Rise & Walk (Book 2): Pathogen

by Gregory Solis

  Jinxy tugged the first arcade game away from the wall and found a wheeled board behind the unit. She had seen Duane use it to move the bulky wood cabinets before. She leaned the heavy machine on one side and scooted the board underneath, then lowered the machine onto its surface. She was then able to roll the games into place, solidly against the glass doors. Jinxy moved eight machines against the door; five in the first row and three in the second. Each time she approached, the ghoulish figures became more excited and banged harder. She began to sweat from exertion and almost threw up and when she saw Duane through the glass. Her heart broke for the man. Her stomach turned at the sight of his lifeless gaze. She wished she could slip him some Scotch and give him some peace. But she kept at her labors, trying to avoid looking at his blood stained form and through much effort, succeeded in barricading the entrance.

  Jinxy returned to her room and tried to nap, to forget for a while the horrors of the last few days, but rest eluded her. When she started to fade off she would hear Duane’s voice. He didn’t say anything in particular but she recognized the sound; like when he would coach her during the clamor of a tournament. The auditory hallucinations caused her to fly back up out of bed startled and horrified by the experience. She lay back down to try again. She was tormented by Duane’s condition and the lingering memory of his dead gaze. She felt awful that he was trapped in that torn, decaying state. Jinxy wished that she had asked one of the men to free her step-father from his existence. They had guns; it would’ve been easy. The big guy looked like he would’ve done it if she had asked. The news said that any serious trauma to the head would do it; would put them down. That’s all she wanted, to free Duane of his torment. She would’ve done it herself if it would help Duane.

  Jinxy began to cry. Her emotions and lack of sleep joined forces against her. Then a horrible possibility occurred to her; a way perhaps to help. It turned her stomach, but her path was clear.

  She collected what she would need from the alley and one at a time carried the heavy items up the ladder to the roof. Ten trips, one for each frame of the game, she thought as she stored her cargo next to the wall at the front of the building. Soon she had ten, sixteen-pound bowling balls in a pile next to her. Jinxy hefted one of the balls to her shoulder and looked over the edge. From her vantage point she could see the tops of the heads of living dead. She almost reconsidered what she was about to do when she noticed a bald spot on the back of Duane’s head. The whole time she’d known him, she’d never seen the man from this perspective. She never knew that he combed his hair in such a way to hide his baldness. Ya gotta have balls, she thought and dropped sixteen pounds of hardened polyurethane on the corpse, hitting it in the left shoulder, shattering its collarbone. Duane’s body slammed flat on its back and looked up in a daze. Jinxy had balls; nine more to be precise. She picked up another and took aim knowing that he would want her to do a good job, to clear her mind and concentrate just as he’d taught her. Finally, Jinxy’s accuracy succeeded, picking up the spare, freeing her step-father from his ghastly existence.

  *****

  Mason pulled up to the corner of a side door to Whisper General Hospital. Tony backed in moments later at an angle blocking off a V-shaped wedge in front of the doors with the vehicles. They shut off their engines and exited.

  “Circling the wagons,” said Gabe, “Cool.”

  “Make sure the passenger’s doors are locked,” Mason said fixing his sword in place over his back. He checked the Luger’s chamber and holstered the gun. Reaching into the bed of the Chevy, he withdrew the two climbing axes and slipped his hands into their lanyards.

  “No shooting until it’s absolutely necessary.” Mason said.

  “And it probably will be,” said Tony retrieving an aluminum baseball bat from the Bronco, “but let us handle what we can without firing.”

  “I’ll cover you with this,” said Nikki holding the twenty-two, “it’s the quietest we have.” Mason turned without comment and opened the heavy glass door. Billy and Gabe followed him inside. Tony put his arm on Nikki’s shoulder.

  “Look who’s become a little bad-ass.” He said to her.

  “I don’t think Jack likes me.” She replied while pinching her eyes in his direction.

  “Too bad he doesn’t know where the pharmacy is.”

  *****

  Veronica’s patient had slipped into a deep sleep. Margaret’s breaths were long and quiet. Veronica closed the balcony doors and pulled the heavy drapes. A tremor rattled the glass in the doors setting Veronica’s fight or flight response alight. Her alertness at even the slightest hint of an earthquake was a left over from her previous experience with tragic earthquakes in the Bay Area. She immediately wanted nothing more than to run; run anywhere until she was outside and in the open. Before she realized she had moved, or that she should bring Margaret with her, she was at the open bedroom door. The rattle turned to a rumble and then a rattle again as something heavy displaced an immense wave of air outside. Something wasn’t right and her logic found itself back in control. The foundation of the house wasn’t shaking, the roof was. Something huge had just flown over the house. She cast a look back at Margaret and saw that the dear old lady’s eyes were moving back and forth in REM sleep. Good, I hope she is having sweet dreams. She grabbed her shotgun and closed the bedroom door.

  Veronica made her way across the hallway to Lance’s office. Outside the open, rattling, balcony, she saw a black helicopter gently land. She didn’t have to wonder who it was for long as several men dressed in military gear and wielding automatic weapons stepped from the chopper. Another man, with gray-white hair and a black suit followed them shortly after. He looked very familiar; like someone she had just recently seen. Then it struck her; she knew where she’d seen that face before. She turned her head to the framed photos on the wall at the image of Lance in a graduation cap and gown with a grey-haired man. The two were shaking hands and smiling; the way a father and son might, and that man was now outside on the lawn. Lance’s father had returned. Veronica turned and dashed down the steps; a cover story forming in her mind.

  Thirty

  While the Blackhawk’s rotors cycled down, Alexandra looked up at the massive mansion in the distance. She was familiar with some of the details of the property that she had forwarded to Denkinger on Richardson’s orders. Those files included tactical information of interest to the security team, but omitted blueprints of the living areas. After reviewing the files she learned that the property contained an extensive bomb shelter built in the nineteen-sixties, fuel storage for both the helicopter and other vehicles, and a cache of medical supplies. Located in the garage were accommodations for twelve men, as well as two Chevy Suburban SUVs, and a bullet resistant Lincoln Town car. She wouldn’t have been surprised if the old man had a misappropriated Abrams Tank stored in an underground bunker. If it were so, that information would have passed through her hands on its way to Denkinger; as it would be tactically important. What was surprising was the outer appearance of the mansion. At first Alexandra felt an odd sense of déjà vu when she saw the grey structure. It seemed familiar though she had never been here before. Upon leaving the helicopter she caught a greater sense of the building’s scale. It was three stories, with the bottom story much taller then the other two; about fifty percent greater. The front portico stood underneath a pediment supported by four Doric columns. The mansion seemed like it belonged somewhere in the antebellum glory of Peachtree Street in Atlanta, not in Northern California’s Gold Country.

  Almost fifty yards down the stone driveway was the guest house where Lance lived. Apparently, Richardson didn’t think his son fit to live in the main house. Some of the men made their way towards Lance’s residence. Alexandra turned to be sure the pilot was able to access the fuel pump in the hatch at the base of the helipad. With refueling underway, she turned to catch up with Richardson.

  Veronica exited the front door with her shotgun in her left hand held by the shoulder strap. She presen
ted herself to the approaching party as openly as possible. Two military men began to sprint to her, a third stayed with the suited man. An attractive female assistant approached behind a group of other soldiers. Veronica noticed how some of the men stayed in a formation while two stayed back with the helicopter. A soldier took Veronica’s weapon, the other kept her covered. She placed her hands on her head and waited for the older man to reach her; hoping that her story was going to work.

  “Who are you?” The grey-haired man asked.

  “You must be Lance’s father.” She smiled. He nodded impatiently. She answered, “My name is Veronica Emmons; I’m a friend of Wanda’s.” She nodded, “Wanda Clairmont.”

  Gavin turned and said something to his assistant that Veronica didn’t hear. He turned back again, “Where’s my son?” he questioned.

  “I was hoping you knew sir. Neither he nor Wanda made it back here.”

  “Made it back from where?” He demanded. The assistant said something in Gavin’s ear.

  “We were all at the lake when those people got sick. He told us to meet here then went off with some of his friends. They were armed.” Veronica tried to look uncertain, “I don’t know what they were gonna do with the guns… Wanda was in her own car but we lost her in the confusion.” Veronica put her hands down and assumed a depressed slouch. She turned towards the house ignoring one soldier’s priming of his weapon. She sat on the steps of the porch and continued.

  “It was a nightmare; people went crazy and started fighting for no reason…” She looked up at the party. “A car accident started a fire at the gate, so me and this other girl from the lake went the back way; up and over the mountain and then to here.” Veronica saw most of their skepticism dissolve, and why shouldn’t it? Her story was mostly true.

  “I saw Lance with two of his friends in his silver truck after the gate was on fire, so he would have had to come out over the mountain like we did… but no one has yet.” Veronica looked at Gavin. He turned to this assistant.

  “Finish the refuel. I want to be airborne in fifteen minutes.”

  “That’s in progress sir.” Alexandra answered touching her earpiece communicator. The woman looked at Veronica as if sizing her up. Veronica thought that the woman was out of place. Something about being an assistant to this man didn’t seem right. Gavin turned his attention back to Veronica.

  “So, Ms. Emmons, who else was with you?”

  “I’ll get to that sir,” said Veronica standing, “but first, would you happen to have a medic with you?” Relaxed sub-machine guns tensed up once again and took aim at her. She turned to the closest guard.

  “It’s not for me,” she admonished with a dismissive expression.

  “Who then?” Gavin’s voice was deepening with impatience.

  “An old woman with a heart condition, her name is Margaret McCormack. She’s upstairs, in the master bedroom. She needs vasodilators. She used to take Nitroglycerine but the doc changed her prescription and I don’t know what it is.”

  “McCormack… “Gavin mumbled as if reminding himself of the name, “from town?” Veronica nodded. Gavin spoke to Alexandra, “I know the woman. Her son was our first casualty during Desert Storm; a Captain I believe.” He looked to the largest soldier and motioned towards the house. The soldier spoke, to another.

  “Lewis, check her out.” The soldier snapped to action but was stopped by Gavin’s voice.

  “Afford her every courtesy; her son was a hero.” Gavin said.

  The soldier nodded with respect as if feeling the weight of Gavin’s words and then continued into the house.

  “Now, Ms. Emmons, again, who was with you?”

  Veronica never had any interest in Drama while in school, nor did she have any real experience with lying. She had a great relationship with her father and it wasn’t until his death that she had ever had cause to obfuscate the truth, and that was only to his doctors. Now, with guns drawn on her, she was giving the performance of a lifetime. Most of her story was true, but she omitted what Gavin Richardson wanted to know most; the fate of his son. She made no mention about hiding in the shack with him, about his cowardice, shooting her, or Nikki shooting him, and his eventual consumption by flesh eating monsters. Her adrenalin was up allowing her to ignore the pain in her side. She was handing out whoppers but coming up with a story to explain what experienced soldiers would easily recognize as a gunshot grazing was beyond her abilities as a thespian. So she made sure to stand up straight and pretend that she wasn’t in pain. She told them about her friend Nikki and that they had met Margaret while looking for Nikki’s parents. She omitted Nikki’s last name in her story and her physical description. Veronica finished by explaining that Nikki had returned to town to search for her parents but that she had stayed to care for the old woman. Gavin appeared satisfied with her story. The medic returned and gave a report.

  “She’s sleeping. She’s not infected she’s just old; respiration’s fine but her heartbeat is weak. If she’s on vasodilators, then she’s going to need them again; when, I can’t say.” The medic shook his head.

  “Do you have anything to help her?” asked the largest soldier.

  “I hung a bag to stabilize her fluids, but that’s all. I have Antibiotics, Analgesics, Hemostatics, but nothing for Angina, or Acute Coronary Syndrome; which I suspect she may be facing.”

  Alexandra touched her earpiece and then spoke to Gavin.

  “Bird’s ready sir.” Gavin looked at Veronica and spoke.

  “Ms. Emmons, I’m going to go find my son. You’re welcome to stay and watch over Mrs. McCormack. When we return we’ll see what we can do.” Gavin motioned to the largest soldier to hand her back the shotgun. The soldier hesitated.

  “Denkinger!” Gavin ordered. The soldier squinted and opened the shotgun. He removed the two shells and handed both the shotgun and ammunition to Veronica separately. She accepted the weapon sheepishly and did not load it.

  “She’s your patient now.” Gavin said and turned towards the helicopter. His menagerie followed. Veronica tugged the medic by the shoulder.

  “When she had her attack, she seemed to be in a lot of pain, do you have anything for that?” He considered her request and frowned.

  “No, I’m packed for combat not geriatrics. The pain meds I have, Morphine, Ketamine, they’re much too strong for her, even in a slight dosage.”

  “What about Vicodin? There’s a few in the house. Could that help?”

  “You could try a half a tablet, if she can swallow it. It should relax her helping to prevent an attack, and certainly help with pain.” He said reluctantly, “Look, I fix wounds. I don’t have any experience with treating old age.” He nodded his head once and turned to join the others. Veronica watched them enter the helicopter and fly off. She wondered if they would find Lance’s body, and what Richardson would do when he returned. Watching the helicopter shrink in the sky, she reloaded her shotgun.

  *****

  The hospital atrium led into the main lobby. The wide open area was now only illuminated from the glass ceiling that encompassed half its dimensions. The floors were soaked with run off from the upper floor’s sprinklers, splashing every footstep. The five fanned out like birds flying in formation with Mason at the center.. He looked about warily; eyes searching the shadows while listening intently. Splash splash; sounded in the distance as something approached. From another direction and above them, wet sounds, deeper in tone, like someone slapping their hands on the surface of a pool. Mason nudged Tony and pointed up a wide staircase set into the wall. The stairs led to a second floor that surrounded the main entranceway. A large man, almost shapeless with obesity, shambled on the balcony, grunting with each step. He was moving in their direction, towards the top of the wide stairs. Tony moved at Mason’s urging and stood at the base of the stairs. The man was naked though his overhanging belly hid his genitals. Fleshy bare feet slapped on tiled floor as if he were wearing diving flippers. Tony felt a little weak lifting the baseball ba
t. This guy’s big; maybe we should just start shooting and hope we can take whatever gets in our way. As the form approached the top stair, he made no attempt to step down. What must have been three hundred and fifty pounds or more of dead flesh, tumbled over like a meat-domino and surfed the surface of twelve-feet of wooden steps, face first. Each step tenderized the front of the beast a little more than the last, breaking open skin, flattening cartilage, and releasing puss. Tony leapt back two paces to avoid its soggy landing. Despite its trauma, the thing still moaned on the floor and writhed to try and stand. Tony lifted the bat and swung downwards, impacting on the base of the skull; in this case, the soft fatty area that resembled three plump sausages stacked together. A sickening ting sound resonated as the aluminum struck, jolting Tony’s arms. Its head reeled from the blow and bounced off the hard tile. A murky puddle of infected fluid trickled and swirled under its motionless head. Tony shook his left arm that now stung from the vibration of the impact. He looked back to the group and saw the terror in Billy and Gabe’s eyes; Nikki averted hers, embarrassed for the naked man. She knew him from town, everybody did and she was guilty of cracking a fat-joke here and there at poor Clancy Burrows’ expense. Suddenly, those jokes didn’t seem so funny anymore.