“What happened?” Dr. Scott demanded, angered at his failure.
“Too little inhibitor, I’m guessing.” Professor McClellan kept a cool head. “How long has he been deceased?”
“We recorded his time of death over an hour ago.” Dr. Scott began to look over his small notebook. “I’ll just have to see what I can do. Complete death with no transformation. That’s a good start.”
“Yeah, don’t beat yourself up. Vaccinations take months to perfect; plus, this isn’t just any virus. Your next attempt might provide better results.”
“It will.” Young Dr. Scott promised. “Test subject number two has been doing well. His vitals have been erratic, but not anything too unusual for someone fighting a heavy infection,” Dr. Jenkins explained.
“Is he cured? That’s what we’re waiting on,” the Professor asked, trying to draw the conversation to a close.
“That could quite possibly take more time to determine,” Dr. Jenkins said. “We’ll see you again in a few hours. Try not to wake us again unless something important comes up.”
Professor McClellan and Dr. Scott made their way back to the barracks, leaving the two young doctors going over there work. They continued watching the second test subject well into the night.
For the majority, the night had seemed uneventful, at least until well after midnight. “Hey, he appears to be in some sort of distress. Should we get the Professor?” one of the young doctors asked.
“Let’s just see what happens. He’ll probably die just like the last one.”
“Check it out, his blood pressure’s so high that the machine monitoring shutdown again. Set tight, I’ll go reset it.”
Once inside the medical-exam room, the young Doctor checked the connection thoroughly, finding that it was still hooked up properly even as it continued to beep, displaying an error message. “Who can think strait with all this thing beeping?”
The young test subject’s body began to convulse—contorting as if he was having a seizure. “Isn’t he supposed to be paralyzed from the waist down?” the young Doctor asked into the intercom. “His legs are moving. In fact his whole body’s stiffening up. His formerly weakened muscles seem to be contracting.”
“Yep, that’s the story, a prisoner of war, wounded in combat.”
In an instant, the test subject powerfully broke free of the restraints holding him down. A second later, sitting up, the exam-room appeared as no longer a blur to the once paralyzed soldier, to the once unconscious experiment.
Off of the exam-table, the former prisoner stared angrily at the Doctor, but didn’t attack.
Without warning— the test subject shouted at the Doctor in Arabic. Given no response, this was reason enough to place the English –speaking doctor in a headlock, to subdue him.
“Caution gentlemen, he’s an elite Iraqi military commando, turned terrorist.”
The alarm was now heavily sounding. The maximum-security-compound was in high alert. Upon arrival, there was no doubt in the Professor’s eyes that one of the test subjects had survived. He was now dragging Doctor Jenkins along like a rag doll, using him as a shield. The terrorist was angry and in shock, having no idea where he was or really even who he was. Everything was still kind of fuzzy. The last thing he remembered before coming out of the coma was being hit by tank shrapnel. Doctor Jenkins readied his ID card to get them through the door.
A dozen armed guards arrived, blocking the exit. “You’re trapped, let the doctor go.”
The terrorist firmly tightened his grip of the doctor’s neck, continuing to move about, ducking and dodging the group of soldiers’ best efforts to target him.
“What are our orders? We don’t have a clear shot,” said one of the soldiers.
Memories began to come back to the former terrorist. His injuries had once seemed too severe to overcome. Somehow he was now walking again. There was no doubt that a fight would end in his death. If ever to see his family again, patience would be needed.
The guards closed in at the immediate sign of surrender. The tight grasp around Dr. Jenkins neck was let loose. With his hands raised high above his head, instinct took over. At the first sign of danger, a seemingly new heightened sense made itself known. As a guard quickly drew his Taser, firing to insure no chance of threat, the surrendering, yet former terrorist somehow was able to see the spark of the weapon as the prongs jettisoned towards him. Amazingly the former terrorist stepped casually to the side, exhibiting reflexes mirroring anything other than a former cripple. Each guard gathered around was now in shock. Any chance of taking the terrorist peacefully was now not an option.
“We may have to do this the old-fashioned way,” said the head guard, taking out a pair of handcuffs from the back pouch of his utility belt. A few guards randomly stepped up to the unarmed former terrorist, taking out their stun batons. One of the guards went in swinging while another went in for a tackle. Unknowingly, the Anti-virus that had saved the man’s life had somehow transformed the integrated, zombie-inducing virus, giving him heightened senses and reflexes—along with other above normal abilities.
The former terrorist wanted a peaceful resolve; he wanted to see his family again. Aside from the language barrier, everyone in the room had some preconceived notion of one another’s culture. Once the guards came in attacking, he knew that the fight was on. It had taken him a little while to regain his composure. His muscles had many months’ worth of atrophy, but now he was somehow easily able to block the punches from the first guard using his own momentum to easily toss him away. He was then swiftly able to strike, knocking out the other guard with a high knee to the head as he ran in for the tackle. The former terrorist did not want any trouble; again his hands were raised high above his head to surrender.
The guards took the defeat of the first two personally. The 6’6 300lb guard named Charlie Boyd felt it was time to teach the terrorist a lesson. He handed over his weapon to one of his friends, casually stepping over to the puny, frail terrorist. Boyd decided to make quick work of the prisoner. After 15 years of military service, never had he met his match. The wide-bodied Boyd reached out to snatch up the former terrorist to slowly choke the life out of him, taking with him the will to fight. Quickly, to all’s surprise, the former terrorist delivered a crushing blow to Boyd’s sternum—knocking the significantly larger man to the ground.
The former terrorist with his new found abilities watched the faces of everyone in the lab as a small, 150lb-man just knocked out their toughest with one punch. The former terrorist, bent over, picking up the set of handcuffs off the floor, placing them on himself, one wrist at a time.
“Trust must be earned,” the Army Sergeant said, acknowledging the former experiments willfulness to stand down.
Once housed in the small concrete cell, a large group of doctors made their way for questioning of the prisoner. Professor McClellan, having learned that the former terrorist’s name was Andres sent out for an Arabic speaking interpreter.
After questioning—the doctors were astonished—coming to the conclusion that not only did the Anti-virus work in Andres—but it healed all of his ailments—along with making him somewhat superhuman as he felt “empowered” he reported to the Professor. With cooperation from the guards, judging by the importance of the test subject, Andres was brought back to the lab for testing. The tests being run showed nearly a three to four times increase in strength, speed, stamina, and intelligence. The Doctors found that Andres had a huge appetite, just not for human flesh. A blood sample was taken, showing a mutation in the viruses’ genome. The Anti-virus, instead of killing the virus mutated it; thus, mutating Andres’s own genetic makeup, making him somewhat superhuman. Professor McClellan always felt that humans had the potential, but never thought it would be witnessed in his lifetime.
“More testing is to be done,” said the Professor.
A few questions still lingered, especially whether or not Andres could still be turned into a zombie. Further tests were to be done to
provide a green light. Working with Andres showed he had a surprisingly new found intelligence. The team of doctors’ watched him learn the entire English language in less than an hour’s time.
“Where am I?” Andres asked in near perfect English. “You’re at Fort Stewart Army Base in Tennessee,” the Professor announced.
“Why am I here?”
“There has been a disaster. A viral plague has surfaced and could wipe out the human race. The Army sent you here, because you were in a coma and paralyzed from the waist down. You were not expected to ever wake again, much less walk and exhibit superhuman abilities.”
“I’m an experiment?” Andres asked.
“A very successful one!” The Professor said proudly.
Andres soaked it all in, asking, “Can I help?”
“You already have,” the Professor said. “Rest assured.”
Chapter 14 way of the undead
Traffic was at a standstill when Ted’s car was spotted.
“There’s no way around this mess. The traffic is too backed up,” Mark said, killing the engine of his motorcycle and easing up closer, while at the same time watching out for danger on up the dimly lit roadway.
“We’ve got an injured man,” Tyler said. “It’s true I tell you, the dead have been coming back to life, attacking the living. We were just trying to get Ted to the hospital before he passed out. He’s lost a lot of blood.”
“What happened?” Mark asked. “Help set him on the back of my motorcycle.”
“From what I understand, there’s been a handful of people coming up to Ted’s house today harassing his family. We know now that it was a bunch of zombies. I think Ted was mistaken by his dad as one of the trespassers and got shot.”
“I’ve killed a few zombies today. They’re now everywhere and anyone who’s been sick with that flu is now one of them,” Mark said confidently, slowly coasting his motorcycle through a long-stretch of wilderness towards town, away from the traffic pileup, and before any dangers could begin to make their selves known.
“It’s getting dark. We’ve got to get somewhere for the night. It’s too dangerous to be out this late with those things roaming the countryside. Take this,” Mark said, handing Tyler a shotgun.
Steven’s slender shoulders hung down; his demeanor saddened as he picked up a tree branch for protection. Steven tested it for strength.
Tyler threw a rock off into the distance. “There’s a creek coming up.”
“Alright, let’s try not to get exposed to the water,” said Mark.
On past the creek, and off in the woods, Mark recalled there being an old graveyard that had stood for nearly two hundred years. Some of the headstones are found to date back all the way to the pre-civil war era, leaving some of the names at the gravesite unrecognizable due to weather erosion and aging.
The graveyard was out of the way, far back in the woods. By way of the motorcycle’s headlight, stories of an old schoolhouse located nearby the ruins seemed the perfect place to shack up for the night. It was one of the oldest schoolhouses in the town of Gatlinburg, and it was where Mark’s grandfather went to learn, just before dropping out and going to work at the mill, shortly after which getting drafted into the Army. The group made their way around the gravesites, trying their best not to disrespect any of the markings. Ted continued to lie unconscious hunching over on the bike
“We need to get Ted somewhere, quick! Hopefully it’s not too late. I might can stitch him up,” Mark said with Ted’s near lifeless body slumped down across the motorcycle as Mark coasted him down a dark, grass-covered hilltop.
Everyone slowly followed the small path, coming out onto one of the oldest county roads in the hills of Gatlinburg. Following the unpaved dirt road back into the woods, they reached their destination, taking Ted off the bike and carrying him the rest of the way over to the old school’s doorstep. The abandoned school was decommissioned more than seventy years prior to the town being overrun with zombies and is reportedly haunted—with young naive teenagers being dared to make it through the night in the old, un-kept shack. This was a feat very seldom even attempted, due to the stories being told and passed down from one generation to the next. Mark and Steven pried open the door—bringing Ted’s motionless body into the building before laying him on a sturdy wooden desk. Tyler found an old lantern, which he lit with a lighter Steven handed him.
“He still has a pulse,” Mark said, only barely able to find it. “At least he’s still alive.”
Mark quickly started treating Ted’s gunshot wound. Although he wasn’t a professional, Mark did have almost two years of medical training finished. Placing his hand on Ted’s forehead, he checked his temperature, noticing that it was unusually warm for someone who just lost a lot of blood. Mark hurriedly went ahead and searched through his bag, looking for an antiseptic to clean around the gunshot wound. Once the area around Ted’s stomach was cleaned, there was a brief attempt to dig out the bullet without exacerbating the area and making things worse. “I don’t think I’m going to be able to find the bullet.”
Steven and Tyler stood over Mark as he used a sterilized needle with thread from Steven’s shirt to sew the three-inch-wide gunshot wound.
Mark just prayed that it wasn’t too late. “It’s been a terrible day.”
“Get me something to cover him up with,” Mark demanded, having once more felt Ted’s clammy forehead.
Steven handed Mark his windbreaker jacket, given all that he could. The group then decided that they might have to wait it out till morning, figuring that it might be much safer. The group did all they could to get comfortable within the old wooden schoolhouse, and they tried their best to stay warm with the temperature outside beginning to plummet into the low-thirty’s.
Earlier in the night, sound asleep in the dark and abandoned schoolhouse, any little sound, even the slightest noise, mixed with the high-stress situation would bring them fully to attention considering what was at stake. The lantern had burnt out, and now the only source of light was coming from the barely visible moonlight from outside one of the two dust-covered windows angled just precise. As Mark slept on the cold, wooden floor, a loud rumbling over the top of the schoolhouse woke everyone. With the walls shaking and the windows rattling, Mark realized that a helicopter was hovering right above the abandoned shack.
Nearing the window, a huge spotlight shined directly in. Steven quickly moved out of the way, standing near frozen—unsure of what to do next. Mark realized they must have been asleep for a couple of hours cause he now felt rested.
“What do we do?” Steven asked as the helicopter stayed hovering, causing enough force to almost topple the old, rotting building.
Mark thought about it for a moment. “Let’s go signal for help. We have an injured man here.”
Tyler opened the door and stepped out onto the front porch waving his arms, signaling for help. The helicopter rose higher above the treetops, flying off towards the mountains. Tyler came back in, closing the door as the cold mountain air had further came flooding into the small one room school-house. Once back in, the group checked on Ted, finding that he was still unconscious, seemingly barely holding on.
“Nothing we can do till morning,” Mark said, lying back down on the cold, hard floor.
Mark must have dozed back off when he awoke to the sound of the old wooden floor creaking beneath his ear. Mark rolled over, opening his eyes to the darkness surrounding him, sensing barely an all-black silhouette walking around in the pitch-black room.
From within the dark room and from Mark’s perspective, with Tyler to his right, and Steven to his left, it could only be Ted, but was Ted somehow feeling better?
Steven immediately woke up in a bad mood. “What the hell? Get off of me.”
“Are you alright?” Mark asked as the dark figure had fallen and was now struggling to stand back up. “Rrrah! Rrrah!” Ted snarled.
From the first sound of Ted’s voice, there was no doubt that the fight was on, and n
o doubt that the dark figure was a zombie. Almost immediately Ted began scratching and clawing blindly, catching Mark’s sweatshirt. Mark tried to quickly roll away, but was pinned against Tyler who had only barely started to awaken.
“Rrrah! Rrrah!” the zombie roared, crawling a few feet—savagely biting Mark on the back shoulder.
The schoolhouse echoed as Mark cried out in pain, with the bite beginning to draw blood. Steven stood up and grabbed the zombie’s leg, pulling it away.
Mark pulled out one of his six-shooters and with just the slightest gleam of moonlight reflecting off the zombie’s eye he pulled the trigger—shooting the zombie dead. Steven jerked the zombie away as the fight had left its body. Steven pulled out his lighter, walking over to check on his wounded friend, crouching down to take a closer look. With the flicker of the lighter, actual teeth marks could be seen where Mark’s clothing had been torn.
“Here, come hold this.”
Tyler walked over to Steven and took the lighter and lit it up as Steven reached into Mark’s duffel bag for antiseptic and bandages.
“Damn it!” Mark said angrily, disgusted at himself for getting bit.
Tyler stepped over to the dead zombie as it fell against the wall. “Ted’s dead!” Tyler shouted, sitting flat on the floor, beginning to cry.
“Hold that lighter still,” Steven yelled.
“I’m going to die. I’m going to eventually turn into one of those things,” Mark said, pounding his fist on the cold, hard wooden floor. After Steven had cleaned the wound, dressing it in clean bandages, Mark stood up and extended his hand to his little brother, helping him up off of the floor.
“Come on. Let’s at least go see that he gets a decent burial.”
It was almost morning, only a few more hours of darkness was all that was left to overcome. Tyler and Steven carried their fallen friend outside into the cold mountain air, taking him across the field to the cemetery. With the help of the moonlight—Tyler spotted a freshly dug grave—deciding on the perfect place to leave his friend to rest. They lowered Ted’s body down into the open grave and covered him with dirt. Once finished, Tyler looked around for something to use as a headstone, finding a small out of place, non-used grave Marker. Using Mark’s knife, Tyler carved Ted’s name into the limestone. “Here rests Theodore W. Martin, a great friend.”
Way of the Undead Page 11
