“Dad, that’s kind of stealing isn’t it? My boss is a good guy, and I don’t want to just take it,” Chris says to his father. “Son, you saw that shit on TV. I think your boss will understand. I’ll pay him for it as soon as possible, but I don’t have enough wood here if we need to board up everything,” Jim replies.
“Okay, Dad. I hope it doesn’t get that bad, but we’ll bring the lumber. The trailer is still hooked up to my truck,” Chris says. “Good, and tell Jeremy don’t bother to bring his motorcycle right now. I want you two to stay as close together as you can,” Jim adds. “Okay, Dad, we’ll be there as soon as we can,” Chris says. “You guys be quick but be safe, Chris. I love you guys.” “Love you too, Dad.”
Ending this second call, Jim feels like the twelve miles separating them is more like twelve thousand.Getting up from the sofa, Jim notices Arzu staring at the images on the TV. “Turn it off,” she says, not averting her eyes. “The kids can see, turn it off,” this time in a whisper.Realizing Berk and Kayra can see the TV from the dining room table, Jim fumbles with the remote to turn off the TV. “What is wrong with them?” Arzu asks, and turns to him and leans into his arms. “I don’t know, baby. They’re sick or something.” Giving Arzu a quick but firm hug and kiss on her forehead, Jim releases her from their embrace. “Baby, I’ve got to get some stuff ready. We don’t know if this is going to get worse, but it sure looks like it will before it gets better. People are going crazy everywhere.”
With a nod from Arzu, Jim turns and goes into the garage to begin to make preparations. Although he’s not sure what exactly he’s preparing for, he knows he’ll need to have water. So he figures starting there is good. Jim begins by unpacking the three 300-gallon water storage bags in the garage, and after running water through a garden hose for a few moments, he attaches the hose to the first of three bags. While the first of the three bags is filling, Jim checks to ensure the four barbecue-sized propane tanks, along with the ten small Coleman tanks, are full.
Although he knows Chris and Jeremy will have their tools and screws in the trailer along with the lumber, Jim sets his up in a corner of the garage for easy access. Going back in the house, Jim begins to fill the upstairs and downstairs bathtubs with water. He also begins filling the collection of empty bleach jugs with water.
Although their home is heated by natural gas, it does require electricity for the thermostat to open the flow of gas into the furnace, as well as to activate the fan to blow the warm air through the vents throughout the house. With this in mind, Jim lights the gas fireplace. Jim continues preparing water while constantly checking his watch, thinking Chris and Jeremy should be here by now. Each time he looks, he realizes they’ve barely had time to gather supplies they need and begin the twelve-mile drive.
Not wanting to turn on the TV and expose Berk and Kayra to what images may be broadcast, Jim plugs in his ear buds to his phone and puts an ear bud in his left ear, the one he hears better from, and tunes to a news station. None of what he hears is good. Reports keep coming in from other large cities, and from around the world. Come on boys, get your asses here.
Time To Hunker Down
Finally, Chris and Jeremy arrive, and Jim gives them a briefing on what he has planned, to try and prepare for the unknown. Berk and Kayra settle in on Mom and Dad’s bed, and watch cartoons.
Arzu continues filling the large water bags and all the spare containers she can. Jim, Chris, and Jeremy begin to pre-cut lumber and plywood to fortify the home.
Some people in the neighborhood begin to peek out of windows and doorways at the activity from the Matthews’ home. Annette, an elderly woman who lives across the street and to the left, walks over and approaches Jim.
“Hi, Jim. What’s going on?” “Hi, Annette. We’re preparing our house in case things get worse.” “I hardly think things are that bad, Jim. I’m sure the police will get things under control soon enough.” “Annette, have you watched even a little bit of the news the past day and a half? Things are pretty bad right now and getting worse. I’ve seen people on TV getting beaten up, chewed on, and pieces eaten off them.” “Well, I still think the police will handle things,” Annette says, as she walks back to her home.
Not thinking it necessary, Jim and his sons decide to put the lumber to better use and decide not to board up the second story windows. The three men stand outside and stare at the house, looking for anything they may have missed or need to change. After walking around the house once more and not seeing any obvious problems they can correct without the use of ballistic glass and armor plating, Jim says, “Good job, guys. I think we’re done outside, let’s go in and hunker down.”
Inside, they find Arzu warming up dinner for them, with the TV on in the background. She’s filled twenty of the one-gallon bleach jugs with water, and stacked them in the corner of the dining room. “Come on and eat, you guys. You have to be starving, but wash your hands first.”
“So what’s the news been like?” Jeremy asks. Arzu takes a deep breath and says, “They’re shooting people now, the police I mean. The National Guard has been called out too. It’s too much for the police. Some crazy people, they beat with batons and they stay down, but some keep trying to crawl after and attack someone until they get hit again or shot.”
“Do they know what the hell is going on? What’s wrong with these crazy people?” Chris asks Arzu and his dad. “The news reports say that they’re contagious, the ones that are attacking, hitting, biting and eating people,” Arzu replies, and then continues, “The news, well, the scientist on the news, say that it looks like the infected people pass the sickness by biting people. They think it’s a virus passed from body fluids.”
They move from the dining room to the living room to sit closer to the TV, to watch and listen to the newscasts. Normally, Jim and the boys inhale their food, but as they watch the events unfold in front of them, they seem to move their forks to their mouths in slow motion.
Clearing his throat and then speaking in almost a whisper, Jim says, “Okay guys, all the doctors and scientists seem to be saying the same things. The crazy people are crazy because they’re infected by some kind of virus that they say looks a lot like rabies, but worse. The infected are very contagious, like Arzu mentioned. Since they slobber and drool, and want to bite and eat anything not like them, we need to make sure we don’t screw around with them if we come across any,” he finishes.
“What do you mean, not screw around with them if we come across any, Dad?” Jeremy asks. Before Jim can reply, Chris answers,“Dad means that we avoid them, but if we can’t we have to defend ourselves.” “Jim?”Arzu asks.“Yes.” “Yes, what, Jim?” “Yes, we need to defend ourselves if we come across any of these infected people, by any means necessary.”
“Honey, you’ve seen the news, you’ve heard what they’ve said,” Jim says. “Yes, I have, but we can’t go around killing people!” “Arzu, I’m in no way saying we’re going to go around killing people. But I am saying that I will defend myself, my family, and if possible, my friends. I need to make sure each of you is clear on what that entails, and are prepared to defend yourself and each other,” Jim says while looking around the living room to Arzu, Chris, and Jeremy.
Looking away from Jim, eyes locked onto the TV, they all nod their heads in agreement.
Putting his hand gently on his wife’s shoulder, Jim says, “Arzu, let’s put the kids upstairs in their beds, okay? There’s a few things we need to do downstairs, and I don’t want to wake them.” “Yeah, okay. Chris, will you mute the TV so they won’t hear it? Never mind. Just turn it off until we get them upstairs, please?” “Sure, Arzu.”
Jim and Arzu gently pick up Berk and Kayra, and take them upstairs to their beds. After waiting for Berk to use the restroom before returning to his bed and falling back to sleep, Jim and Arzu descend the stairs back to the living room. “Can I turn it back on, Arzu?” Chris asks. “Sure, please keep the volume down though.” “Okay, will do.” “Actually, Chris and Jere
my, you guys come in here for a minute. I want to take care of a few things before it gets later,” Jim says, gesturing to his and Arzu’s bedroom.
Getting up and following their dad leads them through the bedroom to his closet. Both know this is where he keeps all but one pistol locked up. “Did you guys bring your guns with you?” Jim asks, with almost a dare for them to say no. “Of course we did,” they reply, in near unison. “All right, let's get the magazines for the rifles and pistols loaded up. Remember, if it holds thirty rounds, load it with twenty-nine, same applies with the pistol mags, one less than the max.” “Gotcha, Pop,” Chris replies. “We remember, Dad,” Jeremy follows.
For the next few hours, they load magazines for Jim’s and his son’s pistols, revolvers, rifles, and 12-gauge shotguns. Joining Arzu in the living room, they see that the scenes on the TV are only growing worse. From outside, they can hear several individual emergency vehicle sirens overlapping each other. Some come closer before fading, and others sound further away, getting closer and then fading away.
“Arzu, I think it may be a good idea if you and the boys go upstairs, and try to get some rest.” “What about you?” “I’ll stay down here with some coffee and keep an eye out. You know, watch TV and make sure we stay safe.” “I’m fine, Dad,” Jeremy says, looking to his father. “Yeah, I’m good too,” Chris agrees. “I know you guys are, and I know it’s going to be hard to sleep, but this is only getting worse, and will keep going that way for a while. We need to be smart about this. We can’t all stay awake, and all sleep at the same time.” “You’re right,” Arzu says, and rises from the sofa to embrace Jim. She then gives Jeremy and Chris hugs as well and ascends the stairs.
“Alright, you two go up, and get some rest too.” “Really, we’re fine,” Chris says, with Jeremy nodding in agreement. “Think, guys. I’m going to need rest too, and you guys need to keep things safe and be able to wake me if something happens.” In an unspoken sign of agreement, both sons hug their father and begin to ascend the stairs.
“Hey,” Jim stage-whispers. Both look down from the stairs at him. “You guys got your guns?” “Yes, sir,” they reply. “Love you guys.” “Love you too, Dad.”
Jim settles down on the sofa with his AR-15 on his lap, and Glock 9mm in his old drop-down holster on his right leg. He begins running scenarios for defending and evacuating his home through his head. The weight of the situation is heavy. He’s been in stressful situations before. He’s had to defend others before while working as a police officer, and then working security in Iraq. Those people weren’t his family.
Man-made Demons
Thirty Years Earlier
The Union of Soviet Socialist Republics 1974
Lying awake in his bunk, staring up at the ceiling, he hears the sounds of running growing louder. He raises his head slightly, and to the left, to view the clock on the nightstand: 03:26.He left word that he was not to be disturbed under any circumstances, even if the bunker they’re in catches fire, the only exception being if the latest of the numerous test subjects recovered instead of succumbing to fever, intracranial edema, and lapsed into coma and death like all the rest.
He should feel excited. His staff wouldn’t dare to disobey him. However, the years he’s spent on this project, the constant failure after thinking they had finally worked out a solution, only to be dealt another setback, requiring more alterations to the viruses they’ve been tampering with . . .
The seemingly eternal length of time being stuck in the far northeast of Soviet Siberia, in this cold, damp underground complex, has left him melancholy and ill tempered. He is all too aware that he and his staff are prisoners, just like the criminals they use for their experiments.
He feels that this place is his hell; slowly rotting in this grey and musty hole in the earth the State calls Site 7. He has no doubt this is where he’ll die. This will be his tomb. “Doctor Kosktov!” he hears, as he squeezes his eyes shut, and wishes the man at his door would go away and let him slip into his vodka-induced slumber. But no, the pounding on the steel door to his quarters begins suddenly and in rapid succession.
“Doctor, please come quickly,” he hears between the poundings at his door. “It’s open. Come in.” Still, the pounding on the door continues, along with his name being called. “I said come in, damn you!” he yells. Finally, the pounding at the door stops. The subordinate fumbles with the doorknob momentarily before he’s able to open the door. It crashes open so forcefully that it strikes the interior wall, bounces off, and strikes the younger scientist in the shoulder. “Please, Doctor Kosktov! You must come quickly!” the younger scientist yells frantically. “What the hell is it?!” asks Doctor Kosktov. “Sir, it worked! The subject has recovered from the fever and is conscious,” replies the younger man.
“Doctor Levonen, if you have come in here and disturbed me after I explicitly informed everyone I was not to be, I will personally see that you are the next test subject, instead of one of our criminals in the pens,” Kosktov states, with a low and calm voice, leaving Levonen with no doubt he is serious. “Sir, it worked this time! After all these years, it’s finally worked!”
Doctor Kosktov rises and walks out of his quarters, donning his lab coat and tucking in his wrinkled dress shirt. Ahead, the younger scientist alternates between a jog and a walk as he periodically turns with excitement in his eyes to look back at his superior.
The hallway from the living quarters is only wide enough for two people to walk abreast, with little room to spare. It’s lit by single fixtures in the ceiling, separated by several feet, which makes the space between them dim. What area of the hallways that isn’t grey is in shadow, and it's difficult to see far while under the overhead lights.
Doctor Levonen turns the corner to the right and opens the elevator door. Waiting impatiently, he shuffles from foot to foot and rubs his hands through his black hair. Doctor Kosktov rounds the corner, his light blue dress shirt now neatly tucked into his pants, and lab coat in place. A slight amount of anticipation begins to enter Kosktov when he looks at the younger scientist, and realizes he is still excited and not nervous, even after his threat to use him as the next guinea pig in their experiments.
The elevator doors close and the two scientists begin their descent even deeper into the bunker. The bunker complex consists of the top level above ground and is the only entrance. The area is a cave inside a large hillside that has had the ceiling and walls reinforced and enclosed with two large steel access doors. The level is only used when supplies, equipment, and new subjects for the experiments are brought in, and for storage of dilapidated equipment. No vehicles are stored in the ground level, or anywhere onsite, since the occupants of the bunker complex--scientists, maintenance staff, and prisoners alike--are not permitted to leave.
The next level below is the living quarters for the staff, with a joining section containing the power generation for the installation. The second sub-level contains food stores and dining and recreation areas, although use of the recreation area has decreased to almost nil over the years. The third sub-level is the lab area. The laboratory is in the best condition, even though most of the equipment is outdated and functioning poorly, even by the standards that existed when it was originally designed and built. The fourth sub-level is where the experiments designed in the lab are carried out. This area contains the isolation area for the test subjects. The final and fifth sub-level contains the test subjects themselves, Prisoners of the State. Some are the worst humans to have walked the earth, committing unspeakable acts of depravity. Others have dared to speak or write about the Motherland in an unfavorable light.
There are no guards outside the complex. They’re not needed. Someone could just walk out if they decided. However, only someone intent on committing suicide would do so, as the facility is hundreds of miles from any habitable areas and the temperature in this part of the world, at its warmest, is just slightly above freezing. Most of the time it is well below zero. The overseers of this proje
ct, who are thousands of miles away,saw fit to make leaving without authorization a death sentence.The only security present in the complex are the five men supplied by the military to maintain discipline of the prisoners, and to see that they are appropriately compliant when being taken to the isolation area, where the latest version of their altered virus is put to the test.
The ancient elevator creaks and groans as they descend further into the cold depths of the bunker. The clanking sound of metal and the ping of cables vibrate the occupants’ chests. I should have taken the damned stairs, Doctor Kosktov thinks. The two men continue until they stop at sub-level four. The door begins to open and then stops, with Levenon giving a swift kick to the side of the door, nudging it to continue the process of opening completely. A few short feet from the elevator is the entrance door to the isolation area. Doctor Levenon hurries past the lead scientist and punches in his code to unlock the door, and then pushes inward to open it. The sound of metal grinding on metal echoing through the level is comparable to nails scraping on a chalkboard. Doctor Kosktov feels it in his fillings.
Soon after the sound of the door opening fades, Doctor Kosktov hears the multitude of voices inside the isolation area. They all are filled with excitement, and laughter intermittently thrown in.Surprisingly, even with the noise of the door, it takes a few seconds before the room of eight scientists notices his arrival. Kosktov is greeted with cheers, and the other scientists rush to greet him with pats on the back, and some with hugs and kisses on the cheek. “Doctor Kosktov, we’ve waited for you to open the vodka and make a toast!” yells the diminutive Doctor Brazinski, while wiping a tear from his cheek and replacing his eyeglasses.
Holding up his right hand for quiet, Kosktov looks around the room. “Someone give me a report,” he says. “Sir, it worked! Please just look for yourself,” says another of the scientists, walking to the far end of the room where curtains hang on the wall. Kosktov follows him to the wall; on the other side is a soundproof room where they monitor the effects of their latest handiwork on the test subjects.
Omega Pathogen: The Beginning Page 2
