by Brett Abell
His watch alarm went off and he almost panicked. He rushed to the office and pulled his portfolio from the chair. He didn’t want to be late for the class he was about to head. He draped the long strap over his shoulder and reached for the door. Just as he stepped into the hallway, he heard a piercing scream.
Charlie ran for the stairwell to find students rushing out and away from the lower floor of the building. He took the stairs two at a time and had to stop at the bottom floor, his head spinning and his eyes blurring again. He tried to shake it off but the effects lasted much longer. He slowly turned his head to the hallway and saw Derek leaning over someone. Charlie staggered a few steps closer and had to place his hand on the hallway wall to steady himself. He opened his mouth to speak and found that his mouth and throat were so dry, he couldn’t form words. His tongue actually felt like swollen sandpaper.
Charlie staggered another step toward Derek and it was then that he noted the pool of blood on the floor. “Wh-what happened?” he croaked.
Derek was hunched over a co-ed and the look of his eyes when he turned to glare at Charlie made him stagger back a step. They were both as black as polished ebony wood, and Charlie felt his stomach lurch. Derek opened his mouth and chunks of bloody flesh dripped from his teeth. He let a gurgling scream escape his mouth before turning back to the co-ed.
Charlie tried to shake his head again, but his vision continued to blur. Surely, he didn’t see what he thought he saw. Students continued to flow out of the different rooms, screaming at the sight on the floor then turning to bolt for the door.
Derek grabbed a young man who tried to slip past him and took a bite from his leg before the man shrieked, kicked him in the face, and crawled to safety. Charlie blinked rapidly as he tried to make sense of what was before him. The more he tried to think, the muddier his thoughts became.
Without thinking and without the ability to stop himself, Charlie grabbed the nearest student and sunk his teeth into her shoulder. She screamed and seemed to fold on herself, falling to the floor. The last coherent thought that Charlie Noble had before he was lost forever was Why is she screaming? I’m the one starving.
*****
Sheriff Travis Walton pulled his Crown Victoria into the parking space outside of the coffee shop. The nip in the air promised that winter would soon rear its ugly head. He put the car into park when his radio crackled to life and the static-filled voice of his dispatcher called to him.
“Five-oh-one, 10-12 central.” She was asking him to call in to the dispatch center on his mobile phone.
“Copy central.” Travis clipped the mic back to the side of the radio and sighed as he pulled the flip phone from his shirt pocket and began scrolling through the numbers. “Why doesn’t she use the damned radio? It’s not like people are listening to our traffic.” He punched the call button and pressed the phone to his ear.
“Travis, we got a call of some kind of hubbub going on at the university. Apparently, it’s getting crazy over there. The county 911 operator said her switchboard is lit up like a Christmas tree!”
“What?” He wasn’t sure he heard her right.
“That’s not all. Apparently, some delivery driver thought it would be a good idea to deliver inside the bank. He drove right through the front of the building. Reports are sketchy, but it sounds like there are people hurt.”
He rolled his eyes and squeezed the phone tighter. “And you couldn’t report this over the radio because …”
The disdain in Rosa’s voice was clear. “Because you gave us orders not to announce the big stuff over the radio. People using scanners? Ring any bells? People will flip out if it sounds like …”
“Yeah, yeah, I remember. But this isn’t what I was talking about.” He ran a roughened hand across his face and squeezed his eyes shut. “Look, send Jack to check on the bank and see if you can radio Leo over at the university to verify the 911 calls. If he says it’s all clear over there, then we don’t have to sweat it.”
“I already tried. They’re either tied up or he’s using a different channel again. Last time I couldn’t reach him, he had switched to an aux channel so our traffic wouldn’t distract him.”
Travis groaned as he threw the Crown Vic into reverse. “Copy that, Central. I’m headed that way now. Keep trying to reach somebody by phone and verify that this isn’t some fraternity prank.”
“On it, Sheriff.” Rosa hung up and Travis flipped his phone closed. He slipped it back into his pocket as he heard her voice crackle across the radio, directing Jack Brown to the bank. Deputy Curtis came on the radio and asked if he needed to provide backup.
Travis pulled his mic and keyed it. “Negative. Maintain your patrol until the situation is assessed.”
“Copy that, Sheriff.” Mark Curtis’s disappointment was obvious.
He was a young officer and hadn’t been with the department but a year. He was a little too enthusiastic when there was something going on. Like any younger officer, he dreamed of a life fighting crime, sliding over the hoods of cars, shooting it out with career bad guys, and wearing his badge like a superhero crest, but he had a lot to learn still. Police work was mostly sitting and waiting or filling out paperwork. The one percent of the time when you can roll Code 3, lights and siren blaring, were few and far between. Especially in a small town like this one. For excitement, he really needed to apply to a larger department in a big city. The only problem was, they want experienced officers. The only way younger officers can get any experience is with the smaller towns with the smaller budgets.
*****
Jack Brown shot across town as quick as he could, his lights flashing and siren echoing off the storefronts as he made his way to the Bank of America. He slid to a stop and his breath caught in his throat. This wasn’t just a case of somebody clipping a few bricks off the corner of a building. A FedEx truck was buried to the rear axle inside the entrance of the bank.
Deputy Brown stepped from his cruiser and started ordering people back. He grabbed the mic from his shoulder and keyed it. “Rosa, we’re going to need meat wagons. Quick.”
He barely heard her reply as he pushed past the growing crowd and tried to find a way in the front of the building. It was effectively blocked. The back of the truck didn’t have doors that he could climb through, so he started down the side of the building. He couldn’t see through the dusty windows well. It almost looked like smoke inside the building, and he glanced around for something to use to shatter the outside window. He pulled his expandable baton and whipped the glass, only to have the baton bounce away, a light scratch appearing on the Lexan windows.
“Son of a …” He slipped his baton back into his belt and only briefly considered trying to shoot his way through. “Surely there’s a back door.”
“Sheriff! Over here!”
Jack looked up to see a woman in a tan dress waving him through a non-descript steel door further down the side of the building. He trotted toward her, his hand holding his duty belt steady.
“How many are hurt?”
She pushed past him and shook her head. “I don’t know. It’s crazy in there. It took forever to get this fire door open.”
“Is there a fire? Do I need to call the fire department?”
“I don’t think so … it’s just full of … something. I couldn’t breathe.” She pointed deeper inside and Jack noted the air slowly clearing as the breeze sucked most of the particulates from the air. With the back door now opened, there was a cross breeze that was quickly clearing the building. He stepped inside and around a corner, his eyes settling on a crushed fire extinguisher.
Screams and whimpers echoed within the narrow confines of the bank lobby, and Jack began sifting through the debris of the crash to locate victims. He pulled his radio again and keyed it. “Rosa, you might want to send the fire department here. We need EMS.”
“Copy that, 502.” She didn’t take the time to chew his butt for not saying “Central” and using her name instead.
Jack heard what sounded like a feral scream and the hair on the back of his neck stood on end. He turned quickly and it took a moment for his brain to register what he was actually seeing. A man in a FedEx uniform stood to his left, covered in blood and what appeared to be human entrails hanging from his hands. The man cocked his head to the side as he assessed Jack, and then screamed again.
Jack’s hand instinctively went to his holster, and he gripped the Glock 10MM pistol. He always believed that bigger was better and there were darn few weapons out there with the punch of a 10MM slug. He pulled the weapon and brought it to bear on the delivery driver. “Get on your knees! Now!”
The driver screamed at him again and lurched through the broken debris toward him. Jack’s finger tightened on the trigger only slightly until he realized the man was stuck in place. It appeared he had been thrown from the truck then pinned by debris.
Movement to his right caught his peripheral vision and Jack spun, weapon at the ready. A man in a three-piece suit staggered toward him, blood covering the side of this face and jacket. He nearly stumbled and fell over the ruined teller counter when his eyes fell on Jack.
Deputy Brown moved forward, his weapon lowered. “Sir, are you okay? You appear hurt.”
The overweight man paused and stared at him for just a moment then opened his mouth and screamed. The same feral scream that the delivery driver had given just moments before. The man raised his arm toward Jack and stepped forward.
Jack brought his weapon to bear on the man and fired two shots into his chest, rocking the man back and causing him to stumble. He tripped and fell backward behind the debris, and Jack let out a slow breath as he stood taller to try to see the man. “Jesus. I can’t believe I just …” His words caught in his throat as he noticed two more people slowly rise from the rubble. They turned and stared at him with the same blank stare. It was just then that Jack noticed their eyes. They were completely black. They both moved in unison and came toward him. Jack raised his pistol again and shouted a warning to the black-eyed bank employees. He was ready to squeeze the trigger again when the overweight, bloody banker stood up and began working his way toward him. Jack stumbled as he stepped back, his head shaking. “That’s not possible. You should be …” His words were cut short as the woman in the tan dress grabbed his arm and bit deeply into his bicep.
Jack’s scream was muffled by the shots fired at the same time. He turned and pushed the woman away, watching as she pulled a mouthful of his uniform shirt and part of his flesh away in the process. He cupped his arm with his good hand and felt his pistol hit the ground near his feet. It was only then that he saw the scratches and blood down the woman’s back. Something had apparently attacked her before she opened the door.
He stumbled back and fell against the bulletproof glass of the bank front. He could feel the sticky, warm blood pulsing past his fingers as he cupped his arm. He also saw the room begin to swim and he knew that he had either lost too much blood already or there was something in the air that was about to render him unconscious. He tried to shake his head to clear it but an insanely loud noise continued to grow. He had to force himself to inhale each breath and he took another step back from the black-eyed woman in the tan dress, who was now moving closer for another bite. She stumbled over the ruined furniture and fell at his feet, her hands reaching out like claws to pull his trousers closer to her.
The buzzing-like ringing in his ears grew louder and Jack glanced at the window, a red light reflecting across it as the fire department rolled in for the rescue. Thankfully, their sirens went dead and the buzzing in his head stopped. Jack could see the pararescue team jump from the truck, bags in hand, and rush toward the open steel door. “Hooray,” Jack croaked from his dry lips. “The cavalry is here.”
He felt his legs give out from below him and he slid to the floor beside his pistol. He could see the woman in the tan dress still reaching for him, her nails scraping across the polyester material of his uniform pants, his blood still dripping from the corner of her mouth. Jack looked at her and he wanted so badly to call her a bitch. But he opened his mouth and a feral scream erupted just as the pararescue entered the rear door.
*****
Travis worked the Crown Vic through the downtown traffic and he could see the bell tower from the university off in the distance. He knew he was only about half a mile from the Administration Building, but the cars just weren’t moving. He keyed his mic. “Central, do we have any reports of accidents between Oak and the school?”
“Five-oh-one, there are so many conflicting reports right now … I don’t know what the hell is going on!” Travis stared at the radio and his brows furrowed. It was not like Rosa to lose it on the radio.
“Say again, Central?”
“Sheriff, it’s like the whole town suddenly lost its mind. Nine-one-one is sending reports … I can’t make out heads or tails from half of it.”
Travis hung his head and tried to see past the cars in front of him. “Did you ever reach Leo?”
“Negative. And now, when I try to make a call, any call, I get a recording that … you need to hear it yourself.”
Travis dropped the mic and pulled his cell phone. He dialed the Sheriff’s Office and after the first ring, a recorded message played. “All circuits are busy now. Please hang up and try your call again later.” He stared at the phone and shook his head. That was a message for landlines. His cell carrier didn’t use that message when there was an overload on the system.
He picked up the mic again. “Central, do you get the exact same message on land lines?”
“That’s affirmative, Sheriff. Same voice, same recording. That’s what’s so screwy.”
“Copy that. Get on the dedicated line to the state police. Let them know that we may have a situation here and …” She keyed over him, cutting him off.
“I’ve already tried, Travis. It’s the same damned recording.”
“That’s impossible. That’s a dedicated line. It goes through the same fiber optic that the …” He released the mic and felt his stomach turn. “Rosa, check the computers. Do we still have internet?”
“Negative, Sheriff. I already tried. It’s like the whole town has been cut off.”
Travis ground his teeth and his eyes narrowed as he threw the cruiser into reverse and started backing away from the blockade of cars. He spun the car around the corner and shot through the intersection.
“Central, I’m heading back to the station. Call in all other units that aren’t engaged. Then get on the radio to the next county and see if they’ll respond.”
“All other units? You mean Mark?”
“And the reserves! Something isn’t right and until I know what’s going on, I want everybody sworn to protect and to serve on duty.” He spun the cruiser around the corner then nearly stood on the brakes. In the middle of the street, a tiny woman dressed in a housecoat was chewing on a man’s neck, blood smeared across the front of her and puddling beneath the pair.
Travis put the car into park and stepped out of the cruiser. “What the hell is going on here?”
The woman looked up at him and he realized she had to be in her seventies. Her claw-like hands were ripping at the young man’s chest as she bit and chewed the soft flesh of his neck. She looked up at the sheriff and his heart skipped a beat when he saw her eyes. They were as black as pitch. She opened her mouth to scream, and Travis pulled his weapon. He pointed the .40-caliber Glock at the little old lady and barked, “Hands where I can see them!”
She pushed off the man’s steaming corpse and came to her feet, her head cocking to the side as she assessed the meal before her. She opened her mouth and screamed again then bound forward, her claw-like hands snapping at him. Travis groaned as he brought the front blade of his weapon to bear on her narrow chest then pulled the trigger.
The Glock fired two quick shots. The first hit her square in the sternum, the second in the shoulder. The old woman fell back and landed on the hard pavement. Travis shoo
k his head as he re-holstered his weapon and stepped away from the door of his car. He had only taken two steps toward her when she rolled over and got her feet back under her. She turned to find the sheriff standing only a few feet away and opened her mouth to scream again. This time, it sounded like she was trying to gargle with broken glass as the bloody foam shot from her mouth. Apparently, he had pierced a lung with his first shot.
She lurched forward and raised her good arm to grasp at him, her other arm swinging uselessly by her side, holding on by only a shred of skin.
Travis pulled his weapon again and fired three shots. Two shots hit her center mass, the third destroyed her face. Until the third round hit, she was still moving toward him. Once his bullet entered her skull, it was as if a switch had been flipped. She crumpled to the ground and collapsed just feet from him.
Travis stepped back and had to remind himself to breathe. He ejected the magazine from his pistol and loaded a fresh one. He quickly glanced around and saw nobody else in the immediate vicinity. He fell into the seat behind the wheel and keyed his mic. “Central. I have a situation.”
“Sheriff, we have situations all over the place. People are going into rages, attacking family members.” The fear and anxiety in Rosa’s voice was palpable. “I think this is a ‘shit-hitting-the-fan’ situation. The 911 operator gave up trying to reach anybody and abandoned her station. She’s got kids, Travis.”
Travis sighed heavily, his mind instantly thinking of his own wife and son. He picked up the mic and keyed, unsure what to say for the first time in his life. “Have any of the reserves shown up yet?”
“Only one. I handed him a shotgun and put him on sentry duty. Travis, our phones are down, the radio is the only thing working, and I can’t even reach the other departments to have them ask for help. People are going to start coming here.”
Travis closed his door and pulled around the corpses in the road. “If people show up … I don’t know what to …” He released the mic and glanced toward the football field. “Rosa, isn’t there a bomb shelter under the football field?”
