Evolution Z (Book 3): Stage Three

by Bourne, David

  It was as if the young private had been struck by lightning. He felt a swiftly rising panic churning inside himself, but could hardly get his body to turn around because everything seemed to be happening in slow motion. When he tried to move, he only heard the blood pounding in his head and his own agitated breathing. His eyelids fluttered and then closed slowly, as if he expected to be struck any second. Each inch that he moved his head was an enormous, costly effort. Nelson took another deep breath and, while his whole body trembled, slowly opened an eye.

  He looked at the white textured wallpaper in the corner of the room. Nothing. He exhaled loudly. Nothing, oh thank God. I’m just getting a little too paranoid. His heart still hammered in his chest when he turned back around again.

  Sarah’s eyes were closed and she was still unconscious, lying in her hospital bed as if all of this had never happened. The ECG kept up its soft, slow monotonous beeps, and the medical center was as quiet as it had been before.

  Private James Nelson shook his head and tried to understand what had just happened.

  “She must be a sleepwalker,” he mumbled to himself.

  The child had given him quite a scare, and he did not know how to handle this type of situation. It could not have been a fever dream because she had felt quite cold just a few minutes ago, the private surmised. Maybe he should take another look. He took several steps toward the bed and looked at his small patient more carefully.

  She had small beads of sweat on her forehead and her arms, even though her body felt ice-cold. Nelson was about to pull up the blanket that had slipped off the bed and cover her with it, when he saw the fine lines of blood vessels on her arm. They were very distinctive and their dark color contrasted with the paleness of her skin in the extreme, resembling lines of black ink on parchment. He only knew of one thing that could cause such a dramatic change in appearance: blood poisoning. Was she showing a reaction against the donated blood? Nelson lifted the blanket over her arm and frowned in amazement.

  “What the...” he exclaimed.

  Sarah’s hand was ashen and had at least doubled in size, while the finger joints seemed to have been pushed further apart. Her whole hand now appeared claw-like, as if her finger bones had grown. James Nelson had enough of this inexplicable horror–this went way beyond his medical knowledge. This just couldn’t be real! He quickly turned around and hurried out of the room. This was definitely a matter for the doctor in charge, so he decided to call Margaret Pelletier and wake her up. Another reason was he would no longer have to be alone in the room with the girl.

  “Don’t worry, Jimmy, it was the right decision to call me. I will be there in five minutes. Don’t get all panicky.”

  Private Nelson sat down in the nurses’ station and placed the receiver in the cradle, when the floor started to shake slightly The overhead light flickered and he heard a faraway crashing sound, like a coffee cup that is hurled to the floor and smashes into a thousand pieces. Something must have exploded outside. He jumped up from his chair and ran to the hospital entrance.

  Several soldiers raced across the parade ground toward the exterior wall. When he looked in the direction they were going, he saw what confirmed his initial impression. He noticed a faint orange glow behind the wall, and a small column of smoke rising into the sky. It was only getting better and better! This night could potentially become the worst one of his life. What the hell’s happening here? I hope the doctor will be here soon.

  He stopped for a moment and looked at the chaotic scene unfolding before him. The voice of Margaret Pelletier interrupted his musings.

  “Jimmy, what’s going on out there? I was almost frightened to death!”

  Nelson frowned, but then decided for the time being to leave the situation occurring at the front gate for the guards to handle.

  “Doc, whatever’s happening out there, the other soldiers will take care of it. But trust me, you HAVE to see Sarah. Something’s definitely wrong with her. She’s as white as a sheet, and her joints are oddly swollen.”

  This time it was Margaret Pelletier who frowned.

  “What do you mean? I did not quite understand what you were trying to tell me over the phone.”

  “I can’t explain it any better, Doc. After all, I don’t understand it myself. Just come in and take a look for yourself.”

  The two of them quickly entered the hospital. The fluorescent ceiling lights in the corridor leading to the patients’ rooms were still flickering, while the private tried to explain to the doctor what he had noticed.

  Blood poisoning might be the worst-case scenario, but it would explain why poor little Sarah was doing so badly.

  3Resentment

  “What are we going to do now?” Josh whispered.

  On the landing deck of the USS George Washington, Ray turned to look at Josh as he stood next to him and Scott. In the light of the rising sun the young man looked even more wan than usual, and what they had all learned from talking with Dr. Abbadon seemed to have really depressed him the most. This was no surprise, considering his parents were at Fort Weeks, and there was a ticking time bomb in the form of a patient being treated at base hospital. This threat was a young, injured girl who was also suffering from hemophilia and had received a blood transfusion just yesterday. The donor–Billy Maddox–had turned into a zombie a few hours later in the cafeteria, right before their eyes. Abbadon had logically explained the specifics of the virus, but it was still a complete mystery to the unfortunate people at Fort Weeks: The virus went through two stages. Every human being was potentially infected, as the virus could be transmitted via any bodily fluids before its development in the first stage. The incubation period was about six months. After this period, the virus developed aggressively and the host transformed into an undead creature.

  It was now early December, so it had to be assumed that Billy was probably infected back in June, as the virus just became active that fateful day. To make matters even worse, Abbadon’s explanation concerning the alpha zombies was even more terrifying to grasp: These were hemophiliacs, in whose bodies the virus created unpredictable mutations which sometimes turned them into incredibly strong undead instead of the usual shuffling, slow-witted creatures. Generally speaking, hemophilia itself could be considered a mutation of human DNA, and the virus appeared to latch on to these particular damaged chromosomes. Once this fusion occurred, it triggered a rapid evolution that in normal circumstances would take centuries to develop, but now it could happen within days or even hours. Since Billy Maddox was known to have donated blood to the hemophiliac girl, it didn’t take much imagination to realize that everyone at Fort Weeks was in grave danger. What’s more, all the people there had absolutely no idea of the threat posed by this little girl who was currently being treated at the base hospital.

  “I wish I knew,” Ray replied as he leaned with both arms on the railing and gazed out at the open sea. “If we take off now, we could be there in a couple of hours. On the other hand, we’ll have radio contact with the base in about twenty minutes, so we should stay here–and there’s not much we can do until then.”

  Josh felt as though barbed wire was tightening around his stomach. Even though he knew Ray was right, it still hurt to hear the truth spoken out loud.

  “If anything happens to someone at the base, I’ll wring Abbadon’s fucking neck,” Scott said, shaking his head.

  Ray wanted to explain to Scott that Abbadon was not responsible for the situation at Fort Weeks and that it made no sense to project his general frustration on him, but he decided otherwise. He himself could not stand the smug scientist, so why should he bother to defend him? And since when did rational arguments help to resolve problems in such an emotional situation? After all, wasn’t Abbadon somehow responsible for this catastrophe? According to the scientist the company he worked for had originally developed the virus. This special company was revealed to be Vita Invicta. One could only guess what role Abbadon had played in all of this, and whether he was actually tel
ling the truth. The same could be applied to his assertion that he knew how to fight the plague. Ray took a deep breath and exhaled.

  “The fact that several hours passed between Billy Maddox donating blood and him turning into a zombie could mean the virus in the girl’s blood is not all that far developed, and the end of the incubation period lies further in the future,” Josh said slowly. He himself did not sound convinced by his words.

  “That sounds reasonable,” Scott agreed. Ray nodded also, even though neither he as a pilot nor Scott as a lumberjack even remotely knew enough about medicine or genetics to even theoretically judge such a case. Even Josh, who was a novice doctor in training, sounded insecure and not completely convinced. Hell, there was probably no damned doctor in the world who knew exactly how things were going to turn out because was a case without precedent. It was only natural that Josh grasped for any available straw.

  “As soon as the communication window opens, we’ll tell Fort Weeks all the important facts, including the instructions for the quick test,” Ray said. “Then we’ll get an idea how the girl is doing.”

  Josh nodded. His tired eyes expressed a mixture of hope and fear. “Well, I’ll take a walk until then,” he said. Leaving his friends, Josh moved toward the helicopter they had arrived with.

  Scott took a deep breath. “What a mess. If the little girl turns into an alpha zombie, she could destroy the entire base.”

  Ray winced mentally when Scott said aloud what they all had been thinking, but he did not let it show. Instead, he continued gazing at the sea, lost in thought.

  “What do you think about the fact the Vice President is still alive?” Scott asked in order to change the topic.

  Ray slowly turned around and strolled toward the bridge. Scott followed him.

  “I don’t particularly like him as a politician,” Ray said. “But I think it’s good in these tough times that the nation at least has a nominal leader.” Ray stopped, turned to Scott and gave him a serious look. “The only thing I’m worried about is how long this nation will continue to exist.” After a short pause, he added: “And all other nations, for that matter.”

  4Battlefield

  Master Sergeant Pelletier and many other soldiers stood in darkness at the main gate of Fort Weeks and stared incredulously at the tree line approximately a half-mile away.

  After the red illumination shells fired by Corporal Morgan had hissed into the sky, the entire clearing around Fort Weeks was bathed in an eerie, crimson glow.

  William Pelletier stood at the top of the exterior wall, leaning with both hands on the parapet. His fingers clawed the hard, cool concrete. He should have been freezing, but the adrenaline made him unaware of the cold.

  Time stood still.

  The master sergeant was an experienced soldier but as long as he lived, he would not forget the scene he now witnessed.

  A massive army of undead creatures shuffled out from under the shadows of the trees and moved toward Fort Weeks. They had been attracted by the helicopter and the explosion. Now they were lusting for the flesh of the humans who had sought refuge inside the base. They came closer–hundreds, thousands of them. Smacking. Shuffling. Hungry.

  William Pelletier could now clearly feel the adrenaline coursing through his body and overcoming the numbness. In dangerous situations, the human organism releases large quantities of the stress hormone adrenaline. Then many functions of the body are reduced to a minimum, and this offers a person only two options for action: either fight or flight. If no decision is made within about fifteen seconds, another alternative appears, which is probably the worst choice for a soldier to make in a moment like this: To become rigid with fear and completely impotent to act when confronted with impending death.

  Pelletier knew all of this, plus he was neither scared nor someone who would retreat in the face of danger. He actually was a trainer, a kind of informal leader, but he had never taken any leadership courses for the higher ranks. Sometimes though, it was life that molded people into leaders and not a staff course. The master sergeant had to convey a solid example of courage for everyone at the base in order to save as many lives as possible. He looked around. Below him, many civilians had gathered and had armed themselves as well. Children, the sick, and the elderly were being accompanied to shelters by specially assigned personnel. His fears about the dire situation were well-founded. Almost all of the soldiers who stood on the outer wall with him and saw the enormous mob approaching, seemed to be petrified with fear and could not move an inch. All of them had wide open eyes and gaping mouths reflecting sheer terror. Pelletier had to act, and act quickly. What the soldiers needed now most of all was an order, a command they could obey without hesitation. He straightened his uniform and stood on the parapet. He lifted his right fist and turned it to signal for them to gather around him. The soldiers gradually understood what their commander wanted and came closer.

  “Soldiers! Men! Comrades! Listen to me! This damned hell spawn is standing at the gate of our base. You know what these beasts are capable of. You know why they want to get in here. But we have a mission. We have a duty to fulfill. Therefore: Protect your loved ones, your friends, your comrades and everyone who needs your protection. We are going to fight–and we will win! If they want to get in here, I say, let them come! They might get in, but they sure as hell will never get out again. We will give them blood, fire and steel. Take no prisoners we would have to worry about. KILL THEM ALL!”

  The soldiers raised their rifles and their hands. They yelled and encouraged each other. Master Sergeant Pelletier looked around with a grim expression, but luckily his speech had the desired effect. Even the civilian survivors were uttering battle cries. One thing was clear: Fort Weeks would not go down without a fight.

  After climbing down from the wall, he ran to the communications center and made an announcement over the PA:

  “This is Master Sergeant William Pelletier, acting commander of Fort Weeks. An army of undead of indeterminate size is marching toward the base. We need every available soldier and every weapon at the outer wall. Wake up all sleepers. Organize yourselves into groups. Troop leaders take over their troops, and platoon leaders command their platoons. From now on, this military base is on high alert.” Then the master sergeant directly addressed Corporal Morgan:

  “Corporal Morgan we need all the light we can get. Make sure all searchlights on the fences are on because we need to clearly see all these bastards. Then we will need ammo and supplies. Have everything carried from the ammo bunker to the perimeter wall.” Corporal Morgan understood and took off running. Pelletier’s brain was now working overtime, and every piece of tactical information he recalled was immediately turned into a command and yelled out loud. He looked around again and saw three soldiers rushing an ammo chest to the main gate.

  “You two, Brown and Clark, get two Humvees here because I have an idea. Park them facing the clearing.”

  “Foley. Grab an M24 and get your ass up to the watchtower. I need an estimate how many attackers there are.”

  Even before Private First Class Foley and the others had put down the ammo chest, the master sergeant heard something crackling in his earpiece. A calm, deep voice came over the radio:

  “Sir, this is McPherson. Chuckie and I estimate there are at least a thousand Z’s, one klick away, directly at the tree line. This only seems to be the beginning. Due to lack of light we can’t be sure how many are still inside the fucking forest. If you get a couple of ammo chests up here, we’ll give these bastards plenty of lead salad for their picnic. Do we have Weapons Free, Sir?”

  William Pelletier glanced up at the watchtower and saw a fierce grin on the face of McPherson, who was looking down at him. These crazy guys are even looking forward to it! However, in this situation the two Navy SEALs were worth their weight in gold, and the master sergeant knew it He was grateful that both had just happened to be at Fort Weeks for special explosives training when the virus erupted.

  “Only guarante
ed hits. We are going to need every single bullet,” he replied.

  “Roger, Sir.”

  That same second, the first shot thundered from Petty Officer 1st Class Bourke’s modified M14 DMR rifle. McPherson’s head whipped around. He could not see where the shot struck, but as he could hear a slight chortle, he assumed it was on target.

  “Are you going to play the game, big boy?” Chuck Bourke teased him.

  The only reply was a defiant grunt and the sound of Macpherson's M24 sniper rifle being racked.

  A few yards away down at the gate, Master Sergeant Pelletier continued to prepare his soldiers for the approaching undead army.

  “Light the fire pits and let the undead reach the first fence row, before you shoot. Do not waste any ammo and always aim at these bastards’ skulls. Use hand grenades sparingly, so that you don’t blow holes in our fences. Toss them far and concentrate on larger groups.”

  The sound of the SEALs’ single shots was soon accompanied by the loud cracking and whirring of the searchlights on the fences being switched on. They came alive gradually and flooded the area around the base in all directions with bright cones of light. Meanwhile, the fire pits were also set alight. The dragon starts spitting fire!

  William Pelletier climbed the wall again and saw the mob of undead slowly but steadily moving out of the forest. It would be a massacre, but he hoped this did not apply to his people. They had done everything possible in this short span of time. Once again he leaned his hands on the perimeter wall, though this time he was a bit more relaxed. He opened his belt holster and pulled out his pistol.

  Now they saw the attackers and could keep them away. Their defenses were strong; metal fences and the pits would eliminate some of them. Fort Weeks was as ready as it possibly could be but still, the master sergeant wondered whether he would live to see the next day.

  Phil also stood on the perimeter wall, together with Chris and Gregory. They wanted to join the fight at the frontline with the others. Pelletier knew how invaluable these three were to the survival effort and was very grateful that they had shared their knowledge about fighting zombies with his soldiers. But now he had another more important task for them.