Tainted Reality (The Rememdium Series Book 2)

by Ashley Fontainne

  Even though he agreed one-hundred percent with Agent Coleman, Ronald felt the need to come to his wife’s defense. Halfheartedly, he said, “Coleman, please don’t address my wife in such a—”

  “You truly are a pompous, arrogant buffoon! And you,” Agent Coleman turned his attention to Collette. “Are the most self-centered, fake, plastic-riddled bitch I’ve ever met. If I didn’t love my country so much, and ache for what’s happening to her, I’d say I’m glad this happened before the likes of either of you defiled the hallowed grounds of the White House. It sickens me to no end the rest of the succession line is dead! Even the Secretary of Homeland Security, who was nothing but a political puppet with no discernible brain power and a major coke-fiend, would have been a better option than you. Now, fucking move your privileged, lily-white asses out the door and up to the roof!”

  The room fell silent. Ronald felt the stares of the others bore into him. A flame of anger erupted inside his chest. It was one thing to dress down his overbearing wife. Almost comical, because quite frankly, Ronald agreed with everything Agent Coleman said to Collette.

  But no one would get away with talking to Ronald that way. Not even in the midst of a global crisis.

  “Agent Coleman! Contain yourself. You work for us, remember? You need to apologize to my wife, right now, for such intolerable behavior or you’re fired.”

  “Fired? Fired? Are you insane? No wonder the world is falling apart. It was full of idiots who voted in the King of Idiotic Morons to the throne!”

  Collette’s face blanched. Before Ronald could stop her, a wrinkled hand full of over a million dollars’ worth of jewels reached out and slapped Agent Coleman. The crack as her skin connected with the agent’s cheek reverberated nicely off the acoustical walls.

  Agent Coleman’s reaction was swift and harsh. Ronald didn’t even get a chance to blink before the man’s balled-up fist caught Collette under the chin. The force of his punch knocked her backward almost five feet. She crumpled into an unconscious ball on the cold marble floor.

  “What the…?” Ronald finally managed.

  Agent Coleman responded by pointing his shiny SIG Sauer directly between Ronald’s eyes. “I said it’s time to leave and I’m not kidding. Not another word, or I swear we’ll leave you here. Wonder how long you'd last before those flesh-eating mongrels smell you and figure out how to climb stairs?”

  The burning in Ronald’s gut from earlier ignited into an inferno. He glanced over at Collette’s limp body. Two agents picked her up and moved toward the front door. Nodding once to Agent Coleman, Ronald stepped back and grabbed his briefcase from the desk. Agent Coleman never lowered the weapon as they walked out the door and headed to the roof.

  Ronald was breathing hard by the time they reached the helipad. The sounds of the city under siege rose from the streets below. Smoke from other buildings engulfed in flames blocked out the morning rays of sunlight. Gunfire and the screams of terrified New Yorkers made Ronald’s skin prickle in disgust.

  The noise he wanted—needed—to hear, was absent.

  No sirens.

  No emergency personnel racing to help the downtrodden.

  Only screaming and gunfire.

  Collette was already strapped into her seat. Ronald climbed inside and settled in next to her. Agent Coleman veered off to speak with the pilot. Ronald took the opportunity to stare out the open door to the city he loved more than any other place in the world. Manhattan had been his home, his domain, his kingdom, for over thirty years. He felt a lump of tears swell in his throat when he realized the first two buildings he’d constructed were in flames.

  He glanced down at Collette. A bruise had already formed under her chin, and there was a large knot on the side of her head where she'd hit the floor. Ronald felt more concern and sorrow for the structures on fire than his own wife. The reality of the notion made him numb.

  What kind of man feels no grief for his wife, yet weeps like a child for a pile of metal and drywall?

  The disturbing musings were cut short by two gunshots. Ronald spun around in his seat in time to see Agent Coleman stumble and fall to the ground about three feet away. With his SIG Sauer still clutched in his hands, Agent Coleman continued to fire.

  Ronald had no idea what he was shooting at.

  On instinct, Ronald leaned down and covered Collette’s body with his own, attempting to shield her from the bullets.

  It would be the last—and possibly first—act of kindness he ever did.

  Because Agent Coleman missed his target.

  Ronald heard the agent scream, yet it only lasted a split second. The noise was replaced by a gurgling, chomping sound.

  Collette woke up and wiggled from underneath him. “What the hell is going on?”

  The appearance of the dead pilot answered her question. Ronald saw the entire world clearly for the first time in his life.

  “The end,” he whispered as the bloodied, drooling thing burst into the cabin.

  THE GATHERING - Saturday - December 20th – 10:45 a.m.

  Turner was full of raw, nervous energy. Too many thoughts zoomed inside his mind, threatening to eat away any semblance of sanity.

  He’d killed someone.

  No, several.

  Not a deer, or a hog, or even a rabid dog.

  Human beings.

  Or, what once had been humans. Turner didn’t recognize any of the others he’d shot.

  Except one—and the image, the smell, and the sounds—wormed their way inside his head like a barbed, two-headed venomous snake.

  He’d known Raymond Wright his entire life. Watched the kid skyrocket to local fame, heard the community buzz about scholarships and pro scouts skulking around the football games. Turner remembered him from school, though Raymond was only in the seventh grade when Turner graduated. Even then, playing for the junior high team, Raymond Wright had all the makings, the physical and mental agility, to go far.

  Not anymore.

  Turner ruined Raymond’s chances of achieving football stardom. All with one bullet. He’d taken aim and fired, not even wincing when Raymond’s blood, brain matter, and strips of flesh exploded less than five feet away from his position.

  He’d seen the military descend on his hometown like a plague of locusts. Witnessed a helpless neighbor treated like a treasonous criminal and executed in his own front yard.

  Stephen Sikes was only fifteen when his life ended in a flash.

  In front of his poor mother.

  Turner had been ordered at gunpoint by soldiers to leave under the threat of bodily harm. He’d watched the love of his life yanked away by the same goons while he’d be unable to stop them.

  Seeing the videos Seth sent him earlier were awful. They paled in comparison to actually experiencing, in real-time, people turn into flesh-eating creatures.

  Taking them out would haunt his dreams forever.

  Turner had played simulated, live-action video games all his life. He’d spent hours upon hours with his friends, stalking, shooting, blowing shit up. Real life was harsh, cruel, and downright sickening. Virtual reality didn’t account for the horrid smells.

  All of those issues were bad enough, yet the one bothering Turner the most was the overwhelming anger burning inside his mind. He knew he wouldn’t hesitate to kill one of the sick. Considering what they were dealing with, Turner thought the response normal.

  What scared him more than anything was he knew he wouldn’t bat an eye if he killed a soldier. If one of them stood in their way of saving others, tried to hurt any of his loved ones, they’d be toast. The shift in his moral compass, and willingness to murder to save others, made Turner wonder if he was in the early stages of turning.

  Was that how the sickness starts? Your mind blocks out everything but anger, embraces hate? Jesus, how is this even happening? What’s turning people into monsters? How does it spread? Why are some sick and others aren’t? When will this nightmare end?

  With the world turned upside down, Tur
ner felt physically ill as he followed his dad, mom, and the others toward the gym. Four years of his life had been spent in the familiar area, eating lunch with his friends, attending basketball games, taking Jesse to the prom. Seeing the place full of terrified people and armed soldiers made his head spin. He wondered how many residents had already been processed and deemed clear. Did they leave and head home, only to find the world they’d known their entire lives gone?

  Did they even make it home?

  Had the soldiers told them what was really happening? Given them any guidance or tips on what to watch out for, signs of contamination, what to do when confronted by a walking corpse?

  “Son, you okay?”

  The voice of his mother brought Turner out of his rambling thoughts. “Yeah.”

  “Jesse’s gonna be fine, Turner. Don’t worry.”

  Turner nodded as the group stopped next to the double doors leading out into the gym. His father peeked through the doors then turned around and whispered, “Okay. Here’s the plan. There ain’t many troops left inside, maybe thirty or so. I’ll go in first, alone, and gather them into a group. Once I do, y’all follow and surround them. We’ll give them one chance to work with us. If any of them show signs of anythin’ other than acceptance, we’ll put them with the lieutenant and sergeants out back.”

  “Then what?” Deputy Bailey asked.

  “I’ll make the announcement we are takin’ our friends and neighbors to safety. No mention about the directive to kill them all. I mean it. No one is to say a word about it, not even to the soldiers. Looks like we’ll have some help. I noticed Curt Campbell in there. He’ll assist once he realizes we’ve got a plan.”

  “How in the world did Curt get caught?” Lamar asked.

  “Judgin’ by his attire and the way he’s movin’ from one resident to the next, I’d say he had the same sort of idea like we do,” Walt added. “Time to move out.”

  Turner watched his father enter the gym. A shiver of fear made his heart pound. Turner stepped forward and edged the door open. Seeing his father march across the hardwood floor into enemy territory made the breath catch in his throat.

  If they don’t listen…

  “Stop frettin’, son. Your dad knows what he’s doin’. He’s in his element now.”

  With a nod of his head, Turner acknowledged his mother’s words. Turner’s gaze swept the men surrounding his father. Only one false move or hint of trouble and he would rush inside.

  “Looks like Curt’s spotted him!” Lamar whispered. “Lookie there! Ol’ Walt’s got ’em eatin’ outta his hands. They’re all circlin’ him like a hungry school of catfish on a wet lump of bread!”

  Turner stiffened. The soldiers closed ranks around his father and Curt. Something inside his gut told him to move. “Let’s go.”

  Without waiting for a response, Turner entered the gym. The others followed. His fingers gripped the rifle with such intensity they were almost numb. Pushing aside the low whimpers from several frightened residents as they passed by, Turner never took his gaze off his father.

  “Addy?”

  The sound of a familiar voice—and his childhood nickname—made Turner stop. Glancing to his right, he confirmed the identity. “Seth?”

  Taking his gaze off his father for a split second, Turner saw Seth Montgomery pick his way through the crowd and over to Turner. His curly blond hair looked like he’d stuck his fingers in a light socket. Seth was almost three inches shorter than Turner and outweighed him by at least fifty pounds. Sweat trickled off of his forehead and his Led Zeppelin t-shirt was wet. Turner noticed droplets of what looked like blood dotted the front of the shirt.

  In a low whisper, Seth asked, “You join the military?”

  “No. Ain’t got time to talk. Go back to your spot and stay put. We’re here to get y’all out.”

  Seth’s light blue eyes were wild with fear. Turner could tell he’d been crying. “Those bastards killed Trevor! Shot him in the head at the house. Trevor flipped when they arrived, and—”

  “Now isn’t the time, Seth! We’ll talk later. Promise.”

  The hurt behind Seth’s eyes made Turner wince on the inside, yet it couldn’t be helped.

  Turner’s feelings about being rude to his best friend were cut short by his father’s booming voice.

  “Because those are the new orders whether you agree with them or not! Now move!”

  Turner left his bewildered friend and raised his weapon. The others flanked out and in seconds, they surrounded the troops.

  “Lt. Pack gave us strict instructions to wait until the remaining troops arrive, then we are to—”

  Turner stuck the tip of the rifle against the soldier’s back who stood toe-to-toe with his father. “One more word and it will be your last. You heard the man—move.”

  The gym went silent. Turner could feel the electricity from hundreds of pairs of eyes staring at them. Sensing a shift in the room, the crowd of residents backed away and parted, leaving an opening for Turner and the others to lead the men and women out.

  The showdown between military and militia lasted only a few seconds, yet seemed like an eternity to Turner. The one who spoke earlier lowered his head, a signal of defeat. Without saying a word, his father motioned toward the kitchen and the group of soldiers walked across the floor. The low rumble of whispers spread through the crowd as they moved, most cursing the military under their breaths.

  Once the last soldier stepped through the doors into the kitchen, Walt addressed them. “Okay, here’s the deal. If you want to keep your weapons and not be locked up, you help us. Your other option is set your guns down and join your lieutenant and sergeants under lock and key.”

  “Give up our guns? Are you insane? You do realize what’s going on out there, right? Just in case you don’t, newsflash: the dead are walking around eating the living. The entire globe has been infected with some virus that kills at an unprecedented rate! We’re trying to stop that!”

  “What’s your name, kid?” Lamar asked.

  “Davenport, like it really matters at this point. Where’s our—?”

  “Still alive, I assure you. We ain’t here to hurt no one. Enough of that is goin’ on already by others,” Walt answered.

  “Then why all this? What do you want?” Davenport asked.

  “Y’all had orders to kill innocent people. Our people. Our friends and family. That ain’t gonna happen. We know the world’s gone to shit. We’re completely aware of the collapse in Washington. Those people out there don’t deserve to be exterminated just because y’all are afraid they might be sick. We’re takin’ them to safety—someplace those infected can’t get them—until all this blows over,” Walt answered.

  Davenport rubbed his pale forehead. Turner noticed a slight tremble in his fingers. “Blows over? Blows over? Shit, you are insane. This is the end. What part of that don’t you get? It’s like this everywhere.”

  The fury from before ignited in Turner’s head. “We get it, you bastard. Your solution was to just kill the people you’re supposed to protect then run out of town like whipped dogs! Dad—they aren’t gonna help us. Let’s lock them up right now!”

  “That’s enough! All of you!” Martha yelled. “Either you help us evacuate those people or we’ll leave you here without any weapons and let you fight off the monsters. You know, the ones I’m sure your employer created? Make your choice—right now!”

  The kitchen fell silent as the group of camo-wearing men and women contemplated their next moves. Turner heard the rumble of a vehicle approach from outside. Glancing out the window, his heart thumped when he saw three Humvees roll up.

  Well, this ain’t good!

  Apparently, the other soldiers heard backup arrive and made their choice. Turner saw the look of relief and determination spring to life in their eyes.

  In the space of time to blink twice, Curt Campbell put the female in fatigues closest to him in a chokehold, a hunting knife the size of his forearm pressed against her e
xposed throat. “Time to decide is up. Drop your guns on the counter right now, or we’ll pick them off the floor next to your dead corpses after I send this bitch off to eternity.”

  For emphasis, Curt exerted enough pressure to draw blood. The woman let out a small whimper.

  The sound of the automatic weapons clattering on the metal counter top filled the kitchen. Dejection and fear spread through the troops. Almost as though practiced, they each raised their arms over their heads.

  Except one.

  Davenport.

  Turner locked gazes with the fool and stared into the dark eyes of a man on the edge.

  Just like me.

  Everything happened in slow motion, similar to watching a movie unfold.

  Davenport jerked his weapon to his shoulder and took aim at Curt’s head.

  Curt responded by slashing the blade across the woman’s throat. Bright, red blood burst from her neck, covering the front of her uniform and the floor. Her limp body sagged in Curt’s arms for a split second before he let go and she collapsed in a heap on the kitchen floor.

  Turner heard Reed scream from his right. “Oh, shit!”

  Red fury coated Turner’s thoughts and he fired. The bullet ripped through Davenport’s left shoulder. The force of the impact made the man’s body jerk, yet didn’t stop him from pulling the trigger on his own rifle. A hail of bullets sprayed out the end, the sound deafening inside the small kitchen.

  The entire group of people, including Turner’s family members, friends, and the other soldiers, dropped to the ground. Davenport and Turner were the only two remaining on their feet. Though injured, Davenport still clung to his weapon.

  Turner stepped closer and stuck the tip of his gun against Davenport’s temple. “Drop it.”

  “What the hell is going on?”