Her mother swiveled and turned the gun on Bea who ignored her and ran to Brian, pulled the gun from his pocket and fired. The girl dropped and lay still, head oozing black fluid onto the carpet. Her mother cried out and fired the revolver at Bea and Brian only to discover what Bea already knew. It was empty. She dropped the gun, ran to her lifeless daughter and cradled the broken skull in her lap. Her husband ran into the room and, taking in the scene, dropped to his knees and sobbed.
“You were going to feed my brother to her, weren’t you?” Bea pointed the gun at them but they never looked up, instead rocking the body of their child in their arms.
“We just wanted to keep her alive until they find a vaccine. That’s all. Oh, God forgive me, I am so sorry. I just wanted her to live.” The girl’s father sobbed brokenly.
“She was already dead and there is no cure for this.” David’s voice was harsh. He was still pale. Dried blood crusted on his face beneath the swollen lump on his temple.
The woman screamed at him, “You don’t know that, you don’t! Leave. Get out of here, now!” She picked up the discarded .38 and threw it at David who caught it and put it in his pocket.
Bea untied Brian’s hands and they left the room. David spotted his rifle leaning against a chest on the landing and snatched it up.
“I should kill them, they’re crazed,” he remarked, slinging the strap back over his shoulder. The weight of it was reassuring.
“Crazed by grief. Maybe now she’s really gone, they’ll come to terms with it.” Bea kept Brian’s hand in hers and for once he didn’t fight to get away.
“Don’t go soft, Beatrice. That’s your brother they tried to kill. We would have been next.”
She gripped Brian’s hand tighter. They went downstairs, looking out the front windows only to see that the infected still filled the small street and the daylight was starting to fade. The sound of sobbing echoed throughout the house.
The door in this attic had never been boarded over and they were soon through and into the next house. Another round window looked out over the neighborhood and they appeared to have reached the end of this row of houses. They would have to take their chances on foot from here.
This house looked as if someone either just moved in or was in the process of moving out. The attic was empty except for a few two-by-fours leaning against a wall. One bedroom on the middle floor had a double bed, a floor lamp and an empty suitcase. The rest were bare of any furnishings. An enormous flat screen topped the fireplace downstairs with a single leather recliner placed squarely in front of it. A few dishes and canned goods remained in the kitchen cupboards but the pantry contained a surprise. Three boxes of hollow point shells and two magazines for a Glock nestled snugly in a box in the back corner on the floor.
Bea snatched them up and opened the boxes. Maybe it was stealing but if she survived and the world returned to normal she would buy replacements for everything. The magazine fit perfectly and she loaded the Glock then stuck the other magazine in her backpack. She called Brian and David over to share the find. They wouldn’t fire unless they had to of course but just having the loaded guns made her feel slightly more secure.
David took his time loading the revolvers, pointing out the finer points of gun use and care. Brian listened raptly like an initiate joining a secret club. David showed him how to hold the gun with both hands when he fired and told him he should never have his finger on the trigger unless he had already acquired his target and was prepared to shoot it.
“Normally, I would tell you to aim for center mass since you’re more likely to hit the target that way but these aren’t normal times. Head shots are tricky but that’s what we have to shoot for. Blowing out knees might work too but get the head if you can. I want you to dry fire a little before we load this one.”
Brian took the gun, using both hands and keeping it pointed at the floor.
“Now aim, take a breath, let it out then fire.”
Brian pulled the trigger and the gun clicked. He was already comfortable with the gun and Bea watched him with approval tinged with trepidation. She really, really did not like this but what choice did they have? She watched him load her gun before she put it back in her coat pocket.
Behind the house was an upward-sloping garden hedged with dark-green hollies and behind the hedge should be Dumbarton Street. She couldn’t see out over the hedge and had no idea who or what they would find back there. The afternoon turned into evening. She called Evan but he didn’t pick up.
“I’m thinking we spend the night here. The homeowner is probably not coming back anytime soon and we have electricity and water and we’re locked down pretty tight. I’m going up to see if I can secure that attic door.” Bea said and left.
David looked around for something to eat. He had MREs in his jacket pockets but didn’t want to use them when other food sources were available. He found three cans of pasta and sauce in the cupboard, heated it on the cooktop and ladled it into three bowls. There were four beers in the fridge and he grabbed one, drinking half the can in what seemed like one gulp.
Brian came in and devoured his pasta then took a loaf of bread with him into the living room. David got another beer, followed him and tried to find something on the television. Only two channels were on and they just ran scrolling messages from FEMA about emergency preparedness.
“Guys, look what I found under the blankets on the bed!” Bea called out, carrying a laptop into the room. She sat on the floor and booted it up, Brian pressing close. The familiar Windows logo popped up on the screen.
David finished his beer and felt pleasantly relaxed, not drunk, but like someone who was glad to put a long and unpleasant day behind him. He would be cutting it close if he stayed here tonight but saw no way around it. It was bad enough facing those things by daylight, night would be suicide. Forty-eight hours until the chopper took off, no, now forty hours. This morning he thought that was too long to wait but now knew he would be lucky to get there in time. The city was a cesspool of the living dead. They might be slow and stupid but they were persistent and their ranks grew every hour, possibly every minute.
He hadn’t expected to take anyone under his wing along the way. He still didn’t know why he made the suggestion. Perhaps it was just that they seemed to be so alone and unprepared. He had more information on the virus than most people and had no illusions about this blowing over quickly. Very few people would survive this and everyone infected would die but wouldn’t stay dead without assistance.
“David? Did you hear that?” Bea asked.
He stopped wool-gathering and listened. “No, what did it sound like?”
“Like something fell upstairs. I’m going up to check. Will you stay with Brian if I…”
“Let me go up. It’s probably nothing but you two stay here.”
Slinging his AR over his shoulder he climbed the stairs, making as little noise as possible. Although there hadn’t been a lot of time for medical agents to analyze the virus, there were strong indications from the start that the dead retained their hearing longer than any other senses. As far as anyone knew, they didn’t feel pain and their vision deteriorated quickly. They seemed to be incapable of coherent speech but could and did moan loudly, sometimes gibbering excitedly when they found prey.
He cleared the second floor and proceeded to the attic where the boards Bea had wedged between the small door and low rafters had fallen. She had done a good job working with what she had. He put them back in, using the hammer to wedge them a little more tightly into place. If he had nails he would board it up but- he had to work with what was available.
Downstairs Bea and Brian washed the dishes and utensils and left them to dry. David thought that funny since it was highly unlikely the homeowner would come back and if he did he wouldn’t care about the state of his dishes. Still, washing dishes was one of the refinements of civilization that people held on to. He put his rifle on the small breakfast table.
“The boards fell down. I
wedged them back into place and maybe they’ll hold. They’ll also serve as an early warning system in case our former captors decide to come over. I doubt they will though.”
“I still can’t believe they chained their daughter there, planning to keep her fed until they find a cure.”
“Grief does strange things to people. The world we’re used to is gone. From here on out you’ll have to always be on your guard.”
“Like we always have to keep a pistol within reach.” Brian reached over to his jacket hanging on the knob of the coat closet and patted the pocket.
“Exactly. Remember though, shooting should be one of your last resorts. Avoiding any confrontation with the dead is your best bet. Running away should be second. The sound of the gun shot is going to attract more of them and we only have a limited amount of ammo,” David said.
Night descended like a veil. The snow stopped for now but the wind picked up adding its own howling sounds to the moans of the dead. They didn’t turn lights on just in case they were wrong and the dead could see them. They put their coats back on and kept weapons and backpacks within easy reach. Brian fell asleep first, head cradled on his forearms. Bea lay down between him and the front door.
“What’s in California that requires your presence?” Bea asked David.
“If I told you I’d have to kill you.”
She sat up and turned around to look at him. “Are you serious?”
“No, not really. At one time I suppose this might have been classified information but again, it’s a strange new world out there.”
“So what’s happening?”
David thought for a moment.
“Early this morning U.S. intelligence intercepted transmissions that indicated the Chinese diverted at least two troop transport ships to the California coast to join the three that regularly cruise that part of the Pacific. We’re trying to mobilize our Coast Guard and ground forces out there but communications are hit or miss. Guess where all of the factories are that manufacture our communication and navigation equipment?”
“China?”
“You bet. We’ve suspected for a while they were inserting sleeping bugs into the programs and we were right. Some of the bugs seem to have failed but others have us in complete blackout. We do know there is infection along the entire West coast. There are those who will desert during a time like this to get home and protect their families so we lost a lot of our staff and it’s unclear who is still out there and available to whip our response into shape.”
“But why did the Chinese send them?” Bea asked. “They must know how dangerous the infection is.”
“They do, even though they deny they have any infected in the PRC- we know better. They firmly believe in letting no crisis go unexploited and my best guess is they want to take advantage of the chaos the U.S. is experiencing right now. In my opinion, Chinese scientists and engineers are very bright but not particularly creative. It may have something to do with their society valuing conformity so much but whatever the reason, they love to steal our high-tech secrets. For all we know, they plan to colonize the western half of the country or all of it eventually. I fully intend to have a surprise for them. America won’t go down that easy. It takes a while to awaken our people but once it happens- look out. Our citizens have guns and won’t have a problem using them once they realize what is going on.”
“You may be going into a situation even more dangerous than the one here,” Bea said.
“Really doesn’t matter. It’s my country, our country and no one is going to infiltrate and take over if I can help stop it.”
She couldn’t see his face in the dim room but he sounded angry. They sat in silence for a few moments; the only sound that of the dead and the wind before Bea spoke.
“I don’t know that much about the virus. I guess I ignored the news for a few days and I’m still trying to catch up but I get the impression this wasn’t created in a lab somewhere.” She was thinking of Sylvie’s little cache of papers.
“I think it’s old, maybe something that has been with us for hundreds or who knows how many years. Incidents of outbreaks are on record but are usually attributed to something more well-known. As for the origins, who knows? I’ve read a little about it and it seems to spring up randomly throughout history, wreak havoc and then die away. People have blamed it on demons, rats, and now of course we think it’s a virus. It is certainly capable of jumping the species barrier. This time, with modern transportation, we inadvertently sent it around the world. May God help us.”
Brian stirred in his sleep and cried out faintly. Bea took his hand and finding it cold, held it between her own to warm it.
“So Beatrice, what is your goal? Whom are you trying to reach at Dupont Circle? I’m assuming your parents live somewhere fairly close. Did your brother just happen to be at your house when this broke out?”
“I have no idea where our parents are. Brian and I have been on our own for a long time. As to our goal, I’m trying to get to my boss’s apartment. She lost her office key and needs mine to get into the building.”
“She’s going in to work? That’s true dedication. Where do you work?”
“The National Gallery.”
“I’ve never heard of an art emergency before. What is so important at an art gallery that anyone would get out in this?”
Bea hesitated. She was still curious about the documents and wanted to read them when she got a chance. The print version was still in her house but her flash drive should have everything on it.
“My boss, Sylvie, thinks she might have found something there that could tell us more about the virus. Like you, she thinks it has been around for a long time.”
“Really? Where did she find the information?”
“When the British Museum put their Egyptian rooms on tour they messed up and sent over a bunch of papers detailing old incidents similar to this. Isolated incidents not pandemics. She sent me some information right before the infected broke into my house and I haven’t been through much of it. I’m an art historian and I was brought in to help with setting up the exhibit and for background information on the artifacts.”
David swore under his breath. “I would really like to have a look at it. I wish I had more time. My rendezvous with the chopper is in about thirty-eight hours.”
“Hang on a second.” Bea retrieved her backpack and dug out her flash drive, holding it up triumphantly before plugging it into the laptop.
He read through the Roman legionnaire’s account of the episode at Hadrian’s Wall once quickly then went back and read it again with an incredulous look on his face.
“This is just incredible. It’s fairly common knowledge that the Romans had problems in northern Britain with the locals and built the famous wall but this explains why they fortified it so heavily and built it in such a short span of time. The information I found only traces the virus back to the 1400’s in Africa.”
He started scrolling through more of the images and exclaimed, “Look at this!”
From the diary and journal of Howard Carter covering the period from 27 August to 25 November 1922. All entries are in Howard’s own hand and this transcription is only slightly edited for spelling. Originals have been scanned and are available for perusal. Gaps in the timeline merely indicate sections of the journal that did not deal with the ongoing excavation.
Friday, 27 August 1922
Left Cairo for Luxor
Saturday, 28 August 1922
Stayed the night with Callender. The night became quite late as we discussed plans for autumn dig. Excellent brandy.
Two mules.
Sunday, 29 August 1922
Sailing ship returned
1 mule
Monday, 12 September
Workmen enlisted
Tuesday, 4 October
Workmen well-disposed but proceeding with rather exaggerated caution I consider unnecessary in this stage of the excavation. There is no hurrying them without bribery though and
I am paying them quite enough already.
Saturday, 21 October
Breached passageway.
Sunday, 5 November
Water has filled this area at some point in the (possibly remote) past. No damage seen other than fallen plaster from wooden lintel. Delay caused by lame donkey. Debris cleared before noon. I stayed at the site. Markings indicate burial of important personage. Evening found my workmen once again unwilling to work with torchlight and nothing I said could dissuade them from leaving.
Break in rubble revealed deeper passageway.
Monday, 6 November
Waiting for Lord C to arrive. Workers insist on rolling the great stones that formed the side of the workmen’s ancient huts in front of the tomb.
Thursday, 23 November
Lord C arrived. Commenced opening tomb. Workers again extremely slow and cautious. None will venture down the steps without pick axes, even those panning for artifacts keep axes close by. Stones and debris removed.
Friday, 24 November
Lady M arrived. Tomb revealed to have twelve steps in total. First door breached. Deciphered seals bearing cartouche of Tut.ankh.Amen. Our photographs taken proved to be of poor quality. Opened first door. Clearing passage revealed broken potsherds, jar seals, and other debris.
Sunday, 25 November
Opened second door. Candles flickered as ancient gas escaped from the room and gave impression of movement within the chamber. Electric torch revealed standing figure in decayed linen wrappings. Leathery, dried fingers reached out through the opening. Lady M screamed and this excited the creature who began tearing away at rubble in an apparent attempt to get out. The skeletal hand grabbed the torch and flung it to the floor where it lay, its yellow beam revealing more creatures moving and gibbering in the noisome tomb.
The Living Dead Series (Book 2): World Without End Page 8
