the wall or something off a shelf. Randy listened again for a moment, before closing the garage. Resolving that it likely had been the vibrations from the Mariachi band that had knocked something down, he dismissed it.

  “Buzz, Doyle come in,” Randy called into the radio in his phone as he climbed into the front seat of the truck to escape the blare of the music at the neighbor’s house.

  “Go ahead Boss,” Buzz’s voice came in clear.

  “Status?”

  “Boss we are stuck in traffic on Dixon Avenue. There’s a major accident up ahead, and there’s no way around it. Cops are everywhere, so we can’t just take off, over,” Buzz said dryly.

  “Okay, keep me posted,” Randy said, “Rhino, Junior come in.”

  “Rhino here, go ahead.”

  “Location, status?” Randy questioned.

  “On our way home, Boss. We’ve got the bookends, over,” Rhino said, meaning that he had two people that were linked, like brother and sister or husband and wife.

  “That’s alright. Call the doc to receive them. ETA?” Randy’s voice stressed.

  “I’ll give her a call. We’re maybe forty-five minutes out, with all this traffic,” Rhino strained.

  “Any trouble?”

  “None, Boss,” Rhino’s voice seemed wary. “Should we expect any?”

  “I’m not sure, be careful. We’ll be home soon,” Randy paused for a moment looking at Shotgun, “Boots, Walker come in.”

  “Go ahead,” Walker responded.

  “Status?”

  “We’re getting changed. There's no food in the fridge. I heard from some neighbors that there is a new market on Marshall Boulevard. We'll go there and pick up what we need,” Walker replied.

  “Radio back when you pick up the food. Be careful, over,” Randy slid his phone into his pocket.

  Their code wasn’t anything elaborate, just a way for them to communicate without anyone else on the air waves being able to understand. 'No food in the fridge' meant that the target wasn't home. 'Heard from the neighbors' meant just that. They had asked some of the neighbors if they may know of the target’s whereabouts. 'New market on Marshall Boulevard' meant that there was a temporary venue on Marshall. This could be a street faire, car show, parade or something similar.

  Randy looked to Shotgun, “You know anything that’s going down on Marshall?”

  “Yeah, there’s The Harvest Carnival in the parking lot of the Willow Lake Marketplace.”

  “Alright. Let’s get these two back to the lab,” Randy said with a sigh.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Roxy awakened to claws digging into her ankle. She sat up from the couch, to see Gypsy mid-air, springing from the couch.

  “Aw Gypsy!” Roxy sighed as her Pit Bull raced alongside Rogue, toward the front door.

  Both dogs were anxiously jumping and barking fanatically at the door. Roxy took in a deep yawn and slid her legs off the sofa. Flinching as her bare feet rested upon the icy tile floor, she stood quickly and tip-toed to the dogs to find the reason for all the commotion.

  As Roxy approached the front door, Rogue raced around in circles, barking and letting out sporadic, low growls. Gypsy, barking as well, sprung straight into the air, as if she were on a trampoline.

  “Out,” Roxy said calmly as she snapped her fingers. Both do
gs instantly sat and obediently peered up at her awaiting the next command.

  Roxy popped her neck then rubbed her knuckles over eyes and looked out the peep hole into the darkness. The motion light hadn’t been activated, meaning that nobody had been at the porch. As she backed away from the door, she noticed a glow. Just beyond the peep hole’s view, a flickering orange radiance shimmered from the darkness. It’s probably the kids across the street partying out front again. Glancing at the clock on the kitchen wall, the time read four minutes past seven. She turned her head and looked down at the ladies.

  “Eh, as long as they don’t get too crazy, they can have their fun, huh ladies. Besides, Dad will be home soon, and then the party will be over,” she said looking at the dogs.

  Her headache and dizziness had, at long last, subsided. She made her way to the kitchen, with the ladies in tow and opened the fridge. She felt considerably better than earlier but felt overcome by a ravenous hunger, as though she hadn’t eaten in days. For the last four years, Roxy has been a vegetarian. Her love of animals is what motivated the choice to not eat meat. While peering at the food on the shelf, she found it difficult to understand why she couldn’t take her eyes off the half pound of roast beef, sandwich slices in the fridge. She felt like she had to have it. Not like a craving or a case of the munchies—like she almost couldn’t stop herself from grabbing it and eating it right out of the bag—as though her body needed it. She slammed the fridge closed and dashed to the cupboard and fished out the peanut butter. Retrieving a spoon from the drawer, she scooped out a mound-full and shoveled it into her mouth. It somewhat helped alleviate her hunger, but Roxy still found herself agonizing over the roast beef. After two more spoonfuls of peanut butter, she dropped the spoon into the sink and went back to the fridge. The meat tempted her. Her mind couldn’t concentrate on anything but the succulent meat. She squeezed the refrigerator handle, when a loud boom erupted from outside.

  “Son of a …” Roxy stopped herself short; the dogs were in a frenzy. It sounded like a bomb had exploded in her front yard.

  “That’s it!” Roxy released her hold on the fridge, and strode to the coffee table in front of the sofa and snagged her cell phone. Storming back to the front door, she turned to the dogs and said, “Stay.”

  Both dogs stopped immediately and looked on at their human in anticipation.

  Roxy swung open the door with such fury that her hand nearly slipped off the knob. Taking three steps outside, she froze, staring at the incomprehensible sight before her. Her eyes were first drawn to a car across the street afire. Huge flames stretched out of the barren vehicle toward the trees above.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Roxy's street is shaped similar to goal post uprights. Five houses are along either sidewalk with each end of her street turning southward. This track of town had been built in the seventies with each home being uniquely apart from all the rest, aside from the fact that they are all single story homes.

  Over a dozen frenzied citizens were running wildly in and out of houses, and assaulting one another. Pocketing her phone, Roxy stood barefoot on her front porch, paralyzed by the sight before her. Sulfur contaminated the summer night’s air, burning her nose as she inhaled, almost prompting a sneeze. Smoke from the flaming car across the street billowed to well beyond the roof tops of the houses within view. The coral and lemony colored flames stretching out of the vehicle licked the branches of a nearby tree, as screaming people ran savagely through the street. An unfamiliar man attempted to get into a neighboring house, pounding his fists in fury on the door. Another man, escaping from a house further down the street, was being chased by two other ruthless-looking men, covered in an oily substance. It took a few moments for Roxy to digest—but not truly understand—the events transpiring in her neighborhood.

  What in the world is going on?

  Screeching tires squealed two houses down as an Escalade peeled out of the driveway. The white SUV sped erratically down the street, running down two or three pedestrians. Roxy cringed at the sight, nearly covering her eyes but incapable of looking away. The vehicle accelerated, not even a hint of slowing down. As it rounded the corner, a black half ton truck slammed into it. Both vehicles skated across the asphalt, until finally coming to a stop at the corner lamp post. The twenty-five foot pole came crashing down into the road, extinguishing the light and littering the ground with shattered glass. Roxy cupped her hand over her mouth, gasping as tears balanced on her eyelids. She turned to go back inside, I have to call the police.

  Almost to the door, she felt something take hold of her arm. Breathless, she looked at the intruder holding her arm hostage. A woman with a fossilized look upon her face stood before Roxy.

  “Can I come inside? We’ll die out here,” the woman was barely audible, out of breath, sweating and hemorrhaging.

  “Yeah, are you okay? You’re bleeding,” Roxy pointed to the woman’s right wrist. The woman, still holding Roxy’s elbow, yanked her into the house.

  “Hey!” Roxy squealed.

  The woman said nothing, slamming the door and locking the deadbolt.

  “What the hell is going on out there?” Roxy demanded.

  The ladies stood poised at Roxy’s side, eerily eyeing the stranger.

  “I don’t know, some of the people out there, are…” the woman dropped her head, sighing. “Some of the people out there have gone mad. Strangers, our neighbors, even my own family have gone insane. They are killing out there. I was almost killed…by my own son! He did this!” She waved to her bloody wrist, before cupping her face in her palms and sobbing uncontrollably.

  Roxy dashed to the kitchen and seized a towel from stove rack, with her dogs following her every step. The woman slowly followed, her entire body trembling as Roxy grabbed the woman’s arm about half way up and wrapped the towel around her wrist, securing it with a knot.

  “This is really bad. Is that a bite mark? We need to get you to the hospital. Plus we should probably get out of here anyway, at least until the police get everything under control,” Roxy said, tapping the screen of her fuchsia cell phone. A moment later she pocketed the phone. “Nine, one, one is busy. Have you ever heard of that? We should go now. Ladies, let’s load up.”

  The dogs impatiently raced toward a door in the kitchen that led to the garage, jumping and barking at it.

  “I’m not feeling well, but I don’t think we should go anywhere. It’s dangerous out there. They will kill us,” the woman said slowly. “You don’t understand what’s going on out there. I can barely believe it, and I’ve seen it firsthand.”

  Roxy cautiously studied the terrified woman. She looked to be in her late forties, her long, blonde hair saturated in sweat and blood. She wore a white satin nightgown that had an array of mud and blood stains all over it. She stood shoeless in Roxy’s kitchen, dirt and blood seemed to be caked in every crevice of the woman from her fingernails to the wrinkles on her chest, looking as if she had just rolled in dirt mere moments before.

  “Listen, what’s your name?” Roxy asked, realizing that they hadn’t even exchanged names. She retrieved her brown blouse and boots and put them on the bar stool.

  “Ann, my name is Ann Buxton. I live three houses down, across the street.”

  “Well, I’m Roxy,” Roxy said looking at the blood soaked towel wrapped around Ann’s wrist. “Okay Ann, we just put that towel on your wrist about a minute ago, and look at it. It’s almost completely soaked with blood. I’m not a doctor, but this isn’t good. You are losing too much blood. Either we take our chances with the people outside to get you to the hospital, or we can stay here, and you will likely die in, say, an hour, if that.”

  Roxy had a difficult time grasping the situation outside. While she had no reason to disbelieve what Ann explained about their neighbors, Roxy couldn’t bring herself to imagine that this all could, in fact, be happening. She steadily pieced together the things she saw during her brief time outside—the neighbors chasing each other, the SUV that ran
down pedestrians in the road, the accident and the account of what happened to Ann. Whatever was really going on out there, she felt certain that it would be dangerous, but Ann could die if not treated for her wounded wrist. Even with the dangers outside, we have to get to the hospital, and away from this chaos.

  “I don’t know,” Ann groaned cradling her face in her hands, then running her fingers through her hair. “I think that I’d...”

  Suddenly, a fragmenting shatter from the living room resounded through the house. Both women’s eyes locked on one another, with a what was that, look on both their faces. The dogs raced toward the sound, howling and barking. The women sprinted after, rounding the kitchen wall just behind the canines. As they came around the corner, a warm breeze rushed in, wafting over their bodies. The oversized bay window had been shattered.

  Three maniacal outsiders staggered through the window toward them, two men and a woman. Roxy stood, feet planted as she studied the scene within her home. This home held many memories, too many to count. The overall feeling of this place had always been of comfort and safety, until now. Whether escaping neighborhood kids picking on her while she grew up or avoiding the ongoing drama among her friends, her home had always been a sanctuary. These invading strangers were desecrating, vandalizing her home, waging a war on a reluctant battleground. Who are these people and what is wrong with them? How can this really be happening? As the trio traipsed through the opening, trampling the drapes and the downed curtain rod, Roxy recalled the tireless shopping trips her mother had made to pick out those window coverings. These intruders weren’t just stomping on a bulk meaningless fabric, they were stomping on the very soul of the home in which she was raised.