by Tom Calen
“Three are still asleep, and Beth is on a morphine drip so I doubt you’ll be able to get much sense out of her. Carl, the one you spoke with in the shop, is awake but he needs rest so don’t press him too hard.”
Paul nodded in acknowledgement as he passed the doctor and entered the room. ‘Don’t press too hard,’ he thought, does he think I am going to interrogate him? He could only assume that doctor related the man’s agitation to being moved to something Paul had done to spur on the action. Glancing across the beds, he saw the seven laying beneath thick coverlets that held the hotel’s logo. Each patient was attached to an IV drip, some had two or three bags on hooks, and he could already see improvements from the short hours of hydration. A chair had been placed beside one bed which Paul assumed held Carl. Though he had talked with the man before, the person in the bed was almost unrecognizable. The dried layer of dirt and grime had been washed away, like the others his head had been shaved due to an infestation of lice and fleas, and his face held only traces of the pallor it had had earlier. Lowering himself into the chair, Paul at first thought he was asleep, but the man’s eyes quickly darted open.
“I’m sorry,” he said with a new strength in his voice.
Taken aback by the man’s first words, Paul spoke quickly, “For what?”
“For attacking you. For being afraid of you.”
“You don’t have to apologize, Carl. I understand.” Paul could feel his heart break for the man and he hoped his words carried the weight of sincerity he felt. “My name is Paul Jenson.”
Carl raised his right hand and Paul took it gently as the man introduced himself, even though he had already shown he knew his name. For the next few minutes, he listened intently as the man recounted a harrowing tale of survival and escape.
Before the outbreak, Carl had been long retired from a career in banking. He and his wife, Grace, had raised four children and twice as many grandchildren before a tumor claimed her life. His days after her passing had been difficult, but he struggled on and filled the void by being an over-indulgent grandfather. The two children that lived nearest to him in a small town outside of San Antonio contracted the virus and in turn infected their own families when the transition was completed. The man paused, words failing and tears filling his eyes, when he alluded to “giving them peace.” Paul, having lost his own wife and child, could understand the man’s pain and steered the conversation to events more recent.
“There were over a hundred of us at one point,” he said. “We collected as much food as we could and hunkered down in an apartment building, waiting for the military. When they didn’t come, this was probably six months after the virus, we began to plan how we would survive on our own. We knew we were pretty safe in the building, but eventually food ran out, so did our bullets. Every time we would go out to look for food, the infected… Tils, you called them? Well, the Tils attacked and our numbers dropped. But, soon they weren’t the problem. It was the Horde that we had to watch out for.”
“Who are they?” Paul asked. It had been the man’s first mention of them that had his mind working rapidly. The way the man reacted to the idea of them before, he felt it best to allow Carl to get to it in his own time; he had suffered enough trauma, Paul would do his best to avoid compounding it.
“Thieves, at first. Maybe two years in, we started seeing them. Dozens at first, but their numbers grew as quickly as ours dropped. They arrived on motorcycles and in trucks, tearing through homes taking food, supplies, weapons. If they caught you out searching yourself, they’d take what you’d found and you were lucky if they didn’t beat you. Eventually, we’d find others like us and they would tell us about the Horde. How they’d begun killing other survivors, raping women and girls right out in the open, making the fathers and husbands watch. The stories they’d tell, well, you just couldn’t believe people would do that to each other, not with all that was going on.”
Paul could feel his hands clenching on his knees with fury. He remembered Mike telling him about similar people the man had met early in the outbreak’s confusion, thugs and criminals that had threatened to take Michelle.
“Sometimes they’d let people go, but they always kept the women, and killed anyone that tried to stop them. When they found us, there must have been hundreds of them, armed like something out of a movie. We tried to hide, but they found most of us…” The man’s voice again began to crack with pain. “They tried taking Beth,” he said as his eyes drifted over to the woman in the bed next to his. “But, her husband fought, even killed one of them before they shot him. I grabbed her and ran. That was about six months ago, maybe longer. It’s been tough to keep track of the days anymore. Since then it’s just been the seven of us.”
Paul sat silently before speaking. Carl’s words were far worse than he had expected. In planning the return to the States, he knew that there would likely be encounters with small bands of armed brigands, but he never thought he would learn of one that had organized and dwarfed his own unit by such a considerable margin.
“You don’t have to worry about them now, Carl,” Paul said, now hoping his tone hid the doubt he felt.
“No offense, son, but unless you have an army with you, the few men I saw when you brought us in aren’t going to be enough,” Carl replied. “I served my time in Vietnam, I know what it’s like fighting against an army that doesn’t hold to any rules of war.”
“Rest, Carl,” Paul said as he rose from the chair and turned to leave. His legs had grown stiff while listening, but it was the truth in the man’s last words that held his attention. Even if he was exaggerating by half, this Horde has four or five times our number, he calculated and planned as he made his way back to his suite. Along the way, he passed one of his men, his thoughts so tangled that he barely paused to recognize the man, and said, “Find me Hicks.”
As night fell, what should have been a place of quiet solitude for him and Lisa was abuzz with activity. Members of his team drifted in and out with maps and lists that were now spread across the bed and tables, while others studied them intently by the glow of lanterns. It had been quickly decided that before any further teams went out in search of survivors, they needed to scout beyond the previous three mile radius. Paul hoped that when he spoke with Carl again in the morning the man would be able to provide more detailed information regarding the enemy force, most importantly a location of operations. Lisa and Hicks led much of the planning, having far more military training than Paul, while his thoughts drifted to the readiness of his men.
They came to find survivors and kill Tils, but a heavily armed force with superior numbers might be more than any of us are ready for.
--
The night brought a refreshingly cool breeze that could almost make one forget the scorching heat of the day. The River Walk was draped in silence, even the few remaining stray animals—cats mostly, though a dog trotted along the far bank—stepped quietly as they stalked unseen prey. The moon was a barely distinguishable sliver, the stars shone brightly in the cloudless sky. In the distance, a mile by bird’s wings, a soft glow emanated from a set of windows in the top floor of the El Tropicana hotel. At the building’s base, the faint movements of soldiers could be seen as they guarded the hotel.
Even with the binoculars, the lack of light made counting the figures all but impossible. Still, the two men believed they had enough information to report regarding the new arrivals in San Antonio. Undoubtedly, their leader would expect more, but their instructions had been to observe from a distance, and more importantly, not risk detection. Wordlessly they packed their gear and made a silent retreat from their rooftop vantage point.
Not until the two mile jog back to the car was finished did they allow themselves to speak. The drive to base was spent passing a bottle of recently fermented alcohol between them and raucously debating which of the women they saw would make the best sport once the Horde claimed what was theirs.
Chapter Ten
Closing the door behind her
with as little sound as possible, Michelle turned to examine her surroundings. Once again, she found herself in a red-lit, concrete hall, however this one held a metal staircase leading to upper levels. Cringing at the echoes her boots made on the steps, she silently regretted not having armed herself for the evening’s adventure. Even better, she thought as she climbed. I could have ignored my curiosity and been curled up on the couch with Andrew. Reaching the first landing, she peered through the small glass window centered in the door and quickly ducked back after seeing two guards making their way down a corridor. At the second level, she could see no guards, and gently depressed the lever above the door’s handle, opening it enough to allow herself to slip through.
A long hallway stretched before her, the smooth white paint of the walls broken sporadically by door frames of thick molding. Deciding to go left, she froze after the first few steps as her eyes locked on the security camera hanging at the end of the passage. While the more advanced security features of the building’s exterior may not be functioning, the red light at the camera’s base showed the same was most decidedly not true for the interior. Silently commanding her legs to carry her forward, her pace quickened until she reached the end of the hall and hid herself beneath the camera. Well, if anyone was watching, they know I am here now. The expectation of an alarm or siren almost kept her stationary, but she moved to her left down the adjoining hallway. More doors lined the walls, a few though were open and Michelle stepped cautiously as she skulked past them.
Save for the hum of the electricity powering the fluorescent lights above her, the hallway was near silent. Her head spun when that silence was broken with a soft click behind her. Her eyes saw nothing, but a voice inside her head screamed, Someone just came through the door! As her heart raced, she doubted she could reach the end of the corridor before whoever had entered the floor reached her. Ducking into one of the open offices, Michelle slowly swung the door closed, leaving a small crack from which she could peer out. Moments later, a figure passed the office and she held her breath, fearing detection. Willing her mind to count the seconds since the figure passed, she reached thirty before finally examining the small office.
Several metal filing cabinets stood clustered together in one corner, while to the right sat a desk and chair. Her eyes were drawn to the blinking lights of the computer tower the rested alongside the desk. Well, you’re in it now, she thought as she pulled the chair out, sat, and moved the mouse. Even while hoping the computer was on, she still gave a small start when the screen sprang to life. Sparing glances at the door, she quickly began clicking and scrolling through the various files on the computer’s drive. At the bottom right corner, a folder icon immediately sent chills down her spine. Double-clicking on the Ira Project folder, she found herself staring at a screen listing hundreds of documents.
File after file opened with a click of the mouse, but the contents made little sense to her. Most contained complex formulas, dates, and percentages. Though she did not know the words, she assumed, based on her limited high school science classes, that they were chemical names. Finally, in the eleventh document she found pages of text that she scanned quickly. Patient 176… signs of flu… heightened agitation… deceased… Patient 184… signs of flu… heightened agitation… deceased. The patient numbers ran into the thousands, each followed by the same notations, all ending with deceased. She scrolled through the pages until she reached the last and immediately noticed different notations. Patient 1182… signs of flu… heightened agitation… Day Three… Reptilian Cortex showing increased function… Day Four… patient non-responsive to pain stimulus… Day Five… frontal lobe functions minimal, predatory behavior dominates… Day Forty-Seven… patient classified as first success of Ira Project/Tilian Virus.
Stunned with shock, Michelle’s hands began to shake as she closed the document and opened others. With her mind reeling, she barely saw the words of the new files, yet still her finger turned the wheel on the mouse and scrolled. Realizing that her thoughts were paralyzed she let her hand drop to her lap, mumbling, “They made it.” Seconds passed, or had it been hours, before she finally was able to connect her mind with her body and refocus. She knew she needed to leave, that every minute spent in the facility risked death, but there was one final document in the folder she had to open. The words were formal and formatted in what resembled a letter’s structure.
Agent has been placed with rescue team bound for United States. Agent has been instructed to retrieve data from LA facility, and to subsequently destroy the facility. Upon completion of first two parameters, Agent will terminate any surviving members of rescue team and return to Guantanamo facility.
Michelle’s thoughts immediately turned to the overheard conversation in the library. As the pieces fell into place, she caught the slightest movement from the door.
“What are you doing?” asked a gruff voice, clearly a male’s, yet his face was hidden in the darkness and the lights of the hall only shadowed him more.
With a lunge, Michelle sprang from the desk and tried to push past the man, but his hands gripped her arms tightly, preventing any escape.
“Michelle, calm down, it’s me.”
Realizing the voice was familiar, she stopped struggling and looked at her captor.
“Erik? What are you doing here?” she asked, forgetting the need for quiet and feeling faint from the onslaught of shocks to her mind.
“Be quiet! I followed you,” he said low as he checked the hall.
“You followed me? Why? Do you know what this place is?”
“We don’t have time for that now. They found your car. If we don’t get out of here, and I mean right now, we’re screwed. Come on.” As he finished he dragged her out into the hall, pulling her behind him as they retreated back toward the stairs. Her feet entangled themselves as they ran, and she realized foolishly that she had continued whispering, “What are you doing?” Once they reached the stairs, he pulled her to face him and he said, with a hint of a growl, “Whatever you’re doing, you dragged me into it! So for now, enough with the questions and focus!”
His words acted as a much needed slap, and her mind began to lose its confused timidity as she drew herself together and nodded to indicate she understood. Pushing the door to the stairs open, they both flinched as they heard the scuffle of boots moving quickly from below.
--
“How did this happen?” the voice on the other end of the phone shouted. The young officer held the receiver several inches from his ear, but he could still hear Councilor Duncan quite clearly. He had hoped to postpone the call when he first learned of the car near the gates, but he feared withholding information from the man.
“I assure you, sir, we will find the intruder immediately,” he said, trying to still his voice to calmness. The Councilor screamed again, and the officer tried to find solace in the fact that the man was on the other end of the island. As it was, he could feel the Councilor’s hands trying to reach through the secured line and wrap themselves around his throat.
“Sir, we will find the intruder,” he repeated, all other words failing him now.
“Send a pack after them,” the Councilor commanded.
He expected the Councilor’s notorious rage, but the words the other man just uttered caused the officer’s jaw to drop. “I’m sorry, sir, could you repeat that?”
“Release a pack,” the man said again.
“Sir, they haven’t been tested in the field. If the device fails…”
The Councilor cut him off, speaking with an ice in his voice that would allow no argument, “Consider this their test!” After a loud slam, the line went dead and the officer, out of habit, said, “Yes, sir,” to dead air. Replacing the handset in its cradle, the young officer unsteadily got to his feet and focused his attention on the men awaiting orders. Pausing briefly to gather the steel needed to support the quiver in his voice, he gave the order.
“Release a pack.”
--
After aba
ndoning the stairwell, Michelle and Erik frantically ran down the corridor in search of an alternative means of escape. As they raced, she looked up and remembered the camera which even now would be giving away their location. As if understanding the wide-eyed panic of her face, Erik said simply, “I took care of it.” Once near to the camera, Michelle could see the wires connecting it to the base had been ripped apart. She could hear the men entering the floor, and she could not shake the feeling that she was inescapably trapped. So far underwater, there was not a single window, and the only stairs had been denied to them.
Erik stopped short, causing Michelle to collide into his back with a grunt. After he steadied his stance, and cast her a belittling look, he tugged her into an open office. Shutting the door quietly, they both tried to control their breathing. Reaching to his back he pulled out two handguns, wordlessly offering one to her. She was relieved to accept the weapon, but was also shocked to find how unfamiliar it felt in her hands.
Voices, at first distant, began to grow more distinct as they neared the office.
“Search the offices,” came a shout. “She might still be on this floor.”
For a brief moment, relief swept through Michelle when she heard the man speak. They don’t know exactly where we are! But the feeling was fleeting as she heard the cracking of wood as boots began kicking in doors. Shouts of “Clear!” echoed loudly as the men searched. Michelle knew it was only a matter of time before they selected the right door.
Pressing his mouth close to her ear, she barely heard Erik say, “I only hear four different voices. They don’t know there are two of us, and they don’t know we’re armed.” As the words registered, Michelle could feel her stomach tighten when she understood what Erik intended. She had killed before, if not as frequently as the others, but even ending the life of a Til had taken an emotional toll. She knew, perhaps more than Erik, that getting captured meant almost certain death, but she was not sure she could bring herself to take a human life, a healthy human life. She increased her grip on the butt of the gun, and felt the sweat making the weapon feel clumsy in her hand.
