Walking into the large selection area, Jermaine paused. “Uh, oh,” he said bringing his rifle up.
“What do you s—ah, shit,” Austin started.
They were looking toward the containment area. The wounded soldiers had been left inside and the gate closed. Now it was wide open. Rifles pointed ahead of them, they edged over to the containment pen. Inside it looked like a medieval abattoir. Bodies were scattered throughout the area. Some lay where they were originally placed (these had their rifles in their hands and had sustained head shots). Almost all had been ripped apart. There were a group of soldiers near where most of the bodies were. These were all kneeling, hunched over the dead soldiers lying there. As the four new arrivals entered, several of the crouching soldiers sat up and turned to them.
That tableau was unbelievably horrible to behold. The bodies were ripped and savaged as if by wild animals. The kneeling soldiers had obviously all turned into zombies. They were covered with blood, their growling, gaunt faces gripping gore. A few had organs and body parts hanging from their masticating jaws. For a moment, the four survivors stood there, completely and utterly paralyzed with grief and raw terror. No one could move or even say a word.
Low growls turned to vicious snorts as the newly turned zombies rose from their victims and began to move toward the four new arrivals. Austin, Jermaine, Jeff and Leslie opened fire, cutting down the quickly moving ghouls before they could draw near. Hearing footfalls from behind, Leslie spun around and took down several creatures approaching from the ferry building behind. The smell of death and cordite mixed with the sound of falling shell casings. Soon, the last remaining zombie fell before their intense fire.
Breathing heavily, the four surviving soldiers lowered their weapons.
Austin ejected his magazine and looked at it. Slamming it back, he said, “I’m almost out.” As everyone checked their ammo, they all affirmed the same findings.
“Let’s check all the bodies and the supply area,” Austin spoke. “We’re going to need as much ammo as we can find.”
As if to confirm and highlight his remark, a sudden commotion started from the front metal gate they had just secured. Rattling metal and threatening snarls echoed across the abandoned quarantine zone.
“The barbarians are at the gates,” muttered Austin. “Man, they just don’t fucking quit.”
As the morning sun appeared over the skyscrapers and buildings in New York City, it heralded in a new week in the Big Apple. A few columns of smoke rose from the several fires now burning at various points in the five boroughs. One coming from the Bronx was actually a combination of three smaller fires that had now come combined and grew to consume an entire neighborhood. And it looked as though it was spreading. Several small car fires burned also, but these would all eventually burn themselves out.
“Hey guys,” called Leslie, “look what I found.”
She pulled the tarp from a bulky pile covering several pallets. The three others came around and looked at the cartons underneath.
“MREs!” said Jeff with a smile.
“I guess they had brought these to hand out to all of the civilians as the quarantine process progressed,” mentioned Austin.
“Well, we’re not going to run out of food any time soon,” said Jermaine smiling.
Listening to the zombies still at the front gate, Austin remarked, “It’s a good thing, too. Because it looks as though we’re not going to be able to leave here anytime soon.”
Amy and Nemeeka were deep into a conversation when Rick walked up to them. They had all awakened early and were into their second cup of morning coffee.
“Sorry,” said Rick, “I didn’t mean to interrupt. Is everything all right?”
Stopping, the two girls looked up at him from the kitchen table. Amy smiled humorously, “Hmm. Let’s see… middle of a zombie apocalypse-trapped in our apartment-going to have to go for more food in a day or two-might be killed. So, yeah, it’s all good.”
As Amy laughed, Rick smiled and said, “You’ve got a weird sense of humor. But seriously, you to look worried.”
“We’re just concerned about are super. Israel isn’t answering his phone. Nemeeka knocked on his door, but there’s been no answer.”
At that moment they could hear people in the hall coming down the stairs. There came a loud knocking from across the hall. The three of them went to the door and Amy looked through the peep hole. Looking curious, she then opened the door.
Standing in front of Israel Ramos’ door was Kelvin Mapes from the third floor. Next to him stood a worried looking Japanese girl. As Amy and Nemeeka walked out, Kelvin turned from knocking on Israel’s door.
“Hi girls,” he said, “haven’t seen Israel this morning, have you?”
“No,” Amy said, “we were wondering about him, too. He’s not answering his phone either.”
Kelvin looked puzzled. “I talked to him last night,” he said. “He was checking on all of us. That was the last time I saw him.”
The Japanese girl spoke up, “I’m scared. I was in the hall this morning and heard some strange sounds coming from the Rivera apartment at the end of the hall. I didn’t know what to do so I knocked on Kelvin’s door.”
Kelvin continued the thought, “I knew that we had to talk to Israel. So Tomiko and I came down here to his apartment.”
“What kind of noises?” asked Rick.
The girl and the black man looked past Amy and Nemeeka. “Who are you?” they both said in unison.
As Rick opened his mouth to speak, Amy said, “Oh, it’s okay… he’s with us.”
Smiling, Rick said, “Hi. My name’s Rick. I’m here with three other people and staying with Amy and Nemeeka.”
Kelvin and Tomiko nodded, and then Kelvin said, “Well, what are we going to do about the Rivera family upstairs? And where’s Israel?”
Rick said, “Why don’t we all go up and take a look?”
Amy glanced at him and said, “Wait a second, I’ll go get my friend.”
“Good idea,” mentioned Rick as she ran back inside the door. Moments later she stepped back out holding her gun. Kelvin’s eyes practically popped out of his head.
“You own a gun?” he said shocked. Looking nonchalant, Amy shrugged. “Oh my God, girlfriend,” he said in disbelief, “you are a whole ‘nother type of woman.”
The five residents climbed the stairs to the third floor. Tomiko pointed to the door.
“The Rivera’s live there in 3C.”
They nervously approached the closed door. Not hearing any noise, Rick put his ear to the door and listened. Standing back again, he glanced at Amy and shrugged.
Stepping forward, the petite girl raised her arm and knocked hard on the wooden door.
“Mr. Rivera? Mrs. Rivera?” she called out. “Is anyone home?”
For a second it was silent; then came the sound of running feet. A loud snarling and growling sounded from behind the door and immediately a crashing boom echoed in the hall. The sound of heavy bodies slamming themselves against the door thundered through the hallway.
The five people jumped back as if electrocuted. All had a terrified expression frozen on their faces. This increased as the first crack appeared in the door panel. Tomiko screamed.
“Oh shit” moaned Nemeeka, “we need Israel now.”
Amy took her phone from her pocket and tried Israel’s cell phone one last time. As she put the phone up to her ear, a muffled ringing could be heard beyond the door in front of them. Holding the ringing phone, she looked down at her hand, and then raised her eyes to the rattling door in frightened realization.
“Israel?” She whispered.
Understanding, after seeing the super’s name on her phone, Rick said, “He’s in there? Israel is in there?”
Snarling, the three zombies inside continued to throw themselves against the battered door and claw at the wood. Another crack appeared in the panel.
“But we live up here,” Kelvin stammered. “They’ll get out.�
�� Giving Tomiko a terrified look, he added, “And then they’ll get us.”
While they all stared at the weakening door, Rick turned to Amy. “Give me your gun,” he said. After handing her weapon to Rick, he took it and said, “Stand back.”
Pointing the Sig Sauer at the door about head level, Rick took a breath and fired. He proceeded to place shots along the width of the door around the same height. At the second shot, they heard a body drop. By the fourth, a second zombie slid down the door. The bullets had shredded the already splitting wood panels. Suddenly, with the loud crack, an old man shoved his face through the narrow opening. The splintered wood tore and gouged into his forehead and cheeks as he feverishly attempted to force his whole head through the splintered opening. His white, milky eyes were wide and maniacal. Black blood flew from his torn lips as he hissed and snarled at the five people in front of him.
Taking another step back to avoid the putrid spittle flying from his mouth, Rick aimed and fired. The bullet hit the old man in the bridge of his nose and knocked him back into the apartment vestibule. In the sudden silence, they stood there quaking. Rick watched as a dark rivulet of blood ran down the outside of the door from the ragged hole. Handing the gun back to Amy he softly mumbled, “I think you’re safe now.”
Behind them, a gagging sound started and Kelvin went racing back to his own apartment covering his mouth with his hand. Standing there in stunned silence, they all had the same dawning epiphany. No one else was going to save them; they were all on their own. Whether they lived or died depended solely upon them.
Alone helicopter flew overhead. It sounded only a block or two away. But it might as well have been miles away for all the help it or anyone else could offer them.
One month
later …
14
In the four weeks that passed, much had changed in America. The spread of the Pandora 2 Mutation was coast to coast and, as such, was now also global. Asia was now practically incommunicado with the rest of the world. The fact that the average infection rate there had almost topped fifty percent in large areas reduced the human survival rate to such a degree that most of the continent became a de facto zombie empire. Not that the undead were aware of that result. The zombies still acted with a singularly faceted instinct: to spread the alien pathogen by attacking and biting the noninfected. A group of zombies was basically a collection of individually oriented creatures. If they attacked as a group, it was simply because they all happened to be aware of prey at the same time, not due to any tactical or strategic planning. In fact, the only they did that had any interactive communality was their moaning. When their curiosity was aroused they tended to increase the intensity of that vocalization. That eerie, raspy moaning would quickly turn to growls if any prey were indeed spotted.
Europe was hanging on by a thread. But that was really only the West. Eastern Europe had mostly fallen back into sectarian warfare. As if killing the undead were not enough, they had to kill each other also. But Great Britain, France, Germany, Switzerland and the Benelux and Scandinavian countries still maintained stable governments. Although some of them, such as France, teetered on anarchy, they still held strong.
Africa almost immediately fell into the abyss of the apocalypse. The majority of countries were held tentatively together by craven dictators. There apathetic and rapacious leadership led to revolution, which in turn became chaos and mob rule. With no more health and medical relief coming from any major First World organizations, and with their government and military hoarding life sustaining supplies, the rest of the population either fell victim to murder, famine or the zombies.
The only national survival program that actually seemed to be working was in, of all places, Australia. The unique geography of that island nation was a boon for their undead eradication strategy. Almost all of Australia’s population lived on the coasts. The nation’s heartland was virtually barren of people. The wily military leaders there began to use army vehicles fitted with loudspeakers and an ad hoc audio system. These so-called “audio trucks” were dispatched to major population centers and as they played any loud, vocalized music through the speakers, they began to draw the masses of undead to them. These trucks then slowly wound their way out of the cities and into the outback. Once away from the populated areas, the Royal Australian Air Force would then arrive and bomb and burn the hordes of zombies to ash and cinder. This was proving to be wildly successful and other militaries began to take note.
The Pentagon had started to use a different tactic. Now that the bulk of our Armed Forces had been brought back home (at least those uninfected), these were initially stationed at the military and Air Force bases throughout the country. Primarily there to protect our fighters and bombers and the ammunition supplies, the troops used the forts and bases as a jumping off point to fan out and clear areas of zombies. Once clear, they would set up a safe zone and then do the same thing further on. The “steppingstone” strategy worked, but it was a very slow and laboriously intensive maneuver. Plus, it didn’t really work well in urban environments. Realizing that continuing solely with Operation Steppingstone was causing them to lose all of the major cities and surrounding metropolitan areas to the undead, the Pentagon concocted a hybrid version of Australia’s strategy which it appropriately christened Operation Pied Piper. But now, that plan was merely in the planning stages. Any relief or rescue operations were still months away.
In New York City, as in all of the large cities in the United States, and in fact the world, the urban residents there and any workers, visitors or students trapped inside were fundamentally on their own. The police and firemen became victims as well. Firefighters either became trapped inside their stations as the undead lay siege to them, or were overwhelmed in the streets as they bravely tried to quell the innumerable conflagrations igniting throughout the city. The police found themselves in a similar situation. Any sirens or flashing lights became a beacon for the undead masses. Patrol cars were quickly swamped as they tried to maneuver the maze of vehicles dotting the streets. The 911 telephone system was so inundated with millions of calls that it shut down. Meanwhile, any officer answering the distress call usually found themselves standing before a business or residence that was surrounded by zombies and swiftly discovered that the only thing they could do was to save their own lives as the mob then turned on the new intruders. The remnants of the “Fighting 69th” National Guard was now located on the southern tip of the island in Battery Park. Initially a rallying point and quarantine zone, it became a modern-day Fort Apache for the surviving guardsmen and police that were there. On Saturday and Sunday when the Wall Street and banking districts were empty it seemed ideal. But the constant take off and arrival of helicopters, the long lines of people seeking entry to the quarantine zone and the noisy disbursement of troops soon drew the hungry undead from the entirety of lower Manhattan. The hastily erected security fencing proved untenable against the growing hordes of undead. The quarantine zone was eventually overwhelmed and the beleaguered military found themselves pushed back to the Fort Clinton Memorial. Lieut. Col. Murray, in calls to the mayor and new governor (the original was a Pandora victim), was ordered to evacuate everyone there to Governors Island.
Mounting a fighting retreat to the Battery Park Maritime ferry terminal they boarded two waiting ferry boats to take them to the island and safety. Two more were waiting in reserve to take their place. The Chinook aircraft continually ran back and forth from the island to the park. And the Pave Hawks laid down covering fire for the evacuating forces. It was horrific. As lines were breached or simply collapsed as the terrified guardsmen, police and medical staff fled in terror, the Pave Hawks couldn’t be used without horrendous amounts of friendly fire. After two birds flew in at almost ground-level and were swamped and destroyed by the grasping undead, the frustrated pilots and distraught gunners could do nothing more and flew off.
The last ferry drew away from the pier and the swarming undead flooded the building running h
eadlong into the water after them. It was the last of any organized military presence left in Manhattan Island.
That was two weeks ago.
15
PJ sat on the edge of the bed in the second floor apartment of the couple that was away on business. It was obvious that they would not be returning. Rick and PJ had gone back to the Rivera apartment the day after the shootings. This time Rick had the gun he took from Gus in the record shop. As it turned out the apartment door to the Rivera’s was not even locked. Because it opened inward, the enclosed zombies simply couldn’t open the door. The fact that the undead didn’t have the cognitive abilities to understand door knobs, car doors, seatbelts and tools of any kind was a godsend to the survivors. Unless besieged by a large number of undead or by sheer accident, you were usually safe behind a door of some sort. Especially if you had the forethought to lock the damn thing. It wasn’t foolproof, but it was something.
Rick and PJ entered the foul smelling rooms to take anything that they could use, eat or drink. Rick also took the master keys from Israel’s belt. Now they had access to all the apartments without having to break down any doors.
All of the tenants had met two weeks ago and it was agreed that for as long as they wanted, Rick and Eileen, and PJ and Mora could live in the vacant apartments in the building. PJ and Mora took the second floor apartment and Rick and Eileen moved into Israel’s place.
The sun was setting over the city and Mora was napping on the couch. She fell asleep watching one of the two or three TV stations that was still on the air. Most of what was aired was news and bulletins. Only one of the major networks broadcast full time. Cable and the smaller stations were basically off the air. Even CNN was off. The internationally known newscasting giant found there was in the nothing more to broadcast. The Pandora 2 Mutation was now here-there was no cure-everyone was dead and getting deader-end of story. Both literally and figuratively.
Quarantine: A Pandora Novel Page 14
