More infected bodies milled around to the right of the vehicles. These men and women must have been on some sort of tour, judging by their matching D.C. T-shirts; the kind people tended to buy from street vendors down by the Smithsonian museums.
One of the tourists appeared normal until he turned his head to face her, exposing a fleshy flap of an ear with puncture wounds from a bite. The woman next to him moaned loudly, reaching a hand out toward Gwen. Blood and gore decorated the front of her shirt, painting the cartoon caricature of Washington D.C. a dark red. She had bites all up and down her forearms, as if she had attempted to protect her face from attack. Gwen gutted herself up. Stay strong.
“Over here,” she croaked, her confidence waning. Her voice gave away how she felt. Scared and alone.
“Over here,” she mustered.
Her voice drew their attention not unlike she hailed an old friend. The woman started her awkward gait toward Gwen, and the others hastily followed suit. They moved with a herd mentality. A clan of ravenous cannibals desiring only one thing, her flesh.
Here we go. Just have to lead them away from the car long enough for Lindsay to get in, spin around and pick me up. Provided that Lindsay does her part and the group of tourists doesn’t murder her. Provided that these dozen or so people aren’t fast enough to catch me. Provided that I don’t twist an ankle and get eaten alive.
The possibilities were endless, and if this didn’t work she would be in a world of pain, literally. She tried not to think about the bad alternatives, but they hovered over her like a dark swarm of bees.
Complexity in a situation like this was the devil. She knew the acronym KISS: Keep It Simple, Stupid. Complex plans almost never worked out as they should. After looking over at the group of infected tourists, she thanked the gods for fatty fast food and sugary super-sized drinks.
The infected lumbered to her at a dragging pace. They resembled a group of late-night bar-goers, making their way for the nearest greasy burger joint. Holding her place in the open, she allowed all of them time to locate her. From all around her they moaned and reached for her, traversing the lot in an effort to reach her. I have to get them all coming my way or Lindsay will never make it.
The infected closed in faster than she expected, an ever forward moving force, and she was forced to jog ahead of them in the direction of the parking garage near the south exit. She led them past the place where Lindsay hid and gave her a nod as she passed.
“Keep it coming,” she hollered back over her shoulder. She wanted all their attention on her. Not on Lindsay who needed to sneak back to her car.
Weaving in and out of the abandoned cars, she slammed doors as she passed them, creating even more noise. They funneled down the lane she created taking the path of least resistance. Lazy bastards. Thank God they are lazy bastards. Her bare feet pounded the pavement painfully every rock, pebble and piece of glass causing her to grimace and tip toe. Mostly, she tried to dodge the broken glass, but avoiding all of the treacherous pieces was impossible.
“Shit,” she swore as a shard dug in deep into the pad of her foot. She jumped on one foot like a human pogo stick, rubbing the green glass off her sole with the palm of her hand. She chanced a glance back. The infected had closed, as she struggled with her feet. Their faces were emotionless and gore-stained as if they neither enjoyed nor despised the chase.
“Come on, you sons of bitches. I’m right here,” she jeered at them. Not one of them called back. They simply drudged ahead with an inhuman tenacity. Diluted white eyes followed her. Come with us, they seemed to say while uttering nothing at all. It made her skin crawl. After all, it is human nature to respond to the communications of another, isn’t it?
Her heart thundered threatening to burst from her chest. The combination of fear and exercise had driven her into a state of near frenzy. People were trying to eat her alive, and barefoot she tried to escape, like some B rate horror film.
I can only keep this up for a little while. Every dumb marathon and 10k race seemed so important at the time. I had no idea I trained for this.
She spun backward, backpedaling for a few strides. The taillights of the Jeep flicked on across the lot, bright orange illuminations of hope.
“Yesssss,” she said out loud. Lindsay made it. Just a little further.
Gwen darted close to a parking garage, a large four story square. Maybe I could hide in there? Hesitating, she slowed up, momentary indecision stealing vital seconds from her. The idea evaporated as a flood of corrupted people emerged from the inside. The garage entrance angled in such a way, that the murderous people would pop out ahead of her directly in her path, cutting her safe distance a little too short. They are going to be too close.
Pointing herself away from the entrance, she tried to create some space away from the new comers. Something had drawn their unwanted attention, and she didn’t want to be around when they caught up to her.
Bloodied business suits, tattered T-shirt clad college students and entire families surged forward. Most were slow and one man crawled, but the ones that looked more athletic were fast enough to make her panic. Holy shit. Gwen picked up the pace. She felt every piece of glass, stone, and metal that hammered into her feet, but adrenaline drove her onward, accented by fear of being eaten alive.
Come on, Lindsay. The mass hobbled about twenty yards behind her, but a determined defense contractor, who had the gaunt look of a triathlete, along with a couple of younger college students in George Mason University gear, were within five yards. Their heavy moaning defiled her, as though they were excited by the proximity of fresh meat.
Don’t look back. Don’t look back. She repeated to herself, but she had to, and immediately regretted it. It was that odd quirk about being in danger, you always wanted to know how close you were to harm’s way.
The whites of their eyes unnerved her; they were inhuman lacking a soul. Gwen felt as though she moved in slow motion, and her assailants were tireless. She lived a nightmare while she was awake. The glass biting the bottom of her feet felt like mere pinpricks in her temporarily lucid state, but she knew from her bloody footprints across the pavement that she would require medical attention.
She must keep going. Her lungs burned and a ball of pain had built up in her side as if she were rupturing a tumor.
Where the hell is Lindsay? A small copse of birch trees lined the section between the commuter lot and the residential areas. She made for it. It was survival. Lindsay hadn’t come, and she had no other option than to run for it. Cross this street. Through those trees to those houses. Her foot caught and everything slowed down as if the Earth stopped rotating.
She floated through the air. That’s funny, I should still be running. My feet should be pounding the pavement, but they aren’t. Gray concrete leapt for her head. She flailed her arms attempting to catch herself before she crashed into the pavement with a crack.
Stars exploded in her head as she bounced off the concrete. Immediately, she was disoriented. Gwen knew she was supposed to be moving, but she couldn’t remember why. Crawling in a semi-conscious state, survival chemicals fueled her muscles and organs. It took years to sit up.
Everything continued to echo until she faintly heard them coming; the heavy tread of clumsy footwear on the pavement; the low groans voiced their desperate pleas for her flesh. Exhausted, she let her head back down on the ground and brought her hands up to her skull. That was odd. Why are my hands red? She let them fall down onto her chest. The sky is the most beautiful shade of blue. As she faded out of consciousness, her vision filled with the ugly disgusting faces of the others.
STEELE
Washington-McCone International Airport, VA
The remainder of the counterterrorism team formed a tactical diamond with Jarl at the point and Steele and Mauser on the flanks, the other survivors clustered in the middle. Only a handful of the flight crew and embassy staff remained. Under better tactical conditions they would have someone pulling rear security, but in the
ir dire case, the agents on the flanks took turns checking their rear. Each agent had his gun in the high ready, each warily watching his responsible sector.
Where are the good guys? Steele’s vision blurred and his head ached from lack of sleep and the subsequent adrenaline dump. He was alert but tired, an excited exhaustion. He felt giddy, almost drunk, and even if he were to close his eyes his body would jerk itself awake with involuntary muscle spasms. Having told his body to stay awake for so long, it would no longer respond when he told it to go to sleep.
They marched to the terminal, allowing the Boeing 777 to shrink behind them. Dark, acidic smoke hung low, polluting the air with burning jet fuel. After about a hundred yards, Steele called them to a halt. He pulled his work phone from his front pocket. He ignored the stench and scrolled through the numbers in his phone. Finding himself awkwardly using his phone and gun, he holstered up.
His mind was not operating at peak efficiency. Tighten it up Steele. Mistakes happen when you are tired and lose focus. He found Ops and tapped the number. It immediately began to ring. Finally going to get someone on the horn.
The dial tone simply rang and rang, a never-ending buzz. Then there was an insulting click. “Hell-o,” a female robot voice echoed. “This is an emergency broadcast.” It was as if she were excited by the prospect of an emergency. “The Operations Center is currently experiencing technical difficulties. Please contact your supervisor for further assistance. Thank you. Ba-Bye.” Click. End of transmission.
Seriously? That robot bitch. There was never a time when Operations went unstaffed; twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, three hundred and sixty-five days a year, all holidays went covered as a support unit for agents in the field. I need assistance to hand off the ‘package’ and get Wheeler to the hospital, but no one had even bothered to send a bus to pick us up.
His mind struggled to wrap itself around the conundrum. This can mean only one of two things: no one knows we are here, which is impossible because we just landed a triple seven at an airport, or they aren’t capable of sending anyone to help, also impossible considering the fact that we just shot half an airplane full of ravenous disease-ridden people. Both were clearly unfathomable. The National Capital Region was known to have some of the highest numbers of law enforcement officers in the country – over twenty thousand - and they couldn’t seem to spare a couple of local PD officers to assist them. Steele stood in shock for a moment.
“Agent Steele,” Dr. Jackowski addressed him.
“Not now, doc,” he said, dismissing the doctor with a wave.
“That plane must be quarantined. No one must be allowed to leave it.” This guy is always blathering on about some quarantine.
Steele’s wild eyes pierced through Dr. Jackowski. He must have looked like a barbarian with a full beard, blood covered clothes and a weapon stuck through his waistband. “Joseph, I can call you that, yes?”
The scrawny doctor nodded.
“I have to get you to another security detail, get my colleague to the hospital and get ahold of my supervisors so I can tell them my team just shot a bunch of people, most of them Americans, on board an international aircraft. I sure as hell ain’t getting the fuck back on that plane without more bullets, more guys, and a fucking hazmat suit.”
Joseph looked as though he had been struck, but he persisted. “No, Agent Steele, I don’t think you understand. I have clearly dictated the magnitude of this situation multiple times now, yet you, a man in a position of authority, God knows how, refuse to address it.”
Steele’s mouth closed tight. He didn’t want to hear Joseph’s words but he listened anyway, angered by the doctor’s demands.
“If this disease spreads into the United States, we could be looking at a pandemic of epic proportions.” Joseph looked stalwart in his conviction, pissing Steele off even more.
The man continued like a man with a stick jabbing a bear through its cage. “Like wipe out the dinosaurs. Extinct. Adios. Blamo.”
Steele had enough of Joseph’s mouth. Grabbing Joseph by the scruff of his neck, he shrunk away in Steele’s grasp. “We can’t do everything. Get back in line,” Steele said, releasing the man.
Joseph pursed his lips as if to say something more, but held his tongue and nodded.
Steele knew Joseph was right. There could even be people left alive on board, but he couldn’t swallow it whole.
“We’re going to Terminal D. To get help,” he said with a harsh glance at Joseph. Steele out-faced him. “Let’s move, NOW.”
The group made painfully slow progress across the tarmac.
Planes sat idle at their gates seemingly abandoned. Only one taxied down the runway. A black, orange and yellow German flagged plane screamed into the air, lifting off only to hook to the left and go up in a fiery smoke as it barrel-rolled into the tree line surrounding the airport. The impact threw out explosive shockwaves.
“Holy shit,” Mauser said, eying the smoke. “Did you guys see that?”
“Couldn’t miss it. Let’s hurry. Keep moving toward the terminal. We’ll get on a landline and hook up with the airport authority to get help for those people.” He spoke with a certainty he didn’t have. One manageable step at a time.
Just a little further and he could go home to Gwen and his nice soft bed. At least he hoped he could. Then he would have to write a million reports. The office would probably have him filling out paperwork for months. Court dates. Lawyers. Statements. Memos. An endless headache of scrutiny. Normally, he would have dreaded the experience more than the action of doing the work, but he didn’t even care at this point as long as this was all over soon.
“We got two coming out of the building. Hands are clear,” Jarl called from the front of the diamond. He tracked them with his handgun much too far away for a good shot.
Steele broke formation, trying to wave them down.
“We need your help,” Steele called out, brandishing his badge at them. They headed right in his direction. Finally, somebody who can help us. When they were about twenty feet away, he saw the markings of violence on their bodies, blue baggage handling jump suits torn asunder as if someone had taken a chainsaw to them.
“Stop there. No further,” growled Steele, fumbling for his gun still in his pants.
The sound of his voice seemed to quicken their pace. They reached out, their fingers spread, trying to seize him.
“Stop now,” he shouted, tripping backward as he tried to create space between himself and the two men. Not having time to get back up, Steele stayed on his back in a ground fighting position. He kicked out his heel hammering the first man’s knee, bursting it back. The man collapsed and Steele crab-crawled rearward.
Jarl’s shadow blurred past him, closing the distance between him and the other crazed man. With one meaty paw, he hammer-fisted the top of the man’s skull. The force behind the downward strike was incredible. The baggage handler dropped, a puppet with its strings cut. It reminded Steele of the academy, when Jarl had knocked out an instructor with a single blow to the head. It had been a very short training session.
Jarl bent down and gave Steele a hand up.
“Thanks, bud,” Steele said.
Eyes running away from him, Jarl manhandled Steele back to the ground, lunging forward with his booted foot. The crawling baggage claim worker’s head exploded like a watermelon struck by a sledgehammer, guts splattering the ground.
“They’re acting just like the crazies on the plane,” he yelled at Steele.
Steele wasn’t used to getting tossed around, even if it was by a giant friend. Clambering upright, he was a little shaken by the turn of events.
“Let’s get in the building and get somebody on the horn who knows what’s going on,” Mauser said, watching the building tensely.
Steele had more than that on his mind. The plane wasn’t an isolated incident. This is happening here. We’re screwed. It would only be a matter of time before they ran out of bullets and were eaten alive.
> Distant sirens brought him back. With his hand Steele shaded his eyes. Blue lights spun inside black SUVs that sped down the runway. He sighed deeply. Finally, the cavalry comes galloping up to save the day as if they were on the wild frontier.
“Our relief,” he said to no one in particular. The haggard group let go an exhausted cheer. With his support hand, Steele felt for his tactical badge, it hung at the center of his chest on a black chain. He wouldn’t die here; allies were on their way.
From around his neck he ripped off his tactical badge. The last thing he needed was some gung-ho, high-speed operator trying to be a hero and shooting him and his guys in a blue-on-blue scenario; an agent-on-agent crime of mistaken identity. It wasn’t uncommon when dealing with plain-clothed military or law enforcement. Often in a violent scenario, law enforcement would zero in on threats - the gun - and, through visual exclusion and tunnel vision, fail to see the badge hanging from around the other officer’s neck. High above his head he held the badge along with his gun. They always look at the hands, because hands are where threats came from.
The convoy of black SUVs became larger and larger, accelerating toward the small group. These bastards better not run us over. The vehicles screeched to a halt, forming a semi-circle around the survivors. Doors burst outward and men in black tactical gear wearing M50 CBRN protective gas masks pointed guns at them from behind open doors. Steele’s initial assessment was at least ten plus CQB assault rifles pointed in their direction. No cover. No concealment. Not very good odds. These must be the saviors we’ve been waiting for.
“Drop the guns and turn around,” boomed a voice from behind the center vehicle’s door.
Steele kept his hands up. “We’re Division agents who have been escorting this doctor back from Africa. There was some sort of disease outbreak on the plane and most of the passengers are dead. We need medical attention.”
End Time Page 18
