Quarantine: A Pandora Novel

by McCrohan, Richard

  The fleeing crowd parted as they ran by, giving the knife wielding Latino a wide berth but not stopping or even slowing down. The man grabbed his stomach and fell to his knees, all the while staring up wide-eyed at Gil and moving his mouth silently. He coughed as blood flew from his lips and spattered on Gil’s pants. The boy was frozen in place still holding the bloody knife pointed straight in front of him. His whole body started to tremble as tears ran down his cheeks.

  Just then a harsh voice called out, “You! Drop the knife.”

  A policeman had materialized from the fleeing crowd and was standing with legs apart and his service revolver held out in front of him with both hands.

  “I said, drop it!” he repeated loudly.

  Gil stood there absolutely immobile with fear. He was staring at the cop still holding out the knife in a violently shaking hand. He looked around helplessly and completely devoid of any comprehension of his dire predicament. He glanced down at the knife held out in his hand and then back to the cop.

  “No…no, I…I didn’t--”

  Gil took a step forward and the officer pulled the trigger. A bright red spot of blood appeared on the front of his shirt and the still uncomprehending waiter slowly toppled forward, still trying to explain himself. Eileen and Bridget had their hands over their mouths in sheer horror. Rick watched as Gil fell flat on his face and when he turned to the stunned officer, a thin woman with long blonde hair and a pale, blood streaked face came up behind the cop. She grabbed him, and darting her head like a cobra, tore a large chunk of flesh out of the side of his exposed neck.

  Inside the quarantine compound, the situation was becoming less and less sustainable. The already cleared citizens were rushed onto the waiting ferry. While only half full, the on-site doctors and CDC officials were concerned with further contamination should any of the infected reach the people boarding. As the CDC officials boarded with them, two zombies attempted to near the boarding pier. While they were quickly dispatched by the police officers on guard, the captain of the ferryboat was shaken by this and decided that discretion was the better part of valor. Blowing the ships horn, he pulled away from the dock, the deckhands rapidly untying the mooring ropes.

  By pouring into the waiting area, the invading undead succeeded in dividing the protecting forces of soldiers and police. The civilian population there had run out to 12th Ave. where they met even more of the undead who were drawn to the noise and the people. Most of the New York City police force stationed there had followed them out, worried about their safety in the streets. As the people scattered, individual struggles ensued with human versus zombie. The police also wound up scattered across a large area as the individual officers tried to help the victims. The line of riot police became caught up in the struggle as more and more zombies poured in from Midtown and they moved forward to meet the undead menace.

  The “Fighting 69th” National Guard soldiers were still in the quarantine area fighting off the steadily advancing horde of zombies. Most of the guardsman and the few police officers still there had retreated to the Humvees where the mounted .50 caliber machine guns were decimating the undead ranks.

  Austin, Jermaine and Jeff were next to a Humvee shooting at any undead creature that appeared before them. Austin had just taken down a young girl in bloodied jeans and moved his rifle to sight another target. Looking at a zombie that just turned the corner he hesitated then brought his weapon down in uncertainty. The zombie that was now moving forward had a large neck wound that drenched the front of his clothes; but not enough to hide the fact that he was wearing a National Guard uniform. Unable to bring himself to fire on a fellow soldier, he looked at the spreading mass of undead and uncomfortably spotted a number of turned soldiers and police among their ranks. Feeling someone come up beside him, Austin turned. It was Officer Donna Masters.

  “Donna,” he said, “you still here?”

  “Yeah,” she said, “I was out on the pier. The ferry just left.”

  “Just left?” Austin said puzzled. “But it wasn’t even halfway filled.”

  Donna snorted sarcastically, “Yeah, well that didn’t stop them from hightailing it out of here. All the CDC personnel left with them.”

  Overhearing this, Jeff turned toward Donna, “You’ve got to be shitting me.”

  Shrugging, Donna said, “Go see for yourself. They’re gone.”

  After firing off another shot, Jermaine ducked back down. “Well, we have no boat and now we have no more people to put on it. There’s no reason to be here now.”

  They all looked at each other, unsure of just what the future was going to hold for them.

  As the throng of people fled from the overwhelmed quarantine site, Rick, Eileen, PJ, Mora and Bridget found themselves carried off in the crush of people fleeing headlong back into the city streets. They were constantly calling out to each other and trying to grab one another’s hands to remain together as a group.

  Finding themselves being herded south, Rick decided to go with the flow. He had managed to take hold of Eileen and he called out to the others.

  “Guys!” he yelled. “Head south. We’ll meet up at the corner of 44th Street.” He heard PJ acknowledge him.

  Rick wanted to be clear of most of the crowd. Their noise and chaotic presence was drawing in zombies from the neighboring streets. To make matters worse, 12th Avenue was still a functioning thoroughfare connecting the north and south sides of the island. Vehicles were trying to escape either way and between the panicked drivers, fleeing people and increasing number of undead it became a game of bumper cars. A number of running victims had already been hit by speeding automobiles zigzagging their way through.

  Rick and Eileen pulled each other down the avenue and into West 44th Street. There they quickly ducked into a darkened doorway and, catching the breath, awaited their companions. Several people came running up the street, passing the waiting couple who stepped back into the gloom. As their footsteps echoed off the pavement the hidden couple leaned out to watch their progress up the vehicle choked street. Halfway up, a pale zombie clad only in pajama bottoms stalked from between two cars and grabbed a woman who was running past. Screaming loudly, she tried to beat him off but he darted his head in and latched onto her throat with his teeth. Shaking his shaggy head like a dog, the ghoul yanked away a chunk of her exposed neck, connecting tissue stretching like glistening, red rubber bands.

  A pudgy man passing attempted to jump out of the way, but he hit the side mirror of a car and tumbled head over heels onto the street. Letting go of the unconscious woman who collapsed to the pavement, the now gore soaked zombie turned and staggered after the fallen man. The terrified man scrambled to his feet and again started running. The zombie grabbed a piece of the fleeing man’s jacket as he looked over his shoulder, screaming in a high-pitched voice. Connected like that, the two antagonists continued their confrontation up the street until hidden by the surrounding vehicles.

  Five minutes later PJ and Mora came cautiously into the street. One of Mora’s sleeves was torn. Rick and Eileen stepped out of the doorway and ran over to them.

  “Are you two okay?” asked Rick concerned.

  “We’re all right,” said PJ with relief. “Some guy in a bus driver’s uniform grabbed Mora’s arm for no reason and I had to deck him.”

  Mora smiled shakily and said to Eileen, “I’m okay, hon. Just shaken up. That’s all.”

  “Oh, thank God,” said Eileen with a loud sigh of relief.

  Looking back to where they came from, Rick asked, “Where is Bridget?”

  Glancing back also, PJ said, “I don’t know. We got separated in the crowd.”

  Touching Rick sleeve, Eileen said, “We shouldn’t leave her. She tried to help us.”

  He looked at her, and then back to the corner again. “Yeah, I know. Wait here.”

  Rick trotted down to the corner and look back the way that they had come. Although most of the crowd had already run off, there were still people there. Unfortunate
ly, so were a number of zombies. Rick stood there shifting his gaze from person-to-person. The pretty Irish girl was nowhere to be seen. He waited a little longer, but noticed two of the undead coming his way. Shaking his head with sorrow, he then turned and ran back to the other three.

  “No good,” he said abruptly, “she’s nowhere to be found. We have to go, we’re going to get company.”

  The four of them moved carefully up the block. They stayed on the sidewalk wary of treading in the street. There were too many vehicles abandoned to be safely walking there. That meant there were too many chances to be jumped by unseen ghouls. They were midway up the block when a cluster of several zombies rounded the corner in front of them. The four quickly ducked behind the side of a large concrete stoop. As the zombies shambled their way down the block the four companions looked around for an avenue of escape.

  Directly across from them was the body of the bitten woman. She was lying in a pool of her own blood. Rick saw a sign that said Le Croissant Café and pointed to a doorway underneath the concrete stoop they were hiding behind. Rick nudged the other three and they quietly edged along the short, metal, ornate fence and descended halfway down the stairway. They were waiting to see if the group of zombies would pass them when Eileen nudged Rick and pointed to the woman’s body in the road. As Rick looked, her arm twitched.

  “I think she’s still alive,” whispered Eileen.

  As they stared at the body, her fingers started to curl in and out. Then her arm moved across the pavement moments before she raised her head.

  “Can we help her?” Mora asked.

  Warily, Rick put his hand up and said, “Wait.”

  The woman squirmed and then raised her upper body up by leaning on her hands. A low moan escaped her throat and her head rotated as she looked about. They had all heard the tearing sound as the coagulated blood soaking her clothes peeled from the pavement as she raised herself up. As she gazed their way, they could see the dead, milky cast of her eyes. She clearly had turned. Her head continued to turn showing that she didn’t notice the two couples hiding in the dark. As she moaned once more, her call was answered by the approaching zombies.

  “Oh, shit,” murmured Rick as they all moved lower into the basement café’s doorway. They were hugging the stone as they pressed their bodies closer to the stairway wall. They could hear the sounds of the dead woman rising to her feet. Now more footsteps sounded as the other group came up. There were some moaning and low growling sounds coming from above them. The undead seemed to be stopped there, unmoving.

  Seconds passed into minutes and the minutes continue to stretch on as the group of zombies remained standing in place. Rick slowly and quietly edged up a couple of steps until he could peek over the edge of the sidewalk. In the street lights glow he could see at least a dozen zombies milling about. The fallen woman was now erect and swaying to and fro; her mouth gaped open and long strands of blood and saliva hung down from her jaws.

  Backing down the stairs, Rick turned and saw PJ raise his hands questioningly. Rick raised his eyebrows high and shrugged his shoulders to transmit his uncertainty. They continued to stay hidden in the stairwell. Occasionally footfalls would sound directly above them. Fifteen minutes, then twenty minutes and finally a half hour passed with no forward motion in sight.

  Mora tugged gently at PJ’s sleeve. As he turned toward her, she leaned close and whispered, “I have to pee.” He gave her a look that said, Are you kidding me? She shrugged and said, “Sorry.”

  Eileen and Rick both turned and Rick tilted his chin to silently ask, What’s up?

  “Mora’s got to go,” whispered PJ embarrassed. They both looked at her with a WTF expression.

  They all stood there in uncertainty for another five minutes until Mora, straining with pain and discomfort, hissed between clenched teeth, “Look away.”

  The two men looked confusing until they heard her jeans being unzipped. They quickly turned away embarrassed. Eileen stood between them and the mortified girl as Mora pushed her pants down and squatted teary-eyed in the corner of the basement stairwell. For a moment there was silence, then the unmistakable sound of urine splashing on cement. To everyone, it sounded as loud as the Niagara Falls. Rick even heard a low growl from up above them. When she was finished, Mora stood up again zipping her jeans back up and snapping them closed.

  They waited there another fifteen minutes while the odor of warm urine wafted up from the stairwell. While they all stood there unmoving, Rick turned his head and thought, then reached questioningly into his pants pocket. Not finding anything there, he tried the other pocket. Smiling now, he brought his hand out and looking into his open palm, he saw a handful of change.

  Looking relieved, he turned to PJ. His friend looked down at the coins, and then whispered to Rick, “What are you going to do, bribe them?”

  “No, asshole,” he hissed, “I’m going to distract them and get them moving again.”

  Rick moved away from the wall and look back up to make sure that he wasn’t seen. Pausing a second and taking a long calming breath, he closed his fist around the loose change. Then winding up, cocked his arm back and threw the coins up as far as he could out of the stairwell and into the street. For two or three seconds there was no sound. Then like a staccato of metallic rain, the various coins hit the sheet metal and windows of the vehicles in the road and bounced away in a continuing clatter of pings and clinks.

  All at once the sound of over a dozen zombies’ snarls and growls answered the din of falling metal. Instantly the hurried shuffle of footsteps and scuffling feet sounded. Newly turned, the zombies could move with some speed. They were clumsy, but being recently turned, were capable of quick movements. As they remained in their undead state and decay (albeit very much decelerated) continued, they would start to slow until after two weeks or so when they leveled out to their usual shambling gait.

  As the footsteps and sounds grew more distant, Rick again climbed the steps until he could see the backs of the zombies making their way down the street. Motioning the rest of the group up, he came to the sidewalk. Looking quickly around, he saw that the way was now clear. The four companions quickly made it to the corner. There were zombies around, but by ducking below the stalled cars they were able to cross the street and continue up West 44th Street. They carefully made it up most of the block before pausing under a streetlight. Their movement was slow, precise and nerve-racking. As they were crouching down in front of a stoop with the large blood spatter on the sidewalk in front, PJ heard the distinctive sound of somebody tapping on glass. Looking up, he saw a young woman in the first-floor window. She beckoned them up and pointed to the brownstone’s front door. PJ nodded in understanding and got everyone’s attention.

  They all looked at each other, then in silent agreement clambered up the front stoop stairs. The petite girl from the window appeared and unlocked the door for them. Quickly looking around first, she opened the heavy door and gestured them in.

  “Hi,” she said. “You guys look like you’re in need of some temporary shelter.”

  “Oh God, are we ever,” gushed Eileen.

  They all entered and the girl invited them into the first apartment door on their left. Entering, they saw another woman, also in her twenties standing in the living room. “Hi,” she said, slightly warily.

  As the four survivors from New Jersey entered the apartment self-consciously, the first girl closed the door, locked it and came around them.

  “We were watching you come up the street,” she said. “We thought you were going to be trapped by those zombies in front of you.”

  “We almost were,” agreed Rick nodding his head.

  “Nice trick with the spare change,” she chuckled.

  “Thanks,” Rick we replied with a grin, “by the way, I’m Rick Sturges. This is Eileen, PJ and Mora.”

  “Hi,” the girl grinned back, “my name’s Amy Marx. And this is Nemeeka Shay.”

  “Thank you for letting us in,” said Eilee
n, “I think you just saved our lives.”

  “Well, I don’t know about all that,” Amy said, “but you sure looked like you needed a break from the running around.”

  “Do any of you want some coffee or something? Water?” asked Nemeeka.

  “Coffee?” gasped PJ. “Oh, you bet. That would be great.”

  “I’ll go put some on,” said Nemeeka walking toward the small kitchen. Amy touched her hand as she passed and they kissed briefly before she walked by.

  Amy looked at the group watching them. “We’re together,” she stated tersely.

  Rick shrugged his shoulders unconcerned, “Okay, that’s cool.”

  The five of them took seats around the room. Rick could see Nemeeka in the kitchen starting the pot of coffee. The two girls couldn’t have been more different. Amy Marx was about five foot two with a petite build and short blonde hair cut in a spiky, pixie style. She was cute and had a youthful face with the fair and alabaster skin of someone who was never in the sun.

  Nemeeka Shay by contrast was five foot nine. Tall with a long, willowy body, she had jet black skin with strikingly high cheekbones and Ethiopian features. Her hair was cut very, very short in almost a buzz cut. She had a pair of red plastic eyeglasses pushed down her nose when they entered. They obviously were just for reading, because she now had them perched on the top of her head.

  Mora was looking at a very bold and vibrant painting on the wall.

  “Oh, that’s Meek’s work,” mentioned Amy, “she’s the artist. I can’t draw a straight line.”

  “Wow, that’s great work,” Mora exclaimed.

  “Yes, it is,” answered Amy. “She’s had a couple of shows and is just starting to make a name for herself in the art world.”

  “Do we still have an art world out there?” Nemeeka spoke loudly from the kitchen.

  Noticing the small flat screen television on a console, Rick pointed to it and asked, “Have you been following what’s been happening out there?”