The Pandemic Sequence (Book 2): The Tilian Effect

by Tom Calen

  “How far?”

  “Fifteen, maybe twenty feet. Mike there is no way for them to get into this facility.”

  “That may be true. But if it’s all the same to you, I’m not too keen on being stuck down here indefinitely,” he pressed back. Michelle may have forgiven her for her actions, but he was not willing to release the anger he felt towards Lisa and her betrayal.

  “What about amplification?” inquired Erik.

  “What do you mean?” Michelle asked him in return.

  “Well, you said it controls them through sound, right? What if we plugged into speakers? Big ones?”

  “Or an antenna,” Andrew added.

  “Broadcast the frequency,” Mike continued the thought. He could feel the beginnings of possibility taking shape.

  “It could work,” Lisa began. “There are a couple of towers on the base. If we re-routed some of the power from the facility to one of the towers, we just might be able to broadcast the ARC. If it worked, it could knock out Tils for miles.”

  Without any voiced agreement, activity exploded from everyone. Lisa shuffled, with Michelle’s help, to the control room of the facility. Mike and Andrew began studying the map of the military base Lisa brought up on the large screen of the conference room. The nearest broadcast tower was a bit over a hundred yards from the building they stood beneath. With Erik’s injury sidelining him, it was decided that Mike, Matt, and Andrew would use the ARC to cut across the distance to the tower.

  Lisa brought up another graphic on the screen. Though both Matt and Andrew were experienced with repairing boats and cars, they eagerly listened as Lisa detailed how to connect the ARC to the tower. It was then, however, that Lisa revealed the one hitch in the impromptu plan.

  “In order to connect the ARC, it will need to be powered down while you make the connection,” she explained. “If you wait until right before I give the tower juice, you should only be exposed for maybe a minute.” It did not need to be said that during that minute, two of them would need to fend off hundreds of Tils. This could change everything, Mike told himself, and he knew the risks were worth discovering a method to secure miles of Til-free ground.

  All weapons were placed on the table and the three men who were to venture out selected as many of them as their bodies could carry. As Mike turned to walk back to the elevator, he paused briefly and scratched the neck of his dog. Her early warnings would not be needed for this fight, he was walking into a field of infected and knew it. Michelle gave Andrew a kiss and tight hug to send him off. The pair had seemed to change, grow closer, since beginning this journey. Soon Matt and Andrew joined Mike as he stood in front of the elevator door. With an electric woosh the door opened and the three stepped in. As it closed, Mike could see Lisa offer him a slight nod.

  Steadily, the car rose from the subterranean level. Andrew held the ARC outstretched before him. From the bangs and growls, it was clear the Tils had filled the building above.

  “Turn it on,” Mike instructed as the elevator slowed to a stop. Only a green light indicated the device was functioning. The elevator doors opened and the trio was greeted by the prostrated forms of Tils. Others, awake and angered, began to rush over their fallen kin only to collapse themselves. Stepping from the elevator, Mike forced himself to trust the tool’s power. Each time Tils dove at them, he was eager to fire shots. Reminding himself that the Tils could not reach him now, he managed to conserve what little ammunition remained.

  As if surrounded by an invisible force field, the team continued its progression through the lobby and out into the open air. Any doubt that most of these Tils were evolved left once Mike saw how quickly they learned to keep their distance from their prey. Most backstepped to every push forward Mike and the others made. He could see the tower ahead, its metal lattice work stretching skyward. Every inch of the ground between him and the tower was occupied by a seething force of infected.

  Their progression slowed as Mike, Matt, and Andrew were forced to steady their footing, stepping across bodies of acoustically-sedated Tils. Step by painstaking step, the three continued to close the ground towards the tower. Mike’s memory flashed images of a time when he crossed a street lined with slumbering Tils. Even with the ARC, the situation was no less nerve-wracking.

  When he had first seen the Tils gathering outside the building, Mike had to push down the icy fear. He’d known he would face them sooner or later, but finally seeing their tilted necks and snapping jaws brought back all the trauma of the past. Stepping over—and on—their bodies had his skin crawling. He wanted to run, to scream, to kill them all, to curl up and hide, but he forced his feet to slowly follow his directions.

  Finally, the concrete square of the tower’s base was before them. Matt immediately set to removing Til bodies that blocked Andrew’s access to the metal box of wires. Mike used the time to execute as many of the Tils nearby as he could. Once the ARC was powered down, he wanted living Tils to be as far as possible. He knew that a buffer of even a few feet could provide needed seconds to react.

  Andrew unscrewed the metal panel and began to pull out the wires Lisa had instructed. “How long until she powers up?” he asked Mike.

  Glancing at his watch, Mike replied, “Two minutes. Work fast.” Continuing to move about and deliver death shots to as many Tils as time allowed, Mike could feel his breathing began to quicken. Hold it together, dammit! he demanded.

  “Okay, I am ready to make the connection. How much time?”

  “Fifty-six seconds,” Mike told him, and continued to count down out loud. The hope was that Andrew would use the last thirty seconds before power was restored to connect the ARC.

  “Forty-two.” With each second, Mike could feel the tension building. “Forty.” In ten seconds, the area would spring to life with Tils. As he looked at the Tils gnashing their teeth beyond the ARC’s perimeter, Mike thought he could almost see their anticipation.

  “Thirty-two. Thirty-one. GO!!” As Andrew scrambled to connect the ARC, Mike watched as two Tils he had missed struggled to their feet just inches away from him. Matt sighted the movement as well, and both men brought the pair down before they were fully upright. The Tils that had stayed beyond the perimeter, however, seemed to grow curious at the sudden movements of the two. Mike watched in patient horror, as Tils begin to step forward, hesitating with each step as if testing the water of a pool. He and Matt decided to wait no longer, and began unloading into the crowd. With the suddenness of the attack, the infected surged at them. Even if he had more people to defend the tower, Mike doubted he would be able to keep all the Tils at bay. Several times, he had to bring down a charging Til that managed to get within a few feet of Andrew while he worked. With no time to reload, Mike and Matt both began a steady practice of dropping spent weapons as they drew more from their respective belts.

  “Got it!” Andrew shouted over the gun battle. Mike knew their salvation rested with Lisa now. If she was true to her word, she would power up and the Tils would drop. Seconds that crept by like hours passed and Mike knew he was winding down in available weapons and ammo. Motion caught the corner of his eye, and he turned and shouted at Andrew. “Behind you!” Mike pulled the trigger, but no bullets responded. Tossing the last gun, Mike dove forward as the Til to Andrew’s rear brought the younger man down. Mike shouted unintelligibly as he pulled the Til from the ground and smashed its head against the steel supports of the tower. As it went limp, Mike released his hold and spun back to Andrew.

  Holding his arm out, Andrew was staring at the gash that ran across his forearm. His mouth worked wordlessly as he raised his eyes to meet Mike’s own shocked stare.

  “M… Mike,” Andrew.

  “Nooo!” Mike screamed as he rushed forward and crashed to the ground beside him.

  “Mike, I can… feel it,” he said grunting. “Don’t let me change. Mike, don’t let me change!”

  “No, you’ll be okay,” Mike cried out, wrapping his arms around Andrew. “It wasn’t a bite. You cu
t yourself on the ground. It wasn’t a bite.”

  Through the embrace, Mike could hear him continue to plead as the his body began to tense and convulse.

  “Oh God!” Mike screamed. “It wasn’t a bite, it wasn’t a bite.” But even with his repeated denials, Mike Allard knew the truth. With a final scream as if his soul tearing loose, Mike shifted his grip and twisted sharply until he felt the bones of the neck give way to his pressure. As the body went limp, he continued to cry out to the heavens. He did not notice Matt Locke standing over him, tears in his eyes, nor did he notice the soft hum of power that spread out across the field of stricken Tils.

  Epilogue

  As dawn broke across the Texas sky, its light shone on a field that was beginning to show the first signs of activity following a tumultuous night. In a huge, circular tent on the outskirts of the camp, Paul Jenson sat behind a large desk that once belonged to a man named Drennan. While much of the camp members had drank themselves to sleep after the night’s celebration, Paul had been meeting with Hicks and Derrick. Plans needed to begin, and decisions had to be made. The wounds incurred by the former leader and his loyalists had to be treated. Word had long since spread that the Horde was a band of thieves, murderers, and rapists. That perception had to be changed. Paul had ideas as to how to start that evolution, and he had shared them with Hicks and Derrick during the night.

  He knew there were pockets of survivors who were still clinging to life, to a hope that rescue would one day come. With over two hundred well-armed followers, Paul Jenson intended that rescue to come soon.

  --

  As dawn broke across the Louisiana sky, its light shone on a military base that showed little signs of activity. Though bodies covered much of the area, none moved. A large radio tower rose from the ground and at its base, a small group had gathered. During the night, Mike and Matt had dug the grave that now held Andrew Weyland. Rescued from atop an overturned trailer, Andrew had survived a frightening illness, the infection that had forced him to kill his own mother, and the escape across the Gulf. Now, his fiancée shuddered with tears as she knelt upon the freshly turned earth of his grave.

  Hours earlier, as Mike had carried Andrew’s body to the below ground facility, he had shaken with his own grief. A son by circumstance if not blood, Mike was returning him to the woman who would be crushed by the loss. When the elevator had stilled, and the black door slid open, Mike watched Michelle as she rushed to greet them. Stopping a few feet from them, realization spread like illness across her face. She had collapsed in a fit of sobbing that had continued through the night. Now as she sat upon the grave, inconsolable, he lifted his eyes to the tower. Weyland Tower, Mike thought. Weyland Tower and the first weapon to end the Tils.

  --

  As dawn broke across the Cuban sky, its light did not reach the lab buried several stories below Guantanamo Bay. Its light did not see the activity as a heavyset man in a white lab coat pushed a steel gurney across the room. Dr. Allen Marena had spent the last few days hoping no one discovered his work. Since Mike Allard had accosted him at his home, Dr. Marena had exhausted many hours in the lab trying to develop a potential cure to the Tilian Virus. There were a few minor breakthroughs that could lead to further promise, but as of yet, he had found little to indicate there was any possible way to reverse the disease. He thought perhaps of shifting his focus to developing a biological weapon that would target only those infected. If Duncan ever found out… the doctor shivered to think. The gurney he pushed held an unconscious Til upon whom he had been running tests during the night. Pausing before the gray door leading to the cells, he pulled the handle and angled the gurney into the opening.

  The sleepless nights were beginning to catch up with him. He could already feel his irritability increasing, and several times he had forgotten part of a chemical formula that any med student would know in his sleep. Maybe Allard will leave me alone, he thought as his pen slipped from his pocket. Not likely, the doctor mused as he reached to the floor. Man’s been a damn thorn in my side for as long as I have known him! Retrieving the pen, Allen Marena groaned as he straightened his back. As his head passed the side of the gurney, his eyes fell on the dangling leather restraint that should have been tethering the Til to the rail. I forgot to restrain it! he realized and jumped to attention.

  Sitting upright on the stretcher, the Til peeled its lips back and exposed its teeth as it growled. Panic froze the doctor to inaction. No ears heard his screams as the Til ripped out his throat. The Alpha, Marena’s mind screamed as darkness closed in around him. The Alpha is loose!

  The End.

  The story concludes in:

  The Tilian Cure

  Book Three of The Pandemic Sequence

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  PART ONE

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  PART TWO

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Epilogue