The Pandemic Sequence (Book 1): The Tilian Virus

by Calen, Tom

  “ANNIE!” he father screamed into the darkness. Mike and Derrick echoed his calls as they splashed the flashlights’ beams into the rooms leading off the hall. The three men broke into a run as room upon room showed no sign of the little girl.

  Racing down the hall, shouting her name yet hearing no response, Mike’s heart began to sink. As Derrick turned his light from an empty office back into the hall, the small circle of illumination flashed across the face of a startled four-year old girl. The angelic-looking child said innocently, “I had to go potty, Daddy.”

  With an agonized cry and tears of relief, Mr. Glassion rushed to his daughter. Gazelle, who had not strayed more than a few feet from her owner’s side, began to sound her high-pitched bark punctuated with low growls.

  “Wait!” Derrick shouted into the night.

  Mike was stunned by the swift horror of an infected grabbing the child from behind and lifting her to its snarling lips. Teeth broke flesh as the creature tore into the girl’s shoulder. Her father, just a few feet from his child, screamed, “NOOOOO!!!”

  With guns drawn, Mike and Derrick rushed forward yet were unable to take a shot as Glassion leapt at the infected, and all three forms went crashing down. Though it was just seconds to reach them, the pair discovered the still form of the little girl, her neck savagely torn apart. Her father began to rise from the tangled mess of limbs. He stood with his back to them, his head drawn down towards the form of his deceased daughter.

  Words abandoned him, and Mike stood, silently unable to take his eyes from the sickening sight on the floor.

  “Mr. Glassion?” asked Derrick, his voice gentle.

  The man struggled to speak, his words a choking gurgle over his tears of anguish. His head shook from side to side in an apparent refusal to accept the reality before him.

  “Mr. Glassion?” Derrick intoned again.

  Mike motioned for the boy to withdraw, to allow the man to grieve in peace, when he noticed what Derrick had clearly concluded before him. The murmuring sounds of Bryce Glassion were not caused by grief. His eyes widened with realization as the man’s head snapped violently to his shoulder, his body spinning to attack.

  Before Mike could react, his right ear exploded in pain when Derrick fired a single shot that tore through the newly-infected man’s skull. As the body slumped to the floor, Mike struggled to ease the piercing ringing that echoed endlessly in his brain. Derrick tugged on his arm, pointing the flashlight further down the hall. The two turned quickly and retreated back to the main room as wave upon wave of infected filled the hall and chased after them. Pausing at the end of one hall, both men stopped to unleash a flurry of bullets at their pursuers. Though the ringing in his right ear still throbbed, Mike could distinctly hear through his left the sounds of gunfire and screaming from the room where the others waited.

  Continuing their retreat, Mike pushed open the doors to the front room and found it was now filled with infected pouring in through every entrance. Students armed with a variety of weapons struggled to keep the crushing wave from sweeping over them. The infected pushed forward, two replacing each one that fell to a bullet. Others of the overwhelming number crouched greedily over human bodies, feasting on flesh and muscle. He could hear the sounds of infected drawing ever closer behind him.

  Derrick rushed straight into the room and joined his friends in their fight for survival. Mike Allard—high school history teacher—stood frozen, shell-shocked as the events moved in slow motion before him. His eyes found the ravaged body of Amanda Piper, the girl who had remarkably survived while her classmates died. Sean Reno, the boy who had helped the others escape in his SUV, lay on the floor, his body riddled with bullets after he had become infected. So many, Mike thought, his emotions detached from his body.

  Wordlessly, he reloaded the twin firearms and turned to face the infected that were racing towards him. Through a cloud of disbelief, he began firing round after round. His shoulders ached from the recoil of the powerful weapons, but he continued undeterred as the bodies of infected began piling before him. Screams and gunfire roared distantly, as if a world away.

  With a glance, he saw the remaining students inching further and further back. Soon, he could sense them only feet behind him. Derrick and Jenni joined him in his defense of the hall, while others continued firing into the entry room.

  You’re surrounded, a voice screamed from within. As the infected closed the distance in front and behind, the voice—Mike’s voice—spoke again, this time with no emotion.

  Tonight…we die.

  Chapter Twelve

  The service was brief, several members of the camp taking turns sharing stories of Lieutenant Steven Olinder and the mechanic Tim Cornell.

  At one end of the camp, a small patch of land held markers memorializing the refugees that had died since the camp had been established, yet, the lieutenant’s was the first body to be interred in the space. The loss of the military man sent a concerned shock through the camp. If Mike had learned anything in his study of history, naming a successor that the people trusted and respected would go far to alleviate their fears. Paul Jenson had rejected the offer of security command. In anticipation of the expected refusal, Mike had thankfully asked him privately. He did not want Lisa Velazquez to know that she was his second choice.

  The council met directly after the burial ceremony to discuss plans for the exodus south, as well as other camp business. As the members took their seats, Mike entered the tent dressed in what passed for the more formal clothing he had donned for the funeral.

  “Before we get to the Cuban broadcast, let’s run through the status updates first,” he said, bringing an official start to the meeting. The doctor shared his concern regarding the low stock of antibiotics in the camp’s medical supply. The intensive treatment of the lieutenant’s infection had put a severe drain on their resources. Upon the veteran’s request, Mike had agreed to administer the lethal dose of morphine that ended the proud man’s suffering. Dr. Marena had refused to perform the action out of ethical and moral convictions. Mike respected both men’s decisions and therefore took the duty upon himself. Marena continued his situation report with an update on Abby Jarvis’ condition. The young pregnant woman seemed to be in fine health. Pregnancy was a new quandary for the camp, and one Mike believed they would soon face again. Eighteen months in the camp had allowed many of the refugees to transition from a mode of survival to one of relative security, marked by romantic bonds that were beginning to form among several refugees. Michelle and Andrew’s clinging embrace two days earlier was just one example of those bonds.

  Michelle Lafkin announced that she would lead a team to the hidden vehicles to inventory the contents. Having loaded many of the boxes, Mike knew that food would not be a concern for some time. The situation not having allowed for a thorough search, he hoped that some of what they had removed from the tornado shelter included medical supplies for the doctor. The meeting progressed as each member updated the group. Derrick Chancer had little to say regarding the community, which caused Mike to worry again that his time spent in the isolated tent was beginning to distract him from his responsibilities.

  Soon the conversation turned to Cuba and its alleged promise of safety. Even the loss of the lieutenant had not dampened the excited buzz that marked most conversations in the camp over the last two days. Mike knew no vote was needed; the eagerness to believe the message and head south was evident.

  “Lisa,” he addressed the new head of security. “I need you to determine the fastest and safest route south.”

  “Well, I’ve been looking at the maps since we returned. The trip will be close to nine hundred miles. Given our numbers, I’d like to try and get our hands on at least two buses for the main portion of the camp. The rest can divide among smaller vehicles to scout ahead and provide security.”

  Mike was impressed that she had already begun the preparations. He knew the loss of her commanding officer struck a deep blow. Her dedication, however, d
rove her to honor his memory through determined efficiency.

  “Okay, the less vehicles the better. Biggest obstacle, though, is going to be gas. Any thoughts?” Mike offered the question to the assembly.

  Lisa again had already begun to develop a plan of action. “With rotating excursion groups, we would need at least a month to secure enough fuel for the journey. The other option is to leave sooner and hope to find fuel along the way.”

  “I think it will be better to wait the month,” the doctor added. “I know everyone is eager to head out, but a month won’t change much and it will allow us to prepare more comprehensively.”

  “Agreed,” Mike responded. “Derrick, what do you think?”

  The young man’s mind was clearly elsewhere and seemed startled when he heard his name.

  “Huh? Oh, yeah, right. No, a month is good,” he said. Mike could feel the disapproval emanating from Paul behind him. He’s right, I have waited too long with Derrick, he thought.

  Seeking to swing the attention from Derrick, he turned to Michelle. “When you get an inventory of the supplies, bring it directly to me. We can’t assume the trip south will take only two or three days. I don’t want the camp thinking they can feast for the next month. We continue with the ration sizes we have now.”

  The discussion continued for some time. Lisa agreed to send the first recovery team out the following day. Without Tim, they would be forced to find transportation in relatively good working order. Some in the camp had basic mechanical skills, but none could rival the knowledge level of the deceased mechanic. As the council departed, Mike asked Derrick to remain behind. As Paul exited the room, he glanced back to Mike and gave a slight nod of encouragement. The camp leader knew the time had come, but dreaded the conversation he was now forced to have.

  With the room now empty save for the two of them, his former student spoke first.

  “I know what you want to talk about. I’ve let you down, and I’m sorry for that, sir.” Even with the amount of time that had passed and experiences shared, Derrick still addressed Mike formally with either “sir” or “Mr. Allard.”

  “Derrick, we all know that what you’re dealing with is unimaginable, and I respect what you’re trying to do. But I just don’t think it’s healthy for you, and it certainly isn’t safe.”

  The young man stared at the table and nodded his head gently. Though time and horror had taken its toll, Mike could still see the young boy who had once sat in his classroom, the boy who had dreams of college football and marrying his high school sweetheart.

  “How is she?” Mike asked.

  Derrick raised his head, his eyes giving the answer as he shook his head in despair.

  “Derrick, this next month is going to take all of us giving all we have. For the time being, I’m going to ask Paul to take over your responsibilities managing the camp.” The words tied Mike’s stomach into a painful knot.

  “But, more importantly,” he continued, “I’m worried that you’re holding on to something that isn’t there anymore. I can see it consuming you. She wouldn’t want that.”

  With more force and energy than he had shown in months, Derrick snapped back. “I’m not giving up on her! She wouldn’t have given up on me! It’s so easy for you. You don’t care about anyone like I do. We’re all expendable to you. You were going to kill her! Just like you killed the lieutenant and all the others! You haven’t even seen her in months.”

  “I haven’t seen her because she is not there, Derrick,” Mike said calmly.

  “No,” the young man spat, his anger seething. “You haven’t seen her because you know what happened to her is your fault!”

  There, Mike thought, it’s finally been said.

  Derrick kicked back his chair and stormed out of the room, leaving Mike alone as the accusation lingered in the air.

  * * *

  The air on that fall day six months earlier, had been crisp. From the height of the mountain camp, the changing leaves of the trees stretched for miles in a tapestry of golds, reds, and oranges. Derrick, Jenni, Paul, and Mike had departed the camp at dawn for their hunting trip. The food supply had been fairly stable, but with winter fast approaching, Mike hoped to pad their inventory with a few extra deer and rabbit. The rest of the council didn’t see the need, and in truth, he was using the excursion to spend some time away from the daily responsibilities of his post. Jenni had been all too eager to join him, as she also felt the turn of the seasons and knew that future chances away from the camp would steadily become fewer until spring.

  Mike could sense the tension between Jenni and Derrick, the latter loudly protesting the trip prior to setting out that morning. Paul seemed ambivalent, but his sense of duty required him to shadow the camp leader on any expedition beyond the camp’s security perimeter, and so the four had set out several hours earlier, but had yet to turn up any quarry.

  “You ‘bout ready to head back, Chief?” Paul asked.

  Mike looked up at the sun before he replied, “We can do another hour or so and still make it back before dark.”

  He led them through the woods, each member of the group well practiced in moving silently amid the undergrowth that carpeted the ground. A few moments later, Jenni motioned to her left, and Mike could see the flickering white tail of a large buck a hundred yards away. Armed only with crossbows, the deer was too far away to ensure a kill shot. With a flurry of quick hand gestures, he signaled for Jenni to circle forward on the right, while he moved to the left. The other two members of the hunting party would hold their current position.

  As Mike advanced, he completely lost sight of the lone female among the group as she blended seamlessly with the foliage. Dang, she’s good, he thought. An experienced hunter before the outbreak, Jenni’s skills hand increased tenfold over the last few years. Much of the venison the camp enjoyed came as a result of her ability to track and hunt in the wild mountain woods.

  As the distance closed between hunter and prey, Mike stopped short as the antlered animal raised its head in sudden alarm. Assuming the creature had picked up on their scent, Mike stood unmoving, hoping the deer would return to its grazing. Instead, the deer cocked its head towards Mike’s right and immediately bolted through the trees. Having not closed enough distance with the animal, he did not pursue the deer with its much greater speed. As he turned to make his way back to the others, he heard sounds of a commotion from Jenni’s direction. The sound of branches snapping was quickly followed by the sound of a single shot. Mike then understood that had not been the scent of humans the deer had detected, but rather that of the Tils.

  Slinging the crossbow over his shoulder, Mike drew his weapons and raced towards the gunshot. Paul and Derrick burst through the trees from their position, with Derrick calling out for his girlfriend. Mike was the first to reach her and found the young girl convulsing on the ground, the body of a Til a foot away from her with the entry wound of a bullet marking its skull.

  Mike’s heart fell as Jenni lifted her head towards him, her eyes filled with fear, as her body shook beyond her control. Tears stung his eyes and his vision blurred with moisture as he raised his gun to her. His emotions made his weak, and he hesitated to end the life of the vibrant young woman who had survived so much with him. He could hear Derrick running up behind him and he did not want the boy to see her change, so he marshaled his strength and gently squeezed the trigger.

  The shot rang out, but went wild as Mike felt himself thrown to the ground from a thundering weight crashing in behind him. The force of the tackle sent his guns from his hands as his body collided with the soft earth. Dazed and breathless, his eyes could see the blurry form of Derrick rushing to Jenni’s side.

  “Derrick, no!” Paul shouted.

  As the adrenaline poured through him, Mike was able to catch his breath, and as he stood, he turned to see Derrick restraining the now fully-transitioned woman.

  With lips pulled back into a vicious snarl, Jenni fought against her captivity with wild aband
on. Mike reached for the other gun strapped to his leg as Derrick continued his struggle to contain her.

  “No! You can’t shoot her. There’ll be a cure! The doc will find a cure!” he pleaded, tears streaming down his face.

  “Derrick, you can’t do this,” Mike implored. “She’s not herself anymore. There isn’t a cure now, and there may never be.”

  “Stand aside, Derrick,” Paul ordered, his own gun aimed directly at the struggling pair. Mike could see him weighing the options. Positioned as they were, a bullet that killed Jenni might also pass through into Derrick, the result would either kill him or infect him.

  “No! You kill her, you kill me.”

  “Listen to me,” Mike tried again to reason with him. “She’s gone. What’s left now would kill you and anyone else that got near her. Jenni’s gone, Derrick. She’s gone.”

  “There’ll be a cure, Mr. Allard. I know it! Please, let her get cured.”

  Seeing reason was not going to succeed given the young man’s current hysterical state, Mike did the only thing he could.

  “Cuff her.”

  “Mike,” Paul began, quickly silenced as his leader barked the command again.

  “Just do it, dammit!”

  * * *

  Mike sat alone in the council room, a gray ball of fur curled around his feet where Gazelle slept. Many nights he woke violently from tortured sleep, covered in a thin sheen of sweat, as the memory played in his dreams. He cursed himself for the second of hesitation on that fall day. Derrick was right. Mike did not visit the tent in which Jenni was chained because he could not bring himself to face his failure. He did not blame himself for Jenni being attacked. He had lost many over the years to unfortunate twists of fate. No, he was wise enough to not accept blame for that which he could not control. Rather, the fault he felt was for letting his emotions prevent him from doing what had needed to be done.