THE DEAD LIVE ON
Written By Julie Cooper Brown Copyright©2013JulieCooperBrown
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Copyright©2013JulieCooperBrown
THE DEAD LIVE ON
Prologue
September 9th 2014
CDC Headquarters
Atlanta, Georgia
During his forty plus years as an Epidemiologist, Dr. Stephen Pierce had never seen a virus quite like the one that he was examining at that moment. X3LZ-22 was the most terrifying virus he ever seen. It had no known cure and the end result was the most horrific of deaths.
The victims of X3LZ-22 suffered a slow, painful death only to reawaken with an insatiable hunger for human flesh. The few specimens that had been examined had provided little in the way of answers to (the) questions regarding the length of time required for the virus to incubate and whether or not the victim retained any of their previous personality or cognitive functions. Judging by the extreme behavior of the infected individuals, it was assumed they did not.
Over the past several months, Dr. Pierce had made the study of X3LZ-22 his priority. So far, he had made great strides in regards to mapping the virus but the key factor of how the virus reanimated the body after death had eluded him. Dr. Pierce’s insatiable drive to discover all that he could about the virus had led him to all but the most crucial of discoveries; the cause of the bodies reanimation. Convinced that if he discovered the process that reanimated the bodies, he could then discover a cure. To that end he began working twenty-four shifts and taking minor short cuts that were relatively harmless but against safety protocol. It was his insatiable desire to be the one to make the discovery and to receive the acclaim and notoriety that accompanied it, was too much for Dr. Pierce to resist. And he should have left it alone, but as they say, curiosity killed the cat and Dr. Pierce could not fight the urge to delve deeper and deeper into the virus’s inner structure.
One of the protocol’s he had broken was to keep a small sample of the virus in the mini refrigerator under the lab table where he was doing most of the work on the virus. Another was to leave samples under the microscope in order to avoid having to re-thaw the virus after every time he left the room to get a coffee or use the rest room. Tonight was no different. He was into his sixteenth or seventeenth hour after having work doubles and triples for days on end and he was growing severely fatigued.
It was well after normal operation hours and he was sure he had the facility to himself except maybe for a janitor or two and maybe a security guard in the main lobby. He chose to leave the experiment he was working on spread out across the lab table since no one would be wandering into lab this late at night. Protocol required he lock the lab when he left but he was tired and believing that no one would bother his lab, he slipped out the door and headed for the employee lounge located down the hallway for a cup of coffee. He no sooner had stepped around the corner when at the opposite end of the hall the night shift janitor appeared.
He was doing a quick trash patrol where he would check each lab for any trash build up and empty the bins that needed it. It was simple, it was easy but he was lazy. He rarely made any effort to unlock a lab that didn’t have a light on and he typically would only venture in far enough to empty the trash bins closest to the door. He was also a slovenly man whose personal hygiene which left a great deal of room for improvement. When he had been hired, he had been instructed to read the labs safety protocols. He had told his supervisor he would do so, but it was lie. He was new illegal immigrant from a Eastern European country who had learned to speak a few dozen American words and with coaching from his cousin, to nod yes to basically anything said to him.
He’d been warned a handful of times to wear rubber gloves while working but the failed to do so unless there was supervisor or a lab tech present because they were hot and made his hands sweat. His customary procedure when he encountered any substance that managed to get on his hands was to wipe it on his shirt or pant leg. Many days, his uniform was soiled by a dozen different chemicals which if he noticed them at all he would wipe off or rather into the cloth of his clothes with his cleaning rag. Which upon cleaning up the mess, he would promptly stuff it back into one of his pants pockets. He was disaster waiting to happen.
Dr. Pierce had failed to lock the door behind him and had left the light on. When the janitor stepped up to the door of the lab he could see into the room through the large safety glass window. There just a few feet from Dr. Pierce’s work station was a waste bin overflowing with paper towels and plastic bags. Resigned to the task the janitor pulled the door open and stepped inside. He stood looking at the rows of test tubes stacked neatly in tiered racks and the note paper strewn across the table top. After a brief moment of staring incomprehensively at the note papers he pulled his trash cart up close to the waste bin. In blatant disregard for the safety protocols he began grabbing the garbage off the top of the overflowing bin and stuffing it into the trash cart. Once he had reduced the overflow sufficiently, he yanked the bag from the bin and tossed it into the cart. He then wiped his hands off on his pants before replacing the bag and sliding the bin back in its proper place.
As he turned to leave he noticed that electron microscope was on and that there was a slide on the microscope’s exam tray. He’d never seen whatever is was the tech’s looked at through machine and being curious, decided he’d take a quick look. He leaned over and peered into the visor and did his best to see what on the slide but all he could see was a bright white light. So he decided he’d peek at the actual slide. Maybe he could see it what was on it without the machines help. As he pulled the slide out of the holder, he discovered it was slippery and before he could adjust his grip the slide slipped from his fingers, bounced off the table top and crashed to the floor below where it broke into several pieces.
Panicked, he quickly scooped the larger pieces of the slide and set them on the table top. He then yanked his rag out of his pocket and wiped the floor in an effort to clean up the evidence. He then swept the chards from the slide into the trash cart and tucked his rag into his back pocket. It was when he did so that he felt a slight prick on the end of his index finger. He yanked his hand back to discover that a sliver of the slide had stuck in his finger and he quickly yanked it out and threw it into the trash cart without a second thought. He stepped briskly over to the door and peeked out before opening the door all the way and feeling secure in his escape he quickly walked down the hall the way he had come and disappeared around the corner.
Dr. Pierce returned from his break feeling much better and ready to get back to work. Approaching the microscope, he noticed immediately that the slide was gone. He glanced about the room but knew the slide wasn’t on some other table top or in some other machine. He looked over the table top before him and slowly shifted the papers about as if somehow the slide had managed to become dislodged. Then he leaned forward, placed his hand on the table top directly over the only open space. The same space the janitor had placed the broken chards of the slide on. Dr. Pierce was unaware that the surface was contaminated with the
very virus he was studying. He looked over at the in the trash bin and saw that it had been emptied and immediately made a called security. It was too late, the janitor after having broken the slide, had quickly punched out and left the building.
Upon returning home, the janitor woke his wife and made love to her, using his filthy hands to touch her in intimate places. Afterwards the janitor went to sleep and his wife got up and went about her usual routine. She stopped at Starbucks on the way to work and ordered her usual heavily caffeinated latte. As she paid for it, she experienced a tickle in her throat and with her hands full she was unable to cover her mouth completely and coughed a cloud of infected saliva into the face of the cashier, apologized and went on her way. The cashier in turn made a cursory swipe across her face and proceeded to cash out the line of customers without another thought about the lady who coughed on her.
The janitor’s wife arrived at her job at the local Target store and began her duties restocking shelves in the grocery department. By lunch time she was experiencing some dizziness and shortly thereafter, she began bleeding from her nose and was unable to stop it. Her boss became alarmed when she noticed she was also beginning to bleed from the tear ducts in the corner of her eyes and she called 911.
Within hours, Dr. Pierce had died as well as the janitor’s wife, and within minutes she had reanimated and attacked the doctors and nurses attending her. The security guards killed her for good shortly thereafter but once again their efforts were too little too late as they as the infection swept through the hospital at the speed of a tornado and spread quickly across the city and the nation.
September 12th, 2014
When President Geoffrey Rosen contracted the infection, it was because a Secret Service agent failed to inform anyone that he had been scratched while ushering the President through a crowd of panicked citizens. As they left the CDC, the agents in front pushed and shoved their way through the mob to make a clear path for the President and his entourage. The crowd pressed in on them, some shouting that they wanted answers; others were shouting that the infection was a government plan to minimize the population, and that it had been put into action under the guise of an accident.
From the corner of his eye the agent that became infected, saw what appeared to be a rowdy citizen in his peripheral, weaving his way through the throng of people. Pushing and shoving people out his path and quickly closing in a little fast on the president. As he neared, he reached out to touch the president and the agent lunged forward and grabbed his wrist. As the agent twisted the arm away, the man’s fingers missed the head of his beloved president, by literally, a hair. In protest, the man latched on to the agent’s hand with his other hand and squeezed. The man appeared to be ill as the agent looked into his eyes but not to the extent that it worried him. His nose was puffy and red, clear mucus it leaked from it and his eyes, were ashen. It seemed as though he was probably coming down with a mild cold. When he spoke, his voice cracked from the effort.
The man begged the agent to let him speak to the President. He just had to know if there was a cure. His wife and children had been infected and he’d do anything to save them, anything. “So does everyone else,” the agent responded then easily escaped his grip and shoved the man away, as the President slipped into his limousine, the door quickly closing behind him.
Once settled in and en route to their destination, he produced a small bottle of sanitizer from his breast pocket, and sprayed it liberally on his hands. He immediately felt the burn and sting and looked at the back of his hand. There was a small scratch. It was a little deeper than he would have liked, but he pushed the worry from his mind. He had an important job to do, and that was to escort the President and his family to a safe location.
Over the next few hours, the agent began to feel queasy and prayed that they would reach the shelter soon. After what seemed like forever, (but in reality had only been a two and a half hour trip, thanks to the lead-footed chauffer) they finally arrived at their destination. Once inside, he asked to be dismissed on the grounds that he was feeling very ill and needed a few hours rest. It was granted with the condition that he would see the physician when he awoke. They would have liked it to have been immediately, but Dr. Richards hadn’t arrived yet, though he was expected soon. The agent had slept for several hours before being awakened by the doctor and being diagnosed with the common cold, given the proper doses of medication, and told to resume his duties. At the time he thought nothing of the stranger or the scratch on his hand.
As the day went by his condition worsened and he began to feel disoriented. He had become unsteady on his feet and he wanted to lie to down, right in the middle of the floor would suit him fine, but he couldn’t. The President was in a meeting and he had to stand guard at the doors. Determined to do his job, he remained in place. He longed for the meeting to be over so he could go back to his assigned room and go to sleep. It was a couple doors down from the Presidential bedroom; it would only take a moment for him to get there if he were to abandon his post. It was becoming increasingly hard for him to stand up straight, for in his eyes, the hallway spun and the walls seemed to be folding in on him. Sweat poured off of his head in streams and, feeling smothered by a sickly, sweet stench, he loosened his tie. He tried to remain at attention but the scent was too strong. It overwhelmed him and vomit spewed forth as he cupped his hands in front of him as though he could stop it from hitting the floor.
Unfortunately for the President, he had picked that moment to exit the meeting room, and was the first to enter the hallway, (General Dean Harper followed close on his heels) just as the agents body violently heaved forward a second time, expelling a heavier, irrepressible stream of yellow bile. Disgusted and taken aback by this occurrence, Rosen and Harper quickly retired to their respective quarters to clean up. The agent, who was too sick to care that he had just puked all over the front of President of the United States, had collapsed in a heap on the floor as he struggled to breathe through the bitter sludge that clogged his throat. Two fellow agents grabbed his arms and heaved him off the floor to escort to Dr. Richard’s office on the other side of the building.
Dr. Richards, having received a phone call from a trusted colleague, was already rushing down the hall to meet them. He had to keep them from reaching the receiving area. It had been found that the infection could be transferred through any sort of contact with a victim of the virus. He wasn’t going to bother with exams or the taking vitals, he already knew the diagnosis, and if they get lucky enough to have just a common flu bug; then good for them. He couldn’t afford to take that chance; he had to administer the right precautions. It didn’t matter who they were. It had to be done. Keeping his distance, he ordered the men that supported the agent to immediately quarantine him, Rosen, Harper and then themselves. He also he ordered the remaining agents to ensure that these actions were taken whilst keeping their distance.
His next task was to inform the First Lady, Elle Rosen. He explained what happened to President Rosen and that he was indeed still alive, but they didn’t know for how long. At first, she refused to believe that it could be the virus; she told him he was mistaken and she had wanted a second opinion. After being informed that getting another Doctor would be pointless, she thought on this news for a moment before coming to grips with the situation and came to a final conclusion. She informed their grown two sons, Jacob and Joshua, of the situation and told them of her plans to be locked into the room with her husband. Of course, they protested and she hugged them both fiercely. She told them that she was proud of the fine young men that they had become and that they would be okay as long as they had each other. Elle had been with her husband for twenty-six years and had promised him that she would be there until the end and beyond, and so she would be.
Jacob opened the door for her; and both men waved and blew kisses to their father as she entered, and locked the door behind her. Moments later, an agent appeared with a drill, screws and chains and further secured the door. The brot
hers sat outside their room for many hours, listening to the sorrowful sobs of their mother when the president finally expired, and the more terrifying shrieks she emitted after he arose. They held each other and cried, until she fell silent and arose herself to bang weakly on the door. So lost in their grief, they were oblivious to an agent approaching them with only one intention.
Presidential Shelter
September 17th 2014
Walton County, Georgia
Upon his arrival, Vice President Montgomery Mason was told of the President’s infection, and was angry that there was no one there to swear him in, as the new President of the United States. It didn’t matter to him that Jacob and Joshua Rosen, General Harper and the remaining Secret Service agents, (besides the one that arrived with him) had been infected. Dr. Richards had the door to the hall, leading to the President’s living quarters, locked and a large, heavy decorative chair pushed up against the door. He told Montgomery that it wouldn’t be safe to open it, but Montgomery insisted on seeing the bodies of the dead. Dr. Richards protested, as well as Montgomery’s own wife. Being the stubborn and pompous man he is, Montgomery stepped into the security office, located the correct switch and ordered his escort to move the chair and investigate the hall, anyway.
Agent Scott put his ear to the door, he heard nothing. He quietly turned the knob and opening the door slowly; he peeked in to see what was beyond. Seeing nothing, he opened the door wider, stepped inside the hall and disappeared. Montgomery straightened his jacket and pushed his wife, Cassie to the side. He looked at Dr. Richards with triumph as he stepped out of the office intending to follow his escort. As he neared the door to step in, quick, heavy footsteps were heard and Agent Scott burst through the door, slammed it shut and leaned against it. The breeze that the motion of the door created reeked of vomit, defecation and death. Agent Scott coughed and wheezed violently when he was finally able to take a breath. Suddenly, the wails of the dead could be heard as clearly as if they were standing in their face. They began pounding and shoving on the door, one of them smart enough to turn the knob.
The Last Days (Book 4): The Dead Live On Page 1
