Quarantine: A Pandora Novel

by McCrohan, Richard

  “Oh, damn,” yelled the black man they were speaking with. He backed a few steps down the sidewalk when suddenly; another man darted in from the roadway and grabbed him, biting his shoulder. Staggering from the heavy impact and Knicks cap flying in the air, the screaming man pounded on his attacker who is still biting and clawing at him. The two thrashing bodies careened to the side and crashed through the full corner window of The Green Shamrock. There were now others in the street attacking the cars idling there.

  Stumbling to the side and away from the carnage, Mora screamed, “Oh my God!”

  As other people scattered, Rick grabbed Eileen and PJ and shouted, “Come with me.”

  The four young people ran to the restaurant doorway that Rick had noticed before. The four quickly entered the brightly colored door and ran up a flight of stairs to the Mexican eatery on the second floor.

  There were a dozen other people in the restaurant either huddled together or at the windows. One girl was standing at the double corner windows holding her phone up and filming the attacks happening below them. For the moment, they were safe.

  4

  The United States continued to spiral out of control like the rest of the world. Soon Chicago, Denver, Seattle and Los Angeles were starting to report their own first cases of the recumbent Pandora 2 Mutation from hospitals in those cities. When the East Coast was first hit, a number of areas immediately started to activate their quarantine protocols ahead of schedule. They all had thought they would have more time, but this proved to be just wishful thinking. The healthcare officers, headed by the CDC were trying to stay ahead of the curve. But already they were playing catch-up with the rampaging virus. Word of the New Jersey governor’s draconian decision vis-à-vis the bridges and tunnels had spread and no one wanted another state versus state or even city versus city conflict happening again.

  Back in the Garden State, the closings were having their effects felt. The blockade of the Walt Whitman Bridge to Philadelphia was not proving as thorough as the governor had hoped. As the incoming masses reached the barricading tractor-trailers stretched across the span the angry mob just squeezed through on foot. The National Guard troops in charge didn’t even try to stop them, though they did control the refugees in an orderly fashion. But when the infected among them started turning and attacking those around them things swiftly swung in the other direction. As the zombies attacked the waiting lines, the terrified people pressed forward ignoring the troops trying to maintain order. The raw recruits attempted to target the increasing number of zombies, but most of them were new and inexperienced. The gunfire became more erratic and less accurate as the situation spiraled increasingly out of control. The police there used riot shields to force the throng back, but as the number of undead increased, a field decision by the overwhelmed commander to resort to the .50 caliber machine guns mounted atop the National Guard Humvees ended any kind of discriminatory targeting by the severely beleaguered soldiers.

  The Holland and Lincoln Tunnel closures, by contrast, were completely successful. The planning there insured that the tubes were thoroughly and impregnably sealed. The horrendous noise coming from the trapped drivers on the other side of the barricade was exceedingly unnerving for the guarding state troopers on the other side. Certain of the trailers immovability, they retreated back to the tollbooths so as not to be able to so clearly hear the anguished wails and cries from within the death traps that the tunnels had now become.

  Inside said tunnels, the angry, frustrated shouts and blaring horns soon started to dissipate. Once the drivers realized that they weren’t going to be exiting through the tunnels to New Jersey, the occupants of the stationary vehicles got out and tried to determine their next step. The cumulative exhaust fumes were choking the exiting people so everyone began to turn off the engines. A good number of people unbuckled and exited their vehicles. Some, seated in their vehicles with the doors ajar, were unfortunately also infected with the Pandora virus. These rapidly deteriorating individuals were trying to exit their traveling sick beds either alone or helped by well-meaning family members. And while the other stranded refugees were milling about throughout the entire length of the tunnels, these infected began to die, only to reanimate within fifteen minutes. Now no longer human but flesh- eating zombies, these creatures attacked those nearest them. Those people, who were killed by the ghouls, in turn reanimated and proceeded to join the undead ranks causing havoc in the underground tunnels.

  Screams and cries tore through the tubes as victims were attacked or attempted to run back the length of the tunnels only to be grabbed and brought down. These unfortunates were savagely assaulted, thereby creating more monsters. Some desperate passengers dove back into their cars and locked the doors, saving themselves from immediate attack by the ever-increasing number of zombies. In their hasty and ill thought out desperation, all they achieved was to seal their fate either starving to death to the sound of multiple hands hammering on their windows while they were locked in their vehicular tombs or, eventually, leaving their safe havens only to be belatedly attacked by the now hundreds of zombies waiting; their impending doom merely postponed.

  A number of panic refugees climbed atop roofs or scrambled up to the raised walkways along the sides of the tunnels. These bold but foolhardy wretches became quarry for the ghouls. They bravely beat the reaching, clawing hands away, but one by one were eventually pulled from their tenuous perches and yanked off into the mass of hungry mouths below. Those on top of larger commercial vehicles had the advantage of roof height to their fortune but they too soon met the same fate as those who had trapped themselves inside their own automobiles. If there was ever a hell on earth, this was it.

  5

  PJ sat down and one of the tables inside the restaurant with Mora and Eileen. Rick quickly ran over to the corner windows. The girl taking video with her cell phone was now was now speaking into it and crying. Rick didn’t want to disturb her so he moved a few feet away as he gazed down at the traffic. The delivery truck had pulled out into the traffic, colliding with several cars before he became lost from view. Nearby a cabbie was on his back being savaged by two zombies. His taxi, door ajar, was blocking the side street. The sobbing girl turned away from the window and as she did, Rick saw a large SUV pull out from the sidestreet. He was sitting behind the now departed delivery truck and, aiming for the front fender of the cab, surged forward. This path brought him directly into the midst of the fallen cabdriver and his two zombie attackers. Without even slowing, he drove forward. The three figures disappeared under his wheels a second before he struck the right fender of the taxi, sending it careening out into the oncoming traffic. Rick turned away not wanting to see the aftermath of that accident.

  As Rick approached his three friends, a waiter came up to them. He looked frightened.

  “We’re closing the kitchen, Señor,” he stated.

  “It’s okay, we’re not hungry,” Rick said.

  “What is happening outside?” the young man asked fearfully.

  Turning his head to look up at the waiter, PJ said, “Zombies. There are zombies out there, just like what we’ve been seeing on TV.”

  Looking down at PJ, the waiter said, “Then it’s true. What are we going to do?”

  “Do?” exclaimed PJ, “There’s nothing to do. Were all fucked.”

  One of the chefs had come out of the kitchen and yelled something in Spanish to the waiter, who turned around and walked over to him. A heated conversation started between them in rapid Spanish.

  The foursome used this opportunity to grab their cell phones and call their respective families.

  Rick speed dialed his father but the landline rang until the answering machine picked up. Next he called his dad’s cell phone, and again got only voicemail. Suddenly remembering their earlier conversation, Rick dialed his older brother’s house in Ridgewood, New Jersey. They didn’t have their machine on, so the landline rang and rang endlessly. Rick knew that his two cute little nieces had bee
n ill with Pandora a few weeks ago and were now sick and home from school again. He realized that it probably was the Pandora mutation relapse that they must now have. He was really worried about his family. His mother had died of cancer three years ago and his father and brother were all he had.

  Eileen hung up and looked out in frustration. “No answer,” she said. Her parents both lived in Buffalo near the Canadian border. She looked unhappy and Rick patted her shoulder.

  PJ had just made a connection with his parents back in Clifton.

  “Mom,” he said, “are you and dad all right?”

  “Yes,” she answered, “there have been police cars and ambulances running back and forth all day. I know that we live on a busy street, but this is very frightening.”

  Hearing the other line pick up, PJ said, “Dad, is that you on the phone too?”

  “Yes son, I’m here.”

  “Listen, Dad,” PJ said, “don’t answer the door for anyone today okay? Not a neighbor… no one.”

  “What are you saying?” his mother said.

  “Have you been watching the news?” asked PJ.

  “No, PJ,” his father said, “your mom has been baking in the kitchen and I’ve been working in the garage all afternoon. With spring coming I thought I would build another birdhouse.”

  “No,” PJ shouted, “don’t do that. Stay in the house. Lock all the doors.”

  “Wha--” his mother whined.

  “PJ,” his father admonished,” stop that kind of talk right now; you’re scaring your mother.”

  “Okay, okay, Dad,” PJ continued breathlessly, “but promise me you’ll both go and put the news on the TV right now. Please.”

  “If you want,” his father said, “but why?”

  “Just put the TV on and watch it for a while. Maybe CNN or some news channel. Please. Do that and it will explain everything. Go now and I’ll call you back soon.” He hung up worried and concerned.

  Looking at Mora, he knew her parents were at their timeshare in Hilton Head Resort. Looking over at her, he saw her crouched over in concentration with her phone pressed up to one ear and her finger jammed into the other.

  “H…hello? Dad? Mom? Hello? Can you hear me? Can…can-- hello?”

  She looked up at PJ with a puzzled expression and her face all squished up in consternation. She shrugged her shoulders, then hung up and tried again. This time she just took the phone from her ear and looked at it in amazement.

  Raising her gaze to PJ she said in an unbelieving voice, “At first, all I could hear was this scratching-like sound and some gurgling noises. Now they tell me they can’t connect to that number. What the fuck?”

  All four looked down at the phones in their hands. One by one they put them back in purses or pockets and sat briefly to contemplate the reasons for their failure to communicate.

  The four friends then got up and walked over to the group of people huddled near the far wall.

  “Hi,” Rick said as they looked over at him, “we’re from Jersey and are trying to get home.”

  “Yeah,” stated a forty-five-year-old man in a suit and tie, “so are we.” He shook hands with them. “Danny Crofton,” the man said.

  “I’m Rick Sturges. This is my girlfriend Eileen, my friend PJ and his girl, Mora.”

  Danny introduced them to the other terrified people huddled there. There was Herb Lindstrom, an ad exec, Rita Tobin, a sales clerk from Saks, Marianne Russell, a student, Tony Kovacik and Sal Eulo, construction workers on a nearby project. The girl with the phone walked over to them.

  “Hi,” she said sniffling, “I’m Nicole Acosta. I’m trying to reach home, too.”

  “Listen,” said Danny, “we aren’t going to be able to go through the tunnels because they’ve closed them off. Our group here is going to go downtown and try to make it to the ferry over to Jersey City.”

  “My boyfriend Jack is going to meet me there,” Nicole said.

  “My wife, too,” Ray added, “we could all get rides home.”

  Looking at Rick and his group, Danny said, “Look, you’re more than welcome to join us, but we should leave soon.”

  Rick pulled his group aside and discussed this information with them.

  “I think we should go with them,” Mora said.

  “I’m leaning that way, also,” stated PJ.

  “Well,” said Rick, “they’re going to be leaving shortly and we should let them know.” He looked at Eileen who was shaking her head within the knitted brow. “Eileen. What is it?”

  Glancing quickly at Danny and the rest, that were gathering together and going over their plans, she looked back at Rick. “No,” she stated sternly, “I don’t like it.”

  “What’s wrong with joining them?” asked Mora.

  “You know what it’s like outside. And it’s only going to get worse. If we follow them, we’d have to run all the way across Manhattan to get to the Battery ferry terminals. We would have to travel over four miles to get there.”

  “So,” interrupted PJ, “that’s only about two or three hours or so.” Just then another loud crash and then screams erupted from the street below them.

  Wincing at the sound, Eileen said loudly, “Through that? Are you fucking kidding me? We’d constantly be avoiding zombies and hiding. It would take forever. No, no...it’s way too risky.”

  “Well, what about the subway--” Mora started, then remembered what they had seen emerging. “Uh, on second thought, never mind.”

  A woman had been huddled off to the side holding the bag of ice to a bruise on the side of her head. She was wearing a bright, Kelly green apron. On hearing Eileen speak, she quietly walked over. Smiling nervously, she spoke with a lovely, lilting Irish brogue.

  “Excuse me,” she said softly, “I couldn’t help but overhearing you. I agree with you, too. It would be madness to go with them. I work downstairs at The Green Shamrock. Several customers told me that there were soldiers at the Midtown Waterway ferry and that they were setting up a quarantine center there. As long as we’re healthy we could seek shelter there.”

  “How long ago was that?” asked Rick.

  “That was about an hour ago, and then they left,” she said.

  “That sounds much better,” agreed Rick nodding.

  “The other way is crazy,” Eileen said. Looking at the pretty waitress, she asked, “Will you show us?”

  “Yes, yes,” the girl said relieved. “I just didn’t want to go myself. My name is Bridget Monaghan.”

  “Well, Bridget,” smiled Rick, “we are really happy to have met you.”

  As Eileen introduced everyone else, Nicole Acosta came over to them.

  “Rick?” she said. “We’re all going to be leaving now. We don’t want to wait any longer.”

  “We’re not going to be coming with you. Sorry. I think you should try the quarantine station with us, it’s closer.”

  Joining them, Danny Crofton said, “Are you guys sure? I don’t know. We just want to be off this island as soon as possible. It’s not worth the risk of being stuck here any longer then we have to be. The reports say to stay out of the big cities and that’s exactly what we’re going to do.”

  “It’s just too risky,” Eileen said.

  Danny looked at her, then snorting and waving his hand dismissively he said, “Okay, your choice. Whatever.” Shaking his head, he turned away and went back to his group now preparing to leave. They all looked very uncomfortable but determined.

  Gathering their belongings, they briefly waved goodbye then filed down the stairway. Last in line, Nicole turned and wanly smiled at the five people watching them go. “Good luck, guys,” she said tearfully, “I hope you make it.”

  “It’s not too late to change your mind,” suggested Rick.

  The dark-haired girl paused and seemed to waver for a second. Then, quickly shaking her head, she said softly, “No, I need to go now.”

  She turned and hurried down the staircase to catch up to the group pausing at the restaurant
door. With the brief glance behind him, Danny nodded his head and the seven of them scurried out the door and into the chaos of the city.

  Mora and PJ ran to the window to watch. Rick, Eileen and Bridget joined them.

  Below, the seven frightened people hustled to the corner. Danny paused, holding his arm out to stop them. Then, as a group, they ran across the street. As they did, the taxi driver they saw getting killed on the street and who was lying near his battered cab in a pool of blood, suddenly reached out a hand and grabbed the leg of the older man Ray, and sent him sprawling on his face in the middle of the street. Grabbing his legs, the dead taxi driver crawled up the body of the dazed ad exec and before the gray-haired man could get away, pounced on his back and sunk his teeth into the back of his neck. The rest of the group paused and looked back, but two more zombies appeared from nowhere. They turned and ran from view leaving the other screaming member of their party to his terrible fate.

  The sudden and vicious killing of the first group’s member not twenty feet from the front door shook the remaining survivors. My God, they all thought, they had just barely left and already one was dead.

  They were distracted when the Mexican chef shouted “No” to the waiter and strode back into the kitchen. The ashen faced young man looked quickly over to Rick’s band.

  “Please,” he said, “take me with you when you go. I can’t stay here. Please let me come.”

  “Okay,” said Rick, “get whatever you need.”

  The grateful waiter paused for a second and then ran over to the serving station. He came back with a handful of very sharp steak knives. Handing one to everyone there he said, “Here. I think maybe we will need these.”