by Joseph Souza
“Put the gun down and walk away.”
“Fuck you, man.”
The first of the infected staggered within ten feet of the men. The long-haired man raised his gun and, without even looking, shot the poxer in the head as if to say What do you think of that? Then the same man swiveled around and fired a round at Tag. The bullet hit the windshield, shattering it. Bits of glass rained over him, Versa and Fez, and showered down over their heads. Tag gripped the Saiga, his back up against the car’s door, listening to bullets pinging off the metal.
“Good God almighty, Colonel!” Versa cried out, tucking the boy’s head into her chest. “Fine mess you’ve gotten us into now.”
“What did you expect me to do?”
“Stop worrying about hurting these scumbags’ feelings and start blasting away. This ain’t a block party.”
Tag waited until the bullets stopped ripping into the car’s metal. He could tell by the sound of the ballistics that they were now firing into the poxers. Having served in combat, he knew what he needed to do. Versa was right—he needed to treat this situation as combat. He counted down from three and in one motion rose up over the hood and fired the Saiga. The bullet struck the long-haired man in the shoulder. The man dropped the gun and collapsed to the ground, clutching it with his left hand and shouting for the others to open fire. Tag waited a beat to see what the others would do as the first group of poxers approached.
“Unless the rest of you want to end up like your friend, I suggest you drop your weapons and walk away as fast as you can!” Tag aimed the rifle at the next member in line, a muscular black guy with a thick beard.
“Where we gonna go?” one of the men replied. “This whole island is crawling with them!”
“Go find an abandoned house to hole up in until this crisis is over. Make sure you have no contact with anyone.”
“Nah, man,” the huge black guy said, shaking his head and pointing his gun at him. “Them houses prolly got the bug inside them too. Then we be breathing in this nasty shit and turning into one of these devils. Nah, I’ll take my chances out here, man.”
“I’m giving you ample warning to get the hell out of here. And I promise, I won’t give you a second chance.”
Three of the infected set upon the fallen leader and began to tear away his flesh. Still conscious, the man screamed in agony. The black guy turned on his heels and shot at the poxers ravaging his friend’s body. Tag peered through the scope and fired a round before the man had a chance to shoot again. The bullet tore through the black man’s hand, kicking the gun out of his grip. Blood poured from the wound, and he howled in pain, jumping up and down in agony. Tag pointed the Saiga at the next guy in line. The five other guys rushed over and escorted the injured black guy off the beach. Tag followed them through the scope and saw them heading toward the northern tip of the island, along Atlantic View Road and toward the neighborhood where the fishermen and locals lived.
Certain that all the men had fled, the three of them walked over to where the poxers had gathered over the dying man’s body. Tag couldn’t believe that they were eating him alive.
“Jesus, Mary and Joseph,” Versa said, staring at the man still kicking and screaming. “And there’s more of them poxers headed in our direction.”
“Maybe those guys were right. Maybe we should kill them before they kill us,” Fez said, pointing his gun at one of the poxers staggering toward them.
“Of course we should kill them. They’re not even human no more. They’re savages and have no souls,” Versa said.
“They’re still human beings no matter how sick they are,” Tag said, trying to maintain his composure. “We can’t go around randomly killing everyone on the island that’s become infected. Besides, some of them might be members of our own families.”
“Hell if we can’t, Colonel, especially if they try and kill us first,” Versa said.
“Listen,” Fez said, “them poxers are trying to say something.”
The others struggled to make their way over to his group. He could plainly see that they had stripped off all their clothes in order to avoid what must have been the painful chafing of scabs against their clothing. Even their genitals appeared swollen and blistered, practically unrecognizable. Their eyelids were pressed shut in order to avoid the painful glare of the sun, yet they could still smell, evident by their tipped heads and flaring, swelled nostrils. He raised the rifle and warned them to stay back, but they continued to shuffle forward. Their brains had become so racked with the virus that they couldn’t think in a rational manner, reduced to the basest animal instincts. He heard a strange utterance that sounded remotely familiar to his ears.
“Please help us!” a woman cried, the words garbled because of her blistered tongue. Tears slid down her hideously scarred face, which was half-covered in blood.
“I’m sorry, ma’am, but there’s nothing we can do for you,” Tag replied, staring at her in shock.
“The light hurts my eyes.”
“What happened to your fingers?”
“Something bad is happening to me that I can’t explain. My body feels foreign to me, as if my hands are enemies trying to kill me. My brain is telling me to rip myself and other people to shreds. God help me.”
“So you went and chewed off your fingers?” Versa said in disgust.
“I need to find my husband and three kids. Please, I beg you to help me!” she cried, stepping forward.
Tag felt terrible for the woman, but what could he do? He had his own family to worry about as well as Fez and Versa. It occurred to him that these poxers were not entirely without reason. Something insidious had occurred inside their brains that was causing them to attack themselves and others, and this impairment resulted in severe personality swings the likes of which included violence, impulse disorders and extreme emotional responses. The victims of Lesch-Nyhan syndrome acted completely normal until the impulse swept over them and they lost control. Then they attacked and self-mutilated with a terrible vengeance.
“We need to go now, ma’am. Hopefully the authorities will arrive soon and take charge of the situation and then get you the help you need.” Tag felt terrible lying to the woman. “What’s your name?”
“Judy. Please find my three little kids and take care of them.” Tears snaked down her blister-covered cheeks. “Their names are Paul, Deenie and Kate.”
“Your best bet is to stay here on the beach and lay low. Bathe in the salt water as often as possible.”
“It hurts so bad. I feel like ripping the scabs off my body. And I’m so thirsty and hungry, even though my mouth is full of blisters.” She stumbled blindly toward him. “Do I look hideous?”
“We’re leaving now, Judy. Turn around and head back to the beach,” Tag said, gathering Versa and Fez together and herding them back up toward the street.
He hadn’t the heart to tell the woman how she really looked: like a monster. Even if she did manage to evade serious infection and blood loss, the physical scars left by this pox would psychologically haunt her for a long time to come, constantly reminding her of the horrific outbreak. But much worse would be the mental anguish of losing her husband and three children. The post-traumatic stress would stay with her for a lifetime. Tag even considered for a brief moment whether the woman had possibly attacked her own kids and, God forbid, consumed them.
He hustled Fez and Versa up the street. The thought of Monica and Taylor turning into those wretched souls scared the hell out of him. Having smallpox would be difficult enough, but to come down with this insidious brain virus on top of it would be a devastating life changer.
Chapter 16
Once they started moving, they were able to sweep through the homes at a much more efficient clip. Versa and Fez waited downstairs in the appointed house, flashlight in hand, while Tag bolted upstairs to see if he could locate Monica and Taylor. All it took was a quick, peremptory search in order to determine whether his family was inside. Using one of the spare flashlights
they’d found in one of the closets, Tag temporarily disabled the infected before moving on.
They cleared the first ten streets on the grid but still found no trace of his family. Exhausted, they rested on a retaining wall for a quick breather. Tag admired his two partners’ stamina and bravery. They didn’t have to help him, yet they did out of the goodness of their hearts. Tag lifted his water bottle and took a slug. The warm water hit the spot.
He passed some protein bars over to Versa and Fez and then tore one open for himself. The sun had started to set in the west. Pink clouds glowed off in the distance, reflected in the calm waters of Casco Bay.
The events of the last few days now seemed like a blur. He wondered who might have set off this disastrous chain of events, trying to recall all the names and faces he’d encountered at that infectious diseases conference at Harvard Medical School. Nothing came to him. Of all the people he’d dealt with at the Institute and the CDC, he couldn’t remember any one person in particular that he might consider an enemy, or crossed in any meaningful way. He’d been strict but had gone out of his way to be fair. In fact, he’d been lauded for his teamwork and ability to collaborate with his subordinates, as well as the scientists from various other agencies such as the CIA, FBI and CDC.
The treatment of lab animals was a separate matter altogether, although not an issue that came up often in his line of work. Of course, the animal rights issue could have been a red herring just to throw him off. Sometimes at the Institute, however, some of the staff did become upset when a primate got sick and died, especially one that they’d developed a bond with. Despite the constant warnings not to become attached to the lab animals, only a person devoid of human emotions could not help feeling sorry for one of the primates when staring into its humanlike eyes, knowing that it would die a slow and torturous death from whatever virus was shot into its veins. He’d witnessed terrible monkey pox diseases, hemorrhagic fevers, Ebola-like infections and avian flues, and had to admit that he hadn’t particularly agonized over the plight of the animals his team had experimented on. Even now, pondering the consequences of his experiments, he still thought it a fair trade-off in mankind’s relentless drive to save human lives.
“I’ve got a question for you, Tag. What’s going to happen when the sun goes down in a little bit and those sick people can see us?” Fez asked.
“I suppose we’ll have to find a place to stay for the night.”
“You’re not going to leave us behind, are you?” Fez asked.
“No worries, kid. I’ll have you in my sight at all times,” he said, finishing off his protein bar.
“Why did this thing happen to our island, anyway?”
“I don’t know. I suppose there’s a lot of evil people in this world who have nothing else to do but hurt others for no apparent reason other than they can.”
“Which is why I never wanted to leave this island,” Versa said, shaking her head. “There’s still plenty of local morons on Cooke’s to go around, but you mainlanders have royally screwed things up. Of all the lousy places in the world these derelicts could have attacked, the lousy rat bastards chose my home. Why couldn’t they have released it where it would have really made a real difference? Like Washington, D.C.?”
“Will these sick people ever get better?” Fez asked.
Tag shrugged. Despite all his medical training and academic credentials, he had no answers to their questions. As knowledgeable as he was in the field of human biology and virology, any time a new viral strain popped up throughout the world, it ended up taking a long time to identify and break down its genetic code.
“Answer me this, Tag. Why are these poxers attacking people?”
“The virus has wormed into their brains and made them do things they wouldn’t normally do. It’s caused them to become violent and aggressive. It has stripped them of all their morals and long-held beliefs.”
“Then if they’re not going to get any better and they’re trying to hurt us, why not put them out of their misery before they infect us?” Fez asked.
“I’ll tell you why, kid,” Versa said. “Because the colonel over there is a big-shot army guy in Washington, D.C. If it got out that he was killing these people, then he could forget about ever advancing his political career.”
“That true, Tag?”
“Don’t listen to her, kid. And for your information, Versa, I was planning to retire before this whole mess happened. Think about it. What if these sick people could make a full recovery, maybe return to a semblance of a normal life? Would you still want to kill them? Especially knowing that your own family was still out there, waiting for help to arrive?”
“Well, Colonel, I’d still kill them. Thank God I don’t have no snotty brats at home to worry about. All I got is me. And what kind of life could these people lead, knowing full well they ate their husband or neighbor for lunch? Not a normal one, I can assure you that. And if it was me in that condition, I’d sure hope someone would put me out of my misery.”
“Anytime you want that bullet, Versa, please let me know.”
“Stick it where the sun don’t shine, Colonel,” Versa snapped.
Tag laughed and reached for his pack. He slung it over his shoulder as an indication to the others that it was time to move on. Off in the distance he could see a lone helicopter buzzing over the island and flying at a severe right angle. Out in the ocean the silhouette of an oil tanker cruised slowly past, its lights shining in the dying light.
He was about to wave for them to move out when his phone rang. The sound of the ringer startled him. He put it on speakerphone, suddenly worried what Versa and Fez might hear. He couldn’t just walk away from them and keep them out of the loop.
“Dr. Winters, Special Agent Bishop again. How are you holding out?”
“Things are rough over here, Bishop. I can’t find my wife and daughter because the outbreak has wreaked havoc on this island, as you probably already know.”
“Yes, we’ve been following the activities over there since this outbreak occurred. It’s a particularly insidious virus, judging by the looks of it. I’m watching the webcast as we speak. We’re getting live feeds from over twenty cameras situated on the island. Where have all the people gone?”
“The infected are holing up inside houses or wherever they can keep out of the light. The victims of this disease apparently suffer from extreme light sensitivity due to the effects of the pox. We’ve been out here searching while there’s still daylight. When the sun sets and the diseased come out again, we’re going to need to find shelter for the night.”
“Dr. Winters, we’ve recently discovered evidence of your ties to the group responsible for this plague. They call themselves the Futurists. Why don’t you cooperate with us, sir, and start by telling us the names of the cities where you’ve placed the other threats?”
He registered the horrified look on Versa’s face and turned away.
“Look, Bishop, I already told you that I’m not responsible for this, and I don’t care if you have all the video evidence in the world to prove it. Someone is setting me up to take the fall.”
“My team has interviewed most of your former and current colleagues, Doctor, and to your credit, they haven’t found a single person to say a bad word about you, if that’s any consolation.”
“It isn’t, because I haven’t done anything wrong! The person you’re looking for is on the island as we speak, although I have no idea who or where they are. They’re the same person, or persons, responsible for kidnapping my wife and daughter.”
“The goal is to send a tactical hazmat squad over to the island. Once that happens, we’ll set up medical teams to care for the diseased. We’ll try to identify the organism responsible for this event, unless you can spare us the time and effort.”
“I strongly suggest you refrain from sending a hazmat team unless you’re willing to chance an outbreak on the mainland. I’ve been given direct orders from the caller to make sure no one comes on this
island until he gives his permission.”
“You’re either completely clueless, Dr. Winters, or some kind of evil genius.”
“What motivation would I have for doing this? I’ve never involved myself in political activity and have surely never heard of the Futurists.”
“We’re running out of time. People around the world are watching and wondering what’s going on out on Cooke’s Island. Families are worried about their loved ones. All the national news broadcasts and tabloids have set up camps along the dock, trying to find out what’s going on over there. We’ve been able to enforce a no-fly zone around the island. The bad news is that the webcams are still streaming live, although our technicians have temporarily managed to keep the webcasts from streaming over the Internet. What do you think will happen if the rest of the world sees what’s going on there? This event on Cooke’s Island could start a global war.”
“If I could just study this organism in the lab, I’d be able to help you, Bishop. Unfortunately, I know as little about it as anyone else. What I do know for certain is that our lives here are in peril. We’re hungry, tired and thirsty, and we’ve witnessed some terrible things. Our families have gone missing, and we have to find them before they fall victim to this plague. So do you really think I’d be as transparent as to leave evidence behind in such a blatant manner?”
“I don’t know what to believe at this point, but I’m running out of options. If word of this virus leaks out to the public, we’re going to have a major public relations disaster on our hands.”
“I wish I could say I give a shit, Bishop, but right now I’m more concerned about finding my wife and my daughter than generating good P.R. for the bureau. If you’re asking my opinion, and I know you’re not, this terrorist is not bluffing when he or she says they’ll release this virus into the general public if you put boots here on the ground.” Tag looked up the street and saw two people staggering out of a house. Fez tugged at his shirt.
