As tears ran down her face, Jesse opened her eyes when she heard Megan’s voice shout, “Dear God! They’re eatin’ people! Run!”
Blood and gore covered not only the still bodies but the ground, too. Several people were crouched next to the dead. Jesse’s heart skipped three beats. Peering closer at the screen, praying what she saw was a trick of the light, she gasped.
It looked like…
“No…fucking…way….”
Ignoring her uncle, Jesse dropped the phone and ran to the bathroom. She only made it to the door before she threw up.
THIS IS NOT A DRILL - Saturday - December 20th – 7:10 a.m.
Dirk Kincanon powered down his laptop and stared out the window. He needed a minute to pull himself together. He watched thick, gun-metal gray clouds swirl around in the sky. The ache in his bones warned him a wicked storm was approaching.
Leaning back in the chair while rubbing his stiff shoulder, Dirk took a few deep breaths. Though still in great shape, he wasn’t the buff, twenty-something who’d enlisted in the Army almost thirty years ago. His body bore the scars from countless missions in the Special Forces. As a former member of the 1st Battalion of the 20th SF Group headquartered in Birmingham, Alabama, Dirk’s career in the military had taken him all over the world on covert operations. The horrors he’d witnessed dimmed in comparison to what was coming, and the thought made his stomach rumble.
Turning his attention to the eight-by-ten photo on the desk, Dirk was hit with a pang of melancholy. Just as the photograph had been a source of inspiration for its previous owner, the happy family served the same purpose for Dirk. The smiling faces of Jason and his wife and children stared back in silence. He’d retrieved the picture, along with everything he could stuff into his backpack, after scouring the lab for survivors.
That part of his mission had been pointless since all of them were dead.
The day he stormed into the facility almost one year ago—and the bloody remains of his friend and others—still haunted his dreams. He would never forgive himself for allowing Dr. Thomas to go to the lab alone. Dirk shouldn’t have ignored his gut instincts about Daryl Riverside either. He tried to warn Dr. Thomas about the geeky bastard. Dr. Thomas listened to Dirk’s concerns, yet with nothing to offer as solid proof of his distrust of the scientist, Dr. Thomas brought the boy into the fold.
Had Dirk insisted on accompanying the good doctor, things would have turned out differently. Dr. Thomas and Dr. Flint would still be alive, and Dr. Berning wouldn’t have turned into a complete and total shell of his former self.
Dirk let his thoughts wander over to how he’d meet the only real person he’d ever been close to other than his deceased twin brother. He’d been by Dr. Thomas’ side ever since rescuing him from the jungles of El Salvador. Though Dirk had been part of many ops to extract hapless civilians and dignitaries from around the world who’d found themselves trapped in hostile territory, the mission to retrieve Dr. Thomas changed the course of Dirk’s life.
The shift in trajectory wasn’t from the loss of Dirk’s entire unit, nor from the tension-filled hours as he guided the nearly catatonic doctor through a haze of gunfire and explosions through the dense terrain.
No, what changed Dirk’s life was the rescue of Dr. Jason Thomas, and the eight days they spent together surviving in the jungle. Something about the man’s demeanor struck a nerve deep down in Dirk’s darkened soul. The man had endured being kidnapped by drug kingpin Mario Alvarado, along with his family, and forced to attempt to keep the dying Mrs. Alvarado alive. Dirk recalled her illness stemmed from complications during childbirth. The good doctor’s mission of mercy as a member of Doctors Without Borders, ended after being captured and skirted away at gunpoint by Alavardo’s goons.
What really got under Dirk’s hardened skin was Dr. Thomas’ sheer determination. Not a determined will to live, or seek revenge on the man who sliced his family up in front of his eyes. No, Dr. Thomas was a driven man. An obsessive desire pushed him to make sure the world culled what he considered the source of all its problems.
Drugs and those who dealt them.
Huddled up together in the dark, loud jungle, Dr. Thomas laid out his plans. Drug dealers ruled the world. They paid off and even ran some governments. The court systems around the world were helpless to stop or even attempt to contain the constant influx of cases stemming from drug charges. Prisons were overcrowded, and many jurisdictions bowed to social pressure to release the “non-violent” offenders back into society.
Counseling didn’t work. Rehabilitation centers had a combined success rate of non-relapse less than ten percent. Law enforcement agencies were outnumbered by the multitudes of dealers and struggled to keep up with the new, innovative ways drugs were smuggled into countries. The only solution, according to Dr. Thomas, was to find a real, permanent cure to quell the cravings of addicts. His rationale was simple yet brilliant. If no one had a habit to feed any longer, drugs abuse would end, and dealers would disappear.
Dirk didn’t pay much attention at first, assuming the ramblings were brought on by shock, exhaustion, and fear. Yet the more he listened to the intricate plan, the more he realized the scrawny man next to him wasn’t crazy. Full of lofty, pie-in-the-sky goals maybe, but certainly sane.
After making it out of the jungle and to safety, the bond between the two was set in stone. At Dr. Thomas’ request, Dirk retired from the military and became the good doctor’s full-time bodyguard. Once all the particulars were hammered out, Dirk sought out and found the perfect location to set up shop in the Ozark Mountains. The cave was enormous and could easily house two hundred people with room to spare. Money was never an issue, since Dr. Thomas had married into money. His wife’s vast wealth transferred over to Dr. Thomas, and the man poured the funds into his project. The choice was the doctor’s way of making sure the death of his family wasn’t in vain.
They agreed to make the entire operation and set up underground resemble a government installation. The idea was to make the scientists who joined believe their every movement was monitored, thus ensuring their full cooperation. In truth, they were monitored, just not by any government entity.
Dirk had been responsible for everything, including security and background checks. On that end, he obviously failed.
Rising to his feet, Dirk shook off the continuous shame and humiliation that had been his constant companion for a year. There would be time to lament his mistakes later. At the moment, ensuring the safety of Dr. Berning and the rest of the small staff, was top priority.
From what he’d witnessed on various news sites, including a live video feed from the Colombian Consulate in New York, things were deteriorating around the world at a phenomenal pace.
Dirk Kincanon had seen some fucked-up shit in his fifty-one years on the planet.
None of it compared to seeing the resurrection of the dead in front of his eyes.
Or the fact they seemed to be hungry for human flesh.
Pushing all the mental crap aside, Dirk let his training take over. In less than three minutes, he was packed and ready. He left the bedroom and headed downstairs. In the hallway, he ran into Kevin Warton. A former Special Forces brother about sixteen years Dirk’s junior, the look of concern on Kevin’s face was proof enough he was aware of the situation.
“The lower quarters are secure, sir. I assume we’re heading to the lab since it looks like a bio attack has happened?”
Taking the stairs two-at-a-time, Dirk nodded. “Yes. Have everyone ready to deploy in fifteen. We’ll meet up in the garage. I’ll drive Dr. Berning, and the rest of you each take a vehicle. Make sure to pack plenty of supplies. Enough for at least a year. If this is biological…”
“Already have three vehicles packed and ready, sir.”
“Good job, Kevin. Always knew I could count on you,” Dirk said. He paused at the base of the stairs. “How are the others taking the news?”
“Best as can be expected. This crisis is the first time we
’ve all been thankful to be loners. The only family we have left to protect is you and Dr. Berning.”
Dirk nodded. “I know exactly what you mean, Kevin. I’ll round up Dr. Berning and secure his room. You take care of the others.”
Kevin gave a curt nod while veering left toward the main living area. Dirk walked down the long hallway toward Dr. Berning’s quarters. Rather than waste time knocking, he opened to the door.
“Dr. Berning, we need to…oh, looks like you already know?”
Eyes full of worry and fear, Dr. Berning stood in the middle of his immaculate room, two suitcases by his side. He was dressed in an old pair of Kevin’s Army fatigues, tufts of wispy gray hair poked out from Kevin’s oversized cover on his head.
The elder scientist looked like he’d aged twenty years since Dirk saw him at dinner the night before. Dirk could see his once steady hands trembled, and his face was devoid of any discernible color.
“I’m afraid I do. I was watching the news until EBS cut in. After the first reports I watched from New York and Memphis, I started packing. Assumed you’d be down soon enough to retrieve me. Figured we wouldn’t be making a trip to the local high school.”
Dirk stepped in the room and picked up the suitcases. “You are correct. Since we really don’t know what type of contagion we’re dealing with yet, it’s best to get underground. The lab is full of all necessary equipment to keep us safe from any contamination.”
“Agreed. Looks like whatever it is spreads fast. Plus,” Dr. Berning nodded toward the window, “seems a storm is brewing. I’d much rather hike to the lab while the ground isn’t a slippery mess. Old legs, you know.”
Dirk glanced over the doctor’s shoulder and saw light rain pelting the windows. “I believe, Dr. Berning, the storm has already arrived.”
Everett Berning nodded in agreement. The elderly scientist followed Dirk out of the room, and he knew the old man understood the comment had nothing to do with the weather outside.
ATTEMPTED CONTAINMENT - Saturday - December 20th – 7:20 a.m.
Regina let her training and instincts take over, using the fear pulsing inside as fuel to her muscles. Turning on the lights and siren on the cruiser, she barreled out of the parking lot, damn near side-swiping a Humvee. Glancing in the rearview mirror to see if any of the vehicles changed directions and followed, she let out a sigh of relief.
They ignored her and continued on their trek to the high school.
After the request for backup from Roger, the radio went silent, which was even more unnerving than Roger’s terrified pleas for help. An eerie sense of foreboding settled over Regina’s mind.
Lines of vehicles leading into downtown Malvern clogged the southbound lane of Highway 270. The entire county was home to less than thirty-four thousand people, yet judging by the heavy congestion, it seemed half of them were on the road. Some of the motorists she recognized as residents of Rockport.
In less than two minutes, Regina crossed the bridge over I-30 and glanced over her left shoulder. The accident had shut down both lanes of the freeway. The flashing blue strobes of numerous units dotted the area, interspersed with red lights from a fire truck and ambulance. She looked right and noticed a county unit blocked the interstate about one hundred yards away, holding back a throng of vehicles stretching out for miles toward Benton.
Reaching the entrance ramp, Regina turned onto the freeway and pulled up behind a state trooper’s unit. Scanning the area, she felt a cold shiver race up her spine.
A jackknifed big rig was about one-hundred yards up ahead, the contents of the trailer strewn across both the east and westbound lanes. A crumpled SUV nearly split in two was less than ten feet from the rig. The deflated airbags coated in red hung limp on the driver and passenger sides. What had once been a sedan of some sort was on its side in the median about twenty feet away. Glass, metal, and liquid covered the ground all around the site of impact.
Up ahead about fifty yards sat both Roger and Clint’s units, each appeared empty.
“Where the hell is everyone?”
She left the car running and stepped out into the cold morning air, shotgun in hand. Pausing to listen, she heard nothing but the rumble of car engines in the distance. The eerie silence was unsettling. Accident scenes, especially ones involving numerous vehicles, were always a flurry of noise and activity.
The smell of gas, burnt rubber, and the unmistakable odor of eviscerated bowels mixed with the coppery scent of blood made Regina’s nose twitch. Though used to the stench from working hundreds of accidents over the course of her career, each time she came into contact with the foulness made her stomach twist into a knot.
Regina considered trying to reach Roger or Clint on the radio, yet some primal instinct in the back of her mind urged her to remain quiet.
Raising the shotgun, she walked over to the unit in front of her, aim steady and sure. The white Charger with blue stripes was about ten feet away, the driver’s door wide open. No one was inside, so she continued toward the ambulance about fifteen yards ahead.
After passing the front of the cruiser, Regina stopped short when she heard a strange noise. Over the pounding of blood in her ears, the rumble of engines in the distance, and the mumbled voice of someone yelling through what she surmised was a bullhorn, it took several seconds to recognize the sound.
No way!
Shifting her approach so she was hidden by the open doors, Regina held her breath. Edging closer to the back of the ambulance, she made sure to keep her steps quiet, sidestepping debris on the pavement.
The gurgling, crunching noises grew louder. Regina felt her stomach revolt, threatening to release its contents all over Interstate 30.
The world around her stopped when she peeked around the open door into the interior of the ambulance.
Two mangled bodies, presumably victims from the wreck, were loaded onto gurneys in the back. The one on the left looked like a young female, maybe twenty or so. The right side of her head had been crushed in, glass and debris embedded in her neck. Mounds of blood matted around a once beautiful head full of dark hair. No more blood oozed from her mortal injuries, indicating her heart was no longer beating.
The other one was male. Both were strapped in, ready for transport to the hospital, IVs already in place. The man’s face was a mutilated mess. His lower abdomen sported a gaping wound and Regina could see part of his internal organs were exposed.
A large chunk of flesh was missing from his left forearm. For some reason, Regina flashed back to the video of the accident on I-10 in Phoenix.
Looks like a bite.
Bile burned her throat as Regina realized the man’s jaw continued to open and close as he bit the air, his shattered teeth clicking together.
On the floor between them was an EMT, or what once had been one. The body cavity was ripped open, and a middle-aged woman dressed in jeans and a Texas Longhorn t-shirt hovered over the corpse. Regina blinked twice in shock as she watched the thing tear out a handful of intestines and shove them into her mouth.
Stunned, body and mind frozen in horror, Regina felt the axis of her world—everything she knew and had experienced until that very moment—shift.
A human being is eating another human. A dead human being is trying to bite the air. Don’t say it! Don’t even fucking think it! No wonder the military is taking over and insisted everyone be tested! This…can’t…be…happening. I’ve got to be at home, dreaming. God, please let me be experiencing a nightmare to end all nightmares.
In those few seconds while staring at things that simply could not be, all Regina could think about was Jesse and Reed. The two most important people in her life were in danger, along with, it seemed, everyone else in the world. Her survival instincts took over, shoving all the disturbing sights and sounds aside to be dealt with later.
If this is a dream, it’s time for me to kick some fucking ass.
“Hey, gut-muncher? Want some fresher meat?”
The bloody monstrosity tha
t used to be a living, breathing female jerked its head at the sound. When Regina saw the eyes were solid black, the skin a strange, mottled gray color, she didn’t hesitate. There was no humanity left in its expression. The dead eyes were primal. Crimson-covered lips still oozing blood from its meal curled back into a snarl. The thing actually hissed and lunged.
“Eat this!” Regina yelled.
The recoil from the shotgun made her entire body shake and ears ring from the blast. The body flew backward, smashing into the gurneys, and then crumpled into a pile on the floor of the ambulance. The spray pattern from the shotgun at such close range removed ninety percent of her head, leaving only a few strips of flesh sticking up around the neck bone. Pausing only long enough to ensure the destroyed mass of flesh was dead—again—Regina pumped another round into the chamber and headed toward the other vehicles.
“Always knew you was a smart gal, Chief. Take the head off. It’s the only way, just like in the comics and movies. Who knew?”
Regina spun around at the sound of a familiar voice.
“Jesus H. Christ, I damn near blew your head off, Clint!”
Officer Clint Chesterson stumbled forward then collapsed onto the cold pavement. Regina was by his side in seconds. The back of his dark blue jacket was shredded apart. She could see sections of his exposed skin were full of deep, ugly claw marks. Large chunks of flesh were missing where his kidneys were located. Blood soaked his shirt and pants.
Too much blood.
Bending down next to him, she saw a pool of red mixed with saliva forming by his mouth. It spread out across the ground, already the size of an orange. She scanned the area for any more undead visitors. Seeing none, she leaned the shotgun against the ambulance and hoisted Clint off the ground.
The Rememdium Series (Book 1): Tainted Cure Page 11
