The Tide (Tide Series Book 1)

by Melchiorri, Anthony J

Meredith’s heart settled, and she slipped her hand out of her jacket. This was no crazy person, and he certainly didn’t look like a Skull. By his unabashed friendliness, she could tell they had no idea what was going on in the rest of the world. Maybe these two had come for a couple days’ hike. Hell, maybe they had left a car somewhere within walking distance. They were mere miles from Frederick, where Dom’s daughters lived, and she might be able to convince them to give her a ride there on her way to Fort Detrick—if the roads proved traversable.

  “Hello,” she said. “I’m surprised I haven’t seen anyone else around these parts.”

  “Me, too,” the man said. “I’m Eric, by the way. This is Shauna.”

  Shauna waved but said nothing.

  “We dozed off,” Eric continued. “Been taking the trail from Maine, headed all the way to Georgia. Running from the cold, as they say. You come from the south?”

  So much for a ride. “Sort of. I’m not trying to make the whole hike,” Meredith said. “I take it you haven’t heard the news.”

  “We’ve pretty much cut ourselves off from civilization for the past several weeks,” Shauna said.

  Meredith hated to be the one to break it to them. “There’s been an outbreak.”

  “Outbreak?” Eric said, stepping out from the shade of the shelter. “Like the flu?”

  “Worse,” Meredith said. “There’s some disease turning people into crazed killers.”

  “Whoa, lady.” Eric held his hands in a supplicating gesture. “You high or something?”

  Meredith snorted. She knew nothing she said would get through to these people. She was going to have to prove it to them. She slung off her pack and rested it against one of the posts on the shelter’s porch and dug out her hand-cranked radio and started it up. Adjusting the tuning knob, she searched for a station consisting of more than static.

  A panicked, low voice broke through the noise. “—now declared a national state of emergency. All listeners are urged to stay indoors and avoid all contact with persons who exhibit signs of aggression.”

  Eric’s skeptical expressions faded. “This isn’t some kind of sick practical joke, is it?”

  Meredith shot the man a look as though he was stupid and wondered why she was even wasting her time. But she couldn’t force herself to keep walking and leave these people completely ignorant to the events unfolding around them. “Keep listening.”

  “With phone lines and cell service down across the country, it’s been difficult to reach the CDC for current information,” the announcer continued. “Several hours ago we received a wire indicating all physical contact should be avoided with, we quote, ‘aggressive persons.’”

  Meredith turned the radio’s volume down.

  “Are these, like, zombies?” Eric asked.

  Meredith shook her head. “Not exactly...”

  Eric backed away from Meredith, his eyes wide. Shauna hid behind him.

  “Don’t worry,” Meredith said. “I’m not an ‘aggressive person.’”

  “Why the hell are we supposed to believe you?”

  Meredith recalled the images she’d seen in Jay’s video feed and from Dom’s debriefing. “If I was, you’d already be dead.”

  “So what are we supposed to do?” Shauna asked, her voice shaky.

  “Find shelter,” Meredith said. “Something more substantial than a lean-to.” The radio droned on, reporting power and communication outages along with estimated casualties. Meredith really couldn’t spare any more time on these two hippies, even if they were a couple of clueless kids. But they were so young, barely into their twenties. If she’d had children, they would probably be the same age. She had to focus on finding Dom’s daughters and heading to Detrick. Her attempts to contact the Army base had so far been thwarted since all normal modes of communication had failed.

  Eric paced the shelter’s porch. “Maybe we’re safer on the trail, away from civilization while it explodes, man.” He locked eyes with Shauna.

  Meredith glanced at their backpacks resting in the shelter. They’d made it this far on foot. They were clearly resourceful and self-sufficient. They knew how to survive a long hike, but could they survive what looked to be the crumbling, temporary or not, of civilization?

  “You have weapons?” Meredith asked.

  “A hatchet, a couple knives,” Shauna replied.

  Meredith pictured the Skulls again. If the Oni Agent was spreading, a couple of camping tools wouldn’t cut it. “No guns?”

  “No way, man.” Eric shook his head, which caused a cloud of dust to lift from his curls.

  “You ever shoot one?” She reached into her pocket, wondering if they needed her pistol more than she did.

  “I haven’t,” Shauna said. “But he was a Boy Scout. You did at camp, right?”

  “Black powder rifles, twenty-twos, a shotgun once,” Eric said. “But that was it.”

  Meredith wondered why she was even bothering. Millions stood to suffer from the spread of the Oni Agent, yet she was concerning herself with these two she’d known for all of fifteen minutes. She should move on, but then again, traveling in a group might prove to be a boon for survival. After all, they had equipment and supplies to live off the trail. “Do you have any family or friends nearby?”

  “Got some in Georgia,” Eric said.

  “My cousins live near Savannah,” Shauna added.

  One of the Skulls that washed ashore had been discovered near Savannah. Georgia had been one of the first states to declare a state of emergency. She didn’t bother telling them; it would only make things worse.

  “I’m headed to Frederick,” Meredith said. She recalled Dom’s frequent stories of camping and hunting trips with his daughters. “I’m meeting up with a friend’s family. I think they have guns, and it might not be a bad idea to see if they have anything to spare for you.”

  Shauna appeared skeptical. “Strangers are just going to like, give us guns? If everything’s as bad as you say it is, why would anyone do that?”

  “You’ll have to trust me on this. Either way, I’m getting off the trail and heading to Frederick. I don’t know what it’s going to be like, but you’re welcome to join me.”

  Shauna toyed with a water bottle clipped to her belt. Reports of spreading violence in populated regions continued over the radio, filling up the silence between the three.

  Eric gazed northward along the trail. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s safer out here.”

  Shauna retreated into the shelter. She packed up her bag and spoke as she did. “Just because these crazies are in the cities now doesn’t mean they won’t be out here soon.”

  “But we can hide out here,” Eric said.

  Shauna returned, her pack secured. She pulled her shoulder straps taut and clipped the sternum strap across her chest. “For how long?”

  Eric let out a long, frustrated sigh. “Man, maybe you’re right.” He headed into the shelter and prepped his own pack. “You asked me about weapons. Do you have any?”

  Meredith slipped her pack off and lifted the corner of her jacket to reveal the pistol. “And I’ve got a Pack-Rifle, too.” She patted her hiking bag.

  “You normally hike the Appalachian Trail armed, or is it because of these crazy zombie people?” Eric asked, skepticism plain on his face again.

  “I just like to be prepared,” Meredith said. She checked her watch. It was almost noon. “Are you ready? If we’re lucky, we can make it to Frederick before nightfall.”

  -19-

  Dom ran toward the source of the screams. Thomas dashed beside him, and they cornered into the bay. Lauren and Peter, caught in the middle of donning their positive pressure suits, stood behind the window in the BSL4 portion of the lab. Near a hospital bed in the normal bay, Divya stood frozen in one corner with her mouth agape as she stared through the window of the isolation ward. Dom swept the room until he saw what terrified her.

  Scott clawed at the mechanic they’d brought aboard from the rig. The mechanic was y
elling something in a language Dom couldn’t understand and held his arms up to protect his face. Each swipe of Scott’s hands drew blood. Miguel rushed Scott and swatted him with his prosthetic arm. Scott turned his attention on Miguel, leaving the mechanic a bloody mess.

  “Scott!” Dom slammed his fist on the window to the isolation ward.

  The Hunter turned to face Dom. Spider webs of scarlet blood vessels lit up his eyes. He held up a hand with long yellow nails. White bandages still clung to his abdomen as his muscles tensed. Before anyone could react, he smashed the clear acrylic. The window quivered but held. He threw his shoulder into it, baring his teeth. The Hunter was acting like one of the Skulls, but he didn’t quite look like one.

  At least not yet.

  Lauren jumped to the intercom and pushed the button. “Miguel, you’ve got to sedate him! Peter and I won’t get to you through the decon chamber in time, and we can’t risk contaminating the rest of the ship!”

  Miguel half nodded and backed into a corner as Scott continued to throw himself into the window. Dom and Thomas slammed their fists against the glass in an attempt to distract the sick Hunter.

  “See the drawer behind you?” Lauren said. “There are individually wrapped hypodermics.”

  Miguel opened it and pulled one out. He gestured as if to ask, Now what?

  “There’s liquid midazolam in a small brown glass bottle. It’s a sedative. I think it’s on the top shelf of the cabinet behind you.”

  Miguel scoured the bottles. He knocked one over and reached out to catch it, but he missed and it shattered on the floor.

  Scott swiveled, drawn by the noise. Dom drummed his fists on the window louder, trying to draw Scott’s attention, but it didn’t work. Scott lunged at Miguel again. The Hunter dodged and jumped to the opposite side of the room. Scott followed, and Miguel dove under one of the empty hospital beds. He came out the other side and sprinted back to the medicine cabinet. He scanned the bottles again.

  Dom and Thomas pounded on the window, yelling.

  “Over here!” Dom said.

  Scott ignored him and shoved the hospital bed out of his way. Miguel held up his prosthetic arm to protect himself from his enraged compatriot. Then the mechanic swung his IV pole at Scott. It connected with the back of the Hunter’s skull, and he sprawled across the tiled floor. Blood dripped down the mechanic’s arms, and his chest heaved in labored breaths.

  “Come on, Scott!” Dom yelled. “Look here!”

  Scott’s neck twisted back and forth, his eyelids twitching. Victoriously, Miguel held up a small glass bottle and plunged the hypodermic needle into its rubber top.

  “You need one milligram,” Lauren said. “The label should tell you how much volume that corresponds to.”

  Miguel nodded, withdrawing the solution. When Scott drew himself up to his knees, the mechanic swung the IV pole again. This time, Scott caught it and tore it from the man’s grip. His mouth opened, and he let out an ear-splitting screech as he reared an arm back for another attack. Miguel leapt for Scott. He caught the man with his prosthetic and stabbed with the hypodermic. The needle bit into Scott’s flesh, and Miguel pressed down on the plunger as he held Scott in place. Dom flattened his palms against the glass, feeling helpless.

  The oil rig worker fell back against a bed and scratched at his wounds. He shivered, his eyes on Scott. The Hunter’s movements became clumsier and slower until his body fell limp. Standing above Scott, Miguel clenched and unclenched his fists.

  “Miguel, can you secure him to the bed?” Lauren said, pressing the intercom button. Her voice sounded shakier. “And when you do, make sure you do not break your skin on his nails.”

  Miguel nodded. He lugged Scott’s body onto his bed and retrieved patient restraint straps with Lauren’s directions. Once Scott was secured, he moved to help the mechanic.

  “Hold on,” Lauren said. “Wait until we get in there.”

  Once Lauren cleared the decon chamber of the lab, Dom approached her in the main room of the medical bay. “What the hell’s going on?”

  Lauren started donning a fresh positive pressure biohazard suit. “I think Scott’s becoming one of them.”

  “We can see that,” Thomas said.

  “But Miguel’s fine, and so is the guy from the rig.” Dom pointed to the mechanic still cradling his lacerated arms. “I want to speak with him. Maybe he can tell us what the fuck just happened.”

  Lauren hesitated. “Get your own space suit and join us then.”

  Dom dressed with Peter and Lauren. He helped them zip up the back of their suits and duct-taped their gloves around their cuffs. A question burned in his mind, and he wasn’t sure if he was ready for an answer. He glanced at Miguel again. The man was not only an employee but also a friend. Hell, he was practically family. “Why hasn’t Miguel shown symptoms like Scott?”

  “We’ve come up with a theory,” Peter said. “It’s a bit farfetched, but as long as Miguel wasn’t hurt in the scuffle, I think he’ll be okay.”

  “And the other guy?” Dom stepped into the first chamber leading to the isolation ward.

  Lauren’s eyes seemed to lose their brightness. “I thought he was going to be okay, but with those wounds he just sustained...”

  “If our theory proves true, there might not be anything we can do for him now,” Peter finished for her.

  ***

  An orange glow lit up the living room. Dusk settled, and the neighborhood remained unnaturally quiet. Kara clutched her shotgun and watched her mother toy with the landline in the kitchen.

  “I can’t get ahold of the Weavers or your sister.” Bethany’s face was pale. The wounds on her cheek from the crazy lady seeped a yellow ooze that didn’t stop no matter how many times Kara had tried to help her mother clean it. Sweat trickled down her face.

  Kara’s own flesh prickled with goosebumps, from both the chilly evening air and the fear still clinging to her bones. She watched her mother’s face wrinkle in worry before the woman steeled herself.

  “I’m going to the Weavers.”

  “But those people,” Kara said.

  “Send a hundred of them after me—I’m still going to find Sadie.” Bethany picked up her rifle. “I want you to stay here and keep everything locked up until I get back. Okay?”

  Kara nodded pathetically. She felt like a child, a six-year-old wanting to tell her mother not to leave her alone in the dark with the monsters. But she wasn’t a kid anymore, and her sister might need their mother more.

  “Don’t let anyone in.” Bethany tuned the emergency radio on the kitchen counter. She tried playing with the dial for a moment but got only static. “See if you can find out what’s going on while I’m gone. I want you to tell me everything when I get back.”

  Again, Kara bobbed her head. It was a menial task, an almost pointless exercise. She already knew what was going on. The world was going to shit, and her mother wanted to go out into it after her sister.

  “Don’t worry.” Bethany squeezed Kara’s shoulder. “I’m just going a couple of houses away. I’ll get to the Weavers and bring back your sister in five minutes flat, okay?”

  Bethany blinked her eyes as if she was trying to regain focus.

  “You okay, Mom?”

  “Yeah, just—” Her eyes rolled back, and her body collapsed like a tent without poles. Her rifle clattered across the tiled floor.

  “Mom!” Kara set her shotgun down and rushed to Bethany’s side. She dropped to her knees and bent over her to check Bethany’s pulse. A faint throb pushed against her fingers. Maggie ran into the kitchen, her tail between her legs, and started whining.

  “Not now, Maggie!” Kara pushed the dog aside. She pressed the back of her hand to Bethany’s forehead. Heat radiated into Kara’s hand. She eyed the wounds along her mother’s cheek. Again, she pictured the woman in their front yard scraping Bethany’s face. She couldn’t help wondering if that small injury, at the time insignificant, had led to her mother’s condition.

 
; If Kara hadn’t hesitated with the lug wrench, the psycho wouldn’t have had the chance to hurt her mom.

  But now was no time to dwell on regrets. She rummaged through the drawers until she found first aid supplies. Armed with a bottle of Neosporin spray, rubbing alcohol, a wash cloth, and a box full of bandages, she went to work. A quick washdown with the rubbing alcohol was followed by a dose of Neosporin before Kara bandaged the wound. She doused the washcloth with cold water and then held it over her mother’s forehead.

  Bethany didn’t wake up.

  Kara’s limbs shook. She knew the effort was useless, but she grabbed a phone and dialed 9-1-1. As expected, no answer. No doctors, no ambulances, no one to tell her how to help her mother. A tear rolled down her cheek as she wondered where her sister was, where her father was, where everyone else in the world was right now while she watched her mother fade in her arms.

  A groan escaped Bethany’s lips, and her eyes fluttered halfway open. “Dom...Dom...”

  “Mom, it’s me. Kara.”

  Bethany’s lips curled slightly. “Kara. It’s so good to see you home. How’s college?”

  “Mom...” Kara began, trying to pull herself together before she lost it. She mustered all the courage she could. “Mom, let’s get you to the couch. Okay? I think you need to rest.”

  She offered her mother a hand and slowly lifted her to her feet. They took slow, careful steps until they reached the living room, where Bethany readily slumped onto the couch. Maggie placed one paw on the couch’s armrest while she whined.

  “Leave her alone, Maggie,” Kara scolded.

  Kara paced back into the bathroom to scour the cabinet for more medicine. She wasn’t sure what to get, but there had to be something else, something she could do. Finding nothing else that she thought would help her mother, she went back to the kitchen. She toyed with the radio as she deliberated what to do. Leave her mom to rest? Force her to drink a bunch of water?

  As she twisted the radio dial, a voice came into focus over the static. “—more fires in Baltimore and bodies strewn along the street.” Kara’s eyes widened, and she held her breath, intent on the radio. “We’re getting reports that similar scenes are happening all over the United States. Europe, Asia, everywhere...it’s...it’s madness.”