Picking his order of battle came naturally. Cade slowly stood up and calmly padded in the direction of the first zombie. Judging by her garb, in life, the middle aged woman had been a waitress. A bloody uniform hung in strands from her withered body, a greasy apron still encircled her waist riding above her short skirt. The nametag pinned near her left breast, confirmed his suspicion, her name was Vera. A towering blue beehive hair-do bobbed with every footstep and it was gradually losing its fight with gravity. Vera’s dead eyes noticed the meat coming towards her, thin bloodless lips curled over yellowed teeth as her mouth parted.
Cade noted the bite marks all over her exposed skin. Vera had been someone’s blue plate special; chunks of meat were missing from both sides of her thin neck, on the ends of both arms, strands of flesh and tendon dangled where Vera’s fingers used to be. Before a sound escaped, Cade plunged the matte black Gerber deep into her eye socket. It was a successful silent kill, the dry brown grass served to muffle the hollow sound her husk made striking the ground.
Daymon and Hosford looked on as Cade took the war to the dead.
The next walker had a badly mangled leg, its white femur bone was fully exposed, and the lack of muscle rendered the appendage virtually useless. Cade stepped over Vera and shadowed the limping zombie. The thing was half a head taller, but that would be to Cade’s advantage. Focusing on the bone directly below the ear the operator cocked his arm and swept the machete in a deadly arc.
Daymon kept a very sharp edge on the blade, the zombies head separated from its body cleanly. Cade watched it spin through the air like an extra point kick, bounce two times on the lawn and come to a stop; upright against the mailbox post. Inexplicably the eyes longingly tracked him as he crossed its path.
The only obstacle between Cade and the road was the pudgy, flesh-eating teenager tromping through the colorful flowers planted along the walk. Like a dark wraith, Cade approached from behind, and slipped his dagger effortlessly, between the first and second vertebrae, into the creature’s brain, he wrapped an arm around the things waist holding onto the limp body before gently placing it on the ground. He wiped the Gerber dagger on the ghoul’s Beastie Boys tee shirt and continued moving.
Cade forced his frame into the relatively thin cover of the tall row of hedges lining the front of the property and took a moment to catch his breath and assess his situation. For now he remained undetected, but the three ghouls that he had dispatched were promptly replaced by more of them; ambling from the back of the farmhouse.
In the open window, illuminated by pale moonlight, he could make out the portly lawyers silhouette. He wasn’t certain, but it appeared the Chris Farley lookalike was flashing him thumbs up.
Chapter 20
Outbreak Day 5
Schriever AFB
Colorado Springs, Colorado
Brook opened the door to the metal Quonset hut she would be calling home for the unforeseeable future. Her eyes were still transitioning from the brutal Colorado sunshine to the mineshaft like gloom inside the prefab metal dwelling when she was attacked around the waist by her diminutive eleven year old Raven.
“Mommy,” the pigtailed girl squealed in delight. Brook scooped her up and squeezed her tight. It had been many hours since mother and daughter had been together.
“Wow, you look like shit,” said Annie Desantos, who lay sprawled uncomfortably on top of a lumpy well-used mattress, nine-plus months of pregnant woman belly gloriously on display.
“Says the beached whale to her friend,” Brook replied, tight-lipped, suppressing a grin. Both women laughed after the exchange.
Annie’s daughters, Serena and Sierra came running with sunburned Dmitri in tow.
“Have you heard anything about our Dad?” the twins inquired in unison.
“And what about my Dad?” Raven asked, her brown eyes relaying anxiety and sadness, it was enough to make Brook want to cry. She held back the tears, and looked away, covertly wiping her eyes before looking back at the kids.
“Well girls,” after putting on her positive face, Brook bent at the waist so she was speaking directly to Serena and Sierra at their level, “I haven’t been told anything yet, about your Daddy or Raven’s, but I’m sure we’ll hear inbound helicopters any time now,” the girls received a comforting hug from Auntie Brook.
Raven continued to cling on to her mom, trying to acquire her undivided attention.
“Raven, we’ve already talked about this-but we can revisit it if you wish?”
Nodding her head in the affirmative, Raven’s gaze bored into her mom’s until Brook acquiesced and reassured her anew.
“If I know your Dad, as well as I think I do, he’s looting a Toys R Us as we speak, so that he has something special to give you when we are reunited.” Brook made sure to end the conversation on a positive note, because Raven had a tendency to only remember the last thing words spoken. Brook chalked it up to her daughter being eleven. “Your Dad is on his way as we speak and I wouldn’t be surprised if he returns with Mike in the same helicopter.”
Serena and Sierra beamed at the mention of their Dad, and jumped up and down in a display of giddy anticipation.
Brook gave the kids her best comforting smile and told them to go play.
Brook’s voice took on a more serious tone as her nurses training kicked in. “Have you had any contractions?”
“No, not today, I did have a spell of Braxton Hicks before the outbreak. Thank God the little guy didn’t come before the outbreak happened. I would’ve probably been at the hospital fighting those things off with a scalpel in one hand and a newborn in the other...thank God for small miracles.”
“Refresh my memory, when was your due date?”
“One week ago.” Annie arched her eyebrows.
“Shit. Pardon my French, kids.”
“No prob Mom,” Raven’s smartly retorted.
Brook asked Annie, “Do they have any obstetrics related medical equipment here?”
“Nope, the doctor said that the infirmary is only for inpatient stuff-small emergencies. Even though this is a big base, everybody went to the Air Force Academy in north of Colorado Springs to have their needs met.”
“That’s not gonna fly,” Brook said, a trace of concern creeping into her “work” voice.
“I don’t think we need to worry anyway. The girls were delivered without complications.” Annie’s glass was usually half full no matter the situation.
“All it takes is one little rupture on the uterine wall and you could bleed out. Besides this is a boy we’re talking about and you know as well as I do how much of a pain in the ass our boys can be,” Brook said, winking at Annie.
“What can we do? I sure as hell don’t want to go to a hospital...not with those things walking around.”
“I’m going to go and talk to Colonel Shrill and try to get us the basics, at the least. If I have to, I will go off the reservation on this one.” Brook gave Annie a pat on her leg, rubbed the boy in her belly and made direct eye contact with her, communicating what couldn’t be said aloud with the kids near. “Keep an eye on Raven until I return...?”
Annie nodded, fully aware that Brook might be away for awhile.
Chapter 21
Outbreak Day 5
Hampton’s Mercantile
Stanley, Idaho
Dan was pulling himself up off of the cold cement floor when he first detected the distant engine. Champ kept his tail swishing steadily back and forth, the only sound in the pitch black store room.
Dan knew better than to initiate a skirmish he probably wouldn’t win. Always an honest man, especially to himself, he knew full well his commando days were behind him. The idea was to lay low and let whoever was driving the vehicle go on their merry way.
It wasn’t Dan’s day in more ways than he yet knew. Squeaking brakes announced that the vehicle was stopping directly in front of the store.
A door opened and heavy-metal music escaped into the street. It sounded to Dan like only one
person had exited the vehicle, and then quickly slammed the door shut, leaving the engine running. The door opened noisily, this time Dan anticipated the jangling bell that had caused him to jump minutes ago. Determined footsteps pounded up and down the aisles. Cooler doors opened and closed.
“Greedy Bastards, motherfuckers left not one can of beer.”
The male voice was of the nasally variety. Dan had heard it before, but couldn’t quite place whose it was.
“Everyone fucks me over. The end of the world, and I still get no respect,” the man whined.
The absence of other voices and the fact that the grown man was nearly crying out loud, told Dan that Rodney Dangerfield was probably the only other person in the store. There may be others in the vehicle. Patience Dan, patience, he thought, while he listened to the temper tantrum.
The voice abruptly ceased, replaced by the steady swishing of the old dog’s tail.
“Who’s back there?”
Whoever it was, he sounded like a little kid, alone in the house and trying to summon up enough courage to enter a dark room.
“There are three of us and we got guns. Show yourself...now and no one gets hurt.”
The next thing the disembodied whiny voice said both baffled and amused Dan.
“Come out, Come out, wherever you are, I aint afraid of no zombies.
The man was obviously deranged. Dan remained silent, pistol firmly gripped in hand with the flashlight ready to blind the interloper or interlopers, whichever the case may be.
Leading with the barrel of his sawed-off shotgun, the man parted the plastic barrier and surveyed the room. A beam of light swept the floor, found Bo’s body and wavered for a second before it settled on Champ; illuminating the old dog and his noisemaking tail.
Placing the shotgun to his shoulder, the skinny man aimed at Champ. “Some fucking watchdog you are.”
“Woof,” Dan’s best big dog imitation elicited a yelp from the skinny silhouette framed in the doorway. Dan finally placed the voice; he couldn’t let the good old dog die at the hands of Mikey Connell, the town’s resident Jeffrey Dahmer in training. The piece of work had been known to mutilate animals, dead ones at first. Later he graduated to his neighbor’s live cats and dogs. Every time someone’s best friend went missing, Sheriff Blanda knew whom to talk to first.
A .45 caliber slug is about as big as they come, the hole it made when it struck the side of Mikey’s ribcage wasn’t evident, but the gaping exit wound was a sight to behold.
Little Mikey Connell went into shock before his shotgun clattered to the ground next to his twitching body.
Dan didn’t even have a chance to chastise PETA’s most wanted before a frothy last breath, bubbled between his bloody lips.
Chapter 22
Outbreak Day 6
Centers for Disease Control
Atlanta Georgia
Doctor Sylvester Fuentes was compact and wiry, so much so that his white lab coat actually wore him. A pair of reading glasses were perpetually perched on his forehead and a second pair dangled from a leash around his neck; in a drawer, next to his last half eaten bag of Oreos was a third identical pair-just in case. He was a brilliant microbiologist; forgetfulness and a penchant for inhaling Oreo cookies were his main flaws. Forgetting wasn’t a dangerous thing for a scientist, every step of an experiment had to be documented and Sylvester was always in the act of scribbling down his every thought. Sylvester’s life had become one continuous sticky note.
He popped an Oreo into his mouth and savored the dark chocolate as it melted in his mouth down to the sweet layer of white frosting. Currently he was hunched over, face pressed firmly to the eyepiece of the powerful electron microscope.
“Come on...stay dead...Damn.” The doctor, normally calm, cool and collected pounded his fist on the stainless counter, “This beastie cannot be tricked.”
The Yin to his Yang, Jessica Hanson always had a way of putting things into perspective. “At least...Doctor. We’ve got all the time in the world to sort this mess out. Unfortunately we do not have all of the Oreos in the world.”
Fuentes glared at his cohort-for mentioning the impending emergency- and put his face back onto the scope.
The cells in the dish were from a biopsy he performed on himself. Every time he introduced bodily fluid from an infected cadaver into the dish, so far without exception, Omega immediately attacked and began to assimilate the living cells.
Sylvester’s latest attempt was to see if the unaffected cells extracted from around his thalamus would protect other healthy tissue. If he could replicate the chemical reaction that spared the thalamus in the infected, then it would be the first step towards engineering a vaccine that might be able to fool the immune system into thinking all of the bodies cells were of the same type surrounding the thalamus.
It was a billion to one longshot with seven billion people’s lives at stake. Fuentes was no optimist when it came to this nasty bug. This was mankind’s extinction level event and from the outbreaks start, he had tried to warn anyone that would listen.
The outbreak had started on a Saturday and almost immediately the President declared martial law, ordering everyone to stay home. The facility was virtually abandoned; most of the staff went home to see if their family was safe and secure. Fuentes didn’t have the heart to try to keep them here; nor did he have the authority.
Now it was only the two of them: Doctor Sylvester Fuentes and the civilian Scientist Jessica Hanson. All communication was down, even the director of Health and Human Services hadn’t contacted them in two days and the President was at a secure and undisclosed location-or so they said before the world outside went silent. The many civilian contractors working at the Center for Disease Control failed to return on Monday.
To make any progress Fuentes needed to have more scientists working with him. His goal was to try and understand how the Omega virus worked. It was very simple how it killed the host; but how it enabled the host to reanimate and restart certain functions in the body was the mystery. Upon introduction into the host, the virus began spreading throughout the body and replicating exponentially. If the patient didn’t die from a major wound, trauma or rapid blood loss then the virus would work its way through the body and shut down most of the organs necessary for “life” as it is universally defined. For some unknown reason Omega left the part of the brain related to basic function unharmed. The thalamus which is the relay station of the brain was mostly unaffected. It processes visual, auditory, and somatosensory. Most of these sensory signals still traveled through the infected body, with the exception of the somatosensory which relays signals from skin and internal organs. Most importantly also located in the thalamus is the part of the brain that enables motor control, allowing the dead to walk. The synapses were muddied-so to speak, and didn’t fire like normal living humans. Unfortunately the remaining function is enough to keep the infected moving and hunting for food.
So far, in the big scheme of things, Doctor Fuentes didn’t know jack shit. To fully engineer an agent to block and or fight off Omega was the logical first step. The big issue was the fact that once infected, the victim had only seconds before the virus began replicating in the bloodstream. Once in the bloodstream it was only a matter of time before it reached the brain. Fuentes theorized that his only chance for success was to develop a proactive immunization and not an after the fact antidote. It was a known fact that most people, once infected, were past the point of no return anyway.
The first carrier detained in Washington D.C. was a Chinese male, mid thirties who carried no form of identification. Because all of the airports in the states now used powerful facial recognition software to screen all passengers the man was quickly identified. It was determined that he entered into the U.S. from China on the day before the outbreak, posing as a diplomatic courier. The man was no government pencil pusher, he had the physique of an athlete and scars that one only obtained from being gunshot. The Doctor had a hunch that the Alpha was Chinese
Special Forces or a member of the MSS Chinese intelligence services.
Curiously enough the man had two needle marks on his left arm and Fuentes strongly doubted that the infected Alpha specimen was a junkie.
“Doctor, something’s agitating the walkers outside.” The waifish woman delivering the warning was a longtime member of the civilian staff at the Center for Disease Control. She hadn’t yet decided if it was a good or a bad thing but it happened to be Jessica Hanson’s weekend rotation at the lab. Before Omega, the entire staff of the Level Four Containment wing had been working diligently trying to figure out the origin of a new strain of the hemorrhagic fever that had popped up recently in the Congo. It had already been knocked down, but during the week their focus was on preempting another flare up. That was before the vicious Omega virus was introduced into the population of the United States.
Doctor Hanson continued to monitor the action outside. The ghouls were looking skyward, fixated on something in the sky, out of the cameras range.
Probably a flock of migrating birds was Hanson’s first thought. The woman in the lab coat swiped the touchscreen. The picture changed and started to cycle through all of the different live views streaming from the outside cameras. Scores of walking dead dominated nearly every camera shot. Nothing out of the ordinary presented itself, until the rooftop image flashed on the screen.
“That’s what the infected were interested in...and I assumed they were salivating over some birds.”
Doctor Fuentes sounded very impatient, “Don’t hold back...what were they watching? Enlighten me please.”
Soldier On: Surviving the Zombie Apocalypse Page 11
