The Infected Dead (Book 7): Scream For Now

by Howard, Bob

  Uncle Titus believed that the end of civilization was going to happen at any moment. Not any day, but any moment. He even managed to convince the right people that it was coming, and even though he had enough money to build his own shelter, he had convinced the federal government that they should fund the construction of almost three dozen shelters. They built them for him, and they were stocked to the ceilings with food, water, and all the comforts afforded to politicians. Some had saved people, but some sat empty. Others we didn’t know about yet.

  The end came as suddenly as he had predicted, but unfortunately it came after Titus died. It was unfortunate for him, but not for me…not for Ed. I inherited his personal shelter and sealed myself inside as the world around me died. That’s the short version. Let’s just say I was in the neighborhood when people started killing each other and the world was consumed, literally and figuratively, by a virus. If I hadn’t been in the neighborhood, most of the hundreds of people enjoying lunch in this cafeteria wouldn’t be alive, and the only thing any of them could say about where they wish they had been on the first day was, “With Ed.”

  Even though I was sitting by myself in the cafeteria, I was surrounded by friends and family, and I was probably the one person in the cafeteria who was recognized by everyone except the new couple. And since that joke had taken on a life of its own, everyone who passed by my table with their tray of food made sure the couple heard them say, “Hi Ed.”

  There would be time for me to get to know the couple. As a matter of fact, I already knew a little about them. Being an insider, I knew everything that was happening around Fort Sumter, and I knew every story of survival in the room except theirs. For now, I felt like they should be left alone for a bit so everything around them could soak in.

  After their meal, they would be intercepted by escorts who were watching from a distance. They didn’t know it, but the escorts were waiting for them to push their crocks away after every crumb was eaten. Then the escorts would try to time their approach perfectly and introduce themselves. The couple would be taken to private quarters where they would be told to enjoy their baths or showers and to get some rest. They would get a very casual explanation that they only needed to pick up the phone in their room and call the operator on duty if they had a problem, and that included medical care.

  The orientation of new survivors was well orchestrated to ensure the safety of everyone around them. They had already been inspected for bite marks, but there was no inspection that could guarantee their minds had not been damaged beyond repair. Certainly they were traumatized, but we had learned over the years that some survivors would snap without warning. We considered them to be lucky when they were rescued along with someone they already knew because they had time to process everything by talking about it in private.

  Then there was the other danger. We were willing to take in anyone who wasn’t bitten, but sooner or later they would be survivors from Patriots Point. It wouldn’t be a surprise to find that they were spies from the secretive base of operations only a short distance away from Fort Sumter across the harbor. Over the next few days, the couple would be carefully interviewed by Army and civilian medical personnel to see if their survival stories were the same and if their health matched their stories. From what we could see, the people at Patriots Point were at least well fed.

  The couple seemed to be done eating and were just taking in their surroundings. I was spoiled to the point that I couldn’t really imagine what it was like to fight to survive day after day and year after year. If they were for real, they had to feel like it was too good to be true. There had to be a catch.

  A group of soldiers sat down at the same long table with the couple. They gave them their space, but they all exchanged friendly nods and greetings. The man leaned toward the soldiers who were all keenly aware that the couple was being gradually acclimated to their new existence. They knew what they could or could not say.

  “Can I ask you all a question? Who’s Ed?”

  The nearest of the soldiers answered, “He’s the guy we all wish we had been with on the first day of the infection.”

  The escorts timed their arrival perfectly and intercepted the couple before they could pursue the question any further. I saw one of them wink in my direction.

  ******

  As they left the table and dropped off their dishes to be washed, the escorts began their well rehearsed explanation.

  “Now that you’ve had something to eat, it’s time for you to get cleaned up and get some rest. I’m sure you wouldn’t mind some fresh clothes for a change. While you were eating, we took the liberty of stocking your room for you. I hope I guessed your sizes correctly.”

  The escorts were both women this time. They were dressed in civilian clothes, ‘civvies’, as the military liked to call them, but they were both highly skilled in hand to hand combat. They were two of Captain Miller’s soldiers, and they were fanatically loyal to their boss. If the couple turned out to be spies from Patriots Point, they wouldn’t learn anything important from their escorts, and they weren’t going to be able to overpower them.

  The man had been doing most of the talking for the couple, but the woman finally spoke up.

  “This is just a bit much. Don’t misunderstand, we’re grateful and all, but what if we want to leave?”

  They had walked from the cafeteria through a hallway that appeared to be a main artery through the underground city. It resembled the concourse of an airport. Then they had ridden in an elevator with polished brass trim until getting off on a floor that looked like it belonged in a five star hotel. Rich carpet, mirrors, paintings, and above all else, clean.

  The soldiers did their best to appear unfazed by the question. The one who had just spoken was tall with black hair pulled back into a ponytail that bounced like she was just another college kid on her way to her next class.

  “You’re not prisoners here. Your door won’t be locked, and if you want to leave, just use the phone to call the operator. Tell whoever answers that you want to leave, and it will be arranged. You’ll be given a few days rations and transported to a relatively safe location of your choosing.”

  They arrived at a door made of rich wood, and the second escort inserted a key. As soon as she unlocked the door, she turned to the woman and offered her the key along with an understanding smile. She didn’t mention the cameras located at the ends of the hallway and in the elevator, nor did she tell them about the motion sensors.

  Both escorts stood aside to allow the couple to enter the room first, then they followed closely behind. The leader of the pair was Brenda McIntyre, and even though her partner, Staff Sergeant Tonya Archer, was the same rank as her, one soldier in each escort pair was always in charge. It was also her responsibility to start the real interview process, and it began with making newcomers comfortable enough to give information about themselves. It had gotten to a point that we had to be very careful. So far, we were sure everyone we had rescued was not a spy.

  “You’ll find everything you need to clean yourselves until you feel human again, including a small fridge with some essentials in it.”

  “How can all of this be here?” asked the man. “After all these years of waking up every time something steps on a twig. After all these years of starving? How could all of this have been so close to us?”

  “Mr. Corrigan, that’s what we’d like to know from you, and we’re going to offer you a trade. In return for your story, we’re going to keep you safe, warm, clean, and fed.”

  “What do you want to know?” asked the woman.

  “It doesn’t work like that,” said SSgt. Archer. “We’re going to leave you now. You see that computer over there? Just turn it on and follow the instructions on the screen. Take your time, answer the questions, and tell us your story.”

  The escorts left the couple, and despite the overwhelming evidence they had already seen that meant the room was safe, Phillip and Denise Corrigan looked under the bed, checked the c
losets, and pulled back the shower curtain. If anyone was watching, their behavior would appear to be perfectly normal.

  ******

  Our Information and Technology personnel expected to see the remote access indicator activate between one and two hours after the new survivors were situated in their private quarters. That was the average. They were ready to begin their questions as soon as the Corrigans logged in. To the survivors it seemed as if they were taking a survey, but they were actually answering carefully worded questions customized just for them. The story of their survival gradually unfolded.

  The Corrigans had been married for five years. Educated, healthy and they kept their youthful bodies by working out and cooking together. They were such a perfect fit for each other that friends teased them about it. They were the same height and each had full brown hair and hazel eyes.

  It was the second marriage for both, and they had just begun talking about the possibility of starting a family. There were still a few things they both wanted to do before taking on the responsibility, though, and one of them was to visit a few of the vacation spots they had heard so much about but never seen for themselves. Charleston was the first stop on their list, and they had only been in town for three days when the world ended.

  They had tried to rent a place in a bed and breakfast on South Battery between King and Meeting Streets, but they found that even during off-season months they were all booked. They had hoped to have a view of the historic White Point Gardens, known as The Battery to locals, but when they checked into their hotel on Market Street, they weren’t disappointed by the view of the city rooftops. They didn’t realize at the time that if they had gotten their original bed and breakfast that they would have become the breakfast. The polite young man who had carried their bags to their room had also given them suggestions about places to visit, and his recommendation to eat lunch on Shem Creek was the reason they were on Mt. Pleasant when the sirens and horns blared from rescue vehicles and fire engines.

  It couldn’t have been a more beautiful day. They were sitting at a corner table on the veranda of the restaurant watching shrimp boats and private fishing boats come and go in such precise paths that it could be called a graceful dance. The waiter had delivered a large platter of boiled shrimp and oysters on the half shell along with their second round of Bloody Marys. They had passed on the crab dip and she-crab soup appetizers because the waiter had discreetly told them he always recommended the freshest seafood, and the shrimp and oysters had arrived only an hour earlier.

  Phillip Corrigan expertly pinched the shell from the shrimp and dipped it in cocktail sauce. It made a slight crunch when he bit into it that signaled a perfectly cooked shrimp, and he nodded in satisfaction. Denise sat across from him and had a clear view of the mouth of Shem Creek. Her right hand was holding a tiny fork that she had used to pry an oyster loose, but she held it only a few inches from her face. Her forehead had deep furrows that he interpreted as pain, but before Phillip could ask her if something was wrong, her hand began to shake, and the oyster dropped onto her plate. Denise had her eyes fixed on a spot behind her husband and he turned to follow her gaze. What he saw didn’t make sense.

  The restaurant next to the one they had chosen was also dealing with a brisk tourist business, and their outdoor dining area was at eye level to Denise Corrigan. Since they were at a corner table, there was nothing blocking her view of an unpleasant exchange that had developed at a table along the railing of the other veranda. She had seen a man knock his glass off the table followed by the waiter deftly intercepting the liquid as soon as it hit the wooden floor. What she couldn’t understand was why the man, who had been seated with his back to her, had then fallen from his chair on top of the waiter’s back. The waiter appeared to be just trying to push the man off of him, but his efforts changed from pushing to something better described as violent jerking. It was like his legs weren’t working together, and they jerked in tremendous spasms as his scream rose above the rising sounds of the customers.

  The man who had fallen on the waiter suddenly stood to his full height and stumbled backward into the railing behind him. As he did, he was turned by his own feet that were tangled in the legs of the waiter, and he didn’t stop until he was facing directly at Denise. There was no way to explain the brilliant scarlet blood that ran in a cascade from his face to his waist. That was when Denise had dropped the oyster. It had all happened so fast.

  Phillip was turned in his seat and only about thirty feet from the other railing, and he locked eyes with the customer covered in blood. For a reason that would only become obvious over the next day, the seemingly enraged man had reached for Phillip with both hands as if thirty feet was close enough. He flailed both arms wildly as he reached, and they watched in horror as the man flipped head first over the railing, dropping onto the hood of a parked car.

  The Corrigans did what anyone else would do in the situation, and that was proven by their fellow diners on the veranda. They all rushed to see what had happened when the man landed. At first there was stunned silence. Then came the screams from Denise and a few others as the man astonished everyone by rolling from the roof of the car onto the pavement. For a second time in the last few minutes, he stood to his full height.

  On the dining area of the other restaurant the people had reacted the same way. With the exception of those who were tending to the injured waiter, the customers and staff were all pushing to get a better view of the man who had fallen. The screams from both restaurants became background noise as a fire engine and paramedics arrived at the same time. The pandemonium that followed offered no answers to the people who were screaming to know what was happening, but it became obvious that the Corrigans had chosen wisely when they had selected their restaurant over the one next door.

  The screaming next door seemed to rise higher than the sounds of the sirens and the screaming around Phillip and Denise. There was more pushing and shoving, and a section of the railing broke away. A waterfall of people poured through the opening as some fell and some jumped. Almost last to come through and drop onto the pile of people was the waiter who had been attacked by the customer, and he had his teeth buried into the arm of a woman. They fell together, and to Phillip it seemed that the waiter was more interested in maintaining his grip with his jaws than he was with the impact of the fall. As soon as they rolled off the pile of patrons who were scrambling to either help friends or to escape, the waiter crawled onto the chest of the woman he had been biting. The eruption of blood seemed to reach everyone who had fallen around them.

  The Corrigans kept answering questions on the computer about that day and what happened after the restaurant. Phillip had wisely held his wife back to allow the crowd to flee ahead of them. In the pushing and shoving that followed the bloodbath at the other restaurant, more than one person was pushed to the ground by the stampede of customers. Even the exits from the parking lot became impassable as cars rammed each other and fights broke out. They eventually became so entangled with wrecks that people abandoned their cars and ran.

  There was plenty of reason to run. The customer who had attacked the waiter had moved on to attack anyone close enough to reach, and the waiter had joined him. As people were dragged to the ground and bitten until they stopped their struggles, other victims receiving medical help from firemen and paramedics were grasping the startled rescuers by their uniforms and pulling them closer. Then they bit their exposed faces and necks. In a matter of minutes there were as many attackers as there were customers running for their lives. If there was a saving grace, it was that the attackers moved slowly. They were clumsy and fell down easily, and the Corrigans dodged their hands to reach the main highway.

  With no way to retrieve their car from the parking lot they crossed Coleman Blvd and sought help from anyone who would give it. Traffic was still moving, but it was obvious that it might not be for long. No one was heeding red lights or stop signs, and there were even cars using the lanes on the wrong side of the
road. As cars collided with each other, the drivers cursed and shook their fists, but they didn’t waste any time before driving away. There was one exception when a driver got out of the car that had suffered the most damage. He pulled a pistol from his belt and shot the driver of the other car twice. Then he pulled him into the street. The driver’s wife was hit by another car when she jumped out to help her husband. She was most likely unaware of anything from that second forward.

  Despite earning angry shouts and blaring horns, an elderly couple from New Jersey pulled to a stop in front of the Corrigans and offered them a ride to the Mt. Pleasant police station. It seemed as if they might at least make it that far, but as they got closer to Houston Northcutt Blvd where the map said they would find the municipal center, traffic came to a complete stop.

  Up ahead on Coleman Blvd they could see the bridge over the Cooper River. The sun was reflecting off of thousands of cars and trucks in every lane. Unsure of where to go to reach safety, people on Mt Pleasant were making their escape by going over the bridge to reach I-26. On the other side in Charleston, the people who could see that I-26 was already a snarled mess were making their escape to Mt Pleasant. In the light of day it was obvious to the Corrigans that no one would be going anywhere in either direction, and as they watched they could see that people were running between the cars. From their vantage point they could see it all. There were still people trying to move forward to cross the bridge, but the running people soon took on the appearance of a tidal wave that was pouring down from the towering bridge. They watched in fascinated shock as the tidal wave of people literally crashed into the wall of people going the other way. The tidal wave was slowed for only seconds as it washed over hundreds of families.