The Pandemic Sequence (Book 3): The Tilian Cure

by Tom Calen

  “Well, it is. I mean, kinda.”

  As his brows knit in confusion, Mike replied. “How’s that now?”

  Erik leaned against the wall as he explained, “It’s all of ours. I know, I know, it isn’t really, but in some ways it’s like our little group helped make the little guy.”

  “So, it’s a boy, now?”

  “Seriously, Mike. Since the beginning there has been a core group of us. You, me, Michelle, Derrick, Jenni, Andrew, and later on, Paul and Lisa. Even in the mountains we were some kind of a clique, ha. Now, two of them are going to have a baby. It’s like the next generation of our group is going to be born. Isn’t that what we have been fighting for all these years? A future? Not just for ourselves but for future generations, so that our histories can carry on?”

  Moving to the wall next to Erik, Mike eased his weight against it, and exhaled deeply. “Wow, Erik… the things you just said,” he began in a strained voice. “I mean, I never realized before that… that… you’re like a giant girl trapped in a man’s body.”

  The thin walls of the little home shook with the laughter of the two men. Mike’s eyes watered as he held his sides and slouched to the floor. Pouncing quickly, Erik tried to exact a comeback through wrestling, but the two quickly found themselves held too deeply in laughter’s fit to do anything more than roll across the dirty floor. Gazelle barked and danced beside them playfully, until the stirring cloud of dust mixed with their shortness of breath forced Mike and Erik to lie on the wood beneath them and gasp for air between coughing and laughing.

  “What the hell happened?” Lisa asked as she returned to the house. Seeing her quizzical look, Mike tried to glimpse the moment through Lisa’s eyes. Two grown men collapsed upon a floor covered with years of dust, laughing and coughing in uncontrollable spasms, all while a blanket-covered skeleton rested but a foot away. And she had only been gone a few minutes. The absurdity of it all brought about a second wave of comedy, which immediately infected Erik. Over their laughter, Mike could hear Lisa mumble a wish to understand the insanity that could so quickly, and in her opinion so often, steal into the minds of men.

  * * *

  By the dim glow of an electronic camping lantern, Mike and his two companions shared a sparse evening meal before each drifted off to a shallow slumber. They had used what little furniture the cottage held to barricade the building’s door and two windows. Having not spied a Til throughout the day’s travels, the close quarters of the cottage allowed a slight sense of security.

  Perhaps superstitiously, the room with the skeleton was left empty. Thus, when Mike woke in the witching hours of night, he found himself tightly curled against the rear wall yet still brushing against Lisa and Erik. In the distance, the faint traces of a spring storm echoed through the darkness. Shifting slightly, he did not feel the familiar weight of the small dog that rarely spent a night far from his side. Pushing the sleep from his thoughts, he refocused his senses. In doing so, he heard the soft, rumbling growl of Gazelle reaching him from across the room.

  Moving slowly, the one-time history teacher slid the drab green military blanket off of him and inched his way to the door. Gazelle stood rigidly, tail angled down and her head low, as she continued her warning, staring at the barricade. Easing one of his Glocks from the double chest-holster, Mike turned on his heel and swept his gaze across the two blocked windows. Stepping softly, he made his way to the sleeping form of Erik. In a crouch, he moved his mouth close to the man’s ear and whispered his name.

  With a start and gasp of breath, he started to rise, but Mike put his weight against him as he spoke in a hush. “Gazelle’s picked up on something.” Once Erik nodded his understanding for silence, Mike angled to his right to rouse Lisa. Not surprisingly, he was met with wakeful eyes and found she had already retrieved the gun he had given her.

  Gazelle cocked her head to the other room before dashing across the floor, her nails making soft clicks as she moved, and continued her low growls. Mike never failed to be amazed by the canine’s instinctual volume control. Her warnings were always just loud enough to attract his attention. As he leaned over the bed in the second room, Mike ran his hand along the barricade. Seconds after he determined the obstacle still held, Gazelle darted back towards the lantern and directed her focus on the second window. Mike understood that whatever had sparked her discontent was likely circling the building. Looking for a way in, his mind assessed. Any doubt that it was indeed a Til beyond the cottage’s walls immediately slipped away.

  Hearing the gentle snap of her master’s fingers, the gray dog ceased her warning and moved to stand beside Mike. The others looked to him for direction and he answered by placing a finger against his lips. With luck, he hoped, the creature would abandon its investigation once it found the quarry was beyond reach.

  Several small thuds against the walls forced all three to flinch unexpectedly. The sounds came from all sides of the cottage. More than one, then. For several moments the probing of the defenses continued, causing Gazelle to resume her growls despite Mike’s redirection. At his left, Lisa moved to within a handbreadth of him.

  “Mike, when I first started out, Tils attacked the house I stayed in,” she began in such a low rasp that Mike had to strain to hear. “They were banging on the door like this, but it was a diversion. I realized it a second before they busted through the window.”

  Putting aside the troubling idea of Tils possessing the ability to formulate such a tactic, Mike replied. “We got the windows covered, there’s no other way in to the…” His words trailed off as he slowly raised his head toward the ceiling—the ceiling with its many holes.

  “Shit,” Lisa mouthed with widening eyes as she followed the direction of his stare. As he snapped his fingers again to get Erik’s attention, the largest of the ceiling’s openings, more than a foot wide, darkened before it erupted in a downpour of split timber and shingles. As the Til crashed to the floor, Lisa delivered a single bullet that tore through its skull. No moment of victory was allowed as several more Tils dropped through the now wider hole, while others began to tear ravenously at the other smaller openings. The previously silent night filled with the sounds of gunfire as Mike with weapons in each hand, and the others with theirs, swung about bringing down each new threat.

  Soon, given the cramped quarters of the cottage, which grew increasingly tighter as the floor filled with fallen Tils, Mike found himself pressed against the backs of his two allies.

  “Any ideas?” Lisa shouted over the din of screams and bullets.

  “Leaving would be my vote,” came the ever sarcastic response of Erik.

  “Aww, and I was just about to make them some tea,” she replied before directing her words to Mike. “Use the ARC!”

  Cursing himself for forgetting the device was in his possession, Mike holstered one of his guns and pulled the device from a leather pouch on his belt. Locating the activation button, he switched the power on and turned his eyes back to the soon-to-be collapsing Tils. When seconds passed and the Tils continued the assault, Mike furiously worked the button several more times, only to the same lack of effect.

  “It’s not working!”

  “Oh man, tell me this isn’t happening,” Erik moaned as he continued firing.

  “How are you guys on ammo?” Mike asked. There had been little to salvage from Fort Polk and he knew a sustained fire fight was not feasible.

  “Getting pretty close to fightin’ them off with harsh language,” Erik announced as he fired another blast from his shotgun. With each round fired skyward, the ceiling further weakened, allowing more Tils to swarm the inside of the cottage.

  “Erik, get the barricade off the front door,” Mike commanded. “We’ll have to cut a path out.”

  With immediate obedience, Erik slid past him and began removing the stacked furniture. “Mike, we don’t know how many are out there,” Lisa cautioned. Ignoring the warning, though he knew she was right, he called out to Erik who in turn exclaimed that the do
or was ready to be opened. Turning his head, Mike eyed the door as Erik kept it closed with his body. Fearing the Pandora’s box of evil that assuredly lurked beyond the wooden exit, he spun himself around shouting, “Open it!”

  Gripping the iron handle, Erik pulled the door wide as Mike greeted the Tils at the threshold with a devastating volley of bullets. “Behind me!” he called out to Lisa as he advanced forward. Trusting his back was covered, he forced his steps ever closer to the doorway. Under the barrage, the Tils on the front line slowly receded enough for him to step cautiously across the deceased and into the open night.

  Even in the darkness, Mike could see a vast host of Tils covering the hillside and effectively blocking a direct path to the armored truck. With Gazelle at his feet, and Lisa and Erik pressed tightly to his back, his mind raced through available options. Short of an aerial rescue, he concluded that the Humvee was still the best means for escape.

  Inch by inch, the group angled lower down the slope towards the vehicle. As their ammunition diminished, they were forced to select targets that offered a sure kill shot. Given the Tils’ numbers, Mike knew there was no dearth of available bulls eyes. At a trajectory from which he could clearly see the armored truck in the dim moonlight, he felt his assumed reality keel swiftly to the impossible. No longer hidden by branches, the Humvee sat at the small hill’s base with both driver and passenger side doors ajar. Within the cabin, a trio of frenzied Tils tore relentlessly at the interior. Though too far to see the full extent of the damage, the ferocity with which the creatures attacked made it clear the truck would not be drivable.

  “They have the Humvee,” Mike shouted, though he could no longer tell if his friends were near. As the sound of empty chambers signaled the last of his ammunition, he made a rapid decision. If he had spared more than a second’s thought, he likely would have balked at the idea. Instead, he bent his knees before springing forward across the dozens of Tils further down the slope.

  Chapter Eleven

  After tying off the boat at the first still-functioning dock they located, Matt and Michelle found themselves taking painstakingly slow steps across the pier. While the fires in this area of the city were far out-scaled by the inferno they had initially witnessed upon arrival, the occasional breeze still carried the additional heat from the few buildings that did burn. Michelle was grateful for the damp bandana Matt had given her to cover her mouth. Even with the filter, her throat burned with each breath as the thick black smoke found its way into her lungs.

  Well aware of their limited ammunition, the pair made a cautious approach into the city, eyes scanning into every shadowy crevice. Several times, blurred forms darted briefly into view before returning to obscurity. Michelle had to fight the urge to call out to what may have been potential survivors for fear that the figures were in fact Tils. She had faced a small group of the island’s Tilian test subjects, and barely escaped with her life.

  Advanced hunters that somehow managed to coordinate as a pack had chased her and Erik through a dense wooded area near Guantanamo Bay. If not for the latter’s motorcycle, she knew her death would have been assured that night. If those evolved Tils were infecting the island… Michelle shook with an unnatural chill at the thought of such a horror.

  Before docking, they had debated their course of action. They had agreed that the first priority was to obtain suitable armament to protect themselves. She knew Paul and Lisa possessed a number of weapons due to their respective vocations on the island, thus their home was the first destination of the night. Beyond that, however, Matt had vehemently argued with her regarding the next steps. She had wanted to head directly for the Gitmo facility, an hours long drive, while Matt would locate Tumelo and his wife. The objection he raised was a refusal to split up.

  “It will take you half a day just to drive there, but I can get you there in half that time by boat,” he had told her in an obvious effort to entice her with a shorter time frame. Begrudgingly acknowledging his more sensible logic, Michelle agreed to the ordered plan of weapons, Tumi, and Gitmo. Only just on the outer edge of the ravaged city, she secretly thanked Matt for his insistence. She was quite grateful she was not navigating her way alone.

  Even though dawn should have been cascading across the sky with its red and pink hues, the heavy smoke of a city enflamed blocked any heavenly light. The further they penetrated into the city, the darker their surroundings became. An occasional scream could be heard over the constant hum of fire, but whether it was human or Til, Michelle could not discern. Instead, she forced her eyes to burrow through the gray air before her.

  From their current location, it would normally have taken less than ten minutes to reach Paul and Lisa’s home. The pace they were forced to follow, both out of caution and the need to double back to avoid blocked paths, was pushing the clock closer to thirty minutes. Michelle did not want to think of the possibility that their destination was unreachable, or worse, engulfed and smoldering. One step in front of the other, she told herself as she took one hand off her gun to shake free the accumulating sweat that was rolling liberally down her arms. Wiping her palm on her denim-clad thigh, she resumed the two-handed grip of her weapon.

  Two steps ahead of her, Matt pulled up short and motioned for her to do the same. A quick hand signal indicated he wanted her to look around the corner. Inching past him while pressing her back into the brick wall of the three-story corner building, Michelle peeked her head out of protection and found the cause for his concern. Four yards up the intersection a frenzy of feeding was underway. Through the haze of smoke and stinging eyes, she counted six Tils tearing into the mangled remains of humans. A nightmare of disjointed limbs, arms and legs bent at awkward angles, at least those that were still connected to a discernible body were bent at those impossible angles, jutted out from a sickening heap of gore.

  Michelle spared a second of relief for the victims. Of the two losing fates one faced in dealing with a Til, she knew death, rather than conversion, was the wish of most, herself included. Turning back to Matt, their eyes locked in a silent exchange of questions and answers. Six Tils, and likely of the new breed, was a dangerous foe on the best of days. With only a handful of rounds between them, she knew direct confrontation would simply add to the Tils vile buffet. Opting to once again retrace their steps and use an alternate route, Michelle kept a watchful eye towards their back in the event those Tils wandered in their direction.

  Eventually, after turning and twisting their way through a series of side streets, they arrived before the entrance to the targeted home. She was disturbed to note that during the journey neither had seen any signs of healthy humans. Preparing herself to accept that the island held no survivors, Michelle clung loosely to the hope that perhaps there had been enough warning for people to escape or at the least barricade themselves in safety.

  Striking quickly, Matt kicked open the door as Michelle took point guarding their rear. Once she heard the call of “All clear,” she followed him inside and closed the door as tightly as possible. The fires that had destroyed much of the area had not yet reached the block, so it was a relief to remove the soot-caked bandana and take in somewhat fresher air.

  “Where do they keep the guns?” Matt asked her, after he likewise uncovered his mouth. Leading him up the stairwell off the kitchen, she brought him to the home’s second bedroom. Furnished as an office and study, Paul and Lisa had converted the double door closet into an impressive armory. Whistling with wonderment, Matt immediately began removing several of the various hand guns. After filling a black duffle with several boxes of ammunition, Michelle then selected a trio of 9mm Berettas. Simply holding the cool silver metal, she felt a resurgence of confidence. Whatever happens, I won’t be taken down easily.

  Matt slid open the top drawer of a cabinet and pulled out several holsters, which the two split between them. Ignoring her exhaustion, Michelle moved about to adjust to the additional weight. Satisfied with the placement and fastening of weapons upon her body, sh
e took one of the high-powered rifles from its hooks. Even at the height of the outbreak, when Mike Allard had led a group of scared teenagers through a crumbling world, Michelle had never been armed with such an amount of deadly force.

  With greater ease than she could have managed, Matt lifted the ammo bag and returned to the first floor. Before joining him, she pushed the tangle of chin-length blonde hair behind her ears and strapped a large hunting knife and sheath to her calf. Knives were always a last resort when fighting Tils; using one usually signified a dying effort. Still, the remembered tale of Mike averting death’s grasp by having a knife at hand served as enough reason to spare the moment to attach the blade.

  Upon entering the kitchen, she was surprised by the hasty work in which Matt had been engaged. Set out on the table were two plates of steaming beef stew with equally hot sides of creamed corn.

  “Not really a breakfast meal,” he smiled as she walked in. “But they didn’t have much to choose from in the pantry. Least it’s hot.”

  “Power’s still on?” she asked him as she settled into a chair opposite him. The hearty aroma wafting towards her caused her stomach to grumble with hunger that she had been forced to ignore for some time.

  “So far, yeah. Nothing like microwaved stew from a can,” he answered through a forkful of the cubed meat. With no complaints, Michelle consumed bite after bite until her plate was all but licked clean. Time and a greater understanding of priorities had long since removed any teenage embarrassment she once had eating so slovenly in front of a member of the opposite sex. Especially a guy that looks like… NO! Her appetite fled as the thought broke from the chains in her mind. It’s not right, she scolded herself.

  Having not noticed the sudden frowns of her face, Matt continued to finish his meal. “Do you want me to watch while you shower?” he asked her after his last swallow.