HOT ZONE: A Post-Apocalyptic Pandemic Thriller (The Zulu Virus Chronicles Book 1)

by Steven Konkoly

  Yelling and panicked cries for help echoed off the blood-smeared walls behind her; the rooms and hallways of the once pristine state-of-the-art emergency facility reduced to little more than a battlefield triage site. Hale stared at herself in the reflection of the sliding glass door. She looked more like a butcher than an ER doctor, her light blue apron and scrubs splattered with blood and gore. She lowered her respirator and glanced furtively over her shoulder, a self-preservation tic she’d developed over the past twenty-four hours.

  She shouldn’t have to worry about being attacked inside the ER at this point. All of the self-ambulatory virus patients had been removed earlier in the day after Dr. Cabrera was nearly stabbed to death by one of the infected in a treatment room. That was what they called them now. Infected. A delirious woman brought in with a chest and face full of birdshot pulled a steak knife out of her boot while Cabrera was checking her vitals, jamming it into his gut several times before an orderly caved her skull in with an IV stand.

  The delivering paramedics had mistakenly identified her as a victim instead of one of the infected. It hadn’t been the first mistake resulting in violence, but it had been the last. The new protocol ordered by Dr. Owens required all injured patients registering a temperature upon admittance to be immediately restrained, treated and removed as soon as possible from the ER. The new system had worked so far.

  A pulsing red light reflected off the trees lining the intersection, growing brighter by the second. Hale pulled the respirator back into place over her nose and mouth and lowered her splatter glasses. Moments later, the ambulance raced into view, speeding toward the hospital. She could tell right away that it wasn’t going to make the turn. The police officers barricading the entrance to the ER parking lot sensed the same thing and slowly started to back away from their vehicles.

  The ambulance barreled into the intersection, tires screeching, as the orange and white truck teetered on two wheels for a few agonizing seconds before crashing onto its right side. Sparks trailed the ambulance as it skidded across the pavement and slammed into the curb, coming to a crunching halt that sounded like a bomb blast inside the ER doors. Hale had her swipe card in hand, ready to open the doors and run outside, when Owens yelled from the hallway behind her.

  “What the fuck was that?”

  Owens was covered in blood from head to toe, having repeatedly handled the most severe cases brought through the ER doors. Only his gloves and respirator were clean, indicating he was ready to take the worst case offloaded from the ambulance.

  “Ambulance took the turn too fast and crashed on its side,” she said. “I’m going out to help.”

  “No, you’re not,” said Owens. “We have a strict protocol in place. EMS delivers patients with a police escort through these doors. That’s it.”

  “Come on, Jeff. The paramedics are going to need help, too,” she said, raising her hand to the card reader.

  “Damn it,” muttered Owens before pointing at her. “You watch your ass out there. Any sign of a shit storm, and you get your ass back inside.”

  “Got it,” she said, swiping her card.

  She stepped into the night, immediately hearing a not-so-distant-sounding gunshot. The single blast was answered by several rapid shots, also nearby. The police officers jogging toward the ambulance stopped and drew their pistols, scanning the streets. One of them leveled a military-style rifle in the direction of the gunfire. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. Hale ran across the parking lot toward the police car blocking the western entrance.

  The sound of heavy vehicles reverberated through the parking lot, intensifying the closer she got to the street. Just before she reached the police car, a column of armored military vehicles emerged between the buildings. She stopped in the middle of the lot and watched this bizarre sight unfold.

  The first vehicle, which she now recognized to be a Humvee, pulled even with the police car blocking the eastern access point, its machine gun turret swiveling in a slow arc as if an unseen enemy might ambush them at any moment. A soldier got out of the front passenger side and approached the police standing in front of the squad car.

  “Dr. Hale!” yelled one of the officers near the crashed ambulance. “What do we do here?”

  She glanced in his direction, but her attention was mostly focused on the line of Humvees. Beyond them, she could see larger trucks.

  “Dr. Hale! I think everyone in the back is dead!”

  The soldier and police officers shook hands, each retreating to their vehicles. A moment later, the police car backed out of the way, allowing two Humvees to pull into the parking lot, before returning to its original blocking position. The remaining Humvees drove past, stopping at nearly equidistant intervals on the streets surrounding the emergency room parking lot, their turrets facing outward.

  “Dr. Hale! What do we do!” screamed the officer.

  She turned to him. “Bring whoever looks like they’ll survive into the ER.”

  “What?” he yelled. “How the fuck am I supposed to do that? I’m not qualified to make that kind of decision!”

  “Just figure it out!” she snapped, returning her attention to the soldiers getting out of the Humvees near the ambulance entrance.

  “What’s going on?” she yelled, drawing their attention.

  She jogged toward them, worried that they might smash the glass in if they couldn’t immediately gain access. A few of them already appeared to be trying to separate the doors.

  “I can let you in!” she said. “Just hold on!”

  One of the soldiers stepped out of the group to meet her. He was dressed in full combat gear, like something she’d expect to see in a war zone. Ballistic helmet fitted with a night-vision device. Body armor covered his torso, pelvis, shoulders and neck. Full ammunition pouches attached to his body armor. Thigh holster. He truly looked like he was geared up for a battle—and maybe he was. The soldier reached over the rifle slung across his chest to shake her hand.

  “Major Nick Smith, 2nd Battalion, 151st Infantry Regiment, Indiana National Guard,” he said, looking her up and down. “What the hell happened here?”

  “It’s been a long few days,” she said. “What’s all this?”

  “I have orders to secure the hospital and remove all patients,” said Smith.

  “What?” she said. “Remove them to where?”

  “Some kind of quarantine facility where they can separate the sick patients. I have close to a hundred trucks and school buses standing by for the evacuation. I’m supposed to start moving them out of here immediately,” said Smith.

  This didn’t sound right. They could do that right here. Hale couldn’t think of any reason why they’d need to clear the hospital of everyone. Removing the infected made sense on some levels, but not the entire patient population. She decided not to protest too strongly. For all she knew, they planned on removing the staff, too.

  “Most of the hospital’s patients are either too sick or too injured to be transported on a bus,” said Hale.

  “We’ll do what we can to accommodate the different patient types,” he said.

  “You have to keep the infected patients restrained,” she said. “Otherwise you’ll have problems.”

  “What’s the ratio between the infected, as you call them, and the rest?” said the major.

  “Ten to one in the whole hospital? That’s what I’ve heard,” she said. “About one in five in the ER?”

  “Why the difference here?” he said.

  “Because we’ve moved most of them out,” said Hale. “They kept attacking the staff.”

  “Jesus,” said Smith. “What is this?”

  She shrugged her shoulders. “It’s a living nightmare, Major. I hope your soldiers are prepared for this.”

  “Me too,” he said. “I need to get inside and coordinate with hospital administration.”

  “Hospital administration is gone. We haven’t heard from them in over twenty-four hours.”

  “Who’s runnin
g the hospital?” said the soldier.

  “Doctors. Nurses. Other staff that decided to stick around. There’s no centralized decision-making point.”

  “This just keeps getting better,” said Smith.

  She swiped her card and punched in a short code. The door slid open, remaining in that position.

  “I disabled the security feature. Your soldiers can come and go,” she said.

  “I guess we’ll start with the ER. Who’s in charge here?”

  “Dr. Owens. Last I saw he was in one of the surgical suites. Take the first right inside these doors and keep going. You’ll see it past a circular nurses’ station,” she said. “I should probably help the police move those accident victims inside.”

  The soldiers took off down the hallway, their boots pounding the linoleum floor and gear clacking as they ran. Hale walked calmly down the hallway straight in front of the sliding door, ducking into the room where she’d seen Owens a few minutes ago. He stood just inside the room, his arms folded.

  “What was that all about?” said Owens. “They’re not going to be happy to find out you lied.”

  “They’re here to clear the hospital,” said Hale. “All of the patients, sick or not, on military trucks and buses. Immediately. It doesn’t sound right.”

  Owens stared at her for a second. “No. It doesn’t. Here’s what you’re going to do. You’re going to walk out that door and disappear.”

  “I’m not going anywhere,” she said.

  “No time to argue with me,” said Owens. “You either leave now on your own, or you leave on one of those buses. That’s where this is headed. My guess is they’re doing a clean sweep of this place. Staff included.”

  “I have nowhere to go,” she said. “The two coming in on the ambulance were picked up a block away from my place. If the 465 rumors are true, I don’t really have any options.”

  “What about Dr. Chang’s place? You said that was pretty secure,” said Owens. “He gave you the codes to get in, right?”

  Hale fished through her scrubs, feeling the worn, folded card in her front pocket. “I don’t have my keys or purse.”

  Owens pulled a set of keys from his pocket and held them out to her. “You don’t have time. Plus, my car is in the lot right across the street. Lot L. Rank hath its privileges.”

  “I can’t take your car,” she said. “What are you going to do?”

  “You know what they say about the captain, right?” said Owens.

  “I’m too tired for riddles.”

  “The captain always goes down with the ship,” said Owens. “I’m going to warn the others. If I get out of here, I’ll find Chang’s place. I have the address in my phone.”

  “I’ll walk,” she said.

  “You won’t get very far out there,” said Owens. “Take the fucking keys, Lauren. They probably figured out you lied by now.”

  She swiped the keys from him, not sure what to say.

  “You can thank me later. Get out of here,” said Owens, grabbing her arm and speed-walking toward the ambulance entry.

  When they reached the open doorway, Owens turned, looking over his shoulder at her and mouthing, “Go!” A commotion broke out at the far end of the hallway, a nurse gesturing wildly at a cluster of soldiers. Lauren passed the soldiers standing around the entrance, nodding politely before breaking into a jog and eventually a sprint—never looking back. There would be plenty of time for guilt later.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  David Olson started pressing his garage door opener as soon as his house came into view after turning the corner. He wanted to slide the truck inside the garage and avoid any possible downtime on the driveway. The last thing he needed right now was a chat with the neighbors. He was friends with all of them, but now wasn’t the time. The trip to Noblesville had taken far longer than expected, mostly because advance elements of the 10th Mountain Division had arrived from Grissom Air Reserve Base ahead of schedule, jamming the roads in and around the city.

  The only good thing to come of it was being cut off by a convoy of Humvees headed south. He’d actually enabled it to happen by slowing down when he saw a Humvee edging toward the road. The driver took the bait, lurching onto the street in front of him, followed by a dozen more armored vehicles. By the time the last vehicle in the convoy turned down the road and Olson got moving again, the Westfield patrol car was nowhere in sight.

  Since the other Westfield officers wouldn’t suspect anything for a while due to the unexpected and lengthy interruption, David drove Price all the way to her house instead of dropping her off at a point that would have required a thirty-minute walk. The rest of the trip had been smooth sailing, with the exception of a Carmel Police Department checkpoint on 116th Street. Carmel PD officers asked a few questions and took a look in the back of his pickup, but the uniform and badge got him through with very little scrutiny.

  His garage door started rising a little later than he would have liked, forcing him to slow his approach to time it perfectly. The pickup pulled into the driveway and rolled into the garage, the door closing before he shifted into park. He took the keys out of the ignition and stepped onto the concrete floor, keeping a close eye on what he could see of the driveway for shadows. When the garage door stopped and he was certain nobody had slipped inside, he unlocked the door to the house and opened it a few inches—triggering the alert beep that his son would hear in the basement.

  Unable to call Joshua and let him know he was coming home, he’d have to be careful entering the house. He pushed the door open all the way while standing aside in case his son had once again decided to disregard his request to stay in the basement. When no gunfire erupted, he stepped into the house and called out.

  “Josh! It’s me, Dad!”

  He didn’t sense any immediate response.

  “Josh! Where are you? It’s Dad!”

  Shit. Where was he? He shut the door behind him and locked it, waiting for his son to respond. Nothing.

  “Dammit, Josh! Where are you?” he screamed.

  A rumble sounded beneath the floor, and David drew his service pistol. He took a few more quiet steps into the dark house, keeping the weapon pointed high to avoid reflexively shooting his son if he suddenly appeared.

  “Josh! Answer me!”

  “Dad?” answered a muffled voice.

  A few moments later, David heard footsteps coming up the basement stairway.

  “Dad, I’m coming up!”

  He holstered his pistol and walked into the main hallway, stopping near the basement door. After a heavy click, the door opened, light pouring into the house. His son stood sleepy eyed for a moment at the top of the stairs before his eyes darted to the bandage on David’s head.

  “Dad, what happened?”

  “No big deal. Cut my head on some broken glass.”

  David grabbed his son and hugged him.

  “Why didn’t you answer right away? Scared the crap out of me.”

  “I finally fell asleep,” said Joshua. “I never heard the alarm beep. That’s a little scary.”

  David squeezed him tighter for a few seconds before letting him go.

  “I didn’t expect you to stay awake all night. Actually, I hope you got a little rest. We need to get out of town and head north.”

  “I got the second pack ready and moved the fifty-gallon plastic bins next to the stairs. All of the water, too. I didn’t realize you had everything so organized down there,” said Joshua.

  “There’s been a little change of plans,” said David. “Let’s head downstairs. We can’t use the truck. We have to walk out of here.”

  “What? Why?” said Joshua.

  “Shut the door and lock it,” said David. “Things have gotten really bad out there. Worse than I originally thought.”

  David found all eight plastic bins lined up in a neat row, labels facing forward.

  CAMPING1

  CAMPING2

  FOOD—PRIMARY

  FOOD—SECONDARY
r />   CLOTHING—WWX.

  CLOTHING—CWX.

  MEDICAL/COMMS/MISC.

  SURVIVAL

  A dozen five-gallon water cans stood upright behind the bins. The only things missing were the weapons and ammunition. Speaking of which. He glanced around the room, spotting the Glock 19 in its concealed-carry holster next to a few dirty plates and glasses on the circular table in front of the couch. He’d help Joshua attach the holster and position it for the journey. His son stepped into the basement, behind him.

  “So we’re not taking any of this?” he said.

  “We’ll pick through these and bulk up the packs,” said David.

  He’d thought about it on the drive back. They’d strip down several MREs, keeping the main course, side dish and cracker. Anything densely caloric. One of the larger medical kits would be good insurance against a serious injury. He could attach that to his own tactical vest. A few small propane tanks and a one-burner stove would make boiling water and cooking a lot easier in the long run. He’d add a small lightweight aluminum skillet to one of the packs. He anticipated living off the land for a little while. Better fishing tackle and an extendable rod with an attachable reel would come in handy for that. Plenty of retention ponds and small lakes with edible fish in central Indiana. He didn’t think he could add much more than that without tying an extra bag to one of the packs.

  “They’re already pretty bulky,” said Joshua.

  “Each of us will carry a rifle and ammunition, too,” said David. “Infantry Marines lug around two to three times what we’ll be carrying. This’ll be good for you.”

  “I’m more worried about you,” said his son jokingly.

  “This old man carries twenty-five pounds of gear around every day,” said David. “And don’t even try to convince me your school backpack counts.”

  They laughed for a few seconds before David brought them back on task.