by David Spell
“What’s the latest from the rest of the country? Any more zombie outbreaks?” he asked her.
“Local police are trying to control the outbreaks in their areas. Our CDC officers in other cities are also doing a good job of containing it and killing the zombies. It just seems to be spreading so fast.”
“Any intelligence on where al-Razi might be? With him still out there operating, it’s just a matter of time until we get hit again.”
“I know,” said Rebecca with a sigh. “For the moment, anyway, he seems to have disappeared. He just made Number One on the FBI’s Most Wanted list. His picture is all over the news. Maybe we’ll get lucky and someone will see him and call it in. Remember, he’s a trained intelligence agent from Iran. He knows how keep a low profile.”
Marshall walked back into the room and looked at Rebecca. “Boss, we need to go to the airport. Alejandro had to kill a zombie on his flight from New York.”
“Is he alright?”
“Yeah, he sounded ok. He said that one of the flight crew got bit but hasn’t turned yet. They have him strapped into the his seat. He’s asking if we can bring some of the latest experimental anti-virus with us. The kid that got bit doesn’t have anything to lose. I figured you’d want to bring in the FBI to help with this one. There are a lot of people that are going to need to be interviewed.”
She nodded. “Definitely. Let me go talk with one of the people upstairs about that anti-virus and then we can go. I’ll call the FBI on the way.”
“I guess TSA doesn’t screen for zombies yet, huh?” said Chuck. “That must’ve been something, shooting one six or seven miles up. And imagine how loud that had to have been in that enclosed space.”
“That’s what makes this one kind of unique,” said Eddie. “He didn’t shoot it. He killed it with his knife.”
“With a knife?” said McCain. “That’s pretty impressive.”
“He told me he wanted to shoot it but the passengers were crowding into the aisle taking video. He had to stab it in the top of the skull instead.”
“Let’s not tell Scotty,” said Chuck. “He’ll take it as a challenge and try and outdo him the next time we run into some of those things.”
Atlanta Hartsfield-Jackson International Airport, Wednesday, 1400 hours
Before landing, Alejandro asked Janette if he could address the passengers. They needed to know what to expect when they landed in Atlanta. Whatever they were hoping to do that afternoon was probably going to get put on hold.
“Ladies and gentleman, my name’s Alejandro and, like I said before, I’m a federal police officer. My agency has been in the middle of these terror attacks that have used this terrible virus as a weapon. I’m sorry that you had to witness this today but I’m very glad that no one else got hurt.
“I wanted to let you know what to expect in Atlanta. The FBI will be investigating this incident to make sure that I acted appropriately and to make sure everything is handled in the right way. Of course, they’ll want to interview you and view any videos or photos you have of the incident. Please tell them what you heard and saw and cooperate fully. At this point, we don’t know how this man got infected but I’m sure that the autopsy and toxicology reports will give us more information.
“I’d also like to thank the flight crew,” he continued, making eye contact with Isabella. “Two of them were injured, one of them seriously. They did a great job trying to render aid to this man who turned out to be infected. We are fortunate to have such professionals taking care of us. Thank you.”
At this, the passengers erupted in applause. As the adrenaline wore off, everyone realized how much worse this incident could have been. Most of the people on the flight seemed to appreciate what Alejandro had done. Several of the men shook his hand and thanked him for stopping the threat. A few of the women thanked him, also. And, of course, he overheard a few people loudly saying that he had overreacted and had killed a sick man. They were going to tell the FBI that this was a clear case of police brutality and that the officer should be arrested.
True to her word, Isabella had gave him her phone number. She told him that she was a New Yorker but was in Atlanta several times a week. He was looking forward to getting to know her.
Several FBI agents boarded the plane at the gate in Atlanta. Rebecca and Eddie were with them. Eddie was Alejandro’s direct supervisor. Rebecca oversaw the Atlanta office for the CDC Enforcement Unit. The FBI agent in charge of the investigation gave instructions to the passengers. They had had the airport clear out one gate area in the terminal to use to conduct their interviews.
Paramedics also boarded the plane and loaded up Carl for transport. He was in and out of consciousness and gave no response as the medicine was administered to him. They quickly secured him to the stretcher with restraints and got him out of there.
Rebecca and Eddie came over to Estrada and the three of them stepped to the rear of the airplane. Johnson put her hand on his shoulder and said, “How are you doing, Alejandro?”
He hung his head and appeared to be getting emotional. “That blazer cost me a hundred and fifty dollars and now it has infected blood on it. I think I’m going to need therapy, boss.”
Rebecca and Eddie both laughed. “Did you really kill a zombie with your knife?” Marshall asked.
“I didn’t want to, but I couldn’t get a shot at him. The aisles were full of idiots taking video. I didn’t want to shoot one of them so I got to use my East LA knife skills. I think I’m going to be the latest YouTube sensation.”
Four hours later, the interviews were concluded. Alejandro had done a walkthrough of the incident with an FBI agent and had given a statement. Rebecca had one of the CDC Clean Up Teams respond to the scene. The Clean Up Teams were four person teams trained in forensics, evidence collection, and crime scene processing. They all had both local and federal law enforcement experience and had received supplemental training from the FBI. They would take pictures and process the scene. They would also remove George’s body for an autopsy.
Alejandro saw Isabella glance over at him from time-to-time as he talked to Rebecca. Isabella was still working and serving her customers. The airline had provided drinks and snacks for the passengers to have while they waited to talk to the FBI.
After the interviews were concluded, Estrada saw Isabella gather her things and start to leave. He walked over to her before she could get away.
“So, are you going to work tomorrow?” he asked.
“No, the airline is giving us a free day here in Atlanta. After that flight, though, I’m not sure that one day off is enough.”
“Well, maybe, if you don’t have anything else, maybe you would do something with me? We could see some of the city and have dinner?”
She looked down and seemed to be thinking about it. “That sounds like a nice day. But, you have to tell me, who’s that blonde lady?”
“That’s Rebecca. She’s my boss’s boss. Why?”
“Because she’s so beautiful. I didn’t know if you guys were, you know…”
Alejandro laughed. “No, she’s just my boss. She’s a great person, but I think she and another one of the guys in our office may be dating. They keep it pretty quiet. But for me, I’m not seeing anybody. Like I told you, I’m pretty shy. What about you? I bet you have a guy in every city.”
Isabella laughed and punched him lightly on the arm. “No, I don’t. I’m not like that. I haven’t met the right guy. And, I work a lot.”
“Carl told me that you thought you might’ve met the right guy.”
Her face flushed. “Oh, yeah? What did he say?”
“Maybe I’ll tell you tomorrow.”
CDC HQ, Thursday, 1400 hours
One of the reasons that the CDC’s response teams had been so effective was their high level of training. If they weren’t following up on leads of their own or assisting local or other federal law enforcement agencies, they were usually training. Today, the officers were working with their new equipment a
t a local police department’s shoot house. Alejandro had a date with Isabella a little later, but he had been out of action for a while and was glad to be back with his teammates.
Rebecca was missing this training to catch up on some of her administrative responsibilities. The phone on her desk rang. When she answered, Dr. Nicole Edwards asked her if she could come upstairs. Dr. Edwards was one of the leading epidemiologists at the CDC and headed up the team that was trying to create a vaccine for the zombie virus.
Hope surged in Rebecca’s heart as she exited the elevator and walked down the hallway to the laboratory. Maybe they have made some progress on a vaccine, she thought. Up to this point, their best efforts had produced a few experimental versions that had not worked. The experimental vaccine that had been given to flight attendant Carl, for example, the previous day had not cured him. He had hung on to life for around eighteen hours before passing away in the hospital. He had not reanimated as a zombie, but he had still died.
One of the epidemiologists who had been assigned to the vaccine team, Azar Kasra, had turned out to be an Iranian agent providing intelligence to Amir al-Razi. They had also discovered that she had sabotaged the vaccine research and set it back several weeks. Kasra had been captured and arrested when she tried to infect Chuck McCain. Her plan had been to infect him by sticking him with a syringe of the zombie virus and then to infect as many of the CDC executives and scientists as she could before being killed or arrested. At the moment, she was being interrogated by a CIA team in a remote location.
Johnson stepped into the lab and saw Edwards talking to a group of white-coated scientists. When she saw Rebecca, she smiled and walked over.
“I have some good news,” the scientist said. “Not great news, but definitely good news. We’ve found a chemical solution that will kill the virus on contact. With you guys being up close and personal with so many infected, I’ve been concerned that one of you might get infected through blood splatter.”
“That’s great,” Rebecca said with a smile. Inside, she was disappointed. She was hoping to hear that they had had a breakthrough in their vaccine research but this was better than nothing.
“I know it’s not as good as finding a cure or creating a vaccine,” said Dr. Edwards, “but it’ll offer a little more protection to you and your people and it’s something that we can pass on to local police, paramedics, and medical personnel who come in contact with infected people.”
“So, how did you find something that would kill this thing on contact?” Johnson asked.
“Well, we’ve been using a chlorine solution to kill Ebola for years. We tried that and had some success with the zombie virus. It kills it but not right away. We experimented a bit and were able to increase the potency. I have some for you to take with you. Use it full strength on any blood splatter or saliva and let it stay for a minute or two. Then, just wash the affected area with soap and water.”
Edwards picked up a cardboard box off of a table and handed it to Johnson. It contained twelve plastic bottles of the liquid.
“This solution will kill the virus on any surface. From your skin to your clothes, even your shoes, it’ll do the trick. Hopefully, this will help protect you and your guys.”
As she took the box, Rebecca smiled and said, “Thanks for looking out for us. I really do appreciate this and the officers will, as well.”
“Just doing our part. You and your guys are out there on the front line and don’t think we don’t appreciate it.” Dr. Edwards lowered her voice. “And, I think all of us up here feel guilty about Azar. We should have caught on to what she was doing. She almost killed Officer McCain. I’m in charge and am responsible. I just feel terrible about the whole situation.”
Johnson looked into the scientist’s eyes. “Nicole, she was a professional intelligence agent. Don’t feel bad. She had all of us fooled. She was good. And, for what it’s worth, Chuck ended up getting the better of that exchange.”
When Kasra had tried to infect McCain with the zombie virus, his kevlar lined pants had prevented the needle of the syringe from penetrating into his leg. When he felt the poke and saw what she was doing, he had punched her and knocked her across the hallway. When Azar had attempted to pull a revolver on him, he had dropped his knees into her back and twisted the gun out of her hand, breaking one of her fingers.
“Where is she now? Is she in jail here in Atlanta? Is there going to be a big trial?” Edwards asked.
“All I can say,” Johnson deflected, “is that she’s in custody and is being subjected to a very thorough interrogation.”
Nicole nodded and smiled. “Well, Officer McCain is one good-looking man and I know none of us want to see that body wasted as a zombie.”
Rebecca laughed and caught herself blushing. She said, “Thanks for this, Nicole,” holding up the box, and turning for the door.
CHAPTER THREE
Our Worst Nightmare
Warehouse, Northeast of Atlanta, Thursday, 2030 hours
“I think that’s enough,” Amir said, looking up at Mohamud Ahmed.
Mohamud picked up the box of soft drinks and slid it into the open back doors of the red and white Coca Cola van. Twenty-five bottles of each type of soft drink, twenty-five bottles of water, and twenty bottles of a sports recovery drink had been treated with the zombie virus.
It was a time consuming process. Amir, working with heavy rubber gloves, would open the drink, breaking the plastic seal. He used a dropper to add several drops of the bio-terror formula to each bottle. Ahmed, also wearing gloves, then applied a few drops of glue to the plastic seal and screwed the top back on.
This was not a perfect process but they felt that it would work. Most of the American high school students that Amir had met were clueless and he didn’t think that they would pay much attention to the seal as they unscrewed the top from their drinks.
Now, it was up to Mohamud to make his normal delivery to the school in the morning. Al-Razi had been given Ahmed’s name and information from one of the local mosque leaders. The imam had assured him that Mohamud was trustworthy and wanted to strike a blow for Allah.
The imam told him that Ahmed was a Somalian refugee who had managed to get a job as a route driver for Coca Cola. He appeared to be living the American Dream. In reality, he was waiting for the right opportunity to fight back against the United States and to gain some vengeance.
His father, brother, and an uncle had all been killed by American Special Forces. His father and uncle had died in the Battle of Mogadishu at the hands of American Rangers and Delta Force. Mohamud was only seven years old at the time. His brother had died just a few years earlier. He’d led a group of pirates that preyed on ships that strayed too close to the Somali shore. Two boatloads of pirates had attempted to board a ship that looked like an easy target.
It was their bad luck that this boat was a bait ship with an American SEAL team on board, just waiting for someone to attack them. Mohamud’s brother and all the men with him were killed. The second boat managed to flee. Several of those pirates were killed or wounded as well, but a few of them managed to get home to tell the story.
Helping Amir was a great opportunity to gain the vengeance that Mohamud sought. He knew that he would have to flee after this. It would only be a matter of time before his face and name were plastered on every television in America.
The van was loaded. Ahmed would be at Peachtree Meadow High School before the students arrived. He would replenish the drink machines, making sure the bottles that had been tampered with were positioned so that they would be purchased first. They had picked this particular school for three reasons. First of all, it was one of the biggest high schools in the state with almost four thousand students. Secondly, it was in a very affluent part of the suburbs. This would be a blow to the very heart of the decadent Americans. And thirdly, because the school was forty-five minutes from the heart of the city, the response time for the CDC Response Teams, the local police and other responders should be si
gnificantly slower.
Amir had Mohamud’s cell number and had given him the number for one of his prepaid phones. If everything went according to plan, al-Razi would contact Ahmed for a meeting. If Mohamud pulled this off, Amir would allow him to participate in the next attacks as well. Now, it was time to check into another cheap hotel and wait for tomorrow.
Peachtree Meadow High School, Northeast of Atlanta, Friday, 0900 hours
The police responded quickly to a report of a fight between students inside the school at 0815 hours. The School Resource Officer had been the first one on the scene and had immediately requested backup and an ambulance. He radioed in that he had a male on top of another male who was biting and ripping his neck with his teeth.
When the attacker did not respond to verbal commands, the SRO drew his taser and fired it into him. The two prongs struck the student in the back and the electrical charged surged through him, having no effect. Instead, he pushed himself off of his victim and attacked the officer.
Students crowded around the hallway to watch the fight. A few of them tried to help the boy who had been attacked as the blood gushed out of his ripped neck onto the floor. A teacher pushed his way through the crowd and began applying pressure to the large wound on the boy’s neck.
The SRO was much bigger than the attacking student and easily threw him to the ground and tried to handcuff him. He managed to get his left hand cuffed but then the crazed boy sunk his teeth into the officer’s right wrist. The resource officer couldn’t pry the young man’s teeth off of his arm so he started punching him in the head with his left hand.
The officer’s weight kept the student pinned to the floor but he couldn’t break the grip of his bite. The pain was excruciating as the boy chewed on his wrist. Punch after punch landed on the student’s head but they didn’t seem to faze him. One of the punches to the boy’s skull broke bones in the officer’s hand.
