Middletown Apocalypse

by Brett Abell

  Fine, but he’d been there for two months. He’d like to do something other than pass out papers and test results.

  “Okay, let’s see what we have here,” he said, using the professor’s letter opener to poke through the strapping tape on the ten-inch square box. When he had the edges perforated, he pried it up and open. Inside was molded Styrofoam wrapped in green plastic. The entire thing was soaked inside, but only some of the liquid had penetrated the outside of the box.

  As an afterthought, Charlie put it all down and went to the sink to wash his hands. He lathered up with anti-bacterial soap and rinsed the substance off his hands and down the sink with the sudsy water. Afterward, he dried his hands and put on a pair of nitrile gloves.

  Pulling open the Styrofoam encasement, he withdrew the small, unlabeled jar from the package and saw the source of the leak; the lid was cracked almost all the way through. He removed the cracked lid and put the glass container down on the stainless steel tray. After opening the new jar, he poured the viscous, opaque liquid from the damaged container into the new one and screwed the lid on tight. When he was done, there was still some of the liquid in the old jar. He looked over at the microscope in the corner and shrugged. He glanced back at Professor West, but he appeared to be absorbed in his work.

  The teacher’s aide prepared a slide and used an eyedropper to place a sample of the remaining liquid onto the glass before pressing the two halves together. He flipped on the switch at the base of the powerful microscope and placed the slide on the stage.

  As he focused the microscope, he gasped. The cells were not only visible – they were animated; worm-shaped organisms darted back and forth within the sample. A majority of the microscopic cells seemed to migrate in the same direction, ultimately leaving his viewing area entirely. After a minute, no more movement was visible within the sample.

  Charlie stood back and stared at the jar. “What the hell was that?” he said aloud.

  “What was what?” said the professor from behind him, still wearing his protective gear.

  When West reached the corner where Charlie stood in front of the microscope, he said, “What the hell is this?”

  Charlie felt sudden tension in his neck and spine. West’s tone said he had done something wrong. “I’m … this came in while you were in the lab, Professor. The box was leaking, so I transferred the liquid from the broken jar to a new one.”

  West picked up the box and looked at it. “Who sent this?” he asked. “I didn’t expect anything from …” His voice drifted off as he peered inside the wet box and reached in to retrieve a packing slip that was also soaked through.

  Charlie looked on as West unfolded the paper, hoping he wasn’t in too much trouble. West squinted at the smudged print through his respirator mask and wiped at it with his gloved thumb. “It was supposed to go to Middletown University in Ohio.” He looked at Charlie. “They do research for the CDC there.”

  “What does that mean?” asked Charlie.

  “Where it would normally identify the contents, it’s blacked out. Redacted.”

  “Maybe the people who were expecting it knew what it was,” said Charlie.

  “Most likely,” said West. “But I still don’t know why it wouldn’t be properly labeled. Why did you say you opened it?”

  “It was basically already open. I just saw it was leaking, and –”

  “When did it start leaking?” interrupted West.

  “I don’t know,” said Charlie. “The delivery guy had some on his hands and he asked me for a towel.”

  West moved to the microscope and peered through the lens. He adjusted the focus and turned to look at Charlie. “It looks dead. Maybe we’re okay.”

  “It wasn’t dead just a second ago,” said Charlie. “Cells and stuff were moving all over. Then they kinda cut out.”

  His voice muffled from the heavy respirator, West said, “What do you mean cut out?”

  “They like swam to the outside of the slide and disappeared,” said Charlie.

  “You’re already exposed to whatever it is,” said West. “Put another sample on a slide.”

  Charlie did, and put it into the microscope.

  West leaned forward to analyze it. “What is this?” he asked. “I … they’re moving fast, but nothing’s leaving like you said.”

  West leaned forward to look through the glass again, and Charlie moved his hand to the scope to reposition the slide. “Better?”

  “What did you just do?” asked West.

  “Just moved the slide.”

  “All the cells moved toward the front of the slide when you did that.”

  “What do you mean?”

  West stood straight up. “I mean when you put your hand there, the cells moved toward you. Before that, they were … I’m not sure.”

  “Are you okay?” asked Charlie. Beneath the respirator mask, West looked more worried than Charlie had ever seen him before.

  “The cells appeared to be devouring one another,” said West. “When you moved your hand near it, they stopped focusing on one another and moved toward you. Why aren’t you wearing gloves?”

  Charlie looked at his hand. “I had them on when I transferred the liquid, and I haven’t touched it since I washed my hands.”

  “Why did you wash your hands? Did you have this on you?”

  “Yes sir, from the outside of the box. I didn’t know –”

  “This isn’t good,” interrupted West. “Let me see your skin.”

  Charlie held up his hand. It was shaking. “What’s that?” asked West, pointing with his gloved finger. “There.”

  Charlie inspected it. It was raised and red, and there appeared to be a small puncture in the center. “There’s like … a puncture or something. A little sore.”

  “I don’t like this,” said West. “How do you feel?”

  Charlie felt beads of sweat form on his forehead. “I feel fine, but you’ve got me worried now. Do you think those things caused this?” he asked, inspecting the small sore. “Jesus, it’s bigger now. Look.”

  “Hold still,” said West. “What is that right there?” he asked.

  A dark line approximately half an inch long moved up the vein from his hand to his wrist. As they watched, it passed completely onto Charlie’s arm.

  “Don’t move,” said West, turning toward the lab.

  Charlie watched as Professor West went to a cabinet beside the lab entrance and got a fresh air tank. He chose a much larger one, and Charlie was curious as to why. He moved into a small isolation room and switched the tanks, secured the connections and came back out.

  “Why’d you do that?”

  “Because you’re exposed, Charlie. I have to make sure I’m not. Lift your sleeve, would you?”

  Charlie did. The black line was now close to an inch long, and was sliding up the vein in his arm at a lightning pace.

  “We need to get you contained,” said West, taking Charlie by the shoulders and turning him toward the lab.

  “No!” shouted Charlie, pushing the professor away.

  “Charlie,” said West, his voice calm and consoling. “I don’t know what’s on that slide, but worse, I don’t know where it came from or why it was sent here. To protect yourself and others, you must voluntarily quarantine yourself. At least until we figure out what it is.”

  Charlie’s head was spinning. He held up his hand and watched the black line move. It had now passed his elbow.

  “Charlie, it’s for –”

  Before the words left West’s lips, Charlie bolted for the door. West reached out to grab him, missed, then ran after him. Just as West was about to catch Charlie, the kid flipped a desk over behind him and West tumbled to the floor, landing hard, slamming his head onto the linoleum floor. The door in front of him flew open and Charlie tore out of the room and down the hall. West scrambled back to his feet, shaking off the cobwebs. He checked his suit for any perforations before running back into the lab and slamming the door closed behind him.r />
  *****

  Charlie Noble ran to the elevator and banged his fist on the call button. When it didn’t open immediately, he turned and ran toward the stairwell door.

  As he charged down, Mrs. Melvin, the overweight women’s soccer coach, was walking up. “Whoa, slow down, young man,” she called ahead as Charlie barreled down the steps toward her.

  “Hey!” she screamed, but in his panic, Charlie careened into her, sending her tumbling backward down the steps. Charlie’s feet got tangled in hers, and he went down too, rolling down the last four concrete treads and coming to rest on the first floor landing.

  He looked at Mrs. Melvin. She came to rest next to him, on her back at the bottom of the steps. Her left leg was bent at an unnatural angle, and her right arm twitched. A pool of blood had begun to spread from beneath her head across the stairwell floor.

  His panic escalating into near hysteria, Charlie scrambled to his feet and flexed his arms and legs to make sure he was okay. Once he confirmed nothing was broken, he yanked the door open and charged into the hall.

  The bell sounded as he planted his foot on the shining linoleum floor for the third time, and the hallway filled with students. Charlie barreled through them like an icebreaker through a frozen sea.

  “Watch it you crater-faced fuck!” shouted one student as Charlie pushed past him. Charlie turned, yanked open the men’s room door and bolted toward one of the stalls. Once inside, he threw the door closed behind him and quickly slid the latch into place. He dropped onto the toilet and sat there, breathing hard.

  Tears streamed down his face as he turned to look at his reflection in the stainless steel seat cover dispenser. His breath caught in his throat. His eyes were … black.

  Completely black.

  Charlie jumped up and pulled the door open. As he rushed toward the mirror, the door opened and Ray McDonald and another kid Charlie didn’t know came in. Charlie ignored them and moved to inspect his eyes more closely.

  It wasn’t pure black in his eyes. Upon closer inspection, he saw it looked like liquid ink, swirling there, covering his irises – almost like a living organism.

  “What the hell’s wrong with you, Noble?” asked Ray.

  Charlie turned toward him and Ray stopped short. “Jesus … what is wrong with you?” he asked.

  “I … I …” Charlie began, before blackness consumed him.

  *****

  “Help me get him up,” said Terry Rogers, who had just started at the university a week before.

  Ray reached down and took Charlie’s hands. He pulled briefly before dropping them and wiping his hands on his pants. “He’s all fuckin’ sticky,” he said. “Who knows what he was doin’ in that stall before we walked in.”

  “He’s hurt, man,” said Terry, pulling out his phone. He dialed 911.

  “Screw him,” said Ray. “He’s a freak, and I gotta get to my next class.” Ray pushed through the door and disappeared.

  “Nice place,” said Terry. “Yeah, I’m at Middletown University,” he told the emergency operator. “The men’s room just to the right of the main entrance, first floor. Guy’s passed out here and looks pretty bad.”

  “Can you stay there and on the phone with me until help arrives?”

  “Absolutely,” said Terry. “Anything I can do?”

  “We’re getting a lot of emergency calls,” said the 911 operator. “Is he breathing?”

  Terry looked. “I can’t tell. I don’t see any movement.”

  “Then just to be safe I want you to administer CPR. Do you know how to do that?”

  “I do,” said Terry. “Learned it in Boy Scouts.”

  “Put the phone on speaker if you can and do it. Keep me informed as to what you’re seeing. I’ve dispatched an ambulance.”

  “Thanks,” said Terry.

  He followed the operator’s instructions for five minutes. There was no response or movement from the young man on the floor.

  “Are his eyes open?” asked the operator.

  “No,” said Terry. “Why?”

  “Open one of his lids and see if his pupil is dilated, okay?”

  “When are the damned paramedics going to get here?”

  “Both ambulances were in service,” she said. “We’ve had a rash of calls in the last hour. A FedEx driver blew a red signal, hit three cars, and crashed into Bank of America. Lots of injuries.”

  Terry lifted an eyelid. “What the hell?” he said.

  “What is it?” asked the 911 operator.

  “His pupils – they’re so big, I can’t see the whites of his eyes.”

  “Keep administering CPR, just in case,” said the operator. “We don’t know what we’re dealing with yet.”

  Terry continued his chest pumps, and decided to try mouth-to-mouth. He recalled his Boy Scout training, placing his hand beneath the man’s head and tilting it back to open his airway. He pinched his nose shut and pulled his jaw downward to open the man’s mouth.

  He placed his mouth over that of the unconscious student that Ray had called Charlie, and breathed into him. His chest rose, and when Terry pulled back, it fell. “C’mon, Charlie. Come back to us, man,” he whispered. He repeated the process three more times.

  Nothing happened. He heard the ambulance siren wailing in the distance.

  From the corner of his eye, Terry saw something. He turned to see the fingers of Charlie’s right hand twitching. “Yes!” he screamed. “Yes!” He pumped his chest three more times. Charlie continued to twitch, but did not appear to be breathing on his own yet. Terry resumed the mouth-to-mouth as he prayed for the EMTs to arrive.

  The siren grew louder now. “I hear the siren,” he said to the open line of the cell phone. “And he moved!”

  “Good!” said the operator. “Keep doing what you’re doing then!”

  As he heard the boots slamming the floor outside, Terry raised his eyes to stare at the door, prepared to jump away so the experts could do their jobs.

  In a flash, Charlie threw his arm up, clamping his fingers around Terry’s throat. Terry clutched at the man’s hand to pull it away, but Noble’s other hand shot out and gripped Terry’s wrist, snapping it in two with a violent twisting.

  Terry screamed as the door burst open. Even as he felt the initial relief at the sight of the paramedics coming toward him, he felt the gaping teeth of the man into which he had just breathed live-giving oxygen clamp onto his jugular vein and rip his neck open.

  The last thing Terry Rogers remembered was feeling his own warm blood cascading down his neck and chest.

  *****

  West stayed in the antechamber of the lab until he had stripped all of his clothing off, one piece at a time, feeding each one into the compact, commercial grade incinerator. He was careful to pull them inside out, making sure the coveralls came off along with the taped-on gloves, as one piece. Dalton West knew how to avoid contamination and cross-contamination. After he was completely nude, he put on a fresh pair of nitrile gloves and a Tyvek suit and stepped into the lab, closing and sealing the door behind him.

  He stared through the huge glass window into the classroom. As he did so, the door flew open and a girl ran in. It was Pamela Howard, one of his most dedicated students. Her face was panicked, and she spun around the moment she ran in. “Professor West!” she called out.

  The lab walls were thick. West ran to the stainless steel counter and grabbed a phone from the wall, pushing the PA button. He spoke: “Pam! What’s wrong?”

  Upon hearing his voice, she spun toward the lab and saw him. She ran to the glass and pounded on it. “Professor West! Let me in! They’re going crazy out there! It’s … people are running everywhere! I think someone might have a gun or something!”

  West heard her words, but they didn’t make sense. Catastrophes could strike, but in Middletown, one a year was unusual, much less two in one day. He pushed the button again. “Did you come in direct contact with anyone?”

  “What do you mean?” she asked.
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  “Did you physically touch anyone since that all happened out there?”

  “I … I don’t think so!” she said. “I slid along the lockers and ran right up the stairwell. Mrs. Melvin was unconscious in the stairwell! I think she fell down the stairs!”

  “Did you touch her?” asked West.

  “No, no! I just ran past her! I was panicked.”

  “Check your shoes for blood,” said West. “Hurry. I’ll prepare you a suit to come in.”

  “I’m clean!” she said after a few moments. She hurried to the anteroom. West pushed a button and the outer door whisked open. She walked in and he closed the door.

  “Take off your clothes and burn them. All of them. Then put on the Tyvek suit there and gloves. I’ll buzz you in after.”

  “Why?”

  “Pam, just do it!”

  In tears, Pamela followed his instructions. West called 911, unconsciously sneaking a glance or two at Pam as she changed.

  It rang and rang. He finally hung up in frustration as Pam indicated she was ready. He opened the airlock and let her inside, sealing it immediately.

  “What did you see out there?” asked West. “Did you see Charlie Noble?”

  “Your T.A.?”

  “Yes. He was exposed to something in here, and he got away before I could quarantine him.”

  “I heard he was in the bathroom. At least that’s what someone said. They said he passed out.”

  “Shit!” said West. He pulled out his phone and navigated to the CDC’s website. He found the reporting number and called.

  “Hello? This is Dalton West, Biology Professor at Middletown U in Middletown, Indiana. I think we’ve got a serious outbreak that your people need to be aware of.”

  He explained it to them, as they responded, West got a strange feeling. They didn’t ask enough questions in response to what he had told them. When he hung up, he was more disturbed than before.

  “What’s going on? What did they say?” Pam asked, her green eyes intense.