Fast Walkers: Outbreak (The Dead Trilogy Book 1)

by J. D. Bishop

  “So I'm going to turn into that?” April asked in a quavering voice, staring at the thing her boss had become. “That’s going to happen to me?”

  Patricia was questioning her own sanity. How could this be real? From everything she knew about the dead, there should be no way that they could move after rigor mortis seeped in, and certainly not as fast as her boss had moved. Not only that, but he was somehow aware of them, his milky white eyes able to sense them as he beat his fists and gnawed at the glass with hungry growls that were barely audible in the quiet studio.

  This wasn't right.

  It didn't help that she had sent her brother away thinking that his friends were lying and that there was only a virus to worry about. Had she known this was a reality, she would have gone and gotten her little girl herself and not sent her brother into harm's way. He had already been through an ordeal, and now she had most likely put him through another. She cursed her skepticism. It might just have cost her everything . . . if she lived to see it.

  “I'm afraid so, dear,” Patricia replied sadly.

  April broke down in tears. She really was a sweet person who Patricia knew loved her little puppy Gabardine, a terrier mix she’d gotten around Halloween. She was kind and gentle, and it horrified her to the depths of her soul that she could become like Tim.

  Patricia nodded to Elijah, who went to hold April, comforting her. He led her away a few desks, holding the girl and letting her wail against his chest.

  Matt's face was white as he watched his boss rage against the glass. He tapped the window, and Tim threw himself against it, snarling and making Matt step back, shaking his head. “I refuse. I refuse to believe I will turn into that–that thing.”

  “It's not dependent on your belief, Matt. It will happen,” Patricia said. “We don’t have a treatment for it.”

  Matt turned to her, bitter and angry. “And I'll bet you'll love it too, won't you, you big, fat cow? You've always been jealous of me because I'm a guy who looks better than you. Heck, I'm probably bringing in over half the viewers that watch our morning show just on my charm alone.”

  Patricia had begun to feel sorry for everyone in the infected boat, but Matt wasn't doing himself any favors. Before she could respond, Elijah had to get a word in, speaking up from the desk where he was still comforting April. “Really, Matt? You have literally hours left to live and all you can do is bash someone who's put up with your shit for so many years, someone who risked her life to come back and warn us when she didn't have to? End of your life, and you’re worried about your fucking Nielsens?”

  Matt laughed. “Must you wear your feelings on your sleeve, Eli? Everyone knows you're in love with the whale, but it doesn't mean we all are. I don't owe the bitch anything. She should have gotten in a car accident like her brother did instead of coming back here.”

  His face twisted in anger, Elijah moved to silence Matt, but Patricia held up her hand, halting him in his tracks. “It's all right. I'm used to his abuse. Matt, as much as I detest you, I'm truly sorry it has come to this. I don't know what I've ever done to you to cause you to treat me the way you do, but I'm sorry.”

  Matt's face crumpled into a sad expression. “Aw, hell, you know why. I just hated the feelings. Could you maybe give me a hug?”

  Before Patricia could move, Matt came forward and enveloped her in his arms. Patricia felt his mouth opening as Elijah shouted, “Trisha, watch out!”

  Patricia gasped and pushed Matt away just before his teeth would have punctured her skin. He stumbled back a few steps, but the grin on his face was manic and uglier than anything she’d seen cross Zombie Tim’s expression. Matt knew what he had tried, and he’d done it for only one reason, blind hatred.

  “You bastard.” All sympathy for Matt was gone. Patricia was enraged.

  “Ha, ha, ha, almost got you and put you in the same boat as me, fat ass. You deserve it too, bitch. I hope you get bitten and turn into one of those things. Better yet, I hope I'm the one to do it.”

  Elijah's face was red with barely contained hostility. He pulled Patricia roughly to the side, whispering in her ear. “We have to handle him now. He's going to try to escape if we don't. I honestly think he will hunt you down to kill you. Dead or not, he'll find a way.”

  “What do you suggest?” Patricia asked, open for possibilities. Elijah nodded toward the room her boss was contained in.

  Patricia gasped in horror. She hated Matt, and he’d just tried to kill her, but she didn't know if even she could go that far.

  But Elijah could. “He deserves it! Just think about the way he has treated you through the years. He just tried to infect you, for Christ’s sake!”

  “I don't know, Eli,” Pat said, shaking her head. “There’s a line that Matt tried to cross that I’m not sure I’m willing to cross yet.”

  Elijah whispered, “When he tries to kill you again or let more of those things in here, or whatever else he’s going to think of before he dies and turns, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

  Elijah was right. Matt was a risk to everyone in the room, and he hadn't even turned yet. They had to do something. Patricia was just unwilling to commit cold-blooded murder, even against someone who truly deserved it. Either way, something had to be done.

  “Go get the handcuffs out of my desk, second drawer,” Patricia told Elijah.

  When Elijah went to go get the cuffs, Matt, who had been watching them suspiciously, advanced on her.

  “What are you plotting, bitch? I saw you guys whispering to each other. Do you think I'm stupid?”

  Patricia put a bland expression on her face, hoping to diffuse him the way she always had, with her brains. “We were just talking about how almost everyone in this room isn’t deserving of their fate. Maybe there’s a heaven for them after this. Except for you, with how evil you are.”

  “I'll show you evil, you fucking whore!” Matt rushed at her, grabbing her by the throat, and began squeezing with all his might. After several moments, Patricia felt herself go weak at the knees as she futilely tried to pry Matt's hands from around her neck. His face was red with rage as he squeezed with all the hate inside him. “I've wanted to do this for such a long time,” he growled, spittle flying from his lips. “Die, bitch!”

  Her vision began to blacken when suddenly, she felt Matt's hands release from around her throat. She gasped in a mouthful of air, grabbing a desk for support, her chest tight. She looked up to see Elijah grasping Matt by the hair, the gun Patricia used earlier at Matt's head.

  “Sorry, Trisha,” Elijah said to her, “but this ends now.” He began moving Matt toward the room Tim was contained in.

  “Eli, stop,” Patricia gasped weakly, trying to regain her strength. She stumbled a few feet toward the moving duo, but her throat was on fire and she stumbled, barely avoiding knocking herself out on the edge of one of the desks.

  “Hey, man, what are you doing?” Matt cried, alarmed. He began trying to break free from Elijah's grasp, but Elijah was much stronger than him. He always had been even before the infection started to take its toll. “Patricia, stop him!”

  Matt dug in his heels, but nothing could stop the inexorable move toward the office door. Elijah's face was set and determined. He didn’t say a word, just twisted his hand in Matt’s hair when he tried to twist away again.

  “Patricia!” Matt yelled in desperation. “Patricia, help! Somebody!”

  Patricia's legs were still weak as she walked in her heels, and she stumbled over a stack of papers on the floor. “Eli,” she called weakly. “Eli, please stop.”

  But Elijah wasn't listening.

  Matt gave the struggle of his life when they reached the door, thrashing as hard as he could, strong again as his body literally fought for its life. But Elijah did some sort of move that seemed to take most of the strength out of Matt. Matt was stiff as a board but unmoving as he prepared to get him into a position where he could toss him through the door. Patricia couldn't believe her eyes when April—sweet, gentle
April—ran to the door and held the doorknob, unlocking it with the outside key.

  April nodded at Elijah. “Whenever you're ready.”

  Matt's eyes widened with surprised rage and he hissed his hatred through clenched teeth. “You traitorous bitch! Your makeup jobs have always sucked ass!”

  It was a ridiculous thing to say, but it was his only way of getting revenge. April had a gentle smile on her face, not saying a word as she waited to open the door. Matt realized it was the end as he struggled to no avail. “Fuck you! Fuck all of you! I hope you all burn in hell for serving that fat bitch of a cow! I'm going to come back and kill you all! I'm going to—”

  Elijah nodded to April, who quickly opened the door. With a giant heave, Elijah slung Matt through the door, and April slammed it right before Tim could reach it. April quickly locked the door before Matt could recover and grab the handle. Patricia couldn't believe the wide smile that was on April's face. “Five years . . . five years of him harassing me and trying to slip a hand between my thighs while I did his makeup,” she said. “Five years of covering up the time he made me grab his cock at the Christmas party my first year. Fuck him. I hope he suffers.”

  Patricia watched in horror from her place on the floor as Matt ran around the room screaming, trying to avoid Tim, who was chasing him with severe hunger. Eventually, he was cornered. Patricia averted her eyes, no longer able to look. The screams she heard coming from the office as Tim rent Matt's flesh from his body would haunt her until the end of her days.

  Chapter 15

  One week earlier . . .

  Becky fired her gun in rapid succession into the target, her lip curling slightly as she felt the cordite sting her nostrils. Her accuracy was above average, thanks to her father's training, and while she wasn’t going to be winning any competition awards, her father said that she would get sharpshooter in the military. Not too damn bad.

  She felt good shooting guns. It was helping her relieve the stress and anger she was feeling inside at all the things that weren't going right. She couldn’t fix her limp-dicked boyfriend or the fact that the guy she wanted just as much was his best friend. She couldn’t fix the bruise that had finally faded just two days ago. But she could put some lead downrange to the tune of seventy out of ninety potential points.

  “Very good, Rebecca,” her father complimented her once the sound faded and she’d put her pistol on safe and set it down on the bench in front of her. “You ready to go for a bite to eat now?”

  Becky wasn't really in the mood. She would much rather keep shooting guns. The pistols were okay, but what she really wanted today was to handle some of the stuff that only her father could check out for her, M-16s, AK-47s, and even a M-249 SAW. A hundred rounds through that thing relieved a lot of tension. She wasn't going to say no, however. "Sure, Daddy."

  They went to an expensive restaurant that her parents regularly dined at called The Old Maid. Women dressed as slaves from the French Quarter were the waitresses. As they waited to be seated, Becky noticed a large dark stain on her father's dark coat. She reached out to gently touch it. It felt like dried blood. What had her father been doing before he came to pick her up for gun practice? She really wasn't supposed to question what her father did, but after the incident from the previous week, her mind was reeling.

  Once they were seated, Becky picked at the expensive tablecloth nervously.

  “Something wrong, pumpkin?” Her father looked at her with concern. “Something with school maybe, or . . . well, the boys?”

  Becky tried to smile. Since letting her know that he knew about both Greg and Jeff, he hadn’t mentioned it, but she could see that he had questions. Still, she tried to fight it but couldn't help it. “Daddy, what is Phoenix Down?”

  Her father froze. Becky cringed, expecting a public meltdown. She hoped that she would survive his rage if it happened.

  “You told me you didn't really see anything.” Her father was disappointed.

  Becky stared down at the table. “I lied. What would you have wanted me to say, the truth? You were mad enough already.”

  Her father looked at war with himself before finally deciding he would tell her. “Phoenix Down is just a code name for a project that’s going to help the world. It's nothing to worry about. I promise.”

  Becky didn't believe that. It explained why her father had been acting weird lately. And help the world? She wasn’t an expert in military codes, but ‘PopCon’ sure as hell sounded like Population Control to her. She doubted that Homeland Security screwed around with pop concerts. “It's the reason you've been so different lately, hasn't it?”

  “Becky, please.”

  Becky looked at her father, struggling to hold back the tears of frustration and anger again, especially in public. “Daddy, tell me the truth! I know something has been wrong with you. It's driving a wedge between you, Mom, and me. I've been dying to know what's wrong. You've been stressed before, sure, but never like this. You're nice one minute and the Grinch the next. And you’ve never . . . you never hit me before.”

  Her father let out a deep sigh. “Listen, I'm going to tell you this, but you are to tell no one. No one, understood?”

  Becky nodded fearfully, her heart racing.

  “Your mother and I will be going away this week. Your mom will be staying with me in a lab at a military base. I can’t tell you where it is. Honestly, they haven’t even told me yet. I have some work to conclude, but as soon as I'm done, I'll come back to get you for a nice Christmas vacation. Florida, maybe. We can go see Disney World like you’ve asked so many times.”

  Becky shook her head, confused. “What does that have to do with Phoenix Down?”

  Her dad was annoyed. “I'm not finished talking, Becky. Phoenix Down has to do with what you read on the document. It's a plan to cleanse humanity to control the rising population. It’s a contingency plan, mostly, in case we really are in a technology dead-end and we can’t get any of about a dozen other plans to come off. It's not to be employed in this lifetime, though, so you really shouldn't worry about it.”

  Becky opened her mouth to ask something, but her father kept talking.

  “Being privy to a lot of sensitive information has made me cautious about safety and the safety of my family, which is why I've trained you so well. I hope if some disaster ever struck, all the training I've instilled in you will come in handy.”

  No wonder her dad had instilled survival skills into her for her entire life. Shooting, weapons, even martial arts, she was much more than just the seductive vixen that the school thought she was. It wasn't just because of necessity. It was in preparation of something happening. Something her dad was refusing to be forthright with her about, despite seeming to be honest.

  “Why can’t I go with you then?” Becky asked. “If it’s this dangerous.”

  Her father shook his head. “You’ve got school, honey. Besides, the odds . . . well, whatever, you’ve got a life here that I can’t just yank you away from. As I told you before, you are always being watched. Should anything happen while I'm gone, you'll be well protected.”

  “How come I've never seen anyone watching me?”

  Her father chuckled, giving her a raised eyebrow. “They wouldn't be anyone worth a damn if you knew they were there.”

  Becky thought about what he said for a moment. “Should anything happen? You said nothing is going to happen!”

  Her father shrugged. “Nothing should. But you should always be prepared for the unexpected, angel.”

  Becky didn’t like it. In fact, she thought it stunk to high heaven. “I still don't think you're being totally honest with me, father.”

  Her dad ignored her. “One last thing, Becky.”

  “What?” she asked, her heart hardening. Was this really happening, that she was going to end up distrusting and hating her own father?

  Her father looked over at her, and she could tell he’d heard the note in her voice and that it saddened him. “I need you to promise me this
on your mother’s and my lives.”

  “What is it, Daddy? Damn, you're scaring me.”

  Her father looked extra serious as he said, “Don't drink water while I'm gone.”

  Chapter 16

  “Please kill me.”

  The soft voice bored into Patricia’s ear, and she cringed worse than she had under the most hateful of Matt’s diatribes over the years. April and the other infected had all agreed it was time to go, before they turned into what they saw in the office. None of them wanted to end up that way.

  Patricia shook her head, unable to even give her an answer. She’d reached her limit. She’d absorbed enough horror for the day. April had tears running down her face. Her skin was marble white, her lips turning a light blue. She shivered from a terrible fever from within as she pleaded with Patricia softly, emotion choking her voice. “Please, Pat. I know it’s not right, but I’m too weak to do it to myself. I . . . I’m scared.”

  Elijah gently pulled April into his arms, comforting her. “I'll do it.” He looked at the surrounding infected, all of whom were shivering with the same fever. Elijah's face was a hardened mask. He’d found steel inside himself that surprised Patricia. He was more than a survivor. He was a fighter, and maybe a leader too. “Everyone, line up in front of the supply room. If you want to do it yourself, you can. If you need me to do it, I will.”

  Patricia had told Elijah earlier that the only way to kill the infected was by destroying their brains. At least that's all she had to go on by what her brother's friends had said.

  They all went and stood before the supply room, tears in their eyes. Three of them held hands, putting their heads together, and Patricia heard them softly praying the Lord’s Prayer. Elijah gently disengaged April from his arms and left her there with Patricia as he took the gun, with a box of bullets, into the supply room. Patricia's heart nearly broke. It was his way of letting her say goodbye to April.