by Wick Welker
“They’re trying to get at some generator or something in the building. I wonder…” Elise leaned over the wall as far as she could to get a better look at the façade of the mall directly beneath her. “I think they’ve maybe busted into a loading bay garage right below us. Whatever that noise is coming from, it’s getting them all riled up, and attracting them into the building.”
Sheffield approached the side of the roof. “Do you think they can pile high enough to get up here? Did you ever see them do that?”
“Yes, but never as high as we are. I doubt that they would all stay in place long enough to start building a mound of bodies up to here.”
As she backed away from the edge, the roof beneath them shook. Elise stopped moving and looked over at Sheffield, who gazed back at her with wide eyes.
“What was that?” he asked.
She held out her arms and waited. The roof stirred once again with a low rumble, and she thought she felt an almost imperceptible swaying of her feet. She stepped toward Sheffield as the motions of the roof settled down. “We need to get away from here right now,” she said.
Sheffield was about to speak up when the booming thump of helicopter blades cut through the air on the distant side of the mall. He turned and saw it approaching closer to the roof, and then looked back at Elise.
They stood and looked at each other for an instant, trying to figure out what they would say. Small operations of scenarios worked themselves into dead ends in their minds as they both attempted to offer one another solutions.
It was Elise who tried to speak first as the ground beneath her sunk. The force of the roof pushing up onto her feet had disappeared, confusing her balance with the surprising sensation of a sudden free fall. The crumbling beneath her had happened too fast for the events to register in her mind; the next thing that she could understand was the rush of wires, cables, and rebar flowing before her eyes and cascading with her into a pit of infected rubble below. There were small, punctuated pains striking all over her body as debris kicked and spun off of her. The waterfall of cinderblocks and sheetrock flowed around her as she plunged. The waking parts of her consciousness had quickly receded, and her mind only thought in the survival terms of being alive or being dead. She couldn’t decide if she was actually still alive within the darkness of the falling building or if she had died already, having been buried alive by the guts of the mall.
After the long fall, she finally struck a hard surface, and landed in the cool blackness of the caved-in loading bay below. She remembered the image of Sheffield looking at her with the confused expression of someone who was in the middle of processing what was happening. His frozen stare and blank eyes flashed in her mind as she sunk away into either unconsciousness or death.
She awoke in a flash, feeling as if the crash through multiple levels of a building had happened in an instant without time, and that she was transported from the top of the roof to the ground below. Her cognitive brain suddenly powered on making her realize what had happened: the horde below had pushed into the weight retaining walls, causing the entire side of the building to collapse. With this realization came the very real idea that she was in a demolition pit full of the infected. Not knowing how badly she was hurt, she moved her limbs, whimpering in pain from her right arm. She also felt a thick pain boring into her left buttock, which got worse as she tried to move away. Squirming in every direction made her shudder in pain, and she knew that something had punctured her from behind, securing her in a sitting position.
Opening her eyes to only darkness, she moved her wrists in circles to burrow through debris around her. After she felt her right forearm slacken and grind at the wrist, she left it limp, and let her left arm do all the work. Echoes of booming sounds penetrated the rubble from above causing her to work faster, fearing that the building’s collapse was causing explosions. As she finally freed her left wrist and brought her hand toward her, a sudden and sick thought filled her mind, making her stop all movement. She couldn’t necessarily think of why she wanted to get out of the collapsed building.
The struggling machinery of her survival instincts stopped as she remembered that the last thing that meant anything in her life, her job, had most likely vanished with the outbreak. It was the last thread of purpose that she could find, and now that it was gone, she couldn’t think of anything else that meant anything. Maybe I could just die here and suddenly know if James and the kids still exist somewhere, she thought. I could find out in maybe the next instant.
The loud booming sound somewhere above her only increased in intensity, arousing her from her stupor. In between the intermittent sound, she heard what she was waiting to hear: the groans of the horde. They were all around her, tumbled up inside the wreckage of the rubble. They moaned and coughed, reaching through dirt and metal toward the sky. The panic of being eaten alive choked in her throat and made her move her free arm and legs again, ignoring the pain coming from her buttock and back. She pressed her feet down and tried to free herself, dry heaving from pain. After another lunge from her thighs, she felt the flesh tearing from her upper thigh, and blood flow down her leg as she finally freed herself. Finding that she could now climb upward, she reached her arm above her head, and sifted through debris. She stopped suddenly at the muffled sound of voices right above her.
Elise yelled at the crumbled cement above her head and heard hurried footsteps and more voices. In the next instant, skylight flooded her view from above, where she could now see a helicopter suspended several stories up. A single harness was floating above her.
*****
For several days, Elise lay in a small cot mostly delirious from pain. Her body was a constant churning mess of fever and fluids. She moved her hips from one position to the next, trying to alternate the pressure on her backside. Each time she moved she felt strips of her skin clinging to the blood-soaked sheets beneath her. She routinely passed out from the pain only to wake up to start the cycle once again. She would’ve been able to find relief from the open flesh wound running from her buttock down the back of her thighs, but both her hands were strapped tightly to the side of the cot with duct tape, forcing her to lay prostrate.
Initially, no one came into the dark room for several hours after she awoke there. She stirred with vague memories of being lifted upward toward helicopter blades. Soon a man brought her food and water and set it on her chest, freeing her uninjured arm momentarily so she could feed herself. He would then secure her hand back and leave the room. This had happened twice a day for what Elise thought had been one week.
After the first week, the man came only once a day, and would sometimes even skip a day. After he silently ignored every word Elise said to him, she gave up trying to talk. Throughout the feverish nights she could only assume that Sheffield and the baby were dead, either from the building collapse, or being gunned down from the people who rescued her. Into the second week of captivity, she was amazed that she hadn’t died yet of infection hitting her bloodstream. She was also amazed that the only thing the man had done to her was feed her.
After another week of the tortuous rituals to which she had grown accustomed, the door to the small room opened, and a new figure with an unfamiliar stature stood in the light. The man stepped in and closed the door behind him as the light from the hallway disappeared, leaving them alone in the room. She wrenched her neck up to get a better look at the man.
“Quien eres tu?” she said through cracked lips.
“Shh,” the man said gently and sat down on the cot next to her belly. “I’ve come a long way to meet you, Madame Ambassador. We have much to talk about. My name is Malik.”
*****
North of the Popocatépetl Mountain, a city decayed. Its inner core of buses and busy foot traffic now smoldered with the ashes of lifeless bodies. Dead bodies, once consigned to earthly graves, stubbornly walked the streets with a new appetite. As the inner city had succumbed to infestation, the undead pillaged the outer city gas stations and motels.
The desperate refugees of the outbreak were pulled from their holes and swarmed by the mobs of their fallen neighbors.
As the metropolitan area of nearly nine million people seethed outward, the horde discovered that fresh flesh had grown scarce. The mass of bodies expanded beyond the city, spilling into the vast Mexican desert. As a snaking caravan, the infection spread down highways and through small towns. The northern pueblos served as fresh supply as the horde rolled on, converting the inhabitants. From one city to the next, the horde grew in numbers as it burst forth.
At Monterrey the horde swelled once more, reinforcing its soldiers. It rolled with the chaos of a storm and was dictated by the laws of a river: following the path of least resistance. Trickling up through the country, it seeped into Chihuahua and found new prey. From its wake of ruin, the horde looked to its northern neighbor and groaned with hunger.
Chapter Twelve: Bethesda, Maryland
“I always thought I was going to see you again.”
“Under these circumstances?”
“No, no, of course not. I just thought over the last year or two…”
“What?”
“I thought of what a shame it was.”
“Yeah, it’s a damn shame,” Stark said sarcastically as he stood over the bed. He kept his arms crossed.
“It’s a shame that I had to put on such false pretenses when we were working together back in D.C.”
“What do you mean?”
“You don’t know?” Beckfield asked. He leaned over the side of his bed and coughed.
“Is this when we were trying to figure out what was causing the most rapid epidemic that has ever been known to man? Is that what you’re referring to?”
“Yes.”
“You’re talking about how the entire country was crumbling away and you knew exactly what was causing it but didn’t say anything?”
Beckfield grimaced. “Yes, that is what it would look like from your perspective. I understand, Dr. Stark. It was just such a shame that I had to act like I was belittling you. I acted like I was undermining you, and for that I truly do apologize. If it makes you feel any better, I secretly knew your potential while I watched you work. I was very surprised I had never heard of you. I mean, an infectious disease researcher with a doctorate in electromagnetism? You are truly one of a kind.”
“The reason you never heard about me was because my career was intentionally destroyed by an asshole much like you.”
“You’re referring to Dr. Crimmel?”
“Yes.”
“We have a very common enemy in that man. For years he was trying to steal my virus.”
“We had that enemy in common. He’s dead now and killed millions of people with his blunder of trying to smuggle the damn virus out of the country.”
“Yes, I suppose he is although I do wonder if there was more to the outbreak than just him. I do wonder something, Reg.”
“Don’t call me by my first name.”
“Oh, of course. Dr. Stark. I wonder why you refer to me as an… asshole?” Beckfield was lying on his side on the hospital bed, his eyebrows tilting upward above his glasses.
Stark blew frustration out of his lips. “I really don’t want to engage in any sort of conversation about the brief time we worked together. I’m sure you’re trying to set up some elaborate argument about why you’re justified in doing what you did and how you’re still engaged in some noble cause of curing all the cancers, etcetera, etcetera. I just don’t have time for it, and I really don’t care why you did what you did.”
“Dr. Stark, you will listen to my arguments whether you like it or not.” Beckfield’s lips puckered with arrogance.
“Oh, and why is that?”
“Because there is something very, very secret that I know, and you do not, Mr. White-House-Chief-of-Staff. I suggest you pull up a chair.”
Stark stared down at him. “How could you possibly have any idea what I know and what I don’t know?”
“Because you’re here. You’re standing right there. See?” He pointed his index finger down at Stark’s feet. “You’re just standing there?” He looked back up and gave a wry smile.
“I believe they found you chained to a bed?”
“Yes.”
“Usually, when you chain someone up like a prisoner, you don’t give them all your secrets too. I doubt the terrorists of the Sirr told you anything.”
Beckfield stared back.
“Prove it. Prove to me that you’re worth my time,” Stark said.
“I can tell you where all the attacks have been.”
“So can any housewife watching cable news.”
“I can tell you where they’re going to be next.”
“I can’t trust any predictions you make.” Stark kept his face frozen.
“Fine.” Beckfield rolled over and adjusted his blanket. “I can tell you things…”
“What are you, a troll under the bridge? Stop being so cryptic.”
“I’ve assumed you’ve received newly infected people to study?”
“Yes.”
“Have they been behaving… different?”
“No.”
“Well now, you’re just lying, Dr. Stark. Tell me, it’s okay. These new infected people are… different, aren’t they?” Beckfield said and smiled.
“From every assay I’ve done, down to the electron microscope and crystallography, that virus is identical to the same outbreak that happened in New York.”
“No, no. I’m not asking if the virus looks the same. I’m asking if the infected people have been behaving in… unexpected ways.”
Stark continued his stoic stare.
“Dr. Stark, you’ve already given me the information by your unwillingness to answer. You may be a genius when it comes to electromagnetism, but you have a terrible poker face.”
“Yes, they act different,” Stark admitted.
“And how so?” Beckfield asked as if he already knew the response.
“The specimen that we have now has responded oddly to magnetic fields.”
“In what way?”
“Why would I tell you?”
“Because you need my help.”
Stark sighed. “A infected man broke free of the magnetic field and has started to consume…” Stark looked away.
“Let me guess, metallic objects?”
Stark looked back down at Beckfield. “Yes, and, and now when we looked at him under a CT scan, there’s this strange mesh-like pattern of metal that has wrapped around his entire musculoskeletal system.”
“Really?” Beckfield sat up in bed with surprise. “It’s around his whole body?”
“That’s right.”
“What is the metal made of?”
Stark shook his head. “No, no, now it’s time for you to give me a little information.”
“I am not your enemy, Dr. Stark. Please stop interrogating me like one.” Beckfield lay back in bed. “I’m trying to help you. I’m trying to help our country and prevent another outbreak here.”
“Then talk!” Stark uncrossed his arms and rubbed his forehead in impatience.
“Not while you’re treating me like the damn Taliban.”
“I don’t have time for you anymore.” Stark turned from the bed and headed for the door.
“You think you’re so different from me. You think you’re all noble with your new shiny statue they made for you—think you’re trying to save the world again. I’m not saying everything I’ve done has been perfect.”
Stark turned at the door and laughed. “No, I wouldn’t say that either. You invented a nanovirus that nearly destroyed our country.”
“It’s the much less remembered act of cutting your losses and continuing in adversity that gets no praise. You may save thousands by your work, but I will clean humanity of every known disease. Once a goal consumes you, nothing else really matters, even if you have to sacrifice millions of lives. When something becomes much bigger than any one person, you have to keep g
oing, which I believe is much more noble than doing what obviously seems moral on the surface. It’s men like me that change history.”
Stark shook his head. “Yes, I’m not doubting that you’ve changed history.”
“I was mostly like you earlier in my career. I would’ve thought the same about me, too.”
“I’m not about to be the person that you can finally vomit all of your rationalizations over. I don’t care why you do the things you do.”
“Maybe you’d care to know that I have recovered from pancreatic cancer?”
“Oh really?” Stark responded with a high, sarcastic voice.
“Yes. I realized that I had it about a year ago. Grave prognosis,” Beckfield added playfully.
“Yes it is. I’m guessing you’re going to suggest that you cured yourself?”
“Why don’t you just go ahead and run a CT of my abdomen and tell me what you see?”
“I’m not going to do that.”
“Yes, you will. I’m not going to tell you another word until you look at my pancreas. I need you to see with your own eyes what has happened.”
“You are an asshole,” Stark said, walking out.
*****
Stark sat down at a large conference table in an empty room and let out a long breath. He looked up at the blank screen of a teleconference television mounted on the wall and waited. He felt stupid for what had happened in the electromagnetic lab and even worse that he had no idea why it had happened. Two weeks of long hours and he hadn’t gotten anywhere. Worse, he completely fumbled his supposed interrogation with Beckfield and felt like whatever upper hand he had was completely gone.
He reconsidered what it was that was actually bothering him. There was a real reason surfacing below him about to explode, but he kept it at bay. There was a spark of recognition in the way that Beckfield looked at him. As if he and Beckfield were somehow contemporaries. He let a shudder slide down him as the light on the teleconference screen flicked on, with at least a dozen small squares of faces staring back at Stark.
