Finally, Jazmina managed to tear the horror away from her niña. Unfortunately, the jaws were strong and had snapped down like a bear trap. They ended up ripping out the poor little girl’s stomach, kidney, and a part of her intestines. Blood spewed forth from Fabiola’s mouth and it pulsed and squirted from the hole in her body. She began to tremble and spasms coursed through her body as both the Captain and Jazmina cried out, “¡Por Dios, ayuda!”
#
“¡Ayuda!” Christine shouted as her arms flailed about. It took a moment for her to become orientated but as soon as her eyes focused, her heart sank. Scanning her surroundings, she found herself in an old hospital room. Obviously, the entire building was old. A sharp throbbing pain in her forehead snapped back her attention. Gingerly, she reached up and touched the spot. Christine winced and decided to leave it alone. She laid back and closed her eyes, forcing herself to put order in her mind.
The scream startled her. It was animalistic with the hint of a human voice. For fuck sakes, Christine thought as she sat up once again. She swung her feet across the bed and put them on the floor. Immediately, she regretted doing so. When she looked down, she cursed her own bad luck.
Her feet were right in the middle of a large cold sticky pool of blood. Floating in it was fragments of bone, bits of tissue, and what appeared to be skin. Any other day, Christine would have thought torture or an incursion gone wrong. Now? One word. Zombie.
Move, her mind screamed.
Christine leapt over the blood straight for the door. Pulling and bashing the wood did nothing. It had been locked and barricaded.
“Ayuda,” she screamed, hoping that an orderly, nurse, or even a doctor would hear her. A splintering scream greeted her ear excitedly as she pressed it to the door. Christine ignored the pain and listened.
The whir of the air-conditioner, the hum of the P.A; usual hospital sounds. She couldn’t hear people though. And what had caused that scream?
Christine banged on the door again and then waited.
There! A shuffling sound. Definitely feet.
Another set joined the first. Christine couldn’t control her smile. Someone was coming!
A third set appeared. And another. And another. Soon, there was more than ten sets of shuffling shambling feet. The smile faded from Christine’s face when she heard it: heavy wheezing breathing mixed with sighs, moans, and groans.
The door shuddered and buckled from the group slamming against it. Christine backed away from the old wood as another hit caused it to splinter.
Looking around, she couldn’t see her clothes. Fucking fantastic, she thought. Another hit and the hinges moaned. Soon, the horde would be in and Christine gone.
Christine’s eyes darted about the room, looking, searching for an escape. There were the windows. No, she thought. If I slip and fall, I’ll be lunch. She then checked the ventilation grates. They were old and slightly rusted. The last time they had been changed must’ve been well over three decades. The two grates were small and extremely well fixed to the walls. The bolts were heavy duty, industrial if Christine had to guess.
The door bent inward as the group of zombies pressed against it. Its wood began to crack and drop to the floor. The moans from the monsters filled the room, echoing off the tiled walls. Christine had to act fast.
She grabbed the IV stand that had been trailing her and yanked the needle from out her arm. Christine winced but kept moving. She needed to move.
Over by the window, Christine picked up the stand and swung as hard as she could.
The glass cracked and spider legs ran across the pane. She had no time and swung again.
As the metal stand shattered the glass, the door gave up and collapsed. The wood shattered under the weight of the undead who tumbled and fell into a writhing pile. Christine spun. Fuck me sideways, ran through her mind. She readied herself, holding the metal IV stand so that she could defend or attack as needed.
Slowly, the monsters untangled themselves, grappling at each other as they clambered back to their feet. Christine braced herself for the onslaught. She didn’t have to wait for long.
Her feet slid slightly as a couple of the zombies barreled into her. The IV stand was the perfect barrier as Christine could push on it easily. Each push shoved the mass of the undead back. They wouldn’t stay there long. As they ran back at her and collided with the stand, Christine was losing her footing, slowly being forced back, back towards the shattered glass and the drop.
Christine was covered in sweat as she forced the horde back and back. Her knuckles were white and bloodied from scratches and claws. She had to force herself not to gag from the rancid smell. “You guys need to have a bath,” she growled as her feet touched the tiled wall. Christine cried out as a shard of glass sliced her back.
Quickly, she glanced out the window. There was a ledge that seemed to go all along the perimeter of the building. Finally, an escape route! Christine breathed heavily and braced herself.
With an almighty throw, the zombies fell backwards. Christine used the moment to break the rest of the jagged pieces of glass and then she jumped out the window, landing on the balls of her feet on the concrete ledge. Pressing herself flat against the brick wall, Christine breathed in a sigh of relief. The air was wonderful and the slight breeze was refreshing on her flesh.
A clammy hand grabbed her ankle and tugged. Christine gasped and tried to pull herself free. The zombie snarled at her and the other arm shot out, trying to reach her. Christine pummeled the squishy dead flesh and it collapsed in on itself, the bone having become spongy. Her eyes caught sight of a phone in an arm holder. Before this, this guy was probably a jogger.
Thinking quickly, Christine dropped forward while spinning, the force of her action ripping the arm from its socket. Blood spurted over the ledge and down onto the cement below. Christine grabbed the ledge with one arm while using the other to pull the zombie forward. She held onto the arm with the phone and as the zombie passed her legs, she kicked at the shoulder.
There was a sickly crunch followed by a squelch and the zombie fell. It hit the ground and exploded, sending organs, fluids, blood, and bone flying across the ground.
Christine shimmied across the ledge and then when she felt the coast was clear, clambered back up. Her arms were tired and screamed at her; both knees were scrapped, but they would be fine. Carefully, she removed the phone and tossed the severed arm down to the ground. She quickly dialed. “It’s me. This is an unsecured line. Put me through to the old man… Just do it!”
She waited for the tell-tale static that preceded the click.
“This better be important.”
“Station Master! The situation is fucked-up beyond all recognition!”
“No situation is ever completely FUBAR’ed.”
“You’ve never seen anything like this.” Christine started to slowly shimmy across the ledge, being careful to not slip on or in anything. The fall would kill her if she took a misstep.
“Zombies.”
Christine was surprised by the one-word response. “You know about it?”
There was a slight chuckle from the old man. “It’s on the news. Everyone is reporting about how Cuba has fallen to a plague. Satellite photos show some parts of the island are ablaze… Christine, what is happening with the mission?”
“The Mission? Station Master the mission is over. Cuba is gone, completely overrun with fucking zombies! Do you expect me to continue the damn mission?” She was breathing hard and a part of her wanted to reach through the phone and throttle the old man.
“And?” Station Master said. “What has that go to do with stopping you?”
“You are an old blind fool,” she bellowed into the phone. As she passed a window, she glanced inside. There were more zombies shambling about; men, women, and little children zombies. The children were casually gnawing on flesh. “I don’t know if Sanderson is still alive. Right now, I’m trapped in a hospital! Is there an EVAC for me?”
There
was another silence and Christine thought that it would be better to hang up and take care of everything herself. “I’m on my way to Havana. Do not do anything until you see me. Understand?”
“Yes, sir, but what about President Sanderson?”
“Find someplace safe, Christine. We’ll take care of the president together.” Before she could answer, the phone clicked. Christine kept moving along the ledge until she came to the corner.
“Christine?” Signal’s voice was shaky.
“What is it? Is everything okay?” She peered around the edge and wanted to scream: Fuck you Cuba! The ledge was demolished. Below her was a van. Maybe, if she was really lucky, the fall would not kill her, just knock her about a little. And then, maybe the keys were in the ignition.
“I got that translation done. You are not going to believe this.”
As Signal’s voice fought through the static, Christine could not comprehend what she was hearing. The information changed everything and finally gave her the upper hand.
“You haven’t shown anyone else? Told no one?” Christine asked when Signal had finished.
“What do you think I am? A fucking novice? The information has already been destroyed.”
“Good.”
“Be careful,” Signal said. “This has gotten more dangerous.”
“You fucking think?” Christine was lining up the jump to the van. “I’ll be fine. See you on the other side,” Christine said then she opened the back of the phone and took the SIM card out. She snapped it in her fingers and then tossed the remains to the winds.
“Right,” she said as she jumped.
#
Havana was pandemonium. The zombies were everywhere, tearing people apart, feasting on the flesh, and savoring the sweet tastes. Some of the buildings were burning. Whatever had happened during the short period of time Christine had spent at the hospital, it had created a clusterfuck.
The van had started easily and as Christine drove it through the carpark and onto the main road, she had had the satisfaction of running over the undead. The heads popped off and exploded easily. Now she was putting pedal to the metal and racing through the streets of Havana with one thought on her mind, Please don’t let Sanderson be dead or a zombie. She tried to imagine the reaction to a zombie president…the end of the world as everyone knew it. As she ran down a pack of the decaying monsters, Christine wondered, Maybe this IS the end.
Hopefully, the President of the United States was safe in a bunker or on his way back to the USA. If not? Then he would probably be still at the Saratoga and that would Christine’s last chance to… JESUS FUCKING CHRIST!
The van swerved, missing a small cat that was fleeing some children zombies. The vehicle careened down the street and through a pool of blood. The wheels, now slick from the thick liquid, spun out. Christine lost control of the van and it spun.
It hit a concrete barrier and flipped. Christine braced herself for the hard impact and hoped that if the car rolled that her safety restraints would hold.
As the van rolled and slid, Christine could hear and see zombies being crushed, smashed, wiped across the cement and decimated by the heavy metal vehicle. Christine tried to make herself go limp, as she was told to do in training for being tense resulted in a greater chance of broken bones. Loose and limp? About half; odds she gladly took right now.
A brick wall stopped the van. The metal chassis bent around the corner, almost snapping in two. Inside, Christine was stunned, not sure what the fuck had just happened, but thankful anyway for whatever was looking out for her. She undid the seatbelt and covered her head as she landed.
Now right-side-up, she looked out the cracked windshield and smiled at what she saw.
The Saratoga didn’t look like a hotel anymore. Now it had the appearance of a military bunker with the full might of USA paranoia on full display. Sandbags piled high with barb wire on top and a .50 Cal machine gun inside. The roof had hastily erected sentry stations. Each one had a large searchlight, sniper rifle, and what looked like an RPG. On either side of the steps leading up to the main entrance stood a mix of CIA agents and Cuban military. Surrounding the old hotel was a convoy of black SUVs and military jeeps with more .50 caliber machine guns mounted.
Christine knew there was no way on Earth she would be getting up to the President’s suite. Time was running out for both them all and she knew she had this last chance before the end of the festival. As she scrambled out of the wrecked fan, a flurry of movement caught her eye.
A group of thirty-ish zombies were making their shambling way towards the Saratoga. Along the barricades and on the roof, men in suits and army fatigues ran and quickly assumed their positions. CIA and Cuban army, Christine thought as she watched the large caliber weapons unleash a rain of death upon the undead. The heavy-duty bullets tore through the tattered stained clothes, ripping the flesh and rendering it a pulpy mess.
Some of the CIA agents whooped and hollered joyously at the sight of the violence. Christine shook her head as did the Cubans. Fucking cowboys, she thought as the zombies that were able to scattered. Some of the stragglers and wounded kept on moving towards the hotel. They were almost on the steps.
The shots from the sniper rifles rang out, echoing and startling Christine slightly. The crack-shots were quick and used one bullet for each zombie.
A scream made Christine spin, her arms reaching for a weapon she did not have. A family of tourists were trying to escape from a small group of zombies. They were fat and dressed like gringo turistas. The fat child was having the most trouble running from the monsters. As Christine watched them trip and get devoured, her eyes scanned the area.
Christine Moore hadn’t noticed it earlier, but there were more scenes of turistas being bitten, ripped into, and getting fucked up by the zombies. Her nose then caught the smell of burning and she realized that some people must’ve taken it upon themselves to burn the undead. Havana was more and more becoming like a zombie movie. And not the fun kind.
Looking back to the Saratoga, Christine smiled. Sanderson was being escorted by the CIA agents and surrounding them were the Cuban Military. They all carried AK-47s and swept the area with their eyes while using the barrel sights to keep aim. As they took each step towards the convoy of cars, Sanderson cowered. Christine allowed herself a smile at that then her eyes locked onto her target.
From the side streets next to the hotel, the zombies emerged. They looked fresher than the others Christine had seen. They moved a little quicker and seemed to know what they were doing. They swarmed towards the escort and Sanderson screamed. The AKs roared and spat fire. The zombies hit the concrete steps in pools of blood. The group of men stopped and smiled. They had done their jobs well… Fuck!
The zombies started to crawl and pull themselves towards the men again. Sanderson bolted down towards the SUVs which were all massive and black with tinted windows. They screamed Presidential and one of the middle ones had its doors open. The agents and soldiers started firing again. Only this time, they were aiming for the heads. Put the fuckers down for good they seemed to chant. Christine saw her opportunity.
President Aaron Sanderson dodged the zombies while cowering and dived headfirst into the waiting SUV. “Go! Go! Go! Go!”
“Mister President,” Christine said the moment the doors locked, which she knew to be standard procedure in hostile territory, “you MUST listen to me. Whatever your—”
“Fuck me!” the leader of the free world was panicking. “Whatever you want, I’ll give you! Money! Power! Anything! Just fucking drive!” He was crying now, sobbing, and all former traces of control and power had vanished. All that was left was a child crying for his mommy.
“President Sanderson, you don’t understand. Your life will end today if you stay in Cuba.”
“No fucking shit!”
Christine tried to remain calm, but seeing a president act like this it was hard. There was banging and shouting on the doors. The CIA agents were screaming for the president
to unlock the doors. Christine didn’t have much time.
She turned to the President. “You need to leave now. Or at least get to somewhere safe.”
“That’s what I’m trying to do, you bitch!” Sanderson was beginning to calm down. Having his men nearby helped. He was sliding away from Christine, moving towards the door.
“I know, Mister President, but you need to understand something. You cannot trust anyone. Not the Cubans, not even your own men.”
The banging and shouting was now being mixed with gunshots. Outside, they could make out the rapid muzzle flashes of the automatic weapons firing.
“Fuck that! Why should I believe you?”
Without thinking, Christine said, “You heard of The Station?”
CHAPTER TWENTY
Christine had been in many prisons over her career with the Station. The ones she remembered the most vividly were Siberia, Afghanistan, Bali, and Mexico. Each one had something about it that made it unbearable and the prisoner willing, almost eager, to talk just so there was a chance to be killed or moved. That was the beauty of these prisons. They didn’t need elaborate torture devices or thousands of mean guards. No. Just let the walls and climate do the job. Except for Mexico; there they had full little cities inside the prison with its own economy and way of life. That was certainly memorable, but now she could add Cuban to her list.
Christine had been dragged from the SUV by the CIA. Sanderson had managed to unlock the door and at that moment, the world came crashing down on top of her. She was thrown to the ground and had landed in a puddle of blood. She wanted to gag but the knee pressing down on her back stopped her. A black felt bag was slipped over onto her head and all she could do was listen.
Amidst the occasional AK or sniper rifle going off, Christine could hear a heated debate happening between the CIA and Cubans. The Americans wanted to take her off island to a facility for extraordinary rendition, but the Cubans countered that with the fact since she had landed the plague had come. Both were getting ready to fight when Sanderson stepped in. “Gentlemen, we can and must work together. Right now, our only concern should be safety. So might I suggest we get the fuck outta here!”
The Apocalypse Virus Trilogy_Book 1_Big Smoke Page 17
