by B. M. Hodges
After about an hour of driving, Tomas could see the spotlights on the hastily erected quarantine zone fence. Zombies were attracted to bright lights. These lights were intended to draw any stray infected in the area to the more heavily fortified parts of the fence and keep them away from weaker, unmanned stretched along the perimeter. As he drew closer, he could see they were doing their job. Hundreds of bloated bags of virus-filled corpses lay scattered in an arcing pattern in front of the gate.
There was a lot of movement along the fence as he approached. He could see WHO paratroopers scrambling along the top and in sentry towers in preparation for the approaching SUV.
Tomas decided it was best to show he was a friendly. When he approached to within two hundred yards of the gate, he began flipping the headlamps on in an S.O.S. Morse code pattern: three short, three long, three short. He slowed the SUV to a crawl and continued signaling, crunching over bodies in his path, their taunt limbs bursting fluids onto the undercarriage.
When he was fifty yards from the gate, two distinct shots from a Browning .50 caliber machine gun pounded into the SUV’s engine block. The shots came from a sentry tower above, immobilizing the vehicle and nearly making Tomas piss himself.
“EXIT YOUR VEHICLE WITH YOUR HANDS IN THE AIR!”
Tomas didn’t have to be told twice. He stuffed his travel documents and the picture of Abigail into his waistband, slowly opened the door and raised his arms as high as he could.
“I’m with research!” He yelled up at the blinding spotlights, “I’m an authorized member of the field studies division! I’m ready to come in!”
He stood there, exposed for a few minutes. The sentries confirmed his identification with their facial recognition programs and thermal imaging pattern recognition cameras.
As he waited, he counted ten, no, eleven shots from above as they culled more infected, attracted by the lights and the sound of his SUV and straying into the perimeter.
The gate opened.
A soldier in a positive-pressure biohazard suit, equipped with its own air supply, stepped into the light and said through his sealed helmet in a muffled voice, “Follow me for decontamination and debriefing.”
Chapter Two
55th Floor AirGarden
Tai Ko Heng Resort & Casino
Marina Bay, Singapore
Abigail sat beside Jamie on the lounge chair on the edge of the infinity pool, nursing her friend’s swollen black-and-blue ankle. It was mid afternoon and the reality show was finally over. But the spectacle on the sky park hadn’t ended. Producers and staff ran around barking orders at the team members and Tua Kee artistes loitering around the pool.
Everyone was still in shock over the brutal attack during filming of the final scenes of the reality show.
“I hate to admit it, but I think it’s broken,” Abigail confessed, gingerly touching her calf above the darkening skin.
Jamie let out a hiss of pain. “It doesn’t matter. What’s done is done. More importantly, you need to find Sheldon before he disappears with our consolidation prize money. You know he’s going to try to worm his way out of paying. Look at Lydia’s money lying around on that stage.” Jamie glanced over at the CARS finale stage, deserted since Norris had turned into one of those freaky mutated zombies and jumped onto the platform, gnawing a chunk out of Lydia’s cheek and then taking a header off the side of the hotel. She pushed Abigail away. “You can see there’s still a lot of confusion about what to do with this dire situation. We’re going to get lost in the mix and never see our hundred grand. Get our money. Then we go to the hospital.” The expression on Jamie’s face was twisted and ugly, not just from the pain of her injury, but also from the humiliation of losing the reality show’s race to the team they hated most.
Abigail nodded, stood and looked around the crowd for Quaid. Quaid was someone she could turn to in times of distress: his arrogant, bull-headed tenacity was a trait that lent itself to coming out on top in stressful situations.
But Quaid was busy.
He had fallen back on his police instincts, taking charge of the situation. Abigail watched as he ordered terrified Tua Kee celebrities to cordon off the stage with rope from the lifeguard’s station and assist with tying down Lydia to an iron wrought bench. Poor Lydia, Abigail thought, watching her convulsing and vomiting as the virus ravaged her brain and central nervous system.
Sheldon was nowhere to be seen in the pool area.
Abigail knew he would run the first chance he got. After all, we’d just let the virus into our homeland. Her stomach churned at the thought.
Sheldon was still trying to make the best of the situation. He was holding on to hope that they could stop the spread of the virus, “If the AirGarden is immediately quarantined and everyone exposed to Lydia’s wound is separated and isolated from the rest of the population, it may not be so bad.” The production team nodded in agreement as they huddled under a canopy at the opposite end of the rooftop park, listening to their boss’ ridiculous rationalization of the present situation.
The entire production crew was unaware that their actions had already exposed their beloved country to the IHS-2 virus.
When Norris changed into a zombie and jumped off the roof, he had exploded in a cloud of infectious gore when he hit the helicopter flying twenty stories below.
After the collision, the contagion misted down onto the crowd below.
When the multitude of dancers heard the helicopter above start to malfunction, they craned their necks high to watch it swirl about and crash into the bay beside the resort hotel, maximizing their exposure to the pinkish-green infection raining on them.
Containment was no longer an option.
After four years of outbreaks popping up in Asia only to be stamped out by the WHO paramilitary organization, Singapore was no longer on the sidelines. Singapore was now ground zero in a new chapter of the zombie fever epidemic, a chapter where the zombies were no longer easy to spot and moved slowly enough to avoid. This phase would be forceful, all consuming and inescapable.
“Have you seen Sheldon?” Abigail asked a sobbing artiste standing nearby.
The woman pointed towards the far side of the pool.
Abigail walked towards the canopy and heard, “Hey, Abi, over here.”
Two of Sheldon’s assistants were motioning her to the deserted stage overhanging the infinity pool. They were holding two CARS reality show swag bags. “These are for you and Jamie. Sheldon has instructed that we give them to you and escort you off the set immediately. You’ll find some great show memorabilia inside. We’ve included CARS T-shirts, a key chain, hat and notebook. Oh, and we’ve divided your hundred thousand dollar consolidation prize; half in this bag for you.” The assistant speaking motioned to her assistant who ceremonially handed her one of the bags. She handed it over with both hands and head bowed. “And this one is for your friend. I trust you can take it ‘in care of’ your partner. Of course, we need to remind you that what happened on this set stays on this set. The confidentiality clause of your contract must be adhered to.”
“The girls won’t leak any information about the show. I’m sure of it.” Sheldon said with his big showman’s grin as he crossed the makeshift ramp to the stage where the three of them were standing.
“But what about police reports?” Abigail asked. “I’m sure they will expect to take our statements after Norris’ transformation and his attack on Lydia. They’ll want to know how zombie fever got into Singapore. We can’t lie to the authorities, Sheldon.”
“What attack? Oh, you mean THAT? It was all special effects! Part of the script!” Then he immediately contradicted himself. “Norris wasn’t a zombie, just a poor sport! He was angry that he lost the race and decided to take it out on Lydia. It was an unfortunate turn of events that he decided to leap to his death and commit suicide on camera.”
He saw Abigail look over at Lydia strapped to the bench, moaning and foaming at the mouth. “I know it looks bad, but she’s suffer
ing from heat exhaustion. We all know that the IHS fever takes a day or two to before turning someone zombie. Look around you, Abigail. This is a closed set. The only people aware of what happened are the production crew, those Tua Kee Media artistes and the racing teams. It’s unfortunate what happened to Norris and Lydia, but they agreed to do the show and they knew the risks. Our lawyers are already in contact with the police and will tell them everything--that there was an accident on the set that resulted in the injury of one contestant and the unfortunate death of another.”
Sheldon saw Abigail hesitate. He grabbed the two swag bags out of her hand and held them behind him. “I suppose you could just forfeit your team’s hundred thousand dollar consolidation prize.” Then he held the bags in front of him. “Or you can keep your mouths shut, take the money and get to the hospital.” He nodded at Jamie. “It looks like she’s in a great deal of pain and probably wouldn’t take kindly to giving up her share of the prize because you can’t be silent.”
Conflicted, Abigail looked at Jamie across the pool who gave her an encouraging smile. She took the bags without another word. The assistants called up a wheelchair and helped Abigail and Jamie into the elevator, “We’ve called the hotel staff and they’re arranging for an ambulance now. Bye-bye.”
The doors closed.
Abigail grabbed her swag bag and dug down into the bottom. She pulled out five ten-thousand dollar stacks of fifty-dollar notes. As the elevator descended the fifty floors, she pulled out five stacks from Jamie’s bag. Eyes as big as saucers, Jamie didn’t say a word. Abigail consolidated the money into one bag and stuffed a CARS T-shirt on top. “Better to keep it in one place until we get to a bank,” she told Jamie who squeezed her hand.
Abigail and Jamie waited outside the hotel casino for the ambulance.
The crowd of line dancers was dispersing and it was causing traffic to jam up in front of the resort. But not all the dancers were leaving: some looked downright ill and were sitting on the pavement. Others had passed out and were lying anywhere they could find shade. Their companions, also dressed in zombie costumes, were attending to them, giving them water and fanning them with their hands.
The three entrances to the MRT underground train station were packed with rowdy CARS fans. The bus stops and taxi stands in the area were the same. Zombie fans were packed like sardines, many of them ignoring sudden headaches and cramming on buses and into taxis, unaware that they were spreading a plague across that would consume their country.
Jamie would comment, “Look at that,” every time one of the spectators stumbled to the ground or sat down and began to shake their head in an unnatural way.
They had seen Norris behave similarly and knew what was coming.
The ambulance arrived.
It was a Gleneagles Hospital ambulance. Gleneagles was the most expensive private hospital in Singapore. Tua Kee Media was giving them the star treatment. Only wealthy expats, celebrities, government officials and millionaires who lived in the Orchard area(Singapore’s version of Beverly Hills) sought treatment at Gleneagles.
Abigail couldn’t decide if they were trying to buy their silence with the royal treatment.
The paramedics checked Jamie’s ankle and one said in Singaporean English - aptly called Singlish - “Ai yo, looks broken, lor!” They gave her an injection for the pain and gingerly set her on a stretcher. Abigail climbed into the rear of the emergency vehicle.
Since it was a nonemergency, the paramedics didn’t switch on the siren and lights. They crawled along in the sluggish traffic like everyone else trying to leave the hotel casino area.
“Why don’t you turn on the siren and get out of this traffic?” Abigail asked.
“Procedure. Cannot deviate from procedure,” was the reply.
But it didn’t take long before they were cruising up Orchard Road toward Gleneagles Hospital.
Several police cars, fire trucks and motorbikes rushed by the ambulance in the opposite direction back towards Marina Bay.
Then several more first responder vehicles zipped by.
Since their ambulance was a non-emergency vehicle from a private hospital, the paramedics were unaware that all hell was breaking loose behind them. If they had tuned in to the government’s emergency line, reserved for public emergencies, they would have dumped the girls on the side of the road and turned back to the resort to help.
If they had been tuned in to the emergency line, they would have heard that rioting and violence had broken out in the Marina Bay district. Every emergency responder who had heard the call was racing straight into ground zero without proper safety gear for a biological emergency.
Meanwhile, the ambulance pulled into Gleneagles’ driveway and the paramedics dutifully delivered Jamie and her companion to an examination room on the eighth floor. A nurse came in, made a few notations on a tablet, gave Jamie another injection and left them to wait for the attending physician.
“So here we are in a hospital again, waiting for others to help us. And we’ve lost the race and Sheldon has silenced us with a bag full of money. I feel like we’re always getting the short end of the stick. I’m really tired of being the victim, Jamie. Maybe we should meet Tomas tonight and go with him to Canada. At the very least, we can help stop zombie fever. We can do something good for the world. Besides, I’ve never been to North America. If we’re successful, maybe we could settle down there, like in New York and live the American Dream.”
“Sounds good, Abi -that makes a lot of sense.” Jamie’s eyes were glazed and she began drifting in and out of consciousness. The injection that the nurse gave her must have been a powerful painkiller. “But I’ve really messed up my foot. It hurts so much. I’m not sure whether I’ll be going anywhere, let alone to Canada.”
“Don’t say that! It’s the painkillers and coming off a week of racing talking. It’s only four o’clock. We’re supposed to meet Tomas in eight hours. I’m sure the doctor will be in soon to set your leg. Remember when I broke my foot during that football match against Raffles Girls School? I still went to the victory dance that night and we sat out with Romero and Shaun until dawn. You’ll be fine. We can do this.”
But Jamie wasn’t responding. She had fallen fast asleep.
Abigail sat for another hour waiting for someone from the medical staff to begin prepping Jamie for an x-ray, examine her ankle, and maybe ask them questions. Anything.
But nothing happened.
Abigail waited another ten minutes, then went out into the hallway in search of some assistance.
Their floor seemed deserted.
Abigail walked down the empty corridor, her footsteps and her breathing the only sounds. “Hello?” she called, her voice echoing down the hallway.
She glanced in a few doors and saw that patients were still in their rooms, some of them angry for disturbing their solitude, others asking her if she was a nurse.
She found the bank of elevators and decided to go down to the ground floor. There must be people on the main floor of a hospital, she reasoned.
When the doors opened, the contrast to the silence on the floor above couldn’t have been starker.
Doctors, nurses and interns rushed back and forth along the hallway, shouting medical terms, dour looks on their faces. Down the hall towards Emergency, Abigail saw four policemen, guns drawn and guarding the doors. A doctor burst through one of the doors, his white coat smeared with blood. He was clutching his left arm and four nurses rushed to his aid, one tying a tourniquet above a seeping wound that had the distinct look of a bite. There were screams inside the emergency room as the policemen quickly pushed the doors closed.
The hallway swooned for a moment as Abigail realized what was happening.
Zombie fever had been unleashed in Singapore.
An intern rushing by tripped on the corner of a rubber mat, careening off an empty gurney and onto the floor in front of Abigail. Abigail reached down to help him up. “It’s the fever, isn’t it?” she asked the shaken intern.<
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