by JE Gurley
She stiffened in fear when she heard someone passing by outside, but whoever it was didn’t stop. Throughout the afternoon, the soldiers removed the bodies from the field. They had herded the survivors, numbering less than six hundred, into the three remaining undamaged compounds. She searched the crowd for familiar faces but didn’t see anyone she recognized. From the way they huddled in small groups, she knew they were expecting to be killed. When the soldiers completed the grisly task of removing the dead and brought food and water to the survivors, some semblance of normalcy returned to the camp.
By the time Benoit awoke, it was almost dusk. Several of the light stands were out, damaged in the melee, leaving large areas of the field in darkness. People huddled in the pitifully small pools of light cast by the remaining light stands. Benoit groaned in pain. She checked on him. He was responsive but groggy from loss of blood. She forced him to drink a soda while she prepared another of the MREs for him, this time chicken with noodles. It reminded her of the chicken noodle soup her father used to prepare for her when she was sick.
“How’s your shoulder?” she asked.
He moved it experimentally and groaned again. “It’s very stiff. Is there anything for pain in there?” He nodded toward the MREs.
She shook her head. “I’m afraid not. I think I saw a first-aid kit on the wall in one of the restaurants on the concourse. I wanted to wait until you were awake before going to check it out.”
“Absolutely not. It’s too dangerous.”
She smiled at Benoit’s adamancy, but his male-inspired chivalry didn’t sway her. “I have no choice. You can’t make it. You need something for pain and a decent bandage.”
He nodded his agreement, but he was clearly upset with her decision and by his inability to go in her stead. She checked on Tomas before leaving, and then removed the barricade from the door as quietly as she could. The concourse beyond was dark. She was glad for the flashlight, but to remain as invisible as possible, she kept it off and used her hand on the wall to guide her. When she neared the spot where she remembered seeing the first aid kit, she switched on the flashlight and searched for the restaurant. Unfortunately, in the dark, all the food kiosks looked the same. In a moment of panic, she raced up and down the concourse trying to remember in which restaurant she had seen the kit. She was at the point of giving up when her light flashed across the first aid kit. She climbed over the counter and yanked the entire box from the wall. After tucking it under her arm, she switched off the flashlight. In her panic, she had relied on it too much, risking attracting soldiers or worse.
On the return trip, she stumbled over something in the floor. She fell and dropped the flashlight and the kit. The metal kit clanged as it hit the floor and bounced, echoing down the concourse. The darkness seemed to amplify the sound. She groped along the floor searching for the flashlight. Her hand fell upon it at the same time as her shoulder encountered something soft and yielding. When she picked up the flashlight, it was wet and sticky. She switched the flashlight back on. The beam outlined the ghostly face of a dead soldier. One side of his face was crushed, and one of his eyes dangled from the socket. She stifled a scream. As she recovered the first aid kit, she noticed the soldier’s rifle beside him and picked it up, cursing when she found that it was empty of bullets. Then she noticed the dead soldier’s cell phone protruding halfway out of his shirt pocket. She replaced the rifle and took the cell phone.
Finding the corpse fed the flames of a growing panic. She kept the flashlight on and hurried her steps. At a low snarl and the soft sound of footsteps running in the darkness behind her, she broke into a run. Soldiers wore boots. Only the detainees and zombies wore cloth shoes.
Back in the Legend’s Suite, she paused only long enough to catch her breath, and then began rebuilding the barricade as Benoit watched on in silence. Finally, satisfied that the barricade would hold, she forced her racing heart to calm.
“What did you see?” Benoit asked.
She shook her head. “We need to expose your wound.”
She realized immediately that lowering the top of his coverall would be a problem. He could barely move his injured arm as he tried to help her. The thin material stuck to the edges of the wound, causing him considerable pain as the fresh scab broke free. The bleeding had stopped, but began to bleed anew. The wound was deep, but the bullet had missed the bone. His eyes searched her face as she examined the wound.
“How bad is it?”
“You’ll have a nice scar to show your students.”
“Ha! I teach the tenth grade. They’re not easily impressed.”
“I’m going to clean it now,” she warned.
She ignored his facial contortions and suppressed moans as she gently poured cold water into the wound and wiped away the blood, but when she poured a liberal amount of disinfectant onto the tender flesh, he pulled his arm away. She grabbed his arm and held it tightly.
“That was the worst of it,” she promised him.
He bore her continued ministrations stoically, but he sucked in his breath when she pressed a wadded gauze pad against the open wound and taped it in place. He swallowed two pain killers without protest and lay back down, exhausted by the ordeal. Then she told him about the cell phone.
“Do I dare call anyone?” she asked.
“Is there any coverage?”
She checked the phone. “Two bars.”
“Better than I expected with so many cell towers down. I don’t know anyone who might help. Dial 911.”
She did as he said and got only a recorded message. She shook her head.
“Figures. Any family you can call?”
His innocent question bit deeply into her heart as it evoked memories of Ricardo. “No.”
Before he could comment, turmoil erupted on the field below. This time the trouble came not from inside the stadium, but from without. Soldiers ran to the entrances as gunfire and explosions outside ripped into the stillness of the night.
“It was the siren.”
She looked at Benoit. “What about the siren.”
“The noise of the siren and the gunfire attracted more of the zombies from all around the stadium.”
A lump formed in Rita’s throat. “Can they get in?”
“If they are determined enough. The creatures show no fear.”
She glanced at Tomas, who had begun to cry as more explosions lit up the night outside the stadium. She held him in her arms as the sound of gunfire drew closer. One large explosion shattered the glass wall. Shards of glass fell into the stadium, followed by a mass of human figures pouring through the opening – zombies. The lights flickered and went dark, leaving the field pitch black except for the muzzle flashes of the soldiers’ gun, which grew fewer and fewer as the screams of the dying rent the darkness. The stadium was quickly overrun. She and Benoit no longer had to fear the soldiers, but they were even more trapped than before.
She remembered the cell phone in her hand. Who could she call? Detective Bane. He had promised to help. She no longer had his card, but she remembered his number. It was only one digit different from the local pizza place whose number she knew so well. She held her breath as she punched in the number. The phone rang several times. She was losing faith that he would answer when a voice said, “Detective Bane here.”
She was almost too choked up to speak. She cleared her throat and said, “Detective Bane, this is Rita. We need your help.”
14
July 7, MIA, Miami, FL –
Kyle awoke dreaming of Marli. He awoke slowly, imagining her shaking him awake after a night of passionate lovemaking. When he saw that he was still fully clothed, his fantasy dream faded. He was still half asleep sitting on the edge of his cot trying to recall the dream when she walked into the tent.
“You should eat,” she said.
“What time is it?” he asked, rubbing his eyes.
“Almost ten a.m. You worked throughout most of the night.”
“I thought I was on
to something.” He shrugged. “It slipped away.”
“Eating will help,” she said.
He stumbled to his feet and followed her to the dining area. Breakfast was over for the others. They were already hard at work. He glanced at the cold leftovers on the table and dismissed them. Searching the refrigerator, he found a box of microwavable sausage and biscuits. He removed one and popped it in the microwave to cook while he poured a cup of coffee. The coffee was strong and felt warm going down, kick-starting his heart and slapping him awake. When the microwave chimed, he removed his food. The sausage and biscuit was hot, but all semblances to real food ended there. The sausage was a wafer-thin poker chip of tasteless meat, and the biscuit was chewy. Still, beggars couldn’t be choosers. He downed it quickly. Marli joined him for coffee.
“What did you find?”
During the night as he slept, something had clicked inside his exhausted brain. The colored spaghetti lines of the graphs began to make sense as they danced through his dreams like a scene from a Disney cartoon. He noted hidden cycles in the pulsing lines, day-night cycles and peak activity cycles where they intersected. He remembered that like most fungi, the Cordyceps fungus preferred darkness for growth. This was when the infected were more active. He hadn’t seen it at first because attacks had occurred at all times of the day and night. Then, it had hit him. The constant haze of smoke and the heavy gray clouds blocking the sun had created an artificial dusk over the city, allowing the creatures to remain active day and night. He also knew why they had seen so few of the Tertiary cases. Seeking darkness, the creatures would not all choose rooftops for their perches. Any high place – an upper level apartment, a parking garage, a skyscraper – sufficiently dark could become a location from which they poured forth their lethal load of spores to the air.
“We need infrared equipment,” he said.
Marli looked at him questioningly.
“The fungus heads are more active at night. I didn’t see it at first because the clouds are blocking the sun. When the sun comes back out, they’ll go to ground. We’ll need infrared gear to spot them. We have to comb the upper floors of buildings, not just rooftops.”
“Are you certain? They’ve attacked during daylight hours.”
He shrugged. “As certain as I can be. There’s a pattern to their activity. The fungus is driving them. The anomalies match maximum smoke or cloud cover.”
Her mouth made an open ‘O’. “Yes, I see.”
“The more infected ones are anyway. The others … well, we need to deal with the Tertiaries first.”
“I suppose you’re right. Are you going to alert General Willows?”
He smiled. “I’ll let Ginson. He could use the brownie points.”
He thought of Ginson and realized he hadn’t checked to see how the new sergeant was recovering from his injury. That would have to wait. He leaned back in his seat and crossed his arms over his head, satisfied that her faith in him had not been misplaced. It got them no closer to a cure, but it might help locate and eliminate the source. It would not be an easy job locating the Tertiaries. He hoped he could convince General Willows that the time and effort would be worth it. The only other option would render a lot of prime real estate uninhabitable for a very long time.
Ginson saved Kyle a trip. He showed up mid-afternoon with an ear-to-ear grin on his face.
“Why the wide smile?” Kyle asked.
“The general called me in his office to offer a well done for the mission to the courthouse.”
“No Silver Star or promotion to colonel?”
“That comes later.” He sat down opposite Kyle.
“How’s the wound?”
Ginson rubbed his belly. “Six stitches and a penny-sized chunk of metal as a memento. Now I’ve got two belly buttons about four inches apart.”
“That just makes you a freak, not a hero.”
“You’re just jealous.” He glanced around. “I saw the doctor when I came in. You two doing the horizontal two-step yet?”
“You’ve got a sick, demented mind. I like that in a friend. No, we haven’t advanced past the languid looks stage.”
“You move too slowly. If you don’t pick up the pace, I might cut in.”
“Be my guest, but I warn you, she doesn’t like men with twin belly buttons.”
He waited on Ginson to broach the subject he had been dancing around with small talk. After a slight pause, Ginson said, “There’s been trouble at the FEMA site at Marlins Park.”
Kyle sat up in his seat. He had sent Rita and her child to Marlins Park. “What kind of trouble?”
“It seems there was a rash of spontaneous infections.”
Ginson’s news stunned him. His stomach tightened. “What?”
“Several people who showed no previous signs of infection turned violent at the same time. It was chaos. A lot of people died.” Before Kyle could ask about Rita, Ginson continued, “It’s under control now, but there’s talk of scrapping the whole quarantine idea. If people can turn zombie with no notice, what good is quarantine?”
“Marli said it was a shambles over there. The army didn’t quarantine anyone. They just stuck them all together to keep an eye on them, like prisoners of war. What a cluster-you-know- what.”
If Kyle’s disdain of the military bothered Ginson, he ignored it. “Look, I agree. I just thought I should give Doctor Henry a heads up on how things are going.”
“Yeah, you’re right. She should know about this.”
She walked up as they were speaking.
“I should know about what?” she asked, looking back and forth at the two of them.
“Let’s go to your office,” Kyle suggested.
Inside with the door closed, he let Ginson explain. The news upset Marli more than he had expected. She ranted and paced her office looking as if she wanted to strike out at someone or something. Both he and Ginson remained safely out of harm’s way. After a few minutes of venting her anger, she turned to them.
“I warned them. Without a proper quarantine procedure and constant observation, detention is useless.”
“In all fairness, you can’t watch thousands of people constantly,” Ginson said.
Kyle waited on Marli’s backlash, but she surprised him. She took her seat and stared at them.
“You’re right, Sergeant. We’ve been so busy trying to develop a vaccine that we completely ignored a proper test for infection. If the report is correct and people suddenly became Primaries with no visible precursor signs, quarantining everyone won’t work.” She nodded her head as if confirming her decision. “They must feed off each other’s rage, remaining on the edge of sanity until one small spark sets them off. I’ll get some of my people working on a test right away. This couldn’t have come at a worse time. We’re so close to a vaccine.”
Before she could elaborate further, she abruptly left the two of them in her office.
Ginson looked at Kyle. “That went better than I expected. You need to marry that woman.”
Kyle ignored him. His mind was busy focusing on the possibility of vaccine.
While Marli busied herself with her staff, Kyle explained his discovery about the nocturnal preference of the fungus heads to Ginson. Ginson thought it excellent news and left to report it to the general, while Kyle considered his options. He had promised Rita that he would help her, but he didn’t even know if she was in danger. Or still alive, he thought bitterly. He didn’t have the authority to remove her from quarantine. Maybe Marli did. He would ask her when she came up for air. She had submerged herself in the depths of her work, almost becoming a blur as she raced from tent to tent keeping abreast of the results of testing of the vaccine on animals. Kyle could offer no assistance and knew he would only be in the way. He sat on the sidelines and watched, preparing fresh coffee when someone emerged from a lab for a refill. Like cops, technicians and epidemiologists ran on coffee.
Ginson returned a few hours later carrying two pairs of night vision gear. He hand
ed a pair of goggles to Kyle.
“What’s this for?” he asked as he examined the goggles.
“This is the PNVG-PVS 7 night vision goggle,” Ginson recited as if he were reciting the training manual to a raw recruit. “The PVS 7 has a single ocular lens and can be used as a hand-held unit, worn strapped around the head, or mounted to the helmet.”
“I don’t have a helmet,” Kyle said.
Ginson glared at him. “Don’t interrupt when I’m in training mode. Now, we can’t wear these with full respirators, so we’ll have to wear masks.”
“We? What’s this ‘We’ shit?”
“It’s your theory, so it’s only fitting that you get to test it. The general and I agreed that you would be pleased to accompany my team for a little night excursion.”
“Thanks for volunteering me. I’ll try to repay the favor someday.”
A loud yell from the lab caught both of them by surprise. Kyle expected the worst when Marli emerged from the tent, but she was smiling broadly. Applause and more cheers erupted behind her.
Kyle’s hopes rose a notch. “What’s all the celebration?” he asked.
Marli did a graceful pirouette as she danced across the hangar floor toward him. Her face was all smiles. “Gentlemen, we might have a vaccine. Mind you, it’s too early to tell. We’ll need to test it thoroughly, but it looks extremely promising.”
“That’s great news,” he said. It was, in fact, the best news he had heard in a long while.
“Yes it is, but don’t get too optimistic. Doctor Ozay said its effects might be limited to fifty or sixty percent of the population.”
Kyle’s hopes diminished slightly, but he refused to be dismayed. He wouldn’t up the ante in a poker game for fifty-fifty odds, but against a killer fungus it was better than no odds at all. “That’s a start.”
“This calls for a celebration,” she said. “We deserve to drink a toast. I have a bottle of Glenlivet twelve-year-old scotch in my office. Would you two gentlemen care for a glass?”
