by Kadin, Karri
Outbreak
Karri Kadin
Contents
1. Day 1
2. Day 2
3. Day 3
4. Day 4
5. Day 5
6. Day 6
7. Day 7
Also by Karri Kadin
About the Author
Copyright © 2021 by Wicked Tales Press, LLC
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof
may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever
without the express written permission of the publisher
except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Printed in the United States of America
First Printing, 2020
ISBN 978-1-7349399-1-0
Wicked Tales Press, LLC
PO Box 503
Newalla, Oklahoma 74857
If you would like to be alerted about my future books please join my mailing list!
www.karriroberts.com
Cover design by Enchanted Ink
Editing by Angela Watts
www.angelarwatts.com
Proofread by Shona Mclaren
Veronica leaned against the stained, peeling laminate counter in the break room, spooning peach yogurt into her mouth. As she scraped the edges of the container for the last bite, she noticed the name scribbled in Sharpie on the side. Marla. Marla worked in the lab on day shift and always brought whipped cream fruit concoctions to the potlucks and called them salads. Veronica had a list a mile long of coworkers she wasn’t fond of, but Marla was definitely towards the top of that list. Veronica tossed the empty container in the trash as she walked out into the narrow hospital hall.
She began the short walk back to the little closet the hospital called her office. She had her hand on the handle when Jones appeared and jogged toward her. He was on Veronica’s tolerable list. Wrinkles creased his forehead and his wide eyes glossed with fear.
“Veronica! We need you in the ER. We actually have one. One of those virus victims! It’s bad.” He turned on his heels and hurried back toward the ER before Veronica could even ask what medications to bring. She shoved her office door open and grabbed her respiratory therapy cart and pulled on her power air-purifying respirator before following him. Her hammering heart sent an almost deafening pulse to her ears.
She had prepared for this. The respiratory therapy cart was crammed full with everything she could think of to treat someone suffering from the N87 virus. She’d kept up on the research and spoke to colleagues from larger cities who had treated N87 victims. None of the information she gathered was good. The virus was fatal 100% of the time. Treatment was simply comfort measures. But maybe this time, for this patient, it would be different.
She sprinted to the six bed ER and didn’t have to ask where they needed her. Police surrounded bay three, holding down a man on the hospital bed as staff tried to attach his restraints. Veronica could hear his wet, raspy breath from across the room. His face was covered in black lines like a spider web and as she came to his side, she realized they were his veins. He definitely had the virus. She hooked a face mask up to her nebulizer and filled it with the cocktail of meds the research said would help the most. The nurses had him secured to the bed, but he still fought against his bindings. Blood dripped from his eyes.
“Mr. Kelpner, we need you to be still so we can help you feel better. Veronica here is going to put a face mask on you. It will help you breathe a bit easier,” Jones said.
The patient thrashed on the bed, completely oblivious to Jones’ request. The old bed creaked under the strain. He shook his head from side to side and when she went to slip the face mask on, his gaze focused on her. His eyes were like a feral cat’s, fearless and dark with hate. He lunged toward her and as he did, the bed rail furthest away from her came loose. He swung his arm in her direction and brought the railing with him, knocking a few nurses and a police officer to the floor with it. She jumped back just in time as the railing hit the ground in front of her.
“¡Chingada madre!” Veronica screamed.
The patient lurched from the bed. His body jerked violently as his other arm—still attached to the bed—halted him in midair. He crumbled to the floor in a heap. Veronica scurried back, dropping the face mask as she went. His eyes darted up and locked on her again. A low growl escaped his lips and white foam bubbles overflowed from his mouth. He rushed forward, pulling the bed with him and crashed into her, trapping her beneath him and pinning them both beneath the ancient hospital bed.
“Fucking help me!” Veronica screamed.
She threw her arms up to cover her face and felt his teeth break the flesh on her palm. Warm blood flowed down her arm and shocks of pain rolled through her. An animalistic scream filled the air and at first Veronica thought it was the feral man on top of her. But when white foam and her own blood dripped from the patient’s mouth onto her open lips, she realized the scream was her own.
The man gnawed at her hand and tears streamed down Veronica's face. She writhed beneath him, kneeing him in the groin repeatedly, but none of it fazed him. He kept chewing on her flesh. The world around her brightened, and she realized the hospital bed was no longer over her. She felt her colleagues pull on the man trying to get him off her, but he held on like a spider to its web. His teeth now aimed at them, giving her tortured hand a rest. Blood ran down her arm, soaking the sleeve of her scrub top. Jones grabbed the man by the hair and yanked him back hard as a police officer and two nurses pulled on Mr. Kelpner’s torso. He fell backward, releasing Veronica from his embrace. She scurried back, sliding across the floor, leaving a trail of blood from her open wound.
Jones took one step toward her, then collapsed to his knees. The patient, now free from the hospital bed, had his arms with railings still attached wrapped around Jones’ torso. The patient sunk his teeth into Jones’ neck and tore away a large, wet chunk. Blood sputtered into the air from Jones’ carotid artery, splattering the floor and people around him.
Veronica rolled over as peach yogurt spewed from her gut on to the pale blue tile. A loud crash followed by a scream and a feral howl echoed behind her. Then gunshots silenced the room.
Veronica sat, wide-eyed, on the side of the gurney as the nurse cleaned her injured hand. Jones’ body and the body of the patient lay covered with seperate sheets in the middle of the ER. Even with the sheet over him, she couldn’t get the image of the hole in his neck to leave her mind. The patient’s body riddled with bullets lay on the white tile floor. Blood had leaked out from each, staining the white sheet with red polka dots. Police set up caution tape around the crime scene and had shut down the ER. The hospital board and every department head were huddled in the corner, whispering to each other with furrowed brows. Veronica looked out the ambulance bay and saw a sea of people trying to get a view of the carnage. The entire town was out front.
The nurse wrapped the last piece of gauze around Veronica’s hand and secured it with paper tape. Her face looked familiar, but Veronica couldn’t remember her name. She glanced at the nurse’s name tag, ‘Amber’. Veronica’s mind wandered back to the day she was hired. She was pretty sure Amber had given her the whole ten-minute hospital tour that day.
“You are all cleaned up here. Keep the area clean and covered, and don’t forget to take these.” Amber handed Veronica a bottle. She stared at the pharmacy label with her name neatly typed out with the medication name below it. Augmentin.
“The human mouth is full of germs. Finish all the antibiotics. That’s really important. Even if it looks like it’s improving, don’t stop taking them until they are gone.” Amber handed Veronica a gray plastic basin full of wound care supplies. “If the wound develo
ps a foul odor or colored drainage, that would warrant a call to your doctor or for you to come back here to get checked out. Any redness or warmth to the area or if you develop a fever come straight to the ER.” Veronica nodded and dropped the pill bottle into the basin before tucking it under her arm.
“Thank you.”
“No problem, sweetie. I’m so sorry this happened to you.”
Veronica's mind raced through all the research she’d gathered about the virus over the last few weeks. Every thought sent a spike of anxiety into her chest.
“These meds won’t help with the virus though, right?” Veronica asked.
Amber shrugged. “It couldn’t hurt. The spread of the infection is so erratic that we don’t even truly know how someone becomes infected. My best advice is go home, self-quarantine, and pray.”
Veronica slid from the gurney and headed to the exit opposite the ambulance bay. She didn’t want to fight through a crowd of gawkers. She made it to her car without calling any attention to herself and once locked inside she hit call on her husband’s number for the tenth time in the last two hours. He didn’t answer yet again. Something was wrong. Alejandro was always reliable, always available when she called. He was always there when she needed him. Some gawkers were talking to a news crew and pointing her way. A sharply dressed blond reporter started walking toward her. Veronica started her car and peeled out of the parking lot.
She arrived home thirty minutes later to a quiet house. This time of night Alejandro would normally be heating something in the microwave for dinner and yelling at some sports channel on their oversized TV. But nothing. His black Honda was in the driveway, so he had to be home. Unless he had gone out with some of his buddies to a bar to eat chicken wings and yell at the sports channel together. He probably couldn’t hear his cell over all the bro bonding.
Her hand throbbed. All she wanted was to tell Alejandro about the catastrophe at work while wrapped up in his arms, and for him to tell her everything would be okay. She grabbed a water bottle from the fridge and walked down the hall to the bathroom. She found some old ibuprofen that was probably expired, but popped some into her mouth, anyway. Something was better than nothing. She read the side of the Augmentin bottle. Take with food. She downed the large white pill and walked back to the kitchen.
She dialed her husband again and made herself some cinnamon toast. Proper food would be nice, but they hadn’t made it to the grocery store in over two weeks and were basically out of everything. As the phone rang, she made a list in her head of things to ask Alejandro to bring home. She heard the faint ring of her husband’s cell phone coming from the back of the house. Their bedroom. She dropped her phone and ran in the sound's direction.
“¡Alejandro!”
The bedroom door was ajar, the only light in the room came from the closet with the door slightly cracked. Neither one of them enjoyed sleeping in total darkness. Alejandro was lying on his stomach, tucked into bed, lightly snoring. His phone lay on the floor next to him.
Veronica sat down on the edge of the bed and shook her husband awake. His eyes fluttered open, and he gave a slight smile when he saw her.
“Mi Amada. What time is it? Are you home early?” A cough racked his body before she could answer. He rolled over and pulled a tissue from the box on the nightstand, then brought it to his mouth. Veronica rubbed his back as he coughed up thick wads of yellow mucus.
“You’re sick, Mi Vida.”
“Sí, sí. They sent me home early because of this damn cough. Everyone is worried about this stupid virus. I just have a little cold.” He looked at the alarm clock by the bed. “You are home early.”
“There was a crazy patient at work. He attacked me.” She held up her bandaged hand. “He had the virus. I’m sure of it. He just went crazy like a wild animal or something.” Tears sprung to her eyes. Alejandro sat up in bed and wrapped his arms around her.
“I’m so sorry, Mi Amada.”
“He killed Jones. He’s gone. I could have died too.” She buried her face in his chest as the tears flowed.
The next morning Veronica stood at the kitchen counter cleaning and redressing her wounded hand. It looked a little red today but wasn’t warm. There was some blood on the old dressing, but no drainage. The pain shot through her body as she tightly re-wrapped her hand in fresh gauze. She had not heard of anyone getting N87 from a bite, but it would make sense. The bite was probably her death sentence. Her chest tightened, and she imagined black veins traveling up her arm. She checked the skin on both her arms and a weight lifted from her chest when she didn’t see any. She popped her morning dose of antibiotic into her mouth and drank the last gulp of orange juice straight from the jug.
Alejandro was still asleep. His cough had kept him up all night. N87 always started as a cough. She shook her head to clear away the thought. It’s just a cold, all he has is a cold. She thought she felt a tickle in her throat but pushed the thought away.
Veronica scrambled up the last of the eggs and piled them on a plate. She really regretted not going grocery shopping on her last day off. A trip to the store was a must today. Her hand throbbed in pace with her heart. The idea of grabbing items from shelves and pushing a basket through a crowded supercenter sounded like torture. She took the eggs to the master bedroom and set them on the bedside table. Alejandro had beads of sweat across his forehead. She pulled a thermometer from the drawer and pressed it to his head. It was high, too high for this to be a simple cold. She rushed back to the kitchen and filled a plastic baggy with ice before wrapping it with a small towel. She tucked a couple of bottles of water under her arm before heading back to her husband.
“Wake up, Alejandro.” He didn’t move. “¡Mi Vida, wake up!” Alejandro moaned and opened his eyes.
“What time is it?”
“Almost ten in the morning. I made you some eggs. Eat.”
“I can’t even look at food right now.”
“You must eat. You have a fever, Mi Vida. You are not well.”
“I can’t.”
“At least drink some water. Your fever is high.” She helped him sit up in bed and handed him a bottle of water. Sweat dripped down his face. Veronica held the bag of ice to his head as he brought the bottle of water to his lips. A few large gulps later, another coughing fit consumed him. Veronica could hear the rattle in his lungs without her stethoscope.
“We need to get you to the doctor.”
“Why? If I have it, I have it. Nothing they can do. But I’m telling you, it’s just a cold.” He took another drink of water. “Turn on the news.”
Veronica turned on the TV that set on their dresser and used the app on her cell to put their favorite news station on the screen. A middle-aged male anchor with gray temples appeared behind an enormous desk. She could never remember his name. Michael Kent? Mitchell Kent? The anchor’s normally upbeat voice was replaced with a somber tone. His co-anchor’s absence completely ignored but painfully obvious by the empty chair.
“In recent days there have been multiple reports from around the globe of individuals surviving the infection. This should be a cause for celebration, however it is not. All the survivors have become insatiably violent, attacking anyone who gets in their path. They lack rational thought and lose the ability to talk.”
Veronica looked at Alejandro. He sat wide-eyed, staring at the screen, the color drained from his face. Veronica flipped to another station. Scenes of people attacking others in the streets, in hospitals, stores, everywhere flashed across the screen. Each clip labeled with the location and date of where the carnage took place. Madrid yesterday. London two days ago. Lagos today. New York City today. Veronica’s stomach knotted and threatened to expel the bile from her empty pit. She scooted across the bed and slipped under the covers next to Alejandro. She cuddled against his chest. The crackling in his lungs echoed in her ears. He wrapped an arm around her and kissed the top of her head. He grabbed the remote and flipped to another channel.
“… seven days
. No one has made it that far into the illness without dying or becoming a danger to others. The people who become ill and live past seven days will become violent. They will be dangerous. Sick individuals must be avoided at all costs. With the incubation period of exposure to onset of symptoms being mere hours, containment is nearly impossible. The President is in the Oval Office with his advisors as I speak. The discussion of martial law has been all around the capital. Experts say it’s only a matter of time. They advise everyone to stay in their homes. Do not leave for any reason. Do not let anyone inside your home.”
“You’re the one who is sick. You need it more than me.”
“In seven days, I may not need it at all. Mi Amada, eat it.” He rubbed his hand across her cheek. His face glistened with sweat. Veronica nodded and took the plate. “You should wear one of those masks you brought home the other day.”
“There is no point. I’ve been around you this long without one already. Plus, the guy who attacked me at work bit me, I probably already have it. Besides, if you have it, I want it.” She waved her hand in the air.
“You will not speak like that. No matter what happens to me, you will take care of yourself. You will not give up. You are a fighter. You will fight. Understand?” He pulled her over, so she was leaning on him and hugged her tightly.
“I don’t want to live without you.” She caressed his cheek.
He took her hand in his and pressed it to his lips. Veronica looked away and ate her eggs. Alejandro didn’t push, just went back to flipping between news stations in between coughing fits. His mucus was dark and bloody. Veronica put the last bite of eggs in her mouth and placed the ice pack back on his forehead. He leaned against her. His skin burned against hers, but she fought the urge to pull away. She wanted to be there for him. She needed to hope for the best.
