by Tim Moon
DEAD HORDE
Necrose Series Book Two
Tim Moon
Copyright © 2014 Tim Moon
Published by Beast Mountain Ltd.
All rights reserved.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organization, or persons, living or dead (or undead), is entirely coincidental.
Furthermore, the inclusion of zombies renders any resemblance to reality invalid.
ISBN-10: 1539550060
ISBN-13: 978-1539550068
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For my family.
我们是一家庭
Prologue
13-Months Ago
Undisclosed Location
North Africa
It lay on the table.
Orange coveralls glowed brightly under the harsh florescent light. Arms at its sides, legs straight, head flat and all of it strapped securely to a metal table. It seemed almost peaceful. If David Aguilar had not known better, he would have guessed it was a normal detainee tied down.
But Aguilar knew better.
Inside the room containing the detainee, a solid metal door featuring only a peephole, retracted into the wall to Aguilar’s left. A stainless steel rolling cart came through the door pushed by a short lab assistant in a white biohazard suit, hands encased in blue nitrile gloves. Resting on the cart was a variety of medical instruments. The lab assistant glanced up from the cart and looked toward the one-way glass. Aguilar couldn’t determine if it was a man or woman.
As soon as the lab assistant entered, a moan rumbled out of the detainee’s gaping mouth and its teeth gnashed the air. Light glinted off a string of discolored saliva that ran down the prisoner’s cheek. Its fingers flexed wildly in a vain attempt to break free and grab the scientist.
Aguilar looked on, a mixture of interest and disgust framing his hard discerning eyes. As a veteran of both Operation Iraqi Freedom and Operation Enduring Freedom, he had seen many tragedies and triumphs. Yet he could not help the knot that twisted in stomach.
Behind thick, one-way security glass, he stood next to perhaps the most repulsive man he had ever had the displeasure of meeting. Aguilar glanced sideways at Arman Davidson, Black Tide’s manager for the project.
When Aguilar had first heard of his selection for this assignment, he had tried to decline the position as diplomatically as he could. He went so far as to forward several names of operatives better suited to the task than he was.
However, Aguilar’s boss, John Breckenridge, insisted he accept the assignment, citing their previous work together when they both served in the military. Not willing to risk his career over what he assumed would be a boring, paper-pushing assignment, he finally agreed to the posting.
As the liaison for the project, code-named BITE or Better Infantry Through Enhancement, Aguilar normally pulled desk duty, as he had feared. Today was one of the rare times he left the office for anything interesting.
“This man has been dosed with Necrose, correct?” Aguilar said.
“Yes. If Subject 13 wasn’t strapped down, you would see it going after our lab assistant with the ferocity of a mother bear,” Arman said with the slippery smile typical among salesmen.
“It?”
“Yes. A subject’s human gender is irrelevant.”
Aguilar frowned slightly in annoyance and discomfort at the way Arman referred to the subject.
Officially documented as Crescotine, Black Tide had developed the compound and described it to Congress as a performance-enhancing medical treatment. The idea was reportedly to boost performance metrics among Special Operations soldiers in the military. In reality and in its current iteration, the compound was called Necrose-7A. It had effects that would certainly not enhance the performance of soldiers.
Aguilar had graduated West Point with a dual-degree in chemistry and biology; one reason the brass requested the agency select him as the Department of Defense liaison for this project. However, the level of scientific work before him now was far beyond his level of expertise. Since graduating and before joining the agency, Aguilar’s primary focus had been on military doctrine and his duties in military intelligence. He had not kept up with current scientific research and methodologies.
“Breckenridge sent me here to observe a preliminary performance demonstration.”
“Indeed. But first let me explain what Necrose-7A is and what it does without all the cover-your-ass-BS that we submit for congressional review.”
As Davidson explained the science and intent behind this new compound, it became clear to Aguilar that they were really discussing was the development of a new biological weapon. A strange and powerful new weapon, if it functioned as described that is.
Continuing to work, the lab assistant ran through a series of tests and tissue samples. They were drawing an enormous syringe full of black fluid while Davidson continued talking. He moved beyond the science and covered a variety of possible delivery methods on targets, the incubation period, effects of the substance and other relevant details.
“So, you’re saying we can deliver Necrose remotely and roughly 13-18 hours later all hell breaks loose?” Aguilar said, intrigued by possible applications.
“That’s correct. Although, we would say the incubation period is more precisely in the range of 12-24 hours. A surprising level of individual variation, if you ask me.” He cleared his throat. “In any case, after initial infection and incubation, the virus spreads throughout the body and terminates the subject as it morphs them into the…creature, shall we say, that you see strapped to the table,” Davidson said, nodding toward the table. “At that point, they become highly aggressive and will pursue live human subjects in order to spread the virus. Preliminary tests show it’s very effective.”
“Do they retain consciousness or self-awareness? What level of skill do they retain from the…original…person or subject?”
Davidson broke out laughing at that. His sharp cackle ricocheted painfully around the metal and concrete observation room.
Aguilar winced at the sound. The knot in his stomach tightened.
Davidson finally composed himself enough to respond.
“No measurable skill transfer occurs and no, they do not retain consciousness as we would recognize it. Nor do they retain any memory of their previous life. Their consciousness dies. They lose their humanity. What, or who, they were before infection becomes supplanted with the desire to kill. All thanks to the virus. They are persistent and tireless which makes up for the lack of motor skill and reasoning.”
“Do they attack livestock or animals? Is the virus transmittable to other species?”
“No, humans only,” Davidson said.
“It sounds like you’ve done some interesting work here. Breckenridge will be interested to hear my report,” Aguilar said.
“We still have the demonstration to go through, Mr. Aguilar. I wouldn’t expect you to take my word for it. I’ll show you something far more impressive than an invalid strapped to a table. Are you ready for the demonstration?”
“Please proceed. It’s why I’m here.”
Davidson smiled as he pressed a green button on a small panel beside the window. “Lucy, we’re going to move to demonstration level Alpha-Delta-S
ix. Please proceed immediately. Acknowledge.”
Aguilar was only mildly surprised the lab assistant was a woman. Lucy turned to the window and nodded, giving them an okay sign. She returned the instruments to the rolling cart, carefully placed several vials of fluid into a case, and then exited the room.
“I hope you have a strong stomach,” Davidson said with that salesman smile.
The glint in Davidson’s eyes was unsettling to Aguilar. He had seen that look before. Sometimes during combat men would find they rather enjoyed killing, finding a deep sense of joy in the act of ending another’s life.
Aguilar nodded; a stern look settled over his face.
Inside the room, a red light above the door Lucy had exited through flashed on, briefly bathing the room in an eerie glow.
“Test lab 3-Bravo secure,” a voice said, blasting out of the speaker on the panel beside the window. “Commencing demonstration Alpha-Delta-Six in 3. 2. 1.”
The restraints holding the creature on the table clicked as they disengaged. Aguilar realized the subject no longer thrashed about as it had when Lucy was in the room.
Seeming to know it was now free to move, its head rose up scanning the room with wide, ebony eyes. Sparse patches of hair clung to the pallid flesh of its scalp. It pushed up and clumsily stumbled to the floor. It shuffled slowly toward the door where Lucy had exited and began pawing at it.
On the back wall, another red light flashed on, followed by a single, short beep. The creature slowly turned its head. Aguilar noted the response.
Davidson leaned forward eagerly, like a child at a zoo straining to get a good view. Aguilar could feel the excitement radiating from Davidson. It made his skin tingle in disgust. He imagined that if Davidson had a mustache, he would twirl it with glee like a cartoon villain.
Below the light a panel retracted into the wall, much like the door had. Behind the panel, in a shallow closet-like compartment was another orange-clad man. This one was clearly not infected.
Looking across the room, the man screamed in fear at the sight of Subject 13. He turned and banged on the wall of the compartment. There was no exit.
A low moan rose from the creature. It started forwards, toward this welcome delivery.
The sound sent a wave of goose bumps racing down Aguilar’s arms. A chill crawled up his spine to his neck as he realized what was about to happen.
“Davidson, what’s going on?”
“You came for a demonstration, Mr. Aguilar. This is the compound at work. This is how it spreads itself and cripples our enemy.”
The creature’s jaws began gnashing at the air again. It shuffled toward the unarmed man who was now cowering in the far corner of the room. It sounded like the man was praying, but Aguilar could not understand the words.
Even moving at a relatively slow pace, it did not take the creature long to cross the room. As it neared, the man in the corner yelled and lashed out with a pitiful kick. The creature reached for the man even as it stumbled back from the kick. Its desperate fingers raked across the man’s face, gouging small troughs in his skin. He bent over, howling in pain.
“Fight, damn it,” Aguilar said softly, urging the man to survive.
He had seen many men die and had even helped with interrogations in Iraq. Somehow, the idea of seeing the man torn apart by this beast of science seemed so much worse.
The man stood up. Blood dripped down his face, obscuring his vision. The creature was on him again, fingers outstretched eagerly seeking its prey. Sensing his predicament, the man lunged at the creature with a fierce snarl. Swatting aside the creature’s arms, the man began to pummel the creature in the chest and face.
The creature’s hands raked the man’s face again and latched onto his throat, pulling him closer to its hungry lips. The man fought against the pull and reached up to free his neck. Craning its neck up, the creature sank its teeth into the man’s forearm, hungrily removing a stringy chunk and devouring the flesh.
A piercing scream erupted from the man, his eyes bulging in pain. He swung wildly at the creature with his good arm but the blows were ineffective. The man couldn’t stop it from ripping another chunk from his damaged arm.
“My God, Davidson! That’s enough,” Aguilar said angrily, taking an involuntary step away from the window.
Screams continued blasting out of the little speaker along with the sound of blood splattering on the concrete floor.
“Quite the contrary, Subject 13 is just getting started.”
Blood loss and pain quickly weakened the man as he slipped into shock. The creature overwhelmed him and began tearing into his abdomen. Contented groans and wet smacking replaced the sounds of pain.
“Once turned, they don’t tire. They don’t sleep. Only fire or a critical blow to the head can kill them. Our new compound will bring our enemies to their knees without them knowing who struck the deathblow,” Davidson said, smirking proudly. His eyes gleamed in the light.
“I’ve seen enough,” said Aguilar. He turned on his heel and left the room.
Chapter One
Present Day
Kona, Hawaii
Ben Chase stood in line in the Quarantine Center’s cafeteria, just like everyone else. He moved along slowly, waiting to collect his package of food. Three times per day, the Hawaii Army National Guard soldiers served them Meals-Ready-to-Eat, or MREs.
They all shuffled along, nice and orderly. A light brown package of food thrust into their hands. Fussy eaters were out of luck because the soldiers didn’t entertain complaints, exchanges, or special diet exceptions. If you didn’t like what you received, it was up to you to trade for something better.
The soldiers didn’t have time to coddle everyone. Kona’s Quarantine Center was far too busy processing survivors and preparing them for evacuation. Half of the camp had been sent out yesterday for evacuation.
Ben collected his MRE and made his way to the back corner where his group always sat. There were no chairs, no tables, just several large folded tarps laid out for survivors to sit on. Although why they even bothered with the tarp made no sense to Ben. It didn’t add to the comfort or cleanliness of the place.
Charlotte was right behind him with Oliver in tow, hugging his MRE to his chest with one hand and clutching her hand with the other. Anuhea followed close behind, plopping down on the tarp without a word. Ty sat next to her and inspected his MRE.
“Damn, I got the chili with macaroni again,” Ty said with obvious disappointment.
“How many times is that now?” Charlotte asked.
“Every meal since we’ve been here,” Ty said. “Wanna trade?”
Charlotte smiled, and shook her head.
“Anyone wanna trade?” he asked.
“It’s all you, man. But, if I have peanut butter, I’ll trade you for the jalapeno cheese,” Ben offered.
Ty scoffed. “That’s the best part of this junk they call food.”
“I have spaghetti. And candy!” Oliver said happily, holding his M&Ms up for everyone to see.
Anuhea opened a pack of crackers. A tiny explosion of crumbs covered her legs. She frowned.
“Have you guys ever been to Molokai?” she asked.
Ty, Charlotte and Ben all shook their heads. Oliver ignored the adults as he ate the spaghetti, somehow managing to get sauce all over his lips and nose.
“To be honest, I’d never heard of it before the briefing,” Ben said. “Have you ever been there?”
She nodded.
“It’s kind of small and doesn’t get as much tourism as the other islands. I know it’s not the direction you were hoping to head, but at least it’ll be safe,” Anuhea said.
Ben nodded silently.
It had been a whirlwind of activity in the two days since soldiers rescued and escorted them to a joint FEMA-National Guard Quarantine Center. The medical check conducted by FEMA staff seemed like a glorified version of the one they received upon landing in Kona at the start of what should have been an enjoyable vacation
. Ben got the distinct feeling they had no idea what they were looking for.
Ben had asked the QC officials about how to get to the mainland. His mom had Type-1 diabetes and hypothyroidism that required daily medication. If she ran out of either insulin or thyroid medication, she wouldn’t survive long. If the infection hit his hometown of Vancouver, Washington, as badly as it had hit Kona, it would be far too dangerous for her to leave the house to go scavenging for more medication. Unfortunately, no one could offer him a solution. All they could tell him was that the Federal Aviation Administration had canceled all flights into and out of the United States in an effort to reduce the spread of the infection. All border crossings and public transportation were at a standstill: trains, buses, subways, all of it.
According to the FEMA manager at the briefing, the FAA had given them special clearance for them to fly uninfected people already in Hawaii to the island of Molokai. Fighter jets had orders to intercept any flights attempting to leave the state of Hawaii and, in a worst-case scenario, shot down.
Concern for his mom weighed heavily on Ben’s mind. He knew she would tell him not to worry about her, but that was impossible. His mom had no family living close by to help her. With Ben’s dad gone for much of his childhood, and almost completely absent for the last decade since he lived halfway across the country, there was no one she could rely on.
“Yeah, it’s a step in the wrong direction. On the plus side, we might get an upgrade from living in tents and eating MREs while sitting on a tarp,” Ben said sarcastically.
“Anything’s better than dealing with the infected,” Ty muttered.
They all chuckled a little. Life was upside down for now and they all hoped it would return to normal as soon as possible.
Silence descended over the tent as everyone ate. It was their final meal in the Quarantine Center. Later that evening, a convoy would take them to Kona International Airport for the flight to Molokai.
