The Pandemic Sequence (Book 1): The Tilian Virus

by Calen, Tom

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  The sun stood at its zenith as the camp came into sight. One of the sentries shouted their arrival and quickly a crowd rushed to welcome them. An excited chatter immediately broke out amid the camp. Within minutes the news of the underground shelter and the Cuban broadcast swept through the refugees. Appreciating the exuberant welcoming, Mike struggled to make his way through the crowd in the hopes of seeking the stillness of his make-shift hut. Michelle Lafkin, arm now properly splinted, pushed to the forefront and threw her one good arm around Andrew. Hmm, Mike thought with amusement, that’s new.

  As he looked over the sea of smiling faces, he noticed that once again Derrick was absent. Making a mental note to speak with him, Mike’s eyes locked with Dr. Marena. Unlike the others, the doctor’s face was set with a grim, haggard look. Foregoing the comfort of his dwelling, Mike made his way over to the doctor.

  “Glad you made it back,” he said, extended his hand to Mike.

  “Thanks, you don’t look it, though,” he replied, as he shook the man’s hand.

  “It’s been a helluva a few days since you left.”

  Now walking off to the side, Mike said, “Bring me up to speed, Doc.”

  In a hushed tone, Allen Marena updated Mike on the situation in the camp.

  “The lieutenant isn’t doing so good. By the time he got back here, he lost a lot of blood. We tried a few transfusions, which seemed to work, but the infection in the wound is my biggest concern. I’m pumping him with antibiotics, but honestly, Mike, he’s still in critical condition. If I had an OR maybe, but there is just too much infected flesh and muscle to safely remove.”

  Mike processed the information, his fear of losing the lieutenant seemingly coming to fruition.

  “What about taking the leg?” he asked the doctor.

  “Again, with an OR maybe. I haven’t done an amputation out here.”

  “Can you do it or not?” Mike’s tone expressed his agitation.

  “Yes, but that’s not the biggest obstacle,” Marena responded. “He said he doesn’t want me to cut the leg.”

  “I don’t give a damn what he wants! We need him, one leg or two. How soon can you be ready to operate?” Mike demanded, his volume reaching the crowd, which now grew hushed.

  “I’ll need an hour to get prepped. But, Mike, I don’t think he…”

  “Is he conscious now?” he asked, cutting the doctor off midsentence.

  “Yes.”

  Mike began to walk with angry determination towards the medical tent.

  “One hour!” he shouted to the doctor behind him.

  As he threw back the tent flap, Mike was hit with the stench of death. It was not like the smell of the Tils and their victims. Rather, this was the scent of human descent into death. Laying still on the cot, tubes running into arms and nose, the lieutenant was ghostly white, paler now than when he’d seen him last. His breathing was labored, each breath clearly posing a struggle for the once indomitable man. Whatever anger and frustration Mike entered with slipped from him quickly upon seeing the fragile figure.

  Pulling a chair up to the bedside, Mike sat down silently.

  “Hey, kid,” Olinder spoke with a weakened voice, barely above a whisper. The effort required to speak was clear in his struggling tone.

  “You know why I’m here, LT?” Mike asked gently.

  “Yea, and you still ain’t gonna get my leg,” the withered man attempted to joke.

  “We need you,” he told the veteran with certitude.

  “Nah, kid. They don’t need me. And you just think you do. Truth is you’re the one that’s needed.” His words, though soft, tore through Mike with a staggering force. It felt like the old soldier had been rummaging around in his mind, reading a hidden diary of thought. He had told no one of his conflicted emotions, yet Olinder’s words carried such meaning that they had to be deliberately selected.

  “I’ve seen the look, kid. I’ve seen it on the faces of the squad leaders I served under. Saw it in the mirror when I led my men in the second Iraq war.” The veteran’s breaths came in short, shallow rasps, like the tide as it retreated from the shore.

  “I don’t know if I can do this anymore. If I’m what the camp needs…I just don’t know.” Mike’s voice broke with the exhaustion of both mind and body. He was surprised to feel a warm tear carve its gentle path down his cheek. He had let the years harden his emotions, fearing they would distract from survival. Yet in this moment, he let the dam break. He let the sadness, anger, fear, and uncertainty expose him to their power.

  “I’d worry if you didn’t doubt, Mike. I’ve seen more people die because they were too certain. Good leaders doubt themselves.”

  The statement seemed quite contradictory to Mike.

  “They all look to me for the answers. But I don’t have any more experience with this than they do,” Mike said. For only the second time in six years he vocalized the fear of leading that had weighed so heavily upon him. His eyes searched the lieutenant’s face, pleading for an answer.

  “Well, kid, that’s when you trust your gut and hope for the best.” Steve Olinder spoke the words with a compelling sagacity. Mike could not help but bark out a laugh; he was unprepared for the simple, Zen-styled wisdom from the ornery veteran. Laughing through his tears, he understood that what the lieutenant had said was exactly what he needed to hear, his plain words overflowed with more profundity than any eastern philosophy.

  Chapter Eleven

  Think, Mike, THINK, his thoughts screamed. The mini-SUV he drove was fast approaching the overturned tractor and the people stranded atop it. The metal shell of the trailer rested on its side, detached from the tractor. The number of infected that swarmed around it shocked him. There’s got to be dozens of them, his mind took a quick tally. Too many to ram.

  “We have to help them,” Michelle pleaded.

  “I know,” Mike replied, though he did not yet know how.

  Blaring the horn with the hope of drawing some of the infected away from the trailer, Mike continued to pull closer. The speed of the SUV and the soft terrain of the grass would not accommodate any hasty maneuvering. Within seconds the caravan sped past the trailer, and even at that speed, he saw the faces of the four people fall with disappointment, believing they were to be left behind. Once past the congestion, he eased the SUV back onto the hardened surface of the road. Easing off the gas, Mike allowed the vehicle to roll to a stop as the minivan and larger SUV pulled alongside.

  “What do we do?” Derrick asked from the driver’s seat of his mother’s minivan.

  Only a few of the infected gave up on the stranded strangers and followed the sound of the horn. Mike knew he had mere moments before they would be upon him and the students. Settling on a course of action, he quickly shouted instructions to the drivers of the other two vehicles.

  “So, you’re saying like cowboys and Indians?” Sean Reno, the driver of the larger SUV asked.

  “If that helps you,” Mike replied, surprised by his sarcasm in the situation.

  Not waiting for a response, he put the mini-SUV into motion. Making a large U-turn on the parkway, he began the return to the trailer, with Sean’s SUV following. The passengers of both vehicles lowered the windows and positioned themselves as Mike had instructed. The infected that strayed from the trailer were brought down quickly with shots fired from both trucks.

  Let’s hope this works, Mike thought.

  As if ripped from a John Wayne movie, the two vehicles made a steady circle around the downed trailer. Students fired the new cache of weapons, inflicting deadly results on their targets. After two circuits, the number of infected still standing had thinned greatly. The racket of gunfire, however, had drawn other infected out of the woods that bordered the parkway. As the bloodied figures streamed out of the trees, Mike said a quick prayer that the next stage of his hastily devised plan would work. With a third circuit complete, the two trucks pulled alongside the trailer, the drivers positioning the vehicles a car w
idth apart. Students now let loose a deafening roar of gunshots from the inside. Through the review mirror, Mike could see Derrick’s minivan begin its approach. The infected swarmed towards them, their numbers far greater than those of the shooters.

  Derrick pulled the minivan in between the two SUVs while another student slid open the large passenger door. Getting as close to the trailer as possible—no easy task with the number of fallen infected blocking the way—Derrick signaled for the four strangers to jump to the minivan’s roof. With some trepidation, the four figures made the short leap down, then scrambled into the open side door.

  As the door slid safely shut behind the newcomers, Mike shifted the gears into reverse. With great difficulty, he wove the mini-SUV backwards through the abandoned cars on the parkway. Several loud thuds on the rear bumper marked the final breaths of the infected behind them. Finally clear of the danger, Mike cut the wheel sharply and returned the vehicle to a forward facing direction. The other two drivers did the same with their automobiles, and soon the caravan was once again on its way to the military base.

  A few miles further down the road, Mike signaled for the convoy to stop. The area was visibly clear of any infected and he wanted to assess the situation of the group’s new additions. Assuming the strangers to have some injuries, he grabbed the first aid kit he had collected from the Chancer house. If nothing else, they could shift some people out of the already cramped minivan into one of the other vehicles.

  Any medical ministrations were delayed, for as soon as all three vehicles stopped, Mike was enveloped in a grateful, and bone crushing, embrace by the woman they had rescued.

  “Thank you, thank you, thank you,” was all the woman said tears of relief flowed unrestrainedly down her face.

  Once she collected herself, the woman introduced herself as Sarah Weyland. She explained that both she and her son, Andrew, had been attempting to escape from their town when the parkway filled with infected. Drivers had swerved to avoid them, causing a massive pileup that brought all traffic to a halt. The two managed to go unnoticed as they huddled in the backseat of her car, and several hours later, she and her young son had started walking. They came upon Bryce Glassion and his daughter, Annie, a day later and the four continued their journey together. Another attack of infected forced them atop the trailer, where they had remained for the last eighteen hours.

  Without direction, Michelle and Jenni brought the strangers food and water. Mike knew they should not linger long, but allowed the four haggard looking survivors a few moments to settle down and gather themselves. He informed them of their intent to head for the military base and extended an invitation to join them, which the four readily accepted.

  The caravan soon resumed its journey with the passengers more evenly divided among the three vehicles. What was once considered a scenic road now more closely resembled a warzone. The carnage of mangled corpses, infected and uninfected alike, lay scattered in all directions. The burned out shells of automobiles still smoked in the afternoon sun. The peaceful suburban area had turned into an unbelievable scene, similar to those of a war-torn third world country from the evening news. It was impossible to feel any sort of satisfaction from the rescue of the four strangers when the hell outside the vehicles starkly showed how many had been lost in just two days. Even Gazelle, usually overflowing with energy, seemed subdued, perhaps sensing the anxiety of her human companions.

  As Mike drove, Michelle scanned the radio stations finding only static. For years, complaints about the sensationalistic tendencies of the twenty-four hour news networks made for entertaining debates. It seemed unreal that a nation as powerful as the United States of America could so quickly be crippled to the extent that there was no media information. Even the emergency broadcast system had ceased its shrill, warning tone.

  The silence was unnerving, and Mike was grateful to direct the vehicle towards the exit ramp where large white letters on a green sign announced the safety of “Fort Campbell Military Base.”

  Following the markers on the road, the caravan soon pulled into the main gate of the compound. An uneasy sensation gently gripped Mike’s nerves as his eyes took in the empty sidewalks, roads, and guard stations.

  They probably had to pull back to secure the buildings, he told himself. The self-encouragement did little to relieve his anxiety as their progression onto the base showed no signs of life. Unlike the parkway and the streets of his town, the meandering roadways of the base were devoid of any bodies. Mike could only hope it was a good sign.

  The vehicles came to a stop in front of what looked to be one of the main buildings. Twenty-two eager passengers stepped out of their three transports and formed a tight group in front of Mike. Their attention focused on him as they awaited instructions.

  “All right, guys. We need to stick close together. The base is big, so it means we have to look around so the soldiers can find us. Everyone armed just in case?” It was a question the education professors in college had not prepared him to ask while he was training to become a teacher. “Nobody pulls a trigger, unless I say so! That clear? We don’t need to accidently shoot one of the good guys.”

  Hoping that trigger fingers remained un-itched, Mike led the mostly-student militia inside the large doors of the building. The room was immense, its walls stretching two stories to a vaulted ceiling. Various flags hung loose and stirred slightly from the breeze through the open doors. As with the guard stations, the room stood empty. The group explored several of the adjacent rooms, finding halls that led to even more halls. The complex was a veritable maze that challenged him to commit each turn to memory in case a swift escape was needed.

  It took several hours to search the entirety of the massive building, and fatigue mixed with disappointment as they netted no results. The offices they found were neat and orderly, no indication of an attack or hurried exit. The apparent abandonment of the building confused Mike. The base, and the soldiers that trained at it, were world-renowned. He could not accept that the military—either through orders or defeat—would have completely deserted it.

  For now though, he could see the weariness that had overtaken the rest of his companions, especially the four new additions who had had little sleep during their time atop the trailer. They graciously accepted his decision to return to the front entry room and set up for the night, and though the twists and turns they had taken disoriented him, they soon managed to find their way back. In the large windows of the room, Mike was surprised to see the sun already beginning its descent. Searching this place took longer than I thought, he mused.

  The mood of the students in his care had greatly improved since leaving the small confines of the school’s faculty room. The goal had been to reach the military base, which had been accomplished without any great injury. As he had suspected, simply being active in their survival had filled them with a greater sense of confidence. Mike still turned over questions in his mind as to the whereabouts of the base occupants, but even he felt a bit of tension ease as the group ate and talked into the evening.

  Using rolled-up hoodies and spare clothing as pillows, the small band of survivors began to drift into sleep. Mike noticed that even though the room was significantly larger than their previous nights’ quarters, the students still sought the security of close proximity as they huddled together.

  His mind restless, he stood at the doors and stared out into the night. What if everyone’s gone? he thought. It can’t be. There has to be soldiers out there somewhere. Tomorrow we’ll split into groups and search the other buildings. It’s the damn military! They have to be out there!

  Retrieving a cigarette Erik had given him earlier from his shirt pocket, Mike stepped quietly into the moonlight and lit it with the strike of a match. As his lungs filled with smoke, his eyes stared off into the darkened sky. The stars still shone, appearing to twinkle as clouds and gasses passed in front of them. To his left, the moon gleamed in a sliver of silver light.

  He instantly felt miniscule a
s he gazed towards the heavens. Everything’s changed down here. Our world seems to be coming to an end, but out there things just keep going.

  He had not been one to ponder mortality and eternity in the past. Yet in that moment, after three days of trying to survive an unspeakable terror, he could feel the strands of time that pulled him into the future. Time marched relentlessly onward, dragging along even the most resistant. He felt helpless as he understood that no matter how much he willed it to be so, the world he had known was indeed over.

  His thoughts turned to the students who slept in the room behind the doors. Their futures were irrevocably changed. What plans they might have had, he now realized, were on a different road, one forever barred to them as they travelled down this new path. He thought of his own family, knowing how many of them had fallen ill. No foolish hopes existed for him that they had somehow survived the infection; the only hope he held was that their ends had come swiftly and peacefully. He had come south for independence, but now felt utterly alone. An orphan wandering aimlessly in a foreign land.

  The cigarette had long since burned itself out when Mike flicked the filter from his hand. His somber mood kept him from returning inside, preferring to surround himself with the sounds of crickets and the life of evening nature. Some time had passed when he heard the panicked voice through the doors.

  “Annie? Annie!”

  Mike quickly came through the doors to find Bryce Glassion standing and shouting for his daughter. Seeing Mike, his voice called out. “I can’t find my daughter!”

  The others soon woke to his frantic calls of her name. With two small flashlights, Mike and Derrick began searching the room, hoping to find the girl sleeping soundly. Seconds passed when they noticed one of the doors leading into the rest of the building stood ajar. Without hesitation, Mike, Derrick, and the girl’s father rushed through it into the hall.