One of the ugly bastards got within a yard of Steele, baring blackened teeth. Steele disintegrated the back of his skull with a shot through the Fatal T. In a matter of seconds, the infected were loudly vanquished.
Steele and Jarl sprinted to the door and Steele placed a heavy hand down on the flat handle. The door rattled mocking them, and didn’t open. Steele pushed and pulled harder, but nothing happened. The stinking thing is locked. This has to be the right utility shed.
He looked around. There was nothing remotely like it in sight. Could there be another shed? Steele frantically pulled on the door. Unable to produce any results he turned to Jarl.
“You want to take a swing at it?” he asked. The giant huffed as he gripped the door and pulled. Nothing.
This is bad. They could shoot the hinges, but that would leave the shed exposed. The other survivors had already started helping each other down from the mobile lounge and were huddling around the door.
“Hurry up,” FSO Kim said.
“I can hear them coming,” Crystal hushed, looking over her shoulder. Their white eyes were wide with fright in the night.
Jarl hammered on the door with a closed fist. More of the infected emerged from the shadows as if the devil were spawning them himself. Closing in, their survival decreased with each spent bullet and each fleeting second.
A single infected man covered in black blood with dead eyes rounded the side of the utility building. Steele saw him, but couldn’t move fast enough.
“Watch out,” Steele managed to sputter, but the infected pounced on a bewildered Captain Richards. Steele pushed the copilot out of the way as he scrambled toward the Captain.
The force of the encounter took the Captain to the ground like a wrestling match. The cannibalistic man’s teeth tore into Richards’ arms as he tried to prevent him from mauling his face. A person’s natural inclination was to protect the face and neck. Now, it didn’t matter where you were bitten. It only matters that you had been defiled.
Steele moved within a few yards of the struggle. “Push his head up,” he shouted flashlight illuminating the bloodied attacker.
Richards must have heard him, because he shoved both arms up, raising its body away from his. The infected’s ugly, disfigured head swerved back and forth as it tried to reach more of the pilot’s flesh.
Steele fired his handgun pulverizing the assailant’s nose, ending its miserable second life. Confused the pilot stared at his arms.
“Oh no, oh no,” Richards cried out, turning in Steele’s direction for help. Dark stains seeped through his white pilot shirt corrupting his once professional appearance.
Mournful moans announced the arrival of more infected. Steele ripped a shot over Richards head dropping an infected into a heap of flesh and guts. Seconds stood between them being overrun. He grabbed the pilot by the back of the shirt and pulled him up.
“You know we can’t let you down there. You’re infected,” Steele said.
The Captain’s eyes panicked, the blood draining from his face. “No. I can’t be. I feel fine,” he said, nodding his head as if to convince himself.
Steele shook the man hard.
“This only ends in one way,” Steele said, gripping his handgun. I don’t want to shoot him. I don’t want to waste a bullet better left for the dead. Slowly, the realization of his impending doom crossed the man’s face.
“I can’t be,” Captain Richards started. He wiped the blood from his arms repeatedly as if it would stop the infection racing through his veins.
“Save us.”
The Captain’s wide brown pupils stared back, clutching his arms. “I’ll do what I can. I’ll draw them away,” he said, shaking but regaining his dutiful composure.
The Captain turned and yelled, “Over here. Over here. Come and get it, you filthy bastards.” He ran into the darkness of the night, and that was the last they saw of him.
Mauser cut the engine and hopped down. Jarl still banged away at the reinforced steel door with his shoulder. The moans of the dead surrounded them like wolves howling in the night. The Captain bought us a few seconds. The frontrunners of the hideous dead materialized in the dim light.
Steele began a controlled backpedal, picking off the closest of the infected, always keeping his enemy in front of him. His back smacked into the wall of the shed. Back against the wall. Literally. He was trying to conserve his ammo, but did it matter if he died with a full mag in his pouch. Mauser was next to him, unleashing a hail of bullets into the infected. The shouts of the survivors echoed in the background, sheep mewing in the face of the wolf.
Jarl pounded away on the door, his large fist beating into the metal. He hesitated momentarily, as an elderly black man wearing an airline cap, poked his head through the door.
“Keep it down, we know you’re here,” the man said, opening the door a crack. Jarl forearmed the man inside, and the survivors piled in.
Steele and Mauser brought up the rear and slammed the door behind them. Steele took a deep breath, his heart thumping away after his latest brush with death. Safety.
He took a step away from the door as he heard the infected bodies ramming it. Wham. Wham. Wham. Wham. The door reverberated in response to each new assault. It grew louder as more and more people threw themselves against it. Fingernails screeched down the metal, worse than a chalkboard, repeatedly clawing the door. The harsh noise pierced their ears, undergoing an attack that would never cease. Steele’s gun stayed trained on the door, muscles tense.
“Holy shit,” Mauser cursed, bending over at the waist breathing hard.
“That was close.” I wouldn’t be surprised if I pissed myself.
The stairwell was dark, and knowing that something wanted to kill them a mere few feet away gnawed at his courage. With a shaky hand, Steele grabbed the cold metal handle making sure it was locked.
Following the old man down three flights of stairs, the noise of the infected slowly faded. The old man rapped three times before a woman in her sixties answered. She had a grandmotherly look to her, almost as though she were inviting the kids in for Christmas Day.
“Thank God,” she said, ushering them inside worriedly. Bright lights blinded them.
JOSEPH
Mount Eden Emergency Operations Facility, VA
A dingy yellow and navy blue carpet covered the conference room floor. It sprawled from wall to wall beneath equally outdated desks that looked as though they had been installed under the Ford Administration. Joseph’s mind drifted everywhere apart from the congressional panel that sat in front of him. He inspected the carpet with his eyes, amazed that the government had made the effort to install it so far underground.
Joseph felt as though he was on some sort of display at the zoo. Congressional representatives and military generals peered down at him seemingly curious and disgusted by him at the same time, looks of practiced skeptical scrutiny written across their faces. It was as if they expected him to throw his feces or do some amazing trick at the same time. He probably seemed very common to them in his borrowed striped button-down and khakis. A single ID card dangled around his neck, it being the only thing that made him stand out from any of the other bureaucrats. The purple card gave him access to the medical lab which was strictly off limits for almost everyone, even the VIPs.
A chubby congressman with a long fleshy nose and jowls that jiggled as he spoke leaned forward as he questioned Joseph. The problem was, Joseph didn’t have the answers to the congressman’s questions. He needed more time to test his theories, and to isolate and eliminate speculation of which this man would never understand. So instead of pleading his case, he stared at the carpet.
“What research and analysis have you collected on the virus that has led to the evacuation and quarantine of most of the East Coast?” the congressman asked, narrowing his eyes. “Need I remind you that you were brought here under a special order from the President because of your expertise on the virus?”
Even during a pandemic of this ma
gnitude, it seemed Congress was actively searching for somebody to blame all the death and destruction on. How could they blame a naturally occurring virus on anyone? This pandemic couldn’t be blamed on a political party or a presidential policy. It was a microbe that couldn’t be seen with the naked eye that reanimated people either after it killed them or after someone carrying the disease killed them.
Joseph’s eyes glazed over as he blandly reiterated what he already knew about the virus. It was all very scientific, which did not impress the Congressional representatives. They wanted black and white answers; right and wrong. Reactive policy making at its best.
They were working hard to place the blame anywhere they could to distance themselves from any sort of repercussions. If there was ever a time when they needed to come together, it was now. Democrat or Republican, people needed to rally. So many American lives were at stake. This is the time where it matters. Their actions could save or kill the world.
Joseph reiterated his story in layman’s terms. He felt as though he had to justify his existence and his presence in the protected underground bunker.
“After the negative response of the patients to common treatments, I became aware that I potentially monitored a new virus in the village of Kombarka. I never imagined that it would mutate as fast as it did and incur such violent symptoms in the patients before and after death. Upon arrival in the United States, I found that the virus had already struck. After that, I only have a marginal degree of confidence in the quality of research material that I presumably acquired from the original outbreak.”
“You only have a marginal degree of confidence?” the Congressman asked. “I don’t think this is a time of marginal degrees of anything.”
Flashes of the horrid screams of passengers under assault on board the plane echoed in Joseph’s ears. Sweat beaded on his forehead. His stomach roiled as though he was about to vomit. Images of the infected chewing sickeningly upon the living flashed across his mind. He gulped bile back down his throat.
A balding military officer with three stars on his green suited shoulders interrupted. “So the only way to kill these people is shots to the head?”
Joseph acknowledged him by giving the only scientific answer he could think of. “Yes,” he said averting his eyes.
Gazing upwards, he realized he received blank stares from across the panel. He tried to dumb down his approach. “Yes, that is most likely the case, but you should really be asking the counterterrorism agents who did all the shooting on the aircraft, or your men in the field.”
Wiping his brow, he tried to ease his stomach as it rocked and rolled. More testing would need to be done to ensure this was the only way to ‘put down’ an infected person. He couldn’t fault the General; it was probably the only way any of the human race could survive. The General was working with what he knew: efficient, effective and pinpoint violence.
“Are you okay, Dr. Jackowski?” an older female congresswoman in a dark green business suit asked, peering at him over her glasses.
Joseph placed a shaky hand around his glass of water and took a sip. The water tasted tepid and stale, over-chlorinated and flat like someone really wanted clean water. She continued to glower at him from her elevated desk, a slight look of disapproval on her face.
“I’m okay, ma’am,” he mumbled.
“Then we’ll continue. Please let me get this straight,” she said, pausing for effect. Pushing her thumb and forefingers together, she accented each point with a fist shake. “You’re saying that you cannot treat people with this disease? You’re advocating that we kill sick Americans? You’re advocating for the United States government to murder its own citizens?” She pursed her lips, awaiting a response.
Joseph didn’t know whether it constituted murder if they were already dead. “Ma’am, I am uncertain of the legalities surrounding the termination of infected populations. However, isolation of healthy populations from infected populations is paramount, because even according to your reports we cannot seem to stop the spread of the disease.”
She leaned over to an aide, whispering something into his ear. “First, I completely disagree with your prognosis. Americans have nothing to fear from this treatable ‘virus’,” she said. What would I know? I’m only a CDC virologist.
“Second,” she said, holding up two fingers. She glanced down at whatever she was reading.
Joseph peeked timidly over his shoulder. Is this being recorded?
“We need to enact the Emergency National Health Act now more than ever. We’re expecting a survivable infection rate of more than 90%, according to my experts’ best estimates.”
I wonder who her experts were? It would be nice to confer with these people.
“People need access to healthcare now, more than ever.” She enunciated clearly, making sure her comments were recorded accurately.
Joseph knew she must be massaging her hands underneath the table in triumph. How could she wish someone ill so that they were reliant upon the government for aid? To her, Americans would have to rely on the public system if they wanted to be cured. He wanted to vomit more than ever. She had no idea what this virus was doing to people. The violence was unimaginable. She only knew that it provided her with a scary reactive opportunity to enact her policies while she sat smugly behind a desk, safe in a deep underground bunker surrounded by soldiers willing to fight and die for her. He sat back in his seat.
If she had been listening earlier, she would have known that the problem with the disease was its reanimation of the dead, which in turn catalyzed the spread the disease. Providing that it simply just killed people, there would only need to be a cleanup. It would be a nightmare, and would most likely cripple the global economy, if not sending it into total collapse. Horrifying in itself, but at least it would have been easier to contain like the Spanish Flu in 1918 except with casualty rates off the charts, ten to fifteen times higher.
‘Easier’ was an understatement, thought Joseph. Even if it were possible to produce a cure, he doubted whether he could administer it quickly enough to stop the disease from taking over the human host.
The officials should be thankful that the infected almost immediately lost humanity’s most developed human ability: cognitive reasoning. If the infected managed to coordinate their attacks instead of relying on sheer numbers and violence to spread the disease, Joseph was sure that humanity would already be a footnote in Earth’s long historical timeline.
As much as Joseph hated to side with the knuckle draggers, he thought the General had the only reasonable idea. Killing the infected Americans was a disturbing strategy, but it was the only plausible containment method he could come up with at that time. An idea which horrified Joseph.
Joseph wondered if he could manipulate the virus in a short enough time to create a vaccine. It was possible to manipulate the flu vaccine on a yearly basis. The base components of the vaccine were already there, they just needed to tweak it to treat the most aggressive strains of influenza for the season. He knew he could potentially save many soldiers’ and civilians’ lives if he could. The task is monumental. How can I ever do this? I should be in the lab not sitting here. He worked with a good team of doctors, but the instructions coming down from the government were unsurprisingly muddled at best.
The parties were split over whether to treat people with the disease or, on a harsher scale, to quarantine and eliminate those who were already infected. Everyone’s first response was: “How do we make our loved ones better?” Half the time the researchers were being asked to develop some sort of cure for the infected, and the rest of the time they were being asked for a vaccine to protect the uninfected from transmission.
You can’t cure death. People just couldn’t come to grips that their loved ones, who were still stumbling around, were already gone. Some simply refused to believe that these people were dead. Joseph reviewed his notes while the panel members argued amongst themselves.
The General suddenly pounded his fist int
o the table. “We need more troops and the executive order to go-ahead and execute the infected. I hardly have a doctor from here to Maine, because they’ve all been infected and shot while trying to treat the other infected. This is a Code Black situation. Extreme measures are justified for the continued existence of the nation,” he shouted.
Fleshy Nose shook with rage. “I will not be responsible for the military - operating on U.S. soil, by the way - executing sick Americans. There’ll be a national rebellion.”
Green Suit chimed in. “If people found out the military was executing their sick loved ones, they would never trust the government again. Our careers would be over. The latest polls say the people want a cure.” She humphed as if to say the discussion was over.
The latest polls? Who is she polling, the bunker?
Joseph adjusted his glasses, eying the panel. Even if it were possible to successfully ‘cure’ a person with the disease, they would still be clinically dead. As for the second part of the equation, no one had explained how they could round up the entire Eastern seaboard for administration, especially while the infected were trying to kill them.
Containment of the disease was almost as impossible a task. According to his limited reports, much of D.C. had been overrun with the infected, as well as most other major city centers over the East Coast. More cities across the interior of the United States were also beginning to show the initial signs of an uncontrollable pandemic. It didn’t seem likely that it would remain that way for long.
It was hard getting through to a Congress who were still thinking about re-election campaigns when this all blew over. This was one problem they couldn’t shift to the next Congress or generation.
“There won’t be anyone left for the next election,” Joseph said as he stood up. The indecisiveness of these leaders had driven him to a state he had never been in. Wide-eyed, they gaped back at him.
“Excuse me, Dr. Jackowski?” the female representative said.
The End Time Saga Box Set [Books 1-3] Page 22
