After escaping the isolation compartment, he’d made his way to the upper levels of the hospital. Shortly after he’d run up the stairs, all hell had broken out. The chief of staff had vanished in the chaos.
Now Chad was alone. Hiding in the dark, gripping the cold metal of a revolver he’d snagged off a dead cop.
A red glow from a bank of emergency lights flickered in the open doorway, revealing the dark hallway beyond. He peeled the plastic screen back for a better look, straining to hear any sound of footsteps.
The crack of sporadic gunfire rang out in the distance. The shots were evenly spaced and loud, likely from a shotgun. Glancing at the revolver in his shaking hand, he was reminded he was far from a weapons expert. In fact, he hardly even knew how to handle the thing.
He pulled his phone from his pocket and risked a glance away from the door to check the screen for messages.
A red bar blinked across the display.
Fuck, he thought. Out of battery. He had a charger in his bag. Before he reached for his gear, he peeked around the corner of the plastic curtain. The blinking backup lights from the hallway reminded him the power was off. He had no way to charge the phone even if he wanted to.
A howl traveled through the halls. The sound sent a chill down his spine, and he froze when the skittering sound of feet filled the quiet hallway.
Chad held his breath, gripping the revolver tighter. Slowly he pulled the curtain closed, leaving only a small gap so he could see the corridor beyond.
He squinted, checking the sleek metal surface of the gun. He fumbled with the weapon as another high-pitched screech broke through the stillness.
This one was closer. Possibly even on the same floor.
Chad chewed on his inner lip. He slipped behind the curtain and crouched next to the AC box. Glancing over his shoulder, he looked out the fifth floor window. Below he could see flashing lights from squad cars. Two military Humvees were parked on the curb, their doors still open. In the streets a FEMA semi-trailer had t-boned a CNN satellite truck. It was dark, but he could still see the smoke billowing out from under the hoods.
Focusing, Chad narrowed his eyes on the outlines of bodies lining the sidewalk. Puddles of blood surrounded the mangled corpses glistened under the moonlight. He pushed his face against the glass for a look at the adjacent street and gasped. It too was covered with corpses.
Skittering footsteps from the hallway pulled Chad back to the red flickering light. He waited, the rapping growing louder with each beat of his heart. They were heavy footfalls, like the sound a soldier’s boots made.
As he listened he heard another noise. A familiar sound he’d heard back in the isolation wing. It sounded like a twig bending and then snapping. The only explanation filled Chad with paralyzing fear. The noise was coming from the clicking joints of the infected.
A bead of sweat dropped into Chad’s right eye. He winced, ignoring the burn and focusing his aim on the hallway. Time moved slowly, the world frozen around him. His heart skipped a beat at the sound of yet another snarling scream. The noise confirmed what Chad had suspected. One of the infected was making its way down the corridor. It was hunting, and he was the prey.
Chad contemplated jumping out the window. If he landed on one of the Humvees maybe, just maybe, he could survive the fall. Anything would beat getting torn apart by one of those things, he thought.
When he turned back to the door he saw it was too late. The crooked silhouette of a man stood there, the red light flickering around him like an evil halo. Every blink revealed a glimpse of his twisted features. The tattered fatigues soaked in blood, a right arm hanging oddly from the socket, and finally the blood trickling down his ghostly white face.
Chad swallowed, his finger gripping the trigger.
Seconds passed, and the man tilted his head, raising his nose into the air and sniffing for a scent.
For his scent.
He wanted to hide, to run even, but he was captivated by the horror in front of him. And the man couldn’t see him from this angle. With one hand on the gun and his other holding the curtain, Chad waited.
The light blinked again, and the ex-soldier viciously licked the blood around his swollen lips, moaning in delight. Then he stopped, tilting his head toward the curtain.
Chad backed away and raised the gun with both hands. The doctor closed his eyes and applied pressure on the trigger, but he didn’t fire. Not yet. Even if he could kill this man, others would be drawn to the sound. Shooting was his last resort.
When he opened his eyes, the man was gone. The emergency light flashed in sync with Chad’s thumping heart. After a few agonizing seconds, he held his breath and inched back the curtain with a free finger.
A pair of crimson eyes stared back at him. He saw with perfect clarity that the man’s pupils had morphed into yellowish slits. They flickered as if adjusting to the light before locking onto Chad.
The doctor didn’t even have a chance to fire a single shot before the infected man was on him, knocking the gun from his grip. Chad went down hard. The back of his skull bounced off the tile floor, and flashes of red broke across his vision. He thrashed his arms in the air, trying to bat the man away, but he was fast and had him pinned down.
Desperate, he punched the infected man in the side of the head and swatted away his only working arm. That only enraged his assailant. The man's eyes burned with hunger and rage.
Roaring with anger, he rammed his forehead into Chad’s ribcage. Every bit of air exploded from Chad's lungs. The sharp pain rushed through his entire body. He saw more stars and sucked in a wild, desperate breath of air.
Swatting blindly, Chad strained to get free. His wild swings were futile. He was trapped under the sheer weight of the man. When his vision cleared, he saw a set of jagged yellow teeth snarling behind a pair of pale bulging lips. They pursed in and out, making a sucking noise and then a loud pop.
The click-clack of chomping teeth behind the lips sounded distant, but Chad could see the razor sharp teeth as they inched down. The sound intensified, the doctor’s fate closing in.
Chad screamed in terror. Reaching around for his gun, he found the metal handle and swiftly jammed the barrel into the man’s mouth.
“Die, you fuck!” Chad squeezed the trigger.
Click.
The revolver was empty. It was fucking empty!
The man’s reptilian-like eyes grew wide with confusion, as if he understood how lucky he was, but a second later primal instinct took over whatever hint of humanity remained. The man clamped down on Chad’s cheek, tearing a chunk of flesh free in one swift bite.
Screaming in agony, Chad kicked helplessly as the man fed. Red filled his vision. He blinked it away and saw a new figure standing in the doorway.
Had someone come to help him?
A jolt of adrenaline filled Chad with a brief moment of energy and hope. Swinging as hard as he could, he smashed the revolver into the man’s head. The he dropped the gun, grabbed the soldier’s neck with both hands, and pushed as hard as he could. The man growled as bloody saliva webbed across his lips. The brief reprieve gave Chad just enough time to lift his head off the ground.
“Help!” he screamed.
The emergency light flickered. Red light revealed the man in the doorway.
Chad let out a painful gasp.
Standing there was Doctor Ted Lucas, his face covered in blood. He tilted his head, blinked several times, and then locked onto Chad with eyes that radiated hatred…
…And hunger.
-11-
It was going on midnight, and Kate couldn’t calm down. She paced nervously across the lab, chewing on the inside of her bottom lip as she waited for the bioinformatics software to look for a match and for Javier to call.
The program had compared the sequence results with all genomes in both the NCBI and CDC database. In minutes she would know if they had found a match.
Kate flinched from the vibration of her cell phone. She dug it from her poc
ket and saw the call she’d been waiting for. Her heart thumped as she swiped the screen.
“Javier? Are you okay?”
His reply came in several mumbled words. His throat gurgled and a guttural cough erupted over the line.
Her heart kicked harder.
“Kate …”
“Yes, I’m here. Are you okay?”
More coughs crackled in her ear. She closed her eyes, wincing at each sound. She knew what they meant.
“They’re everywhere,” he choked. “I feel them. Like a swarm of fire ants burrowing behind my eyes. And I’m so hungry, Kate. So hungry.”
Kate brought her right hand to her face, cupping her mouth in shock. “Javier, you need to get to a hospital.”
He screamed in agony.
“Javier, my God. Javier, you have to get to a hospital,” she said, knowing it was already too late. Without treatment, and with Chicago in chaos, she knew he wouldn’t last long.
“I have never felt so much hunger,” he said in a moment of clarity. “I love you, sis. And I know if anyone can stop this virus it’s—” He wailed again, his words twisting into a snarl.
Kate whimpered, her hand falling from her lips. “Listen to me, Javier!” she uttered. “You have to find a hospital. Demand that they sedate you. Demand that…” Kate paused. She knew better than anyone that not even antiviral medicines worked on Ebola.
Tears welled around her eyes.
“I love you, Javier,” she cried.
His response came in another scream that she could hardly make out. “Ahhhhhhh…love you… Stop it! Make it stop!”
Kate’s stomach sank, a wave of nausea overwhelming her. She could picture her brother’s face. Bloody tears streaking down his olive skin, moving into his dimples and then through the brown goatee on his chin. She could see the blood vessels around his bright blue eyes rupturing. Javier was transforming on the other end of the line, and all she could do was listen.
“Kate!” he yelled.
And then she heard nothing. The line went dark.
“No! Javier,” she said frantically. “Javier!”
Kate collapsed to her knees and tossed the phone across the room. It landed in the corner with a metallic crunch.
Bursting into tears, she struggled for air. Her chest felt tight, her heart rate elevating rapidly. The nausea intensified. Before she could react, she lurched forward and threw up her breakfast. The acidic taste made her gag. She swiped the remnants off her mouth and tucked her chin against her chest, breathing deeply.
The sound of the lab doors opening startled her. Michael was frozen in the doorway.
“Kate?” he said slowly.
Forcing herself to her feet she wiped her mouth again. “He’s infected.”
“Who?”
Kate’s voice softened. “Javier.”
Michael extended his arms and embraced her in an abrupt hug, his arms massaging her back. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m so sorry, Kate.”
A chirp from the decoder rang out behind them. With tears filling her eyes, she leaned down to see the test was complete. Two words blinked across the screen.
No Match.
April 21st, 2015
DAY 4
Beckham stood under the shadow of a Blackhawk, watching another transport wing soar across the skyline. Normally, watching the American military stretch its muscles would give him great satisfaction. But he felt betrayed.
Used.
He’d do his duty. Sure. He always did. That didn’t mean he had to like it. He couldn’t stop thinking about all of the soldiers and innocent civilians who would die before this was over. Over the past forty-eight hours, Chicago had been reduced to a post-apocalyptic wasteland. The city was teeming with the sick, and those that weren’t already dead were killing one another. The perimeter the National Guard had set up around the city had quickly fallen.
The virus was spreading.
But the military was ready. The sounds and sights all around him told him they were prepared. Beckham watched a platoon of Army infantrymen jog across the tarmac. They made their way to a C-130, a staff sergeant he didn’t recognize barking orders at them.
“All right, Third Platoon. Check your sensitive items when we get on board. Everyone check your buddy. And Val, tighten that damn chin strap.”
The sight didn’t exactly restore Beckham’s faith in the military, but it reminded him that he had his own men to look after. That was still his number one priority.
Throwing his pack over his shoulders, Beckham looked for his team. Riley stood a few feet away, watching in silence, his light blue eyes following the soldiers into the belly of the transport plane. The sandy brown hair sticking out of his helmet blew in the slight breeze. He scratched his cleanly shaved face as he watched. Behind that intense stare, Riley was just a kid at heart and in spirit. The team’s little brother.
He patted Riley on the shoulder, and the younger operator looked up at him quizzically.
“You okay, Boss?”
“Yeah. Just glad you’re here, Riley.”
The kid nodded, a far cry from his typical smile and laugh. He scrutinized Beckham with the same intense stare from earlier. “You sure you’re okay?”
Beckham forced a half smile. “I’m good. How about you, kid? How are you holding up?”
Riley’s eyes darted to the ground. It was a look Beckham had seen a hundred times before—it was the look of a man that had taken a life and was still coming to terms with it. Taking another life almost always took time to dig in. Once it did, it settled in your gut, twisting and prodding like a knife that you couldn’t bat away. Only in this case Riley hadn’t taken just any life—he’d taken the life of a friend.
“You did what you had to do,” Beckham said. “You hear me, kid?”
Riley swiped his nose with a sleeve. “Yeah, I hear you. That wasn’t Tenor back there,” he said, his tone low, like he was trying to convince himself.
Beckham shook his head. “No, it wasn't.”
Horn’s loud voice boomed from inside the Blackhawk. He crouched in the open door and smacked the metal side with a paw. “That reminds me, I never said thanks for saving my ass.”
Riley nodded. “You’d have done the same thing.” He threw a duffel bag inside the chopper. “I still can’t believe we pulled evac duty. Since when the hell did we become escorts?”
“We’re whatever Command tells us we are,” Beckham replied. “And it sounds like Ellis has an important team waiting for him in Atlanta. What’s the status of your family, Big Horn?”
The operator jumped out of the chopper. “Brought them to base, just like you said. They'll be safer here.”
“Good,” Beckham replied.
Across the tarmac, the engines on the C-130 hummed to life and all three men watched the plane lurch down the runway. Beckham shielded his eyes from the bright morning sun.
The sound of footsteps replaced the diminishing roar from the plane.
“Master Sergeant Beckham!” came an energetic voice. He didn’t need to turn to see Ellis jogging across the tarmac.
“About time,” Beckham said, grabbing the doctor's single bag.
“We almost left without you,” Horn said.
Ellis paused at the doorway and watched the three operators chuckle. In a very serious tone he said, “You don’t know, do you?”
Beckham tossed the doctor’s bag on the floor of the bird and gave Ellis a quick once over.
“Know what?” Horn said. He pulled his skull mask from around his neck and tucked it into his shirt.
“The outbreak has hit Atlanta,” Ellis said quickly.
“What? How?” Riley blurted.
Beckham reached for the handle to the MP5 strung over his shoulder. The grip of the metal felt reassuring. “How did it get to Atlanta so fast? Can those things fucking drive?”
Ellis ran a nervous hand through his hair. He took off his glasses and put them in his breast pocket very methodically and then, shaking his head,
said, “I don’t know, by plane possibly.”
“How the hell did one of those things get on a plane?” Riley asked.
“The incubation period seems to be fluid,” Ellis said. “That’s how it got to Chicago in the first place. But honestly, I’m not sure how it’s spreading so fast. None of this makes any sense.”
“Sure it does,” Beckham replied. He paused, waiting for the rumble from three Ospreys taking off further down the tarmac to pass. Beckham loosened his grip on his weapon. “You’re a scientist, right? Don’t you see?”
Ellis narrowed his eyebrows. “See what?”
“Dr. Medford created the perfect virus. It doesn’t kill its host, and it spreads like fire in a dry forest,” Beckham said.
“I suppose you’re right,” Ellis said. “Which means we need to find a treatment ASAP.”
Horn tapped the end of his M27 on the metal door of the chopper. “You want a treatment? Well, here’s a cure,” he said, lifting the machine gun.
Ellis’ face remained stone cold. “I’m afraid you won’t have enough bullets.”
Grunting, Horn climbed into the aircraft and tossed his gear on the floor. “We’ll see about that.”
Beckham gestured at the Blackhawk with his chin. “After you, doctor.”
The first pass from the chopper’s blades whooshed above them and Beckham peered over his shoulder one more time before climbing inside the Blackhawk. Across the airfield, aircraft of all shapes and sizes waited for air traffic control to give them the green light for takeoff. Platoons and squads marched and jogged around the tarmac, filing into formations and boarding aircraft.
Fort Bragg reminded him of a Forward Operating Base. In a way, he supposed the post had transformed into one, only this time they weren’t being deployed to some godforsaken sand castle. This time, the enemy was on home turf. Beckham spit the bad taste out of his mouth as another plane took off. He paused to scan the organized chaos around them. The choke of diesel engines and the footfalls of heavy boots owned the morning. The entire post was alive with movement, preparing for a new type of war.
Kate stood hunched over a sink, her tears falling freely now. She’d retreated to the lab’s bathroom to pull herself together.
Extinction Horizon (The Extinction Cycle Book 1) Page 13
