“No time!” cried Decker, grabbing the end of a steel prep station and dragging it toward the door. A Fiend pressed its face against the porthole window. Christy, Susan and Tran jumped in with Decker, jamming the table up against the rattling slab of wood. Then the porthole was smashed out with a fist-sized stone. A Fiend stuck its face in the hole with a laugh and got a mouthful of Tran’s blade for its effort. More Fiends replaced their wounded comrade, avoiding Tran’s jabs, while bashing themselves against the door and hitting it with rocks, clubs, a fire extinguisher.
As Jon remained comatose, blissfully unaware, Steven finally got the gas line free. While Susan and Decker continued to hold the table, everyone else, including the kids, started shoving the stove. The steel feet on the heavy machine scraped across the ceramic tiles in loud screeching protests.
When they were close, they flipped the table against the door, effectively creating another door made of steel, and then pushed the stove against that. The pounding on the other side was only slightly muffled as they paused and stepped back to take a breath.
Finally, Susan said, “Let’s push whatever else we can against it too.”
Two hours passed as the infected kept up a steady beat on the door; the sound driving the healthy to the edge of madness. They had all found a place to sit or curl up, trapped with their own nightmarish thoughts. Steven, with the help of Christy, did what he could to comfort his children.
Aaron abruptly stood and started furiously pacing the room. He squeezed his fists and let out huge sighs as he brushed past people without a thought for their personal space.
Finally, Susan said, “Enough! Aaron, sit down.”
“Can’t.”
“You can and you will.”
“Nope. Sorry. It’s this or I go mad and run out that back door.”
“You try and open that door and Nikki has permission to shoot you.”
“Yeah? Well, fuck you too, Susan! I’ve had enough of your bossy bullshit.”
“I am you’re boss. And you’ll not speak to me that way!”
“Guys, guys,” Tran admonished.
Decker said, “There you go again, Susan.”
Susan stood and silenced Decker with a look that said shut it or die then turned to Aaron. “Mr. Burnbaum! I repeat. You will not speak to me in that tone. Is that clear?”
Aaron stopped pacing and stepped right up to her. “Eat me, you fucking narcissistic, brown-nosing, job-suck-up, research-hack, work-thief, especially Robert’s, as well as anybody else’s good ideas, cunt.”
With the exception of the pounding outside, the room went silent. Aaron resumed his pacing, but more quietly.
Tran finally said, “I don’t think you steal my work, Susan.”
Susan ignored this, gathered herself and said, “Guess what, Aaron? You’re fired.”
Aaron chuckled at this and then started laughing out loud. “That’s ripe. That’s fucking perfect, Susan. Susan Chancellor, big shot at the CDC. You delusional whore! In case you didn’t notice, I don’t give a fuck about a job right now. I want to go outside and run my ass off all the way Canada, but I’ve got enough wits left to know that that’s insane. So again, fuck you!”
Everyone remained respectfully quiet, which was surreal, given the horror trying to break through the door. Finally Aaron said, “How come I’m fired for yelling at you when Decker does it all the time?”
“Because, Decker has been calling me a commie brown-noser ever since I inherited his annoyingly conservative but brilliant ass from the last administration. You, on the other hand, are supposedly my personal assistant… And bottom line, nobody calls me a cunt.”
Aaron looked at the floor. “That was probably going too far.”
“Far enough that you’re still fired.”
Suddenly, Jon’s eyes flashed open and he stared around the room, seemingly without comprehension.
“Shit!” said Decker, who saw him first and stepped back brandishing his sword. Nikki slapped a hand on his wrist to prevent him from thoughtlessly slashing.
They all looked at Jon, who blinked and swirled his tongue around thickly inside his mouth. His turned his head to the group and his eyes focused. “Is somebody trying to get in?”
Nikki cracked a smile and fell on her knees next to him, pulling him into a hug.
Jon continued, “What the hell’s going on?”
“Welcome to the last refuge,” said Nikki, kissing his cheeks. “I’m so glad you’re alive.” She turned to the others. “Can we untie him?”
Decker said, “If he’s not trying to kill us now, he will if we don’t.”
Nikki started unbinding his arms. “We’re surrounded. We’ve sealed ourselves as best we can in the kitchen. I’ve got three rounds left for the SCAR. We’re out of ammo for the pistols.”
“Sounds familiar.”
She said, “Ben’s dead.”
He slowly sat up. “Hmm. Sorry to hear that.”
Aaron added, “I’ve turned up the temperature for the coolant in the walk–in refrigerator. If it comes to it, we can seal ourselves in there.”
Jon nodded slowly, thinking about that. “We’re sort of like a Russian doll. We keep squeezing into tighter and tighter spaces.” He licked his teeth and made a face. “I’d kill for a toothbrush.”
This got some smiles and he let Nikki steady him. He rubbed his wrists where the bindings had been. “I’m kinda thirsty.”
Christy handed him a glass of water while Decker slipped on a pair of latex gloves to remove the IV.
Jon frowned at the tap water, but drank it anyway. He looked back at Aaron, “Seriously though, Aaron. I don’t think the air supply in the walk-in would keep us alive for very long. Better to keep the food fresh. We may need it if we have to wait this out for a stretch.”
“I hadn’t thought of that,” said Susan. “Aaron, turn it back down.”
Aaron scowled, but did as he was told.
Susan continued, “Its good to have you back, Mr. Washington. I’m afraid we can’t be certain that you aren’t somehow still contagious so I suggest we all keep up proper precautions. Nikki, I suppose you’re excepted.”
Christy refilled Jon’s glass again and he drank the water slowly while nodding at the door, “Annoying, huh?”
“Tell us about it,” said Teddy.
Everyone cracked another smile, but it was quickly buried again under the continued assault. The door was solid oak and built to code with a three-hour burn time, but it was still only made of wood. The refugees couldn’t see it, but the Fiends were gradually demolishing the barrier. Ever so slowly a pile of splinters and shards was building on the floor of the other side.
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
Heavies
Storm and McNeil way overslept. They’d driven themselves to exhaustion with their hunt. The racket that was the comings and goings of a busy airfield didn’t stir either one of them. When they finally woke, it was only because an airman banged on the helicopter door, yelling that they needed the space for other aircraft.
The two women noted each other’s greasy hair and rank smelling clothes and decided that the folks they were looking for had it far worse. They would forgo a shower, but talked the airman into letting them grab some quick grub.
As they stepped out into the soft morning light, the full buzz of this sector’s air campaign came to life. The small commuter airport was maxed out with helicopters and cargo planes as well as a handful of F-35B jump jets.
As the two women made their way to the mess tent, they noted the combat support hospital and cringed at its ominous presence. In addition to mending wounded soldiers with accident-related battlefield injuries, combat support hospitals had been converted to a dual role, one that no American hospital had ever filled before: The mobile lifesaving post was also a de facto euthanasia station. A soldier or civilian who had been bitten or had in some other way become infected, was brought to the hospital to receive a more humanitarian ending than would otherwise be possibl
e.
In the beginning, when the outbreak had already reached epidemic proportions, the authorities had simply locked up the victims. Upon fully succumbing to the disease, the infected continued to be fed like livestock. It was thought that if a cure could be found, that the victims would one day be repatriated to society. As light-weight criminals, and then even more scurrilous types were cleared out of prisons to make room for the ever growing numbers of diseased, the nation’s scientists finally weighed in, explaining that the damage was irreversible and the practice, pointless. After the fierce debate that ensued in Congress, and also the media, the prisons were gassed and euthanasia stations were created instead. Narcotics, barbiturates, and anesthetic gases were deemed too complicated to administer for the mass killing of so very many. What was needed was a quick, mechanical, coup de grace that was relatively clean. After some trial and error, it was decided that it could be best achieved by “helping” the patient lay face down on what was more or less a massage table, and utilizing a captive bolt (also known as a cattle stunner). A pistol variant, originally used by veterinarians in the field, was found to be most effective. A retractable steel bolt was fired into the base of the neck, destroying the spinal connection and thereby creating near instant and certainly painless death. Naturally, the reactions the victims had to this ending, varied widely. Most people recognized that they were doomed and did ‘go gentle into that good night’. There were, however, those who weren’t so eager to cooperate. For them, the Heavy Squad was created. Typically made up of a team of nine soldiers, preferably heavily built, they wore a variation of a shark suit under hockey pads and a full riot helmet with gas mask. It was the Heavies job to haul the poor struggling bastards into the Heavy Room where force was applied and the result was just the same.
There was a crematorium attached to each euthanasia station (thankfully far from the mess tent) and with remorseless consistency, it burned the dead, day and night. For those who worked around these facilities, the sheer volume of rendered, sweet-smelling, human meat could only be scrubbed from the senses through consistent familiarity or menthol cream smeared under the nose. The smoke would drift up in thick gray volumes, and on a cloudless day it could blot out the cheeriness of the sun for miles. To bring some comfort to these circumstances the hospital set up loudspeakers throughout the enterprise. It was somebody’s clever idea to play the Going Home score from the soundtrack of the 1973 dystopian film, Soylent Green. Beethoven and Tchaikovsky played in an endless loop, the soaring strings blending with the smoke, dulling the senses. With these rudimentary techniques, it was hoped that taste, smell and hearing, for those who labored in such places, would become numb to the constant parade of death.
Needless to say, the battlefield tactics of the infected, as simple as they were, often left even the most resolute combat unit paralyzed with fear. With the knowledge that a light wound involving an exchange of fluids or even a close inhalation of breath meant sure death, combat effectiveness was often driven to near zero.
It was Storm and McNeil’s bad luck that they walked to the mess tent as a load of “wounded” was being “escorted” to the euthanasia station. One soldier with two fingers chewed off and a catastrophic bite in his left calf, nevertheless fought with the strength of a badger as the Heavies steered him to the Heavy Room. The man screamed out, “No! I won’t let you! Just let me go! I’d rather become one of them!”
The more docile wounded who were shuffling toward the Ending Room looked on in horror at this display. One broke loose and started running only to meet up with the electric fence that funneled everyone toward the tent. The jolt was enough to knock the man unconscious and his body spasmed on the ground for a moment before two more Heavies lifted him up and carried him off to the Heavy Room.
Sam said, “You know what? I’m not so hungry after all. What do you say we grab some instant coffee and a snack bar and get up in the air?”
“I’m not sure I could even get that down, after seeing that. Promise if I get infected you’ll just shoot me in the head right there and then.”
“Ditto.”
Their bird was all gassed up. With forced looks of determination, they buckled in and wound up for another day of near impossible odds.
At 3:00 A.M. the Fiends at the kitchen door had stopped their assault. Even an infected human needs its sleep. The refugees inside got two hours of respite, only to be jolted awake again at five when the battering began with renewed vigor.
They forced themselves to choke down an early breakfast and went over their limited options.
Susan began with, “Every day that we stay in here is another day that we aren’t able to work on a cure.”
“That’s a helpful thought, Susan,” said Decker with deep sarcasm.
“Mr. Decker, you best even your tone.”
“Don’t be an idiot,” he shot back with exhaustion.
She chose to ignore this and looked pointedly at Nikki and Jon. “We have one advantage. You two are immune and therefore might be able to create a diversion, draw the infected in one direction, while we go the other.”
Jon said, “It’s still a long way to Canada.”
Susan turned to the rest, “Any other ideas?”
The group was silent until the unmistakable sound of splitting wood filled the room. They all looked at the blocked door. The sound got louder as the wood was broken to pieces. Suddenly a hand appeared through the gap between the steel prep table and the doorframe.
Aaron fell back into a corner, “Oh my God, they’re through!”
Jon pulled his sword, stepped around the piled appliances and slashed at the hand. The fingers fell to the floor like tree trimmings. A scream of anguish came from the other side of the barrier as the rest of the hand was withdrawn. Everyone else pulled their swords.
Suddenly, the prep table jolted back an inch. “Come on everyone,” yelled Jon, “Push back!”
They did so with all they had, closing the gap again and keeping pressure on the kitchen equipment. There was a slam as though a Fiend had hit it with a running start and the table moved back another inch only to be shoved back by the group.
Tran stated the obvious that they could keep doing this forever and was answered by Aaron who screamed, “I told you we should have gotten the walk-in ready.”
“And what? It’s not like we can lock it from the inside,” shot Decker.
“We tie it shut.”
“We’ll still die of asphyxiation. Moron.”
“Better than getting eaten alive.”
Decker looked at the fridge, “He makes a good point.”
There was another jolt and they shoved back again.
Christy said, “What if they’re all in there? You know, the other side of this barricade? We haven’t heard a single bang on the back door. What if it’s wide open out there, and we make a run for it?”
“To where?” asked Nikki.
“The only place they can’t seem to go very far, the water. I saw a rowboat tied near the dam. If we can make it there…”
Jon said, “Its maybe a quarter mile back up the road. That’s a long run in the open. Especially with the kids.”
The infected heaved again on the other side of the barrier.
Nikki said, “I think Christy’s got the only idea.”
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
The End
Before the hopelessness of their situation had set in, they had pre-loaded fresh backpacks with food and medical gear. The hard drives and samples were still in their cases. The group grimly strapped the packs on. Amanda and Teddy would carry nothing.
With his sword drawn, Jon cracked the back door and peered outside. Dawn had barely arrived. A thick cloud cover diffused the light into shades of gray. The only sign of infected was three dead by the wall that Nikki had shot from the roof. He opened the door a bit more and stuck his head all the way outside. As they kept their weight against the kitchen equipment, the refugees watched him with growing anxiety, their packs o
n, their muscles tensed to run.
The playing fields were empty so Jon stepped all the way outside. Not a Fiend in sight. He could hear their continued barrage echoing from within the building. The way for now, looked clear. He poked his head back inside. “Okay.”
The group single-filed it out the door as quickly and quietly as they could. Jon took the point with Nikki in the rear. Without a word, they shuffled past the cafeteria and angled toward the road. They were spotted almost immediately.
Nikki looked back and saw Fiends pouring out of the windows. “Run!” She turned, dropped to one knee and shot three with the SCAR’s last bullets, then tossed the gun and pulled her sword, running to catch up with the others.
Steven and the kids were falling behind and she caught up with them first. She bent down in front of Amanda. “On my back, now!”
The little girl jumped and clung to Nikki's neck as they picked up speed again. The road seemed to last forever until finally the house by the dam came into view. A bird’s-eye-view showed a huge mass of Fiends slowly catching up with them. They ran past the house and angled toward the dam. Aaron dropped his pack and burst ahead. Jon and Steven lifted Teddy off the ground and ran with the boy between them. Aaron disappeared over the top of the earthen wall that made up the bulk of the dam and then they heard him yell “FUCK!”
They all caught up and saw Aaron below with a hopeless look on his face. The beached rowboat had a huge hole in its floor. It was little more than a rotting hulk.
Nikki looked behind them and shoved people toward the water. “Go! Out! Out in the water!” Everyone jumped into the lake and began swimming away from the dam. The Fiends poured over the top and crashed into the water as well. The group shrugged off their packs and swam for their lives. Nikki and Jon stopped in waist-high water and turned to face the onslaught with their swords. They slashed and cut, hacked and punched, managing to slow the Fiend momentum. Seeing others slashed down, the infected tried to give wide berth to the two blade holders while becoming enraged as their prey were quickly swimming out of range.
Of Sudden Origin (Of Sudden Origin Saga Book 1) Page 30
