The Search For A Cure

by C. Chase Harwood

  Then both of them felt more than heard a buzzing sound in their heads – sudden disorientation – the sense that the infected were all around them – mud under their feet – grunting humans – strong smells. Patricia involuntarily let go to put her hands over her ears. She turned as she fell. Lightning struck and she locked eyes with Will before landing in a heaving mound of screaming humans. Just as suddenly, Will’s head cleared. “What the hell?” The roar from below got him moving again.

  Nancy Green was acrophobic. She had climbed up the cable without a second thought - fear of getting eaten alive overcoming any fear of heights, but now she was on the tower within the safety of the compound and she watched one by one as Nikki then Jon, Paul, Ingrid and David worked their way down. She heard rather than saw Loren fall; the sudden intake of breath, the sickening sound of flesh and bone careening off steel girders.

  Will reached her, his breath coming in great gasps, “Where are the others?”

  She pointed down without looking.

  “Got it. Patricia and Kathy aren’t coming. I’m last. Go.”

  “You go ahead, Will. I’ve got to rest a moment.”

  “Come on, Nancy. Get going. We’ve already lost two.”

  “I’ll be right behind you. Just please, let me rest a moment.”

  “I’ll stay with you.”

  “Will! Go!” she whispered loudly.

  “Okay. Please don’t wait long. There’s no time.” Without another word, he began to climb down.

  Nancy had decided to stay. She really was tired: tired of being afraid, tired of running, tired of being tired. The survivors below waited a full minute for her, but when the guard had stepped out of the bunker and headed for the cage - nearly walking right past them - they didn’t wait another moment. There was no choice but to move on.

  When dawn broke over Flagstaff Lake, those Fiends who weren’t feasting on or infecting the castle residents - or blowing themselves up by setting off mines - stared up at Nancy Green like ravenous hyenas. Her muscles were all one great cramp as she clung to the frigid steel, the sense of touch having left her fingers and toes hours before.

  The rain had tapered off to a light mist and she could see for at least a mile. The infected were everywhere. It was like watching a great migration as hills and valleys became black with tattered, hungry looking wraiths.

  When she finally decided that she couldn’t hold on any longer, she pried her fingers from the steel, forced her fingers to painfully bend, and carefully took off her prized Patagonia Jacket. Her daughter Piper had given it to her the previous Christmas, when the world had mostly been as she’d known it – mundane and safe in easy suburbia.

  Piper, her son Taylor and her husband Cal were all gone now. At least that’s how she thought of them. She couldn’t bear the reality that they were just as likely running mad across the countryside killing and eating people.

  All three had contracted the infection at the hospital where they’d been sent. Cal had lost control of their mini-van on an icy road just a mile from their Maryland home. Ironically, they were on their way back from a seminar on Cain’s survival. Nancy had chosen not to go, she had been feeling under the weather and didn’t want to get anyone ill.

  The previous morning, the hospital had received a group of sickened train passengers who had arrived from down south somewhere. It turned out that they were carrying the disease. The hospital was a massacre. Her attempts to get there and save her family were thwarted by roadblocks in every direction. Within a day the entire county was a contamination zone. She was evacuated to New York and never saw her family again.

  Nancy took another quick glance at the ground below, her stomach twisting over the height, dizziness overtaking her. She spotted something curious among the mass of Fiends below her. A female was holding an infant to her breast. There was something odd looking about the child; it was feeding as any other baby might, the female holding it with care, but…. The female looked up and caught Nancy’s eye and then laughed in the horrific way that Fiends do. The child let go of the teat and looked up as well. Nancy’s blood ran cold. “Oh my God.”

  The child’s eyes were just as wicked, but they were also huge with big black irises – twice as big as a normal baby. Its overly large ears tapered slightly at the tips and pointed forward at the sound of her voice. Nancy suddenly experienced a sensation like nothing she’d ever felt before: Her mind’s eye was filled with the presence of another – like a second conscience communicating to her – it was incomprehensible – a series of images – horrible images, blood and guts and screaming and laughing and crying and then that mother’s face down there, close up, looking into her eyes, but not her eyes, and the swell of the mother’s teat, and Nancy could taste – she could taste the unique flavor of mother’s milk in her mouth. Nancy screamed at this invasion of her mind.

  Two wretched looking twin females watched the mother and child. A rudimentary element of their original bond had been retained since their infection and they hadn’t separated since. They had been tracking the mother and her newborn for days… Not fair, they both thought. Want the infant Other that finds food better than any of the Others. They were tired of the hunger and they watched with envy the female Other that held the baby. She always found food first, leaving nothing for them, the little one able to keep them away – making their heads hurt. One got a running start, followed quickly by her sister, and snatched the infant off the mother’s teat – then running, running through the mass of infected, and escaping up along the edge of the lake.

  Nancy shuddered as her thoughts became clear again and she nearly fell while briefly losing her balance. She looked down and vertigo caused her head to swim. A few of the more adventurous Fiends had started to climb the tower. Many watched, but many others joined. In moments, the tower’s base was covered in howling, screeching, laughing monsters. Then she spotted another child held in its mother’s arms. This one was bigger, long legs for a baby, with long feet. A leg kicked out - long strong muscles. The foot looked jointed like that of a cat’s rear paw. The things were breeding, and something was dreadfully wrong. Then she could see the baby-bulges of many females, many others holding newborns. Almost as one, thousands of Fiends and their bizarre offspring turned and looked at her. Nancy gasped as her head buzzed with a crowd’s worth of human babble, one voice canceling out another so that what remained was a sea of background noise – all of it carrying the weight of profound malevolence.

  The Patagonia jacket was a rugged thing meant for all kinds of weather. It would be strong enough. She looped her belt through one of the sleeves and then tied the other to the railing. Next, she looped the belt to itself, then around her neck.

  She looked up to the sky and mountaintops for a clean view of the world, scrubbed of the nightmare that writhed below. She took a deep breath and then smiled with the memory of her family on Christmas morning.

  As the body quivered and swung, it was too far away for any to reach. The Fiends quickly lost interest and climbed back down.

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  I hope you’ve enjoyed the ride. Please don’t hesitate to add a review at your favorite retailer. I’ve provided the soil and the seed, reviews are the sun and water to make it grow.

  Stop by my Amazon page: http://www.amazon.com/C.-Chase-Harwood/e/B00KHA4BH6

  You can also jump over to my website to learn more about me and join my email list: www.cchaseharwood.com

  Follow me on Twitter: twitter.com/cchaseharwood

  Like my Facebook Page: https://www.facebook.com/cchaseharwood

  Part 3 of Of Sudden Origin is just as intense a ride. An excerpt from the book follows this page.

  Cheers,

  C. Chase Harwood

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  C. Chase Harwood made a career in Hollywood, decorating sets for film and television before turning his passion for story telling into clicks on a keyboard. While scaling the walls of the screenwriting world, he chose to experiment with pros
e and found a fondness for Scifi-action-adventure. Within that framework he gets to explore the countless ways that humans interact while under duress. "Life is all the more lived when the consequences are high. When told as a tale it can be quite a page turner," says Harwood. He lives in Los Angeles with his costume designer wife and young boy girl twins.

  The following are some other storytellers with whom the author finds a kindred spirit: HUGH HOWIE, STEPHEN KING, SCOTT SIGLER, DJ MOLLES, RHIANNON FRATER, SEAN PLATT, JUSTIN CRONIN, JAMES S.A. COREY, PETER CLINES, SUZANNE COLLINS, ERNEST CLINE, MAX BROOKS, VERONICA ROTH, LOIS MCMASTER BUJOLD, ORSON SCOTT CARD

  "Pretty big shoes…”

  EXCERPT FROM PART 3 TRIBULATION

  TWISTED

  Before It had joined the attack on the Fresh Ones that came from the flying machines, It and the female that It hunted with had sat and watched from the tree line, expecting more of the Others to start twisting in agony and vomiting and then dying like the Others that tried when it was still light, before the rain got heavy. But they didn’t. It had been hard to see, but they crawled right past those dead Others.

  The Fresh Ones carried the sticks that killed in their hands, but there were only a few of them. It knew from previous experience that if It watched where it was pointed, the sticks that killed could be avoided. When lots of the Others charged, It could always dodge its way past the sticks that killed, and take down a Fresh One with a savage bite to the neck or a hack with its ax. The female was even better at this than It was; waiting for Others to be the target of the sticks that killed and running past them as fast as it could.

  It and the female had been quietly fucking in the trees and keeping an eye on the Fresh Ones from the flying machines, when the second group of Others began to move forward. It and the female liked to fuck almost as much as they liked to kill and they did it all the time. It noticed that the female was getting round in the belly. Another female had had the same thing happen and a little one of the Others had come out of the hole that felt good to put its piss and fuck organ in. That female had fed the new other from her teat. It liked to watch this and it made It want to fuck the female that it hunted with even more. The new Other, the little one with the sharp teeth, liked to talk to them all in their heads. It almost hurt sometimes when the new Other was in there, inside its head, making It do things against its will; like now, as It and the female were crawling through the grass, following the Others. It feared the twisting death, but that was more than overwhelmed by the power of the new Other. Besides, It was hungry again. It longed for the cries of its victims, tasting their hot blood as it filled Its mouth. There were other creatures that tasted good too and It had enjoyed the big slow ones with the teats hanging under the belly, but there was no excitement in that kill. It was a kill only for sustenance. The best to hunt were the ones that looked like It; the ones that were fresh, the blood rich with salt and iron and that smelled different than the Others that It hunted with.

  To It and the Other’s frustration, most of the Fresh Ones that were here before these new ones had arrived were gone, or had locked themselves away. It and the female had had to eat grass and leaves to cut the hunger as they migrated in search of more food. Then the new Other had found the Fresh Ones that were hiding in the place with the big machines. The flying machine had made many holes in the fence that was hard to get past, allowing It and the Others to get through. They had a feast, gleefully killing the Fresh Ones inside. When they got to this place where the new Fresh Ones had come from machines in the sky, a handful of Others crawled forward, but for some reason they died in agony in the grass and the rest of the Others held back. When the water fell from the sky it made the dirt come off some of the skin and rags that the Others used to keep warm. The big male Other that they mostly followed, looked at its clean skin and then looked into the wet grass. Making a fundamental connection, it crawled forward into the grass and when it passed one of the Others that had had the twisting death, it crawled faster. The new infant Other had watched this and had made them all follow.

  When they reached the edge of the grass, It and the female It hunted with couldn’t believe that the Fresh One was going to walk right toward them. Usually the Fresh Ones were very nervous and hard to catch. When this Fresh One stopped and took out its organ for fucking and pissing, they and the Other that they followed, quickly reached up and pulled the Fresh One into the grass. They stabbed and chopped while the female bit the Fresh One’s organ off and It drove its teeth into Its favorite spot, relishing the taste and feel of the hot blood spraying in its mouth and on its cheeks. The Fresh One could only let out a terrified and muffled yelp and a moan before the windpipe was crushed and torn open. The Fresh One then kicked briefly, but stiffened up when the female stripped off its leg coverings and bit into its inner thigh. Others grabbed onto the Fresh One as well and they dragged it back from the flat black rock that was at the edge of the grass. The Others tore into the Fresh One with almost silent glee, pulling back the Fresh One’s rags and exposing the delicious warm flesh. It felt the Fresh One shudder once and then the life force pulled away; the blood still hot but no longer spurting.

  Before, when there were lots of Fresh Ones, the Others would frequently only take a bite. In the place with the giant stone and glass shelters, the Others had so many fresh ones to bite or fuck that It never felt hungry or had that almost painful desire to use its piss and fuck organ. Sometimes the Fresh Ones would turn into Others when they were bitten and the desire to eat them went away. Instead, the new Others joined in the hunt for Fresh ones or if there were no Fresh Ones they ate the other creatures that had the hot blood.

  Sometimes, when It wasn’t all that hungry, It and the Others played a game with the Fresh Ones, seeing what delicious parts they could eat while keeping the Fresh One from dying. If It waited too long, the Fresh One would become one of the Others and the game would be over. This was better than fucking the female It hunted with or any of the other females or sometimes males that It fucked. Seeing the terror in the Fresh One’s faces made It get a huge erection. Sometimes It would get overwhelmed with excitement when it was biting off and eating parts of one of the little Fresh Ones, the newborn and very young. Their flesh tasted the most exquisite and almost melted in the mouth. It loved to listen to their high-pitched screams and squeals, which made It laugh with delight, and It would stroke its pissing and fucking organ until it climaxed.

  Robert, Susan and Aaron couldn’t agree about whether to confront Captain O’Shea about whoever was banging on the plumbing. It was in Tran’s nature to question authority, heck it was his job to question everything, but he understood the reasoning behind the Captain’s decision. Aaron had no desire to argue with the Army. As far as he was concerned, if there were folks next door, the dead up top at the open door told the tale. They were probably all Fiends now. Susan was nevertheless adamant that something be done to help, and decided to speak with Sergeant Bullock.

  Rick Decker was angry about the whole conversation. For him, the Army was in charge. O’Shea was the voice of the Army. “Susan, I remind you that we are on a singular mission. By what authority are you considering jeopardizing that mission?”

  Susan sat back down. “I have a moral authority, Rick.”

  Decker shook his head, “I’m so fucking tired of tree hugging liberal twits like you. Your lack of proper discipline is a perfect example of the spineless mentality of this society. If we had nuked southern Florida when we had the chance, this thing might have been contained and tens of millions would still be alive. Instead, people like you waffled, whining about the precious and unique ecosystem. And now we find ourselves going back to the start of this thing - when it’s probably too late.”

  The rest of the group stared at Decker, speechless.

  Finally Robert spoke up. “Actually, Rick, if my calculations are correct, the Tree Swallow had begun heading north about a month before Everglades became untenable and the nuclear option was discussed.”

&n
bsp; “Shut up, Tran,” spat Decker, “Asshole. Always with the quick answer, you are.”

  Susan jumped in, “Doctor Decker, what’s gotten into you? You will not speak to your colleagues that way and you will show me the proper respect. You are entitled to your opinions, but you will deliver them with the decorum expected of a top scientist with the CDC.”

  Decker was quiet for a moment and then said, “Tran, you’re not an asshole. I’m sorry I called you that. Susan, you are a liberal tree hugging twit and you can fire me for saying so.” Decker got up from the table and walked away, leaving his leftover dinner for someone else to clean up.

  Most of the soldiers had overheard the last part of this exchange and the room had gone silent as it played out. The awkwardness was finally interrupted by Sergeant Bullock. “Right. Preston, it’s your squad up top next. Let Jones’ boys grab some grub.”

  Preston and his squad mates began to pull their JLISTs back on, assembling their gear. The rest of the soldiers finished up dinner and got back to cleaning their weapons.

  Next door, Jones and Copper sat on the stairs next to the three naked corpses discussing their options. The men were shaken, but determined. They were veterans of other battles with Fiends. They’d seen plenty of their comrades die or worse, turn into one of the goddamn things. They were hardened to it. They’d been trained to put their softer emotions in a box. They still had work to do.

  The laughter below had stopped as quickly as it started. Instead they could hear a distinct banging echoing from below. There was a pattern to it so it probably didn’t come from a Fiend. They had whispered various ideas on what could be making it, but finally settled on the only option – it had to be human. The batteries on their NVGs weren’t going to last forever. Going back outside was suicide. They decided to go down. Perhaps they hadn’t heard the laughter coming from below. Perhaps it had been on the other side of the door behind them. In either event, they needed to find out if there was a working intercom between the bunkers to warn Captain O’Shea.