The Romero Strain (Book 1): The Romero Strain

by Alan, TS

  We spent the day exploring the vast armory. We found lots of medical supplies in a small fourth floor hospital wing at the southwest corner of the lot, identical in detailing to the administration building.

  Though we were cautious making our way to the basement of the building, the odds were greatly in our favor that there were no transmutes lurking in the darkness. Basements were exactly what they sounded like—a substructure of a building. Transmutes were part owl, and like owls they took refuge in high places to keep predators at bay and to look out for food. The basement was too dark and dank, even for an owl, though I wasn’t too sure about the new creatures. We set up one of Sam’s portable light systems.

  The underground garage was large and revealed the reason for the lack of power to the building. It wasn’t the outside generator at fault; it was the connection to the electrical boxes. The power cable that had run out the basement window to the junction box at street level was not a cable that was receiving power but had been supplying power. The armory didn’t need to receive power from an outside source to maintain itself. It already had two backup generators of its own installed. After studying the generators and large fuse boxes on the basement wall, we came to a conclusion: one generator had been re-routed to the street to help support the electrification of the perimeter fencing, while the other generator continued to supply electricity to vital parts of the building. The cable Sam believed fed the armory was connected to the faulty fuse box. That was why the lights inside the building failed to come on when he engaged the power on the outdoor generator. Sam was off the hook for poor electrician skills.

  Once the generators were refueled we were able to see the full extent of what was concealed in the cellar. In the main area we found another cache of supplies. There were a few boxes of hand grenades and a few boxes of ammunition for the M16 grenade launchers, but no rocket propelled grenades, no Claymore antipersonnel mines, and no semi-automatic sniper rifles. Just a lot of ammunition for side arms and rifles, along with a lot of NBC (nuclear, biological, chemical) suits, several cars and vans, and leftover fencing and razor wire.

  We found body bags, but to our shock we had also found most of the missing soldiers. Two rows of white bags had been lined up on the floor along the south wall. The bodies had liquefied, and even though the bags were made of heavy plastic to prevent leakage, they were not seepage proof. The stench was overwhelming. The bodies were months past being bloaters. They were even beyond poppers; just bones and remnants of clothing soaked in fetid bodily fluids. We counted forty-three bags, each with written information in black marker on the plastic surface: name, rank, service number, company designation and date of death. They were the soldiers of the 1st Battalion, 69th Infantry Regiment (Mechanized), A and E Companies, and soldiers from the 3-2 SBCT.

  In the base commander’s office I discovered two operational reports that had been neatly placed side by side atop his desk. The one to the left was dated 08 April 2014 and was a two-page document. The other dated 09 April 2014, wasn’t even a full page. Besides both reports being detailed and detached they contained information about the timing of the military’s response to the outbreak. However it was a personal journal left by Colonel Walter Travis that truly shed light on the real terror of what transpired at the Lexington Avenue armory during the first days of the viral outbreak.

  As I read through it, not only did I learn about what the soldiers of the regiment endured—along with the 3-2 SBCT that was supporting the armory from the outside—I also learned that a group of seven soldiers, led by Captain Cullin Arn, had been sent to the roof for helicopter extraction. Presumably, Colonel Travis perished before knowing the exfil had been successful. There was no passage to state so, however the journal did reveal why the armory commander had committed suicide. Nearly succumbing to the virus, he had chosen to take his own life. He wrote, “It is better I die then to become one of the unholy abominations that now roam this metropolis.” Followed by, “Faugh an Beallach.” It was the battle cry of the regiment and meant clear the way.

  I closed the journal and picked up the reports and took everything with me. There was no reason to show the discovery to my friends. They had all endured enough horror and trauma in their fight for survival. I would spare them the disturbing facts of the fall of the 69th Infantry Regiment, for in the end all the soldiers had died as heroes, even the commander.

  Max and I moved on, heading to find the door to the roof.

  We didn’t know what to do with Joe. There was no place to bury him, so we had to cremate him. This was not out of disrespect, but out of necessity. We held the service in the basement, each of us taking turns, saying a few words. Even though he was an ass, we had a few positive things to say. At the very end, as difficult as he had been to deal with, he had accepted what he had done and tried to be a part of the team. In time perhaps we could have grown to like him, but we could only imagine.

  That same day, the doctor completed his autopsy of the half-mute, taken blood and tissue samples, and run tests. His answers were frightening. The virus that had been released had mutated into a strain nearly identical to the one he had been trying to engineer. Nature had done what he couldn’t: produce a strain that would cause violent, uncontrollable rage, one that would manifest the urge to kill your fellow man. The mutation showed no sign of killing the host, and the doctor could not project what the long-term effects of their eradiated bodies would be.

  France had created an intelligent but psychotic new human. As for the eyes, I had been correct. The doctor, as always, protested in having to conjecture on something he had not thoroughly studied, but he knew that I had little patience when it came to his deliberate stubbornness. He surmised that the miosis was most likely caused by a disruption of the nerve fibers that connect the eye and the brain, which was brought upon by lesions on the brain stem. Whether his assumption was correct or not, the fact remained that the eyes had constricted, which meant that their visual acuity in the dark was drastically diminished, a hopeful indicator that the creatures would not be roaming around at night. If I wanted to know for sure, he suggested I bring back a live subject. That wasn’t going to happen.

  IV

  A New World Order

  Our first staff meeting was brief, but to the point. We gathered to discuss inventory and what needed to be repaired.

  “First. Thanks to all of you for suffering through the past three days while we disposed of the bodies and cleaned up transmute shit.”

  Three days of smelling and removing wretched rotting corpses—from inside and outside the armory—and disinfecting the armory’s gallery from all the feces left behind by the transmutes. We had found a construction site a few blocks east, a deep hole in the ground which was in the process of being dug out for a foundation of a new building, to dump the decaying carcasses into. The worst part of the disposal was removing the bodies of the fallen soldiers of the 69th Regiment and the 3-2 SBCT, the ones who had liquefied within their body bags. Those honorable fighting men were not callously and without emotion tossed in the pit and lit ablaze. Out of respect we prayed over the bodies to honor them before we torched them.

  “Kermit, you first buddy. What’s our food stock like?”

  “Sam and I compiled a list of food items. Our current provisions are mostly MREs. Pallet upon pallet. Enough to last us a year if we can keep the mice and rats out of them. However, even with the varieties at hand, I’m sure you’ll be sick of eating them after six weeks, with the exception of Sam.” Everyone laughed at the joke, except Sam. “We need staple items like powdered milk, powdered eggs, canned potatoes, canned meats, and so on. The more the better. We are also in dire need of an electric stove. I can’t cook unless I have one.”

  “I’m all ready sick of MREs,” I answered him. “We can hit the large grocery stores at Union Square. However, I think it simpler to convert to propane, instead of trying to find an electric stove. I know two places where we can acquire gas. Which brings me to you, Sam. Transport
ation. I see you’ve turned 25th Street into a parking lot. How many of them are functioning?”

  “Including the ones from Grand Central, we have three ICVs, five Humvees and a LMTV up and running. It’ll take me a couple more days for the rest. And the vehicles in the basement are also functional.”

  “You’ve been a busy boy.”

  “I will need to cannibalize the other Stryker at Grand Central if you want your medical Stryker working. And FYI, I haven’t spotted any other Strykers in our travels, so I should cannibalize it no matter what. Also the refuel tanker is good to go.”

  I nodded. “Three Strykers are plenty. I was reading over some of the paperwork found in the commander’s office. This facility was called FOB MEDCOM Bravo and was set up for use as an army hospital, not as a civilian P.O.D., hence the large amount of triage and surgical supplies. I’m not sure why there is such a large amount of MREs, just grateful we have food on hand. I discovered where FOB MEDCOM Alpha was located: Madison Square Garden. In the base commander’s report there was a mention of the 548th Corps Support Battalion setting up an ASC at the Javits Center. Kermit, do you know what that means?”

  I may have been an avid film watcher, war films being one of my favorite genres, but this in no way made me an expert in military acronyms, protocols or procedures. I knew what a support battalion was, sort of; it was there to support the troops. What I didn’t know was what exactly the support battalion did. I was about to have my military knowledge expanded.

  “An ASC is an Army Sustainment Command. The 548th CSB would be the quartermaster battalion for the theater of engagement,” he told us all. “There would be several attachments to the battalion that would carry out vehicle maintenance, transportation, supply, and clothing and laundry service from the staging area.”

  “Excellent,” I said, nodding my thanks to Kermit’s answer.

  Sam raised his hand.

  “Yes?” I responded, hoping he was going to ask a question and not start spouting another chapter from his brain book on the military.

  “The 548th is part of the 10th Mountain Division (Light Infantry), 10th Sustainment Brigade out of Fort Drum, New York. The 590th FSC, the 57th Transportation Company, the 514th Maintenance Company, and probably some repair personnel from the 3-2 SBCT, would have been assigned there.”

  To my dismay Sam was rattling off his miscellaneous knowledge of the United States Army instead of adding something useful.

  I responded to his prattling. “And I needed to know this, why?”

  “Because I was stationed at Fort Drum for a year,” he proudly stated. “The ASC will have things we need, like ammo and vehicle parts.”

  I was pleasantly surprised. “And here I thought you were just showing off again. But try leading with the important stuff first. And Sam,” I addressed him again. “Facilities repairs. Did you complete the list?”

  “Yes. My recommendations are in my report, ranked in order of necessity. I’ve also included a list of items we will need to remove from the GCC, such as communications and surveillance equipment.”

  “Fine. Give me your reports at the end and I’ll make assignments accordingly. David. How’s the reconstruction of the fencing going?”

  “Nearly complete,” he replied. “However, if we sustain any further damage we may have a problem. There’s going to be little fencing left when I’m done. Maybe they’d have some over at that ASC, since they probably were the ones who installed it.”

  “All right, listen. Before we go running off in hopes of finding fencing and Stryker parts we should take a few things into consideration. First is the half-mutes, and then there’s the unknown factor. We don’t know who survived. Could be no one, but then again, could be survivors have claimed the Javits and the Garden, which means they’ll be armed and maybe hostile. We need to have everything up, running, and secured before we venture too far from the armory. I do agree, though, the ASC would be an optimal choice for finding items that we’re going to need… Kermit, perhaps you and I can meet and discuss a tactical plan for recon on those bases?” Kermit nodded in agreement. “Excellent,” I concurred. “Then let us move on.” I looked around the table to see whose report I should hear next. I could see France was impatiently anticipating his turn. I made him wait. “Marisol. I understand that you were working with Sam on the exterior lighting. Any progress?”

  “Finished a few hours ago. We can turn them on any time you want.”

  “That’s something we should not do immediately,” I said.

  “I thought you wanted them fixed so people would know we are here,” Marisol said. “We even pointed some of them toward the sky.”

  “Great. Nevertheless, I think it would be premature to broadcast our occupation until we are fully secure. The lights will hopefully attract survivors, but we can’t assume everyone will be looking for assistance. We may find that there are those who would want what we have for themselves.”

  “I agree,” Julie concurred. “We need to make sure we are safe and prepared before we open our doors to anyone.”

  “Then everyone agrees?” There was a majority show of hands. “Excellent. That leaves you, doc. Nice of you to finally grace us with your presence.”

  “I am only here out of necessity. I protest that I am being forced from the GCC and must finish my research in this primitive and inadequate environment. It is un—”

  “Duly noted,” I said. “Is there anything else, like the medical supply inventory list I gave you for review?”

  “Bandages and aspirin,” he proclaimed, clearly dissatisfied. “That is all you have given me.”

  “You’re being melodramatic. There are antibiotics, morphine, and numerous other items on the list.”

  “Like I said, ‘Bandages and aspirin.’ Totally inadequate. Yes, I have morphine, bandages, sutures, broad spectrum antibiotics, gloves, masks and bouffant caps. However, I also have IV fluids without enough kits, syringes without enough needles, and an antiquated X-ray machine without film. I need another autoclave and at least two more infusion pumps. Furthermore, what about treatment for radiation sickness? Have you even considered this? We know the living dead as well as those half-mutes have been contaminated. There are bound to be survivors that have been exposed. I will need potassium iodine, zinc or calcium diethylenetriamine pentaacetic acid… prussian blue. We are ill prepared and under stocked for what we may encounter.”

  “And that’s why I asked you to review the list and make recommendations. Did you do that?”

  “Of course I did,” France replied sourly, as if I had offended his organizational skills. “I compiled a spreadsheet for you of twelve pages in length, ranking the items by need. I have also listed the bioequivalent counterpart in the column next to the brand name of the pharmaceutical.”

  “I appreciate the effort, but for time purposes, I’m just going to go over to Saint Vincent’s and clear out the entire stock room of pharmaceuticals and medical supplies. If there is any medical equipment or instruments you may need, within reason, let me know and I’ll bring back what I can.”

  “How generous of you,” France replied with a bit of irritability in his tone, letting me know he was displeased with my proposed salvaging plan. “Except there are crucial items concerning your health and welfare that also need to be acquired, which certainly would not be found rummaging around a hospital.”

  France passed me a sheet of paper atop a file folder, and instructed, “You will go there, and you will acquire all the items on the list. I drew diagrams for you to properly identify what I need in case you are not familiar with them. I highly recommend you make it your number one priority,” he concluded by giving me notice.

  The doctor’s folder contained sophisticated equipment used for Cell Biology, Developmental Biology, Molecular Biology, and Structural Biology, as well as Molecular Pharmacology. It appeared he was planning on doing DNA and RNA modifications and genome/epigenome engineering on me. Furthermore, he had given me the address for the New Yor
k Genetics Research Institute and where inside the building I could find the various items on his list. I was suspicious of how he knew specifics about the building but he was evasive. When I couldn’t get a straight answer out of him, I decided to move on to other survivor committee business.

  As for my report,” I began. The doctor departed, not wanting to waste anymore of his valuable time listening to things that he considered trivial and of no concern to him. I didn’t acknowledge his rudeness. “I have compiled a list of weapons and ammunition and we’re pretty stocked in that department, with exception to grenades. As for relocation of all those boxes, as you can see Kermit and I have been very busy. We’ve managed to get about a quarter of the pallets down to the basement, which gives us enough room for an exercise area to practice our martial arts.”

  Most everyone grunted and groaned.

  “Yeah, yeah. I’m not making this mandatory, yet, since I know we’ve all been working our asses off and are exhausted. However, once our move is complete, I’m going to make a mandatory two-hour session, five days a week, and the other two days Kermit will be running drills and doing firearms instruction. So enjoy this vacation… And that’s it, unless anyone has anything to add.”