Zombie Battle: Complete
Date: 2013-06-08 04:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Zombies; Horror
Description: Zombie Battle is a five part series. This book contains the entire series: Outbreak, Integration, Invasion, War and SurviveA mysterious virus emerges after a meteor lands near a remote village in Peru. Authorities brought in to investigate discover the horrific virus, not only kills, but it reanimates its victims, turning them into the walking dead.Believing they have contained the outbreak, samples of the contagion are brought to the United States via infected military and other victims. The virus breaks boundaries and the infection spreads initiating the ground invasion of the War against th

ZOMBIE BATTLE: TRINITY

By

Jacqueline Druga

Zombie Battle: Trinity

By Jacqueline Druga

Copyright 2011 by Jacqueline Druga.

Cover model: Vincent J. Brown

Cover images provided by:

Norma Burton

Freelance Photographer
www.idp05.com

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any person or persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

PART ONE

OUTBREAK

CHAPTER ONE

May 2nd

Carancus, Puno, Peru

It streaked across the heavens. Green and bright, as if God Himself used a fluorescent marker and created a colorful slash mark against the star sparkled clear night sky. It didn’t make a sound, not at first.

Carlos Linderas was a simple man. He lived a modest life with only the focus of raising his young son. But on that night he focused on something else. Whatever it was that fell from the sky. He saw it. He was sitting by the window of his two room home, sewing, when he caught glimpse. He wasn’t quite sure what it was, a shooting star, meteor, anything, but he was certain it landed with an impact. First the thunderous sound, then the vibration. It rocked his stance and then his inner being when he heard the rain of debris against his tin roof.

His six year old son, Juan sat on the floor and looked up.

Carlos bolted to the door. “Stay put,” he said with a point.

“But Papa…” Juan stood.

“Stay. I’ll be back.”

Even though it was only he and his son, Carlos didn’t think much about leaving his small child alone. Not in their village, everyone watched out for everyone.

Apparently, everyone also watched the thing fall from the sky. Carlos and a few dozen others hurried to the landing site.

They had no clue how far away it was, it had to be close.

Some left on foot, others by truck. Not many drove there, not many owned vehicles.

A man named Ben led the way and a pack of others on foot. Ben was strong, fit and fast. He also owned one of the vehicles, so it was no surprise he was first to leave.

Carlos partnered up with Mr. Lund for the discovery journey, an old man who lived a few houses down. The conversation was nil in their quick pace to where the object had landed. The pace slowed down the closer they drew, Carlos attributed that Mr. Lund’s age. He wheezed heavily, catching his breath often.

The taillights of Ben’s truck glowed in a weird fog, they trudged only a half of a mile to the impact. There was a weird smell the closer they got, not pungent or strong, just odd. It tickled Carlos’ nose. He couldn’t tell if it was the odor or dust.

Ben was calling out for people to hurry.

Carlos looked at Mr. Lund who waved him to ‘go on’. He left the old man, half bent over, holding on to his knees, catching his physical bearings.

Ben stood on a huge mound of dirt several yards head of his truck.

“Hurry,” Ben said. “Look before it goes.”

Carlos did. An object, rock like, had fallen into the earth creating a crater 100 feet around and at least twenty feet deep. At first, Carlos thought Ben was insane. Go where? Where would the object go? Then he saw the reason for Ben’s concern. The rock, cracked and distorted, leaked a clear fluid. Water like, boiling, rapidly it filled the crater, burying the rock beneath the flowing liquid.

“Maybe it hit a well,” Carlos suggested.

“No, it’s coming from the rock,” Ben retorted.

As if the rock would do something magical, the forty some people watched, watched the crater slowly fill up.

Another villager commented that someone had to call for help, and she ran back down toward the village to contact authorities.

But Carlos remained.

It wasn’t long, though, that he started to feel badly. His head hurt, eyes, watered, nose burned and stomach turned.

He didn’t want to come across as weak and refrained from saying anything until Ben turned his head and squeezed his eyes.

“Are you OK?” Carlos asked.

Ben shook his head. “No, my head hurts.”

“Mine, too.” Carlos whispered as if he were telling a secret.

His voice carried in the darkness, and a few others responded with their same symptoms.

‘This is crazy,’ Carlos thought. ‘One person’s illness is becoming another’s. It has to be all in our minds.’

Perhaps for the others it was, but Carlos knew his illness certainly wasn’t mental. His stomach bubbled with nausea and to save himself from embarrassment, Carlos excused himself, claimed he wanted to find help as well, and walked from the mound of dirt. He knew he was getting sicker by the second.

He hadn’t made it twenty feet and his body heaved outward, projecting a huge eruption of vomit. He bent over, holding his stomach, wanting for the heaves to cease. When they finally did, when the contents had completed their course from his stomach, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and lifted his head.

He had to put aside his own illness. For it was then he noticed Mr. Lund had collapsed, and Carlos ran to aid him.

Lund didn’t respond, he lay still, breathing labored breaths as his face rested in a huge pool of his own regurgitation.

<><><><>

It took two hours for authorities to arrive at the scene, and that included the skeptical Jorge Lopez, a lead official. He had seen it all, heard it all from the villagers who not one year earlier claimed a United States Satellite fell into their area contaminating them all.

So, when he arrived, he arrived with attitude.

Two local policemen were on the scene, one was already complaining of the same symptoms.

“I don’t know how much longer I’ll be here, I’m ill,” said the one.

Jorge nodded, wanted to say ‘yeah, yeah’. He listened to the policeman rattle off about his headache, vomiting, and dizzy spells. “How about you?” Jorge turned to the other officer.

“Same. Not well. Everyone is sick.”

“Everyone?” Jorge asked with sarcasm. “That’s 500 people. 500 people are ill right now?”

Both police officers looked at each other. “Almost everyone. Those who were inside are not ill. Not yet.”

With another passive, ‘A-hmm’, Jorge requested that the officer take him to the site where the supposed rock from the sky landed.

They did.

His first thought was that mass hysteria was contagious. Trails of vomit were seen everywhere at the circumference of the impact site.

The hole was filled with water.

Jorge was certain if it wasn’t a satellite; surely, someone hit a well.

A twinge hit his stomach.

Jorge winced.

Readying to admit defeat to the psychosomatic illness, in the midst of repeating that it was nonsense in his mind, he heard his urgent summoning.

He turned to his right and saw the waving flashlight. The voice calling from a distance of two hundred yards.

“Let’s go,” Jorge instructed the police officer next to him.

But that fell on deaf ears.

At least for the time being.

The police officer was vomiting.

Leaving him be, Jorge followed the directions of the call, making it there at a trotter’s pace.

The official that called had on a face mask. “Look!” he told Jorge.

Beyond his shoulder was the grazing field, and the official used the beam of the flashlight as a pointer.

“Look,’ he repeated.

Jorge stepped forward and his eyes widened with horror.

There was no movement, but a weird sound did emanate. Almost moans, but they weren’t. They were sickly cries out from animals that were too ill to pick themselves up from the grass.

Animals didn’t suffer or fall victim to mass hysteria.

Jorge knew something was up.

“Shut down the town. Get authorities in here,” Jorge instructed. “Let no one in or out.” He pulled his phone from his pocket. “Damn it. No signal.” He began to move in a different direction.

“Where are you going?” The official asked.

“This is bigger than us. We need bigger help.”

Jorge walked off.

<><><><>

His father had resorted to keeping a bucket nearby. How many times did he vomit? Juan lost count. All he knew was that his father wouldn’t let him near the windows or doors and he muttered over and over to a neighbor that something wasn’t right.

His father slumped in a chair, eyes dark, face pale. Juan played with his only truck.

A commotion started outside and Carlos with as much energy as he could, stopped and looked out the windows.

Juan was confused. What was all the shouting, screaming?

The voice of a man from outside carried, “Check the house over there.”

His father dropped the curtain and backed away when Mrs. Lund from next door cried out, ‘I’m not sick.”

Panic? Was that the look on his father’s face? Panic?

“Hide,” his father instructed. “Hide, my son.”

“But Papa.”

A knock came at the door,

His father jolted a look at the door then raced to the storage closet. He drew back the curtain style door. “In here, my son. Now. And be quite. Say nothing.”

“Papa,” Juan backed in with his father’s shove.

“Nothing. Quiet it is for your own good.”

He pulled the curtain closed and Juan huddled against the wall. The knocking was stronger, louder, and in the dark shadows of that closet, Juan could see what was happening.

“Yes?” his father answered the door.

“Take him,” The man in the mask and clipboard said. “He is obviously ill. Detain him.”

Two other men in what looked like space suits grabbed hold of Carlos.

“Anyone else in the house?” the one man asked.

“No, I live alone. I am a widower,” his father replied.

“Take him.”

Juan watched his father with dignity walk with the suited men. He wanted to scream, protect his father, but he obeyed his father’s wishes.

The leader man with a clipboard walked in and looked around. Just as he turned, he stopped.

The truck.

Crouching down, he lifted the toy truck and shifted his eyes around.

Juan curled his body as best as he could when he saw the clipboard man start to search. Grabbing his father’s coat, Juan wrapped his small frame underneath and prayed he wouldn’t be discovered.

The curtain to the closet whipped open.

Juan didn’t know what would happen. He expected the coat to be lifted from him.

It wasn’t.

He didn’t move, breathe, or shudder. He just hid and stayed that way even when he heard the man leave the home.

How long though? How long did he hunch in the closet. He didn’t know. He had fallen asleep and dawn approached, the sky was slightly lit and the village was dead quiet.

He crawled from the closet, the door was open.

Juan was scared, too scared to even call out, make a noise or be seen.

As best he could, he snuck to the door and peaked out.

Nothing. No one. Just emptiness.

Where had they taken his father?

Where was everyone else?

Juan didn’t know, but he had to find out. At the very least, he had to get help.

Even though it was a good distance away, Juan ran. He ran as fast as he could to make it to the next small town.

CHAPTER TWO

May 3rd

Atlanta, GA

Irma Klein was a strong woman both in body and spirit. She covered her thickness with flattering garments. A thickness she attributed to age. Often telling people she wanted to gain weight as she grew older, it lessoned the wrinkles and was cheaper than Botox. She walked up behind her husband as he sat at his desk chair and ran her fingers through his hair. Almost as if she were conveying some sort of compassion for his having to work. Her fingers grazed through, taking in the silk feeling of his curls. Twenty-seven years earlier, when they were first married, the curls were dark. Now they were gray. Saul often joked that she caused his gray hair, but Irma dismissed that, stating how could he get gray when she was the one who worried all the time.

And she did. She worried at that moment about Saul. He had been at the home desk since two in the morning. Computer to phone to files to computer. Now it was pushing nine am.

Poor Saul.

He didn’t acknowledge her presence, but Irma felt he wanted her there.

The sun from the window reflected off the picture of Jeremy that sat on Saul’s desk. Their first and only grandson. The one year old boy looked bubbly and happy in the photo.

One hand on Saul’s back, Irma reached around for the picture frame and lifted it. “You know, precious, you keep working these hours you aren’t gonna be around to see little Jerry’s Bar Mitzvah.”

“Eh,” Saul shrugged. “God willing, I’ll be happy to see him go to school.”

Irma gasped out. “Saul. You’re cranky. You haven’t slept.”

“I have to work on this.”

“Can I get you something? Coffee, tea?”

“No.” Finally, Saul turned his head and looked at her.

Irma gasped again. “Sauly.” Immediately, she grabbed a chair, sliding it to the desk. His eyes were dark; he looked more worried than she had ever seen. She sat down. “Sauly, what’s going on?”

Even though she had never seen him with that particular fearful expression, she hated that look on his face. She dreaded that look on his face. Saul was the director at the Centers for Disease Control, and since he started working there, she had waited for that look.

There it was.

“It’s the end of the world isn’t it?” she asked. “The big one.”

“No. No-no.” Saul grasped her hand. “It’s just that…” he shook his head “It’s confidential.”

“You need to get this off your chest. You need to talk to someone. I see it on your face. I’m here.”

“It’s classified.”

“I won’t say a word.” She hit her hand against her chest then rose. “I swear. Have I ever?”

“No, you haven’t.” He smiled gently.

“What’s going on?”

“This one is sealed. I’m supposed to keep it sealed. Send only my best and highest level clearance people.”

“Who is telling you to keep it sealed?” she asked.

“Who do you think? The bosses, governments.”

“Governments as in plural?” She closed her eyes. “And you’re saying this isn’t the big one?”

“It’s not the big one. Not from the info I’m getting. If it was, it has begun, like the last one, in a very remote area.”

“Where?”

“Peru.”

Irma chuckled. “Peru is not remote. How can you say Peru is remote?”

“The village is. It’s 30 miles from the next village and most of the villagers don’t have cars or phones. It’s remote. Trust me it’s remote.”

“What is going on there? A virus?”

“I don’t know. It baffles me. Something landed.” Saul paused in a correction mode. “They say something landed and caused these people to get sick.”

“Landed? What could have landed?”

“Meteor, satellite. I think, with this clearance, it’s a chemical weapon, I’m guessing.”

“In Peru?” she asked. “Who would hit a small village in Peru with a chemical weapon? Do they even have any enemies?”

Saul smiled with obvious enjoyment over her words; he laid his hand on her face. “I think it was an accident. You know the Soviets have missiles docked in space forever. One lets loose …” He shrugged his shoulders with drawn words. “You have an accident.”

“That would make sense for the secrecy.”

“Exactly.”

“Are they dead?”

“Sick. We are going to see what they have.”

“Oh, Saul, you said we. You don’t mean ‘you’ do you?”

“No.” He waved out his hand. “I’m sending Katherine to meet Hans Riesman there.”

“I don’t like him.”

“Neither does she, she has valid reasons. You. You don’t like him because he German.”

“Nonsense.” Irma paused and breathed out. “So I shouldn’t worry?”

“No. Not at all. You can worry about Jerry and his teething. Worry about what to make for dinner. Worry that your husband will be too tired to make love to his wife.” He chuckled and grabbed her hand. “But worry about an illness and the end of the world?” He leaned to her and kissed her on the cheek. “Never.”

<><><><>

Katherine Welsh tried to settle herself into a comfort zone; it was going to be a long flight. The wheezing engines aided to her annoyance, she just wanted to take off. Usually when the CDC sent her somewhere in an emergency, they sent her with a ton of data to review. It wasn’t the case with the Peruvian incident. A few sheets. Hans, who would be there hours before her, promised to start right away on sampling. Even though the WHO (World Health Organization) was already there and on it.

Where were the photos, the details? Nothing but basics was in the folder.

Hans commented on the phone that the ‘top secrecy’ of it all was probably the reason for the lack of information.

“We’ll be taking off shortly,” the stewardess said. “Can I get you anything?”

“Not right now,” replied Katherine. “After we take off, coffee would be nice.”

Politely, the stewardess smiled and went back to her business. Which wasn’t much. The full size private jet had Katherine and a skeleton crew.

She was hungry, her stomach grumbled, and the scent of the pastrami sandwich in her brief case called for her.

Katherine didn’t make or pack the sandwich; it was given to her by Irma Klein. Although Katherine was certain, Saul was gonna miss that sandwich come lunch time.

Irma.

Katherine had seen a few CDC directors come and go in her time, but none she liked or respected as much as Saul. Perhaps because she knew him and worked with the brilliant doctor as an understudy in Vermont.

At times though, she wondered if it was Saul as a director she liked or Irma’s presence.

The fifty year old woman was a mother to all, or at least acted it. Anyone younger than Saul who worked with him she took a protective attitude. Even though Katherine was only twelve years her junior, Irma mothered her as well.

Katherine admittedly was nervous about the trip, armed with little information, she was relieved to see Saul and happy to see Irma as she prepared to board the plane.

The second car at the Klein household was in the repair shop and Irma drove Saul.

Saul had very little prep talk to deliver.

“Did you eat, you look pale?” Irma asked Katherine.

Saul shook his head.

“I didn’t eat.” Katherine replied.

“Uh, Honey, you should eat. Is there time to grab a bite?”

Saul held up his hand. “Irma, there’s no time.”

“It’s a long flight. Saul, give her your lunch.”

“What?” Saul acted shocked.

“Give her your lunch. I’ll bring you another.”

Katherine interjected, “Really, I can eat on the plane.”

“She can eat on the plane.” Saul repeated.

“She can’t rely on plane food. They give skimpy portions and who knows how long the food sets. The sandwich is fresh, give her your lunch.” Irma took Saul’s briefcase.

Saul argued with her, Irma ignored him and handed Katherine the brown sack. “There’s a nice pastrami sandwich in there, a kosher pickle and …” she lowered her voice to a whisper as it the edible contents were a secret. “Pickled green tomatoes. Enough to tide you over. Plus it will make you smell enough to keep the Peru men away; I heard they attack blonde women.”

“Irma!” Saul scolded.

She waved her hand at him in a hush manner. “Go,” She said to Katherine. “Be safe. Come back and don’t catch anything.”

Was it embarrassed or annoyance at his wife’s behavior? Katherine couldn’t figure it out but she accepted the lunch with gratefulness.

What an ‘up’ to a downer send off. Katherine knew this was serious and seeing Irma helped. One never knew what Irma would say or do. Once at a get together, Irma asked Katherine that should she die would Katherine take care of Saul and the children. Added bonus, Saul was hung like a race horse.

Katherine responded that she wasn’t sure her husband would like that, but would keep the race horse thing in mind.

In her first class seat, airplane leveling from take off, Katherine laughed.

She didn’t even realize she laughed out loud until Bret Barret said something.

“What’s so funny?” he asked.

“Oh," Katherine briefly closed her eyes in embarrassment. “Just thinking back about something Irma said.”

Bret laughed. “I can only imagine. Irma is like a dose of good when you need it.”

Katherine nodded her agreement. Bret was right. Irma was like Alka Seltzer, a bubbly medicine that kicks in and makes you feel good. She only wished they marketed medicinal versions of Irma. A miracle cure. Something in side of Katherine told her, the situation in Peru, would need just that.

CHAPTER THREE

May 3rd

Carancus, Puno, Peru

It was hard for Carlos to distinguish who was asking him questions. Between his illness and the biohazard suits the doctors and military wore, he never knew if he were speaking to the same person.

It didn’t matter. Carlos’ story remained the same.

Why was it so hard for them to believe a rock fell from the sky? Why were there so many government officials? He could see if it were a satellite or missile, but Carlos saw it with his own eyes. It was a rock. Now, he was told there was no rock, there was nothing but water.

Whatever it was embedded itself into the earth.

And if that rock caused his sickness, how many more others would be affected.

At that instant, Carlos thought about his son and worried.

He took comfort in the fact that his son was nowhere near the rock. In addition, Ben’s wife, who also was far away, was well. Carlos knew that, she had been taken into quarantine as well.

The questions were the same. What did you see? What time was this? Did you smell anything?

Carlos answered then Carlos ended it all with ‘excuse me while I vomit’.

Another man from his village said he had eavesdropped and heard the doctors say there were 150 people affected. Anyone who went near the site turned ill.

‘Stay away from the site’, Carlos beckoned in his mind to his son. ‘Just stay away.’

Carlos had thrown up so much in the last ten hours, there was nothing left but green bile. His stomach churned and twisted with pain. His head wretched and a fever raged.

He was told by the medical people it would pass. That he probably inhaled fumes from whatever it was.

If it was going to pass, surely Carlos would have been feeling better. Instead, like a raging infection, he just grew worse.

<><><><>

Juan was hungry, but it wasn’t time to eat. Not yet. He had gone back home to his village, to his home to get food and water for the trip. He knew it would take him days. But he would prevail.

His stomach felt funny, but he attributed that to hunger. At only six, he knew what it took to survive. Before they moved to the village, when his mother was alive, he and his father were lost in the forest for several days. His father taught him much. Including being careful.

Juan was.

He knew he had better take the tree lined path, stay off the main roads, and move without being seen on the way to the next town.

That was evident. The police, military, and men in space suits were everywhere, even more so near the big hole when he walked by. He was able to sneak unseen and get a look at the hole that drew attention, but it only held water.

When a man shouted out for him to ‘stop, don’t move’, Juan ran. He would keep on running, too, until he made it to the next town.

CHAPTER FOUR

May 5th

Carancus, Puno, Peru

If it smelled like normal vomit, it probably wouldn’t have bothered Hans Riesman, however the regurgitation that erupted from the 603 patients was foul smelling, like death.

Hans was grateful the journey into the tents of the aid town were infrequent.

He finished his report to Saul, the third and he hoped final one, typing it on the computer and preparing it to send. Hans who was a brilliant virologist was stumped as much as anyone.

None of the infected showed signs of getting better, in fact, they deteriorated. A wellness camp, courtesy of the Peru Health ministry, WHO, and CDC, was erected twenty-three miles from the nearest town in a remote field. They had divided up the ill. Those initially infected, then day two infections. There were no day three infections because the town had been cleared out, and those who remained wore respirators.

That told Hans a lot. Whatever it was wasn’t in the air nor was it airborne. The initial victims were tended to by local doctors twenty miles away and those doctors didn’t wear protective clothing, nor did they show signs of the illness.

Then the other test confirmed. It showed a viral bacteria in the blood stream that had taken over. Hans was hopeful, with it being a bacteria, that meant antibiotics, but this was resistant. Why wouldn’t it be? It came from somewhere unknown.

That same bacterium was found in the soil, on the rooftops, grass, invisible to the naked eye but it was there. It was more predominant around the landing site. Traces of the bacterium dissipated the further from town they went. After a ten mile radius, no traces were found.

Hans and everyone else deducted, whatever landed in that hole released something that worked like a man made biological weapon. It affected everyone in an area, and diminished in time.

The scariest part of it all was somehow it was contagious. No contact victims had contracted it, yet. However, tests showed when healthy cells were introduced to the bacterium; the bacterium took over within four to eight hours. Blood to blood. Fluid to fluid. At least with that route of transmission and infection it was easier to keep under control.

Even though they no longer wore respirators, teams wore protective gear and exercised extreme caution when cleaning up.

Hans was confident, and he expressed so in his report to Saul. Contained.

No new cases, they were isolated, every person exposed was quarantined, and the impact site secure.

He ended his report stating, ‘It is only a matter of time to finalize answers. The infected will either get well or succumb, and for that, we just have to wait.

CHAPTER FIVE

Atlanta, GA

The dining room table was all set for dinner when Saul came home, which was unusual. Irma usually set the kitchen table, seeing that it was just those two. But the addition of two place settings told him they were having company. Saul didn’t want to ask about it, he just wanted to jump in the shower.

A napkin covered a basket of rolls, which Irma set on the table when a crisp smelling Saul returned.

“Saul, honey, please, put on a nice shirt.”

“I’m home for the first time in nearly 48 hours. I’m not working. I’d like to be comfortable.”

“Fine.” Irma walked over and kissed him on the cheek. “I have a nice cheese plate made in the kitchen, do you want to nibble.”

“No, no, I’m good.” Saul’s hands gripped the back of the chair. “Who’s coming to dinner?”

“Bill and Lacia.”

“Who?”

“Bill and Lacia. Katherine’s husband and daughter. I figured they could use a home cooked meal while she’s out of town.”

“Irma, I don’t think Katherine cooked.”

Irma gave a little wave of her hand. “I’m sure they had meal time.” She glanced up at Saul as she fixed the table. “What’s going on? Is it that Peruvian flu? I’ve been reading about that in the papers, the net …”

“You shouldn’t hear much about that after tomorrow morning.”

“Over?”

“Contained Hans said.” Saul remarked.

“So you’re marking it contained.”

“Actually, the news release is that it’s mass hysteria causing it.”

Irma’s hand went to her chest. “Thank God. What wonderful news to be telling Bill and Lacia.”

“What news.”

“That Katherine should be home. It’s not a flu it’s hysteria.”

“No, Irma.” Saul shook his head. “The news release is gonna say it’s mass hysteria.”

“It’s not?”

“No.”

“Saul why are you lying to the public.”

“To stop mass hysteria.”

Irma tilted her head with a look that conveyed she didn’t understand.

“What else can we do?” Saul asked.

“So there is a flu.”

“Oh, yeah. Not airborne, but a highly contagious fast moving flu.”

“Deadly?”

“No one has died yet.”

“Yet?”

Saul shrugged.

“But it’s contained?”

“Yes. No more ill have come in, we have everyone that is infected.”

“Saul, if it’s contained. Why not say that?” Irma asked.

“Because how can we explain a flu or bacterial infection that we have never seen, that appears more and more every day to have come from outer space.”

Irma gasped. “I’ve read novels about that.”

“Yeah, so have millions of other people. It could be worse if the news of this thing gets out. No, no.” Saul walked slowly from the chair. “It’s better this way. This way everyone will forget about it. We can put it to rest and God willing.” Saul peered to her with his tired eyes. “We’ll never see this again.”

CHAPTER SIX

May 6th

Carancus, Puno, Peru

Katherine rubbed her eyes. If she stared at the microbes on the computer screen another second, she would go blind and or crazy. Peering to the corner of her computer screen, she saw the time of 2 AM. Things had been quiet, too quiet. She didn’t even hear many voices. She decided quiet time was the best time to check on things.

She left her makeshift lab quietly. Hans was sleeping on the cot and she pulled the door closed. A soldier was posted right outside her door. He stood diligently on his night shift.

“Evening,” she said to him.

“Ma’am. Working late I see.”

“Again,” she smiled pleasantly at him. He wasn’t young. He wasn’t old, but he wasn’t a baby face soldier. She was grateful for the protection that the Army provided. Of course, they had their own virology team there as well. Their trailer posted another mile or so away. They were there for research, not care. Katherine was there for both.

She said a good night, thanked him for doing his job and walked over to the first tent about fifty yards away. No soldiers were posted there. No need. There were four that sat by a perimeter twenty yards away. Too far to shout out to them, she didn’t want to wake the ill.

The first tent contained about two hundred people, the first wave of ill; she’d walk through there on her way to the next tent.

She opened the flap. It smelled funny, sounded too quiet.

Stepping into the clerical and nurses’ area, Katherine was surprised that the night nurse wasn’t there. Maybe she was checking on patients.

With an extension of her arm, she drew back the curtain to the main sick bay. A place where cots upon cots were lined up.

Katherine stopped.

The tent was void of the hundred of patients. The cots were empty. Was she dreaming? Where were the patients? Just as she turned to find help, she saw a single patient lying on the bed.

Carlos.

He didn’t move. Katherine walked hurriedly to the bed.

“Carlos.” She reached down to this arm and he fingers retracted. Cold. His skin was hard and cold. Her hand moved to his wrist. “Oh my God,” she wisped out. He hadn’t a pulse. She turned to call for help when a hand clasped upon her forearm. She peeped a shriek at the tight grip and shifted her eyes.

Carlos stared at her.

“Carlos?” She reached for his grip. “Carlos you’re hurting me.”

A foul odor pummeled her when he widened his mouth and gasped.

She turned her head, aiming her voice outward with a shout. “Someone!” But she never got a chance to get out another word. A sharp tearing pain ripped into her arm like she had never felt, and a silent scream of agony escaped her. She looked to see Carlos, his teeth sunk into her flesh. Strands of bloody ligaments and veins extended from her arm to his mouth as he pulled hungrily.

Horrified, Katherine fought to free her arm. Her screams were muffled with pain and fear, and her escape attempt was in vain.

From the cot, Carlos lunged. His flailing body careened into Katherine, knocking her into anther cot. Locked in almost a mad, fighting embrace, they fell to the floor.

<><><><>

Like a child with night terrors, Hans sat straight up on the cot, tensioning, unable to move, unaware of his surroundings. It took him a few moments to come to. He controlled his breaths and his mind began to think clearly.

Was it a scream he heard? Yes, he heard a scream.

Wait. He thought, no. No only silence.

What was it that caused him to awake and sit straight up in bed?

The lights in the lab were still on and he looked at his watch.

Nearly three am.

Needing a cigarette, Hans swung his legs over the cot, stumbled to the door, grabbing his coat and smokes as he opened it.

The soldier on post looked over his shoulder at Hans and smiled.

“Son,” Hans said. Not that the soldier could be his son, Hans had him by maybe 15 years tops.

“Sir.”

“You seen Dr. Welsh?” Hans lit a cigarette.

“Yes, sir, she went to the tents.” The soldier nodded in a point at the tent area.

“Did you hear anything?” Hans asked, blowing out the smoke.

“No, sir, it’s been quiet.”

Cigarette clenched between his fingers he brought it to his lips and inhaled deeply bringing his head upward as he did.

Hans paused.

Through the corner of his eye, he saw a flicker of the light in the tent. “Did you see that?”

“See what?”

“The light in the tent flickered.”

“No, I didn’t. Maybe . . .”

It was clear that the soldier saw it at the same time Hans did.

This time the light truly flickered as if it were being hit.

“I’m going to go check that out,” Hans said, and started to walk toward the tent.

“I’ll come with you.”

The soldier kept up the pace and as they approached, they could hear the other group of soldiers talking and laughing.

Hans took that as a sign all was well.

Probably just a power problem.

He walked into the tent. Nothing. No sounds. He lifted the nurse’s clipboard to check to see when she did rounds last.

He stared at it,

“Something wrong?” the soldier asked.

“Last notation was two hours ago. Where is the nurse? Katherine.”

“In there?”

Holding the clipboard, Hans parted the curtain. His steps were slow, as he was exposed to the same first sight as Katherine had been.

“Where are the patients?” the soldier quizzed.

“I … I don’t know.” Hans stuttered. His body shifted to the right and to the left. “God.”

The shifting of his weapon startled Hans almost as much as all the blood by Carlos’ empty cot.

“What the hell happened?” Hans spoke his thoughts out loud. “Soldier, go get some help.”

“Yes, sir. I think you should come with me, though.”

“I’m fine.”

“Sir…”

“I’m fine. Go.”

“Yes, sir.”

The soldier backed up and left. Hans walked to the cot.

The bedding was still shimmering in blood and he stared at it in wonder. But he wasn’t going to stay long. After a quick examination he turned.

The light flickered and he saw her.

At the other end of the tent, Katherine stood there. He couldn’t see her clearly, she was a mere shadow.

Hans sighed out in relief. “Katherine.” He rushed her way.

She didn’t move.

“Katherine. Are you all right.” He closed in on her. “What happened here?”

On his last word, Katherine stammered to him and into the way of the light.

Hans saw her.

Her head tilted, her body bloody, her neck was wounded, and from her stomach, a gaping hole appeared to seep her insides. Her lifeless eyes stared at him.

“Good God, Katherine.” In an instinctual leap to help, Hans grabbed on to her. His fingers touched her arm. He froze as he got a closer look.

Something was wrong. Something was terribly wrong. He felt it when he saw her. And then Katherine made this horrendous gasping sound. Her mouth opened and it lunged for his arm.

Hans drew back his arm quickly and Katherine moved in a slow attack mode. He shoved her back. “Soldier!” he cried out and she leapt for him again. Another shove, Katherine stumbled back, and returned in her pursuit.

He couldn’t think of anything else, but to get out of there. But before she could touch him again, in order to make a clear escape, Hans swung out the clipboard, smashing her in the side of the head. He dropped it and ran out.

<><><><>

It was a blur.

Hans took off from the tent with the mission in mind to call the CDC. Someone. He didn’t know what happened, what occurred. He screamed for help as he ran from the tent, looking over his shoulder only once to see the soldiers scurry to aid.

But he kept on running.

He locked the CDC lab. His hands shook. Calm. Calm. He had to calm down.

He fumbled for his cigarettes and, against the rules or not, lit on in the lab and grabbed the phone. His fingers shook his badly as he dialed and inhaled his nicotine.

A couple hits, a ring. No answer. A Voice mail.

Damn it.

Middle of the message he heard a few shots outside and it caused him to jump and topple the phone.

In a panic he spun around, double check the lock. As he did he noticed the blood on his hand. Heart beating out of control, Hans ran to the sink, rolled up his sleeve and submerged his arm under the power stream all with the cigarette dangling from his lips.

“Come on, come on,” he beckoned out loud, watching the blood clear from his skin.

He breathed out heavily. A sigh. The injury was a speck bigger than a puncture would and wasn’t even bleeding anymore.

After rinsing, he washed it, rinsed, and then scrubbed the wound with disinfectant.

He coughed from the smoke, dried his arms, and then finally took the cigarette from his lips.

His phone was broken on the floor, and he reached down for the pieces.

Telling himself to relax, he sat, smoked his cigarette and tried to fix his phone. Anything to take his mind off of the strange event that had just occurred.

<><><><>

‘God, oh my God. Something’s happened. The bacteria. The virus…’ Hans’ words were rushed, panicked, and filled with static on the voicemail message. ‘Something’s happened to Katherine. She’s gotten violent. I think she caught it. Maybe it’s the virus. The patients are gone. Not dead gone, but gone. I fear they may be suffering from the same delirium. She tried to attack me. She …’

Bang. Bang. Bang.

Silence.

End of message.

Saul had missed the call and by the time he woke, the phone stopped ringing. He tried with diligence to call back, but it went straight to voice mail.

All he knew was that a frightened sounding Hans called and there were gunshots.

He tried every line and couldn’t get through to the site.

Saul didn’t need to be a psychic to know something went awry. Hans never lost his cool. Ever.

First thing was first, Saul had to find out what was going on and get help if needed to the area. He couldn’t do that from his home, so praying that everything was fine, he began to make phone calls for that help.

CHAPTER SEVEN

4 miles out Carancus, Puno, Peru

Pedro was a farmer, or he liked to associate himself as being a farmer. He didn’t grow much, and when his business as a carpenter folded, he moved his wife and two children to live with his mother. An ill woman of little means.

They made it through the hard times. Selling chickens and eggs, along with greens.

Pedro, a man of forty-five was a good man. People liked him. They counted on him. Strong and fit, dependable and wise.

Pedro had a lot to say about his teenage children. On the previous night, their late night sneaking wasn’t a bad thing. They had gone out to the wooded area with others and heard a child crying. Sobbing, they said and they and their friends searched. Hours after they were supposed to be home they told Pedro of their search. At first, Pedro, like any father thought this was their excuse, until he saw the desperation on their faces.

Then he, knowing the area as well as he did, took up the search.

When he first entered the area he heard the crying and followed it, calling out for the child. The crying continued and Pedro worried for the child’s welfare, and if he could get to the child before the elements did.

He searched for hours until the crying ceased. Pedro sat down to take a break, closed his eyes and fell fast asleep.

He dreamt of his search, how he kept looking, until he fell down a hill and broke his leg. The dream of the broken leg was so real he could actually feel pain. In fact, the pain woke Pedro.

Lying on his back, the early morning sun started to peek through the trees and he opened his eyes, wincing in pain. Had he slept on his leg wrong? It was when he tried to sit up that he looked down to this leg and screamed in horror.

A goat was gnawing on his calf. Blood seeped through. Pedro screamed, jolted his leg from the jaws of the goat, and grabbed his walking stick. The goat sneered at him as if a mad dog and after bucking on its hind legs jumped Pedro’s way.

Using the stick, Pedro careened down on the head of the goat. It moved back some then lunged again. This time, Pedro was ready. End out on his stick he rammed in through the open mouth of the goat directly through his throat into the back of its head.

The goat froze.

It took all of his strength to move the goat from him. When the goat hit the ground, Pedro stood. His leg ached and hurt worse than any pain he felt. He reached for his stick and got a closer look at the goat. Its entire side was removed. His ribcage and muscles were seen. Pedro didn’t even bother for the stick. He hobbled back, wanting only to get back home and get help.

A scuffling sound caught his attention.

Pedro turned.

There behind him was a boy, no older than six. The child was dirty, blood caked around his mouth and jaw. Typically, Pedro would have reached out to the boy to help. But there was something about the child. His eyes were lifeless, white, skin pasty almost gray. And as the child extended his arms and stared at Pedro with a demonic look, Pedro spun and as best as he could with an injured leg, took off running.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Fayetteville, NC

The CNN headlines read, ‘Could Mass Hysteria Be the Cause?’ It caught Lil’s attention as her internet browser logged on.

She didn’t think much about it until she saw the sub headline about a meteor or object landing in Peru. Then she was drawn in. A life long fan of phenomena, especially anything earth shattering, caught her attention.

Lil clicked on the link.

It didn’t say much. An undetermined object landed in Peru. Hundreds were ill, or were they?

Not good enough. It did make her mind wander some.

She returned to task at hand.

Searching the history of the computer to see where her husband was.

He didn’t think or wasn’t techno enough to clear it. Never did. Not that she was spying on him, ok, she was, but not to find another woman, rather to find out whether or not he was going to divorce her.

He was on the phone the whole day before with Branch, she heard that. Only one end. He wanted to be deployed. No longer wanted to live on base, non-deployable position, teaching. They were, at least what she could gather from his end, not favoring his deployment choice.

He wanted to leave. Maybe that wasn’t a bad thing. Leaving to go somewhere else didn’t necessarily mean he was leaving her. Perhaps just taking a break, to think.

Who was she kidding?

Jack didn’t believe in divorce, and was waiting on her to do so. In the meantime he’d make it unbearable. Or so Lil thought, make her want to leave him.

He didn’t yell, scream, or was violent. He was quiet.

He spoke when needed to and that wasn’t much. An instructor in the Army, he left early and came home late.

Lil tried. She tried with everything she had to make up for her mistake and it was a mistake.

After eight years of being together, she didn’t know what got into her, but she was unfaithful to Jack.

The first and last time.

She tried to justify it. He was never home, didn’t pay attention to what she did, and never told her anymore she was beautiful. She longed for the attention and she found it. She found attention and an abundance of guilt. Lil confessed right away. There was no justifying what she did to him or their marriage.

Jack handled it. Calmly. But he was never the same. He kept telling her it would take time, and that was over a year earlier.

Lil loved him and would wait. No matter what it took. Perhaps it would take a deployment. Jack hadn’t said anything to her, but a late night phone call that same night after talking to Branch, took Jack not only from the house but out all night.

Lil knew she’d get her answer on where he was and what was going on, when she heard the door open. When she turned her head. The simple ‘thank you’ from the other room told her a lot, and when Jack’s towering frame appeared in the living room doorway, she knew by the look on his face.

“I got a unit. It leaves tonight,” Jack said. He seemed to look through her and not at her.

“That was fast.”

“Seems there was an emergency that came in while I was on the line. They’re looking for SF guys to go in.” He turned. “I have to get my things ready.”

“Jack? Do you know where?”

Jack paused, looked over his shoulder and nodded. He sputtered out the answer as he walked away. “Peru.”

Questioning ‘Peru’, Lil watched him leave then turned back to the computer to look at the headlines. She whispered out, “Peru.”

<><><><>

“Peru?” Irma stood in the doorway of her bedroom watching Saul finish packing a small duffle bag. “Saul, this is why I agreed to move to Atlanta. For you to be director, so you didn’t have to leave.”

Saul didn’t pack much. Two shirts, underwear, slacks and shaving kit.

“Saul?”

“Irma sweetheart, I have to go.”

“Under whose orders?”

“Mine.” He zipped the bag hard and fast. “I know this is short notice, but the plane is waiting. I can’t expect my people to put themselves in harms way if I don’t do it myself. They’ve already sent a team of special forces down there to …”

“Special forces.” Irma gasped. “Saul, should you be going. It sounds more dangerous than fighting a virus.”

Saul lifted his bag.

“What’s going on? You got that call, went to the office, came home and packed. Talk to me Saul.”

Saul approached her, standing close. “Katherine’s dead.”

Irma shook her head. “The virus?”

“The virus didn’t kill her Irma. The soldiers had to.”

“What?”

“She got infected with whatever this bacterium is, and it made her mad. Like a dog.”

“Rabid.”

“We think it is a form of rabbis. Something to that affect.”

“What about the others?”

After an inhale, Saul spoke. “We have about three hundred like that. Right now they are detained.”

“But what are you gonna do, Saul? What can you do? There is no cure.”

“No, there isn’t. My job isn’t to cure it or help those who have gone mad. My job, Irma is to do what I am best at. Trace it, and make sure every stone is turned. Every corner covered. Make sure that nothing or no one got out of the sick camp. Cause if someone did and we don’t know about it. God help us.”

Irma laid her hand on Saul’s cheek, leaned in and kissed him. “Come home to me. Call me. Please. Be careful.”

All Saul could do was nod, return the kiss, turn and walk out.

CHAPTER NINE

Carancus, Puno, Peru

Sgt. Jack Edwards arrived via Army transport plane, landing on a make shift strip in the middle of nowhere Peru. That’s what the pilot said. It was just after dark, the journey to where he was needed would take a half an hour through dirt roads. He and seven other men. More would join them, but they were the first elite team to arrive. To aid and assist the soldiers already there.

He wasn’t given much situation details. Just that health situation has erupted, rabbis of some sort, and those infected were currently quarantined.

So why the need for Special Forces?

It was the first time in a long time he had been in the field and not been in charge. An E-8, but he had stepped back from the field missions to the textbooks. Three years prior he did so to make his marriage better, to be stable and at home. Little did he know it would make things worse.

Eight months earlier his wife cheated. For the first two months he ignored her as if she were trash, working all the time and going out after, just to avoid seeing her. He wasn’t ready to end it, but he wasn’t ready to make it work.

Even though his bitterness called upon him to strike out at her, betray her, indulge with someone else. He didn’t. He remained, despite his anger, a hundred percent faithful.

He healed some in two months, stating he’d stay in the marriage, but admittedly Jack didn’t do anything to make the marriage get better. They spoke briefly, not much nor meaningful, and the same was said for their sex life. Not much, brief, and not meaningful.

He knew she was sorry, he knew she tried, but it became easier to stay cold than it was to warm back up and chance the hurt.

The daily kisses and intermittent phone calls that were common place for years in their marriage were gone.

Half the time Jack was torn between wanting to give into to how much he loved her, and fighting it.

But undeniably he was still in love with his wife.

How long had it been since he told her?

Riding in the back of the covered truck Jack found himself in that percentage of time where he wanted to give into the love of his wife.

It had been years since he was away from home and years since they spent longer than a few days apart.

He had forgotten what it felt like.

He didn’t know if it was being away or the mission that attributed to the weird feeling that crawled in his gut. Either way, he didn’t like what he felt and he sought a sense of security, and possibly closure.

Before getting the ‘phones off’ order, Jack reached into his bag and grabbed his phone. He hesitated before dialing, but he did.

Two rings and Lil answered the phone hurriedly and with the word, ‘Jack.”

“Lil,” he whispered “I’m here. I don’t know what’s going on or when I’ll be able to call again, I just wanted to call… you know.”

Her gasp was loud, emotional and it carried to him, “Thank you so much for calling me.”

“I gotta go.”

“Jack, be careful.”

“I will. Thank you. And I’ll uh, I’ll call you. I … I promise.”

She sniffed, possibly a tear filled sniffle. “Bye, Jack.”

“Lil.”

“Yeah.”

A pause. “I …I’m still in love with you.”

Another emotional breath escaped her and carried to him. “I love you too, Jack. I love you too.”

Jack closed the phone and closed his eyes before shutting it off altogether. He not only wanted to do that he needed to talk to his wife. A need he strongly felt. And as he approached his destination, Jack supposed he’d find out why that need was crying out to him.

<><><><>

There were four of them and every hour on the hour they had to patrol the small town of Carancus, it was like a ghost town, cleared out long before when the ‘sick’ raid was made. But just to be sure, the Army had four soldiers ride through the town, to make certain no one returned.

One did an air sample reading, everything was normal.

But they took no chances and wore respirators.

The air sample soldier was a Captain. Steven Long had been a biological warfare expert for some time. Not the top in his field, but an active member of his specialty.

He walked ahead of the jeep, pacing the search. A hundred more feet they’d be clear, be able to turn around.

Steven looked forward to returning to his tent, make shift lab and checking out those samples. He wanted to bring to Dr. Manning’s attention the attack rate of the bacteria and how it differed.

Steven himself wanted to know what was causing the difference, and the search of the town was a waste of time.

Or so he thought.

Several minutes earlier, he believed he saw a shadow, but it was so fast, small, it had to have been an animal. He didn’t really think much about it until he heard that noise.

A clanking, like something dropping.

Holding up his hand first to halt the jeep, Steven then pointed to where he believed the noise was coming from.

He swung his air sample pack behind him and brought his weapon forward.

The jeep stopped, and two of the soldiers stepped from it.

Again the noise sounded and Steven was able to ear-zoom on where it was coming from. With a motioning twitch of his head, he pointed to the last small house.

The jeep inched its way up and the other two soldiers followed directly behind.

“Careful, Captain,” the one whispered.

Steven nodded as he approached the door. It was ajar.

Knowing what he was dealing with or could possibly deal with he stepped back and opened the door with his foot.

“Light,” he requested.

Through a thin layer of mist the beam of the light aimed in toward the single room. It illuminated a child, a boy to be exact. He sat on the floor, playing with a truck. Lifting it, dropping it, lifting it again.

“Son,” Steven called out. “You shouldn’t be here alone.”

The boy turned his head in a snap, his face caught the beam. His eyes were dead of life, his face drawn and white, dried blood laced his chin. He widened his mouth with a snarl.

Steven aimed his weapon.

He was going to shoot, and he almost did, until the child returned to playing with the truck.

<><><><>

The Army set up was located about a hundred yards from the ‘site’. Jack and the other men disembarked from the truck. The platoon sergeant instructed them that they would walk the perimeter with the other soldiers until more troops arrived.

What was going on? There was an air of tension, a jeep zipped by him not even beeping. Four soldiers and a child. Jack didn’t pay much attention to who was in the jeep. He did however pay attention to the Specialist.

Jack found amusement in a specialist. The young man rattled on about space illness and how this was an alien thing brought in by the meteor.

Jack hadn’t even heard about the meteor, he thought the kid was joking until someone else confirmed it.

A meteor landed and people were ill. That was just nuts, Jack thought. Then his thoughts went to Lil, and how she loved shit like that. How if he had even spoken to her briefly, he probably would have been pretty informed. Guaranteed she would have rambled just like the specialist.

The tents were dark, no lights whatsoever and it looked like an abandoned concentration camp. Barbed wired fence high and doubled circled the circumference.

Jack didn’t say much. He just listened.

Another Sergeant. Sergeant Holmes led his Platoon Sergeant, Jack and the others to the fence.

“Just walk around the perimeter, until more arrive,” Holmes said. “Deter anything or anyone that comes near the fence. Push them away, but use your weapons to do so. Should anyone escape, we have orders to shoot.”

Deter them from the fence? No one was near the fence, let alone escapees.

The Platoon Sergeant asked, “Sgt. What exactly are we dealing with. It looks pretty dead out there?”

Holmes snickered. “Dead. Yeah. Watch.” He gave a nod to a private who worked a huge spotlight and they tuned on the light.

The sight before Jack stumbled him back.

The specialist whispered out a ‘dude’.

Was he seeing what he thought? The center tent, hidden by the darkness was illuminated by the bright spotlight. The tattered flap was open and exposed not the whole inside but enough for Jack to see what was going on. From Jack’s view it looked like thirty or so people, white face and bloody, were engaging in a meal consisting of others that lay on  cots. They looked up to the light, sneering.

“Dude, I’m mean Sarge,” the specialist said. “They’re zombies.”

The platoon Sgt. shot a ‘get real’ glance at the specialist. “They’re not zombies.”

“I’m telling you, they’re zombies.”

A nod from Holmes and the spotlight went out. “Whatever they are, there’s about two hundred in there. Only a couple made it to the fence. None have escaped.”

“Zombies,” the specialist said.

The platoon Sgt. Snapped, “They’re not zombies.”

Finally, Jack thought, a topic he was pretty knowledgeable of. Granted it was a fictional topic like Zombies, but he had sat through with his wife, what he believed to be every single zombie movie ever made. Bad and good. Perhaps, even at the risk of sounding really insane, he could try to diffuse the situation with logic.

Logical zombie talk. That was an oxymoron.

But Jack tried. “Let’s say for argument sake they are zombies.” He cringed. “Why aren’t they coming for us?”

“Why would they?” the specialist replied. “They got enough right there to keep them busy. Only a few of us here. But dude, when they are finished, they’ll come for us. Imagine how many there will be then.”

Jack couldn’t help it. Hearing the conversation come from his mouth and then another, it was ridiculous.

Holmes made a huff sound, possibly it was a laugh, and said, “He’s probably right. Make your rounds. I’ll be back after I speak to the colonel.”

And he walked off.

“You heard the Sergeant, make your rounds,” the platoon sergeant ordered.

Jack started walking, like the others in the same circle. It was dark, freaky; he could only imagine what was occurring in the darkness. But he didn’t need too much of an imagination. For with each step he took, through the darkness carried the sound of the gnawing and chomping of flesh.

<><><><>

He was greeted by Colonel Manning the second he stepped off the helicopter. Saul extended his hand to the man he envisioned as being older, and taller.

“Colonel Manning,” he introduced himself. “Nice to meet you Dr. Klein.”

“I wish it were under different circumstances.”

“Me, as well, Sir. But I’ve been working on this nonstop since the transformation.”

Saul titled his head in confusion. “Transformation?”

“When they go from ill to, what they have become.”

This description took Saul aback. “Colonel, how bad is it?”

The colonel whistled.

“Will you take me to the sick area?”

“I think you should get a look at what we’re dealing with.”

“I can’t get that at the sick camp?”

“Oh, you can, but I’d rather you get up and close.” The colonel led him to a metal structure, newer, more than likely recently erected.

“Have you pin pointed what we’re dealing with?” Saul asked.

“It’s a bacterium. Fast moving.” The colonel nodded to the soldier as he reached for the door.

Saul stopped. His head cocked. Was hearing moans? Where were they coming from?

The colonel continued. “The initial infected took days to come full circle, but once they infect someone, it’s anywhere from 4 to 24 hours. Some instances, like with Katherine Welsh, much, much sooner. Instantaneously.”

“What determines that? Do we know?”

The colonel cleared his throat. “Before I tell you, I want you to take a look. After you do so, then you can confirm my suggestions.”

“I see.”

“I think sir, after we rectify the current situation and send our troops out to neighboring communities looking for more infected.”

“Did we have escapes?”

“Not that I know of. But, what if someone never checked in here.”

“You have a point.”

“Prepare yourself.” The colonel opened the door.

A growl? Did Saul hear a growl? He stepped inside behind the colonel into a make shift examining room. On the table lay a man. His skin tone reminded Saul of an apple, thick and off white. It didn’t look real, as if he wore a pancake makeup. His lips cracked and peeling. The man thrashed and growled. His eyes and pupils nearly clear.

Bound to the table by straps, the man looked at Saul, widened his mouth and arched his head, struggling, as if he were trying to bite.

A soldier stood behind him, weapon ready.

The man on the table thrashed more violently.

“This is what we’re dealing with?” Saul questioned.

“Yes, sir.”

Saul’s hand went to his mouth. As if did, the man shook. With a ‘snap’ sound, his arm, broke on the wrist and freed. He reached with his limb for the soldier.

The colonel nodded.

The soldier fired a single shot into the head of the man.

Saul jolted. “Was that necessary?”

“I’m afraid so. Yes,” The colonel replied. “When they were first discovered, we learned how violent they were. Instinctual, attacking. They got Dr. Welsh. And two of our soldiers were injured while we were trying to detain a few for research. Not severely, but bitten by them.”

“Two soldiers. Did you test them?”

“Right away. Initial testing didn’t show any infection in the blood stream. But after about thirty minutes to an hour, small traces were seen.”

“Where are they now?”

“They were sent to Washington, special hospital for research.”

“So they didn’t show signs of  ... this.” Saul pointed to the man on the table. “This delirium.”

“No.”

“But Katherine did?”

“Yes. Right away.”

“And you’ve determined what causes an instant reaction and transformation to full blown infection.”

“Yes. We believe we do know what causes it to occur instantly.”

“What is that?”

“Like with this man, the delirium and violent rage sets in at the moment of death.”

Saul cocked an eyebrow. Had the colonel who was also a brilliant doctor, been working too much. “Colonel,” Saul said. “Forgive me, but that sounds absurd.”

“I know. I know. But they have no pulse, no breath, they don’t bleed. Some of them have injuries, like Katherine that are fatal injuries.”

“They can’t be dead, that’s impossible.”

“I know.”

“What does Dr. Riesman say about all this? Have you consulted him? I mean he has witnessed this first hand, right?”

“Yes, he has.”

“What did he say?”

The colonel stared at Saul for a moment. “Nothing. He locked himself in his trailer and …”

“Then let’s go get him.” Saul turned to the door.

“We can’t.”

Saul stopped. “Why? Did something happen to him?”

“That’s what I’m trying to tell you sir. When we went back for him, he was gone.”

“Gone as in dead or…”

The colonel finished the sentence. “No, gone as in gone. Took off.”

“Tell me he wasn’t infected.”

“Last our soldiers spoke to him he wasn’t injured.”

Saul breathed out in relief. “We have to find him, immediately.” He said, and then sank into concern. How frightened Hans had to have been to run away. And by what Saul witnessed, he could see why. He did take stock in the fact that Hans was a professional, and frightened or not, he would never hit the general populous if he were infected. Saul was certain. But just to be sure, they had to find him first. And wherever that was, it couldn’t be too far.

<><><><>

Lima, Peru

Hans wasn’t thinking when he took off by foot, sneaking out of the lab and walking pretty much through the day, how difficult it would be. Fortunately, a little money went a long way and for fifty bucks he was treated like a king. Although the ride in the back of the truck was no ride in a limo, it was still a ride.

That ride took him to another, then another until finally he arrived. At the airport.

He was surprised no one came for him, or looked for him there. But judging by his phone, people were searching for him.

He didn’t care. Luckily he was able to get a flight leaving the country almost immediately for Germany. Germany wasn’t bad. He had family there and connections. In fact he called one to get him at the airport when his flight arrived. It wasn’t America, his first preference, but it wasn’t Peru. He had to get out of Peru, out of the country and away from what he had seen.

It was unnatural. The dementia was frightening, and fearful of not being able to feign off 600 people, Hans left.

He could do more in a safe location.

He was his own best test subject.

His head cocked at the call of his flight number and that they were boarding. With a handkerchief he wiped the sweat from his brow. His was feeling chilled, and not his best. Looking down to his phone he saw he had eight missed calls, three of which from Saul. He vowed to call him as soon as he landed. At that moment, though, he shut off his phone.

He glanced up to the boarding line, and decided to join. Wanting to know the time, he glanced to his phone, and recalled he turned it off. As he stood he looked at his watch. He had been awake nearly 24 hours. In looking at his watch he could see his arm, slightly swollen and the veins seemed like red road maps leading to the small cut that didn’t want to heal.

He’d investigate when he got there, test himself. For that moment, he lowered his sleeve, prepared his boarding pass and got in line.

<><><><>

The tubular building was flown in and placed not far from where the Army had its set up. A long tent precluded the entrance, nearly hiding it from view.

“And this is Captain Steven Long,” Colonel Manning introduced Saul.

Saul visually gave a once over to the enthusiastic, but tired looking Captain. Young, fit, typical soldier, but didn’t look a thing like a scientist. He was average height and looks, probably younger than he appeared.

“Captain Long has been working on our victims and came across something very interesting.”

It was about that point in the conversation that Saul withdrew his hand from the introduction. “Is that so?”

“Yes, Sir,” Steven replied. “I’m very intrigued by the rate of attack and how it differs in victim to victim. Basically sir, every single victim, initial and secondary has been the same. Delirium, violent, and then I came across this.”

Saul just followed.

Colonel Manning led them into the tube building and to the first door. “We have a shoot to kill order out on all infected,” he said. “So imagine my surprise when Captain Long brought this one back.” He opened the door.

Saul was taken aback. A child, shackled, sat center of the room. He played with a truck. Clearly, he was like the others. “Is he?”

“Yes,” Steven answered. “No pulse. No breathing, no blood pressure. Body temperature 67 degrees. We’re still waiting for one of the healthy in town to give us his name. Watch . . .” Steven approached him. “Hey, there.”

The boy ignored him.

“Amazing,” Saul said. “He’s not violent.”

“Well, yes, to you, me and others. But . . .” Steve excused himself from the room, and returned with a cage. A chicken inside moved radically around. He set the cage down in front of the boy and no sooner did he open it, the child scurried to the cage, devoured the chicken mercilessly in less than a minute, and bloodied with a few feather, the boy went back to his truck.

Saul cleared his throat. “I guess we can rule out getting him a puppy.” Another clearing of his throat to hide his chuckle.

“Thing is,” Col. Manning said. “We don’t know why he is like this. Why he is not attacking people like the others. He may hold some sort of key.”

“We need to find out,” Saul said. “But we’re not finding out here.”

“My thoughts exactly,” Col Manning stated. “I think we all can agree on what needs to be done next.”

The three men looked at each other and then to the child.

“Helicopter should be here shortly,” Col. Manning told Saul. “Captain Long is getting his things ready. Not much. He just got here yesterday.”

Like Saul, Captain Long hadn’t even unpacked. Hadn’t taken a single item from his bag. Saul knew he wasn’t going to be in Peru long, but less than a few hours?

But it was vital they both leave and go back to the states, to Washington where the two soldiers who were bitten were quarantined. The chopper would take them to the airstrip where a government jet was already waiting.

“How is the Captain about returning to the states so soon?”

“He thinks it’s a big mistake bringing this thing there, but we both know, that it needs to be done.”

“I agree with both of you.”

“Before you board, take a look at what just came in,” Manning pulled Saul’s attention toward the computer.

His attention was on the growing noise outside. “I thought you gave the order.”

“I did. But I want to wait until the backup troops arrive. Better safe than sorry, it’s getting crazy. After that’s finished, I already assigned locations for our scouts. But for now, Doctor, please.” Col. Manning maneuvered the mouse, and the hiss of the printer started. “I’m making you copies to review fully on the plane. Check this out.”

Saul leaned into the monitor.

A picture of an arm with a small red gash appeared. The gash wasn’t bad, or deep.

“This was taken one half hour after this soldier was bitten.” Col. Manning switched the screen. “Two hours post bite.”

A redness appeared around the gash, which also seemed to still look as if it seeped.

Another switch and the arm was swollen and turning dark. The wound looked bigger and open.

“How many hours?” Saul asked.

“This is twelve hours. Taken at the hospital.”

“How is the patient?”

“Fevered. Not much. Starting to feel ill.”

“The other one?”

“Interesting enough, at a slower rate with a bigger wound.”

Saul folded his arms. “Adrenaline enhanced.”

“We think,” Col. Manning said. “Soldier one; small wound, was very hyper and worried. Soldier two was hit accidentally in the head and knocked unconscious. So therefore all body function slowed.”

“As did the rate of the virus.”

“Exactly. We’re keeping him sedated and his vitals at minimal to see what happen.”

“Comparable in time frame?”

“His bigger wound is at maybe soldier one’s four hour post.”

“Let me ask you this,” Saul said. “When you first tested them you said there were no signs of the virus in the blood. Not for thirty minutes. Have you yet experimented with removing the infected area or even amputating?”

“We’ve theorized that. Perhaps maybe the wound generates the virus and getting rid of the wound may do it, but we’ve not been fortunate enough to catch it that early.”

“If it happens again, evasive wounds . . .”

“Then we will experiment.”

“Great.”

“I’ve placed those theories and other data in there for you.” Col. Manning grabbed the papers from the printer and placed them in a folder. He extended the folder for Saul as the sound of the helicopter came into earshot.

“Ah, my ride and your backup. Col. Manning, if anything arises, anything of interest before I leave, let me know.”

“I will.” Col. Manning pointed to the folder. “You can review those on the flight.”

“Seven hours,” Saul breathed out. “Makes you wonder what I’m gonna face when I land.”

Both men turned their heads when the sounds of yelling and moaning, damnation moaning rang out.

“Hopefully,” Col. Manning said. “We can do something so that ends here. Tonight.”

Saul gave a closed mouth nod. “Let’s hope.”

<><><><>

“They finished their meal,” Specialist Carlson said. “We’re the smorgasbord.”

“They’re not zombies,” Jack blasted out.

“Then what are they?”

“I  ... I don’t know.”

From tent two, the couple hundred hands multiplied and the barbed wire, fenced in area was like a corral of wild animals.

They moved slow, rigid, sloppy. Some carried body parts; all had that same dead-eyed look as they locked stares on the soldiers outside the perimeter.

As if they lost all reasoning, they aimed for the fence, reaching out. Some trying to walk through, getting jabbed and stuck. Others tried to climb with the same results. All of them gaping mouths, biting the air as if trying to consume a meal long distance.

Spc. Carlson snickered in a young way. “Dude, oh, my God. Look at that one.”

Jack turned to see where he pointed. A woman was diligent in her fence attempt, flesh tore from her with each caught up twisted turn, but she didn’t seem to notice.

It was a nightmare Jack had many times. Thought the reasonable man in him, verbally, and outright argued that they weren’t zombies, in his mind he couldn’t think of anything else they would be.

They looked dead. If they weren’t, some sort of nerve disease cut their ability to feel. Some of them had no limbs, no insides, eyes.

Yes, a nightmare he had many times. Every time his wife made him watch a movie, whether scary or lame, he had nightmares about them. The big man’s insides shuddered with disgust as his mind raced to comprehend what was happening. He couldn’t help but stare at them, watching them, taking relief in the fact that he was safe from them for the time being.

The call of the platoon sergeant, yelling out, “Orders are in. Do it.”

Jack knew what that meant.

They were just waiting for the shoot to kill order.

Spc. Carlson chuckled outward before blasting one single shot into the forehead of one of them.

Rapid fire rang out and Jack raised his weapon.

Be smart, he thought, you’ve seen enough movies. Just like Carlson, you know where to hit. Jack didn’t waste time. He performed head shots and that was it.

“Quit wasting ammo,” A soldier yelled out. “They aren’t going down unless you aim for the head. Aim for the head!”

How right that was. Those who randomly shot only caused the creatures to jolt a few times and keep on in their pursuit. A single shot to the head ended it.

There were hundreds upon hundreds, and maybe thirty soldiers to do the job. Jack knew there were plenty of troops to take them all out, as long as they shot carefully and with precision.

Jack’s big concern wasn’t in ending the current situation; it was more so on the fact was this it? Or God forbid, were there more out there. Even scarier, if there were, they certainly weren’t behind barbed wire fences.

CHAPTER TEN

May 7th

Hans was grateful he was seated in the back of the plane and that the person seated next to him had one too many cocktails before boarding. The overweight man snored loudly as he slept curled to the window, his hard outward breaths caused condensation against the pane of glass. It covered up the sound of regurgitation.

Pretty soon, Hans thought, he would stop throwing up. He didn’t drink much, and the amount that spewed forth from his mouth was less and less with each upheaval. He kept his mouth buried to the bag and closed it quickly as to cover the smell. A smell that wasn’t normal.

After vomiting, he hid the bag, cleared his throat, sat back and pulled the blanket higher. He was cold.

Feeling as if he could sleep, he closed his eyes.

“Sir, are you ok?” The gentle voice of Marian asked. He gazed upward to the stewardess, a woman considered ‘older’ for a stewardess. She offered a comforting smile.

“Air sickness. I suffer terribly from it.”

“You should have taken something.”

“I just did,” Hans said. “Hopefully it’ll knock me out for the flight.”

“If you need anything,” she said, placing a hand on his shoulder.

“Thank you.”

Another smile, and Marian turned, walking up the aisle, checking on passengers as she moved by them.

Almost half way through the flight, Hans counted down the hours. Sleep would make them pass by faster, and with that thought, feeling pretty lousy, Hans tried to sleep.

<><><><>

Two soldiers were injured. One pretty severely in the camp cleansing. Saul directed those two soldiers, along with the boy and the two already transported to Washington, to be moved to Atlanta where a special quarantine and research center was being set up.

Number one priority was to stop the virus. If infected, they had to figure out how to stop it. The bacterium wasted away the person, then regenerated the cells without regenerating brain cells. Making them into moving monsters.

At least in Atlanta they could contain them, detain them, and hopefully try to cure them if not learn from them.

Col. Manning added one more specific to Saul’s directive.

Not wanting to chance something happening during transport, any soldier fatally injured, would be spared the torment of a regenerated death.

Regenerated death. Saul couldn’t believe that was what they were dealing with. Never in all of his imagination did he think he would be dealing with the walking dead.

But they weren’t really dead. They couldn’t be. Not if they were moving and acting.

He finished the phone call, and leaned back in his chair.

Before he released the grip on his phone, he placed one more call.

“Saul? Saul I didn’t think I’d hear from you,” Irma said concerned.

“I’m on a plane so we may not have great reception.”

“A plane.”

“On my way back to Atlanta.”

She breathed heavily and the ‘hiss’ of it carried over the line. “Thank God. Thank God. Everything must be fine then. You’re coming home.”

“Actually, Irma,” Saul paused. He wasn’t going to say much, not at all. He couldn’t. Not on a government phone, but he knew if he said the right words, the right way, that would tell Irma enough. “Actually they are about as strange as strange could be.”

He ended the call, bringing the phone to his lips in thought.

A clearing of the throat drew him from that moment and Saul turned around.

Steven stood before him. He had been in the back of the plane with the infected that they were bringing back to the states. He looked drawn, something wasn’t right.

“Captain? Are you okay?”

“I heard you mention the word ‘strange’”

Saul nodded. “I was speaking to my wife.”

“It’s about to get stranger.”

“I don’t understand,” Saul said.

“Neither do I. But that boy, Juan?”

“Did he get violent?”

“No, Sir.” Steven shook his head. “He’s crying.”

<><><><>

Medication that rendered a person semi comatose was shipped immediately to the site in Peru before scouting teams were sent out. Platoon leaders were each given ample injections of it.

The orders were simple. If a soldier became injured through bite or scratch of an infected, they were to immediately turn themselves into whoever was in charge, and receive the injection.

Slowing the cardio functions slowed the virus, enabling more time to be cured.

Jack scoffed at that, so did Spc. Carlson. Relying solely on movie information, both conveyed to each other that they didn’t think anything could stop a zombie transformation. However that was fiction. It was never dealt with in ‘real life’.

Or was it.

“How do we know?” Spc. Carlson asked Jack as they moved through a wooded area.

“True.”

“I mean, it could have happened before. And it was contained. You just never know. Plus, we do have cool technology with medicine.”

“True.”

“What are you doing?”

Jack was busted. He gave a smile to Carlson. “Trying to get a signal.” He held up his phone.

“Yeah, well, you just spoke to your wife.”

“I know, sorry.”

“Please keep focused. We’re up front, we don’t need something jumping out at us.”

Jack nodded. He was searching for a signal because he had to abruptly end his talk with Lil. He wanted to tell her so much. He was certain she knew he was worried. Telling her, ‘If I don’t come back …” said a lot. But he had to end his call and he did so without letting her know what was happening. He wanted to.

Jack figured out a coded way to do so, he prepared a simple text. One that couldn’t come back negatively to him as if he let secret information out, and one his wife would understand with a little thought and know exactly what was happening. .

But he couldn’t get a signal to send it out. The text sat in his phone in the ‘outbox’ folder.

Spc. Carlson said something else. Jack didn’t understand. “What was that?” Jack asked.

“I said,” Carlson looked back. “I think there’s a village about two more miles from …”

He stopped. Jack was only two feet behind him. Carlson stopped and didn’t move.

“Hold up,” Jack called out, lifting hand. “Carlson?”

“It broke the perimeter.” Carlson whispered. “I was hoping they contained it. But it broke.”

“What do you mean?” Jack asked, then received his answer. Joining Carlson he saw the reason for his concern. A goat with a stick protruded through his mouth lay there. The goat’s fur was half off, its ribcage exposed, the flesh appeared to have been torn, and the body had already entered into a putrefaction stage.

Jack gagged and covered his mouth.

“See what I mean?” Carlson said. “Something ate it alive. Then it came back. Someone had to kill it.”

Jack swallowed the lump and turned around. “Keep your eyes open. We may have infected in these woods.”

For a while, Jack thought his worry and his wanted to forewarn his wife was premature. Until he saw that goat. Carlson was right it either broke the perimeter or was beyond the perimeter long before the virus was discovered to be deadly.

Mid stare at the goat, and whispering questions of the men, a ‘bleep’ caught Jack’s attention. He didn’t need to look. He knew what it meant. He had caught the scope of a signal and his message had been sent. Now he hoped she would figure it out.

<><><><>

Despite the fact that Jack told her to get it all together, Lil couldn’t bring herself to dig up his military papers that he had in the event of his death.

That told her something was wrong, but not as much as Jack calling her three times in the middle of the night to say he loved her and she had to know that in case he didn’t come back.

She asked him three times what was going on, he said he couldn’t tell her. He would figure out a way to tell her more.

That she understood.

The last conversation was twenty-nine seconds long and Jack said to her, ‘You of all people are more prepared than anyone I know.’

Prepared. What was Lil prepared for? Jack’s death? No, it couldn’t be that.

She went on the internet and looked up Peru. The place Jack had gone. The news talked about a meteor causing mass hysteria illness. Maybe Jack went down to help restore peace. But a conspiracy site said it was more, it was illness out of control. Lil thrived on reading, watching and learning about end of the world scenarios. To her, that was what she was most prepared for.

Was Jack trying to tell her a virus was about to wipe man into extinction.

Just as she had that thought, in the midst of trying to find more internet information on the Peru illness, she heard the beep of her phone.

She lifted it.

Jack sent a text? Was that his way of saying what was going on?

She clicked on read and drew more into confusion.

It wasn’t much. It was three letters. Three letters that added more to her mystery. What was Jack trying to tell her with the text, ‘WWZ’

Immediately, still in front of the computer, she typed the three letters into the search engine.

Lil wanted to kick herself when the results returned. She of all people should have recognized the three letters without a second thought, without confusion.

Jack had to be mistaken. But of all people, Jack wouldn’t joke and would be the last to admit to what he was witnessing.

If Jack was meaning in his text to refer to zombies, then that was what jack believed he was dealing with.

On that, Lil got up, locked all the doors and sought out her shotgun.

<><><><>

Saul wasn’t expecting the midflight phone call. He was just leaning back, reviewing documentation when the call came. He feared the worst. It had to be bad news. “This is Dr. Klein, what can I do for you, Col. Manning.” Saul asked.

“We’ve located Dr. Riesman.”

Saul exhaled. “Great. Where is he?”

“Are you ready? About three hours outside of Berlin, thirty thousand feet above the ground.”

Saul sprang forward. “You’re joking, right?”

“I wish I wasn’t.”

It took Saul aback. He had to grasp a moment and reason. Hans on a plane. There was no way he was infected. He knew better. He needed to be sure. Saul ended his call with Col. Manning, both men agreeing to use their resources to get in touch with that plane.

<><><><>

Marian hoped she’d get fifteen minutes of sleep without interruption. No such luck. She was summoned to the Captain’s cabin moments after she closed her eyes. She was in charge of their needs, but wished for once they’d call upon someone younger it was quite a hall there. Especially if they wanted something.

He didn’t want coffee, he wanted something else. “Have some sort of VIP in hiding on the plane,” the Captain said.

“How do we know?” Marian asked.

“US Government contacted us. Passenger in 65B. Familiar?”

“Yes,” Marian nodded.

“Well, they want us to check on him. Report back, then move him up to first class.”

“He’s probably sleeping. He was airsick. We have only another half hour of the flight.”

“I know. But, this is important. Could you go check on him and move him? His name is Dr. Riesman.”

“Yes, Captain.” Marian smiled, but it was forced. She didn’t feel like walking all the way down the steps then to the back of the plane. Row 65 was the last row.

But she did.

The main cabin was dark; the aisle lights were dim but give enough light for her to walk. She’d smile to the few passengers who were still awake, but most of them were sleeping.

She hated to disturb Dr. Riesman; After all, he had taken that medication.

Reaching into her apron pocket, she pulled out a small flash light.

Row 57 she heard something. It was a wet sound, squishing.

It grew louder as she hit row 62.

At Row 63, she heard a heavy, gurgling. A breathing that didn’t sound right.

Had he taken a turn for the worse? The odd sounds grew louder.

She arrived at row 64 and couldn’t see Dr. Riesman’s head. Perhaps he had gone to the rest room. Another step, a raise of the flashlight, Marian softly called “Dr. Riesman.”

The beam hit the empty seat of ‘65B’ only for a split second. Into the light, Hans raised his head with a snarl. His mouth opened wide, showing his teeth and blood along with saliva poured out. His eyes flared a deadly blank look.

Fear had consumed her so much, that she couldn’t get a productive scream.

Hans shook his head like an animal, shucking remains from his mouth.

The flashlight tippled from her grip as her hand shot to her mouth and backed up when she watched Hans returned to devouring the man in ‘65 A’.

Marion was frozen in fear and in shock. She wanted to scream, warn the sleeping passengers. She hadn’t a clue what to do. So she ran. She ran as fast as she could through the plane and up to the Captain’s cabin. “You need a gun.”

“Marion, what’s wrong?” The Captain spoke calming, standing as he did.

“A gun. A gun!” Marion screamed, and then broke into hysterics. “Oh, God. Oh, God.”

“Marion.” With a firm grip to her and a slight jolt, the Captain vied for her attention. “What is going on? Calm down.”

Marion cried out. A bone chilling scream, followed by sobs.

“Greg, I’ll be back.” The Captain moved to the door.

“Do you want me to go?” Greg asked.

“No. I’ll see what the problem is. In the meantime, notify Berlin and alert them that we may have a situation.”

As the Captain began to leave, Marion dove for him, holding on, begging and sobbing ‘please don’t go back there’ repeatedly.

The Captain pulled her from him, pulled the cabin door closed and walked out.

Marion dropped to the floor.

Greg’s radioing to Berlin was mere background noise as Marion weakly reached up and locked the door.

The cockpit was safe and secure.

No one could get in there. They would be fine until they landed and that would be long.

Something told Marion that the Captain wouldn’t be back.

She was right.

<><><><>

They arrived at a small village just after dawn. Chickens danced about in the orange hue of morning, people moved, but not slowly. They radioed in to let command know their position. Jack’s patrol was on foot, a vehicle would meet them there.

The woods didn’t bring anymore incidents. That was good. Jack believed he did overreact and that, really, there was no way it extended into the village. Another animal could have eaten that goat.

“Spread out, knock on doors,” The platoon sergeant ordered. “Try your best to convey that we are looking for people who are ill.”

Jack nodded his agreement; he was paired off with Spc. Carlson. The village houses lined a dirt road; he and Carlson were instructed to start at the last one.

They had just happened upon the home when the door opened and an old woman, maybe eighty emerged. She dropped her bucket when she saw Jack and Carlson, started rambling fast and insidiously in her native language as she ran to them, grabbing them.

Her face tear streaked her arms dirty.

As Jack tried to speak with her, he noticed her arms. Dirt? Blood. “Ma’am? Slow down. What is wrong?”

The door opened again and another woman emerged. High in the air she held sickle by its broken handle. Middle aged, thin. Her eyes widened, she lowered the sickle and she genuinely looked relieved to see them. She hurried to the old woman, pulling her from Jack.

“Come,” the woman beckoned. “Come.” She waved her arm and led Jack and Carlson around the small house.

The woman stopped and merely extended her arm to what looked like a small chicken shack. “Husband.”

Jack asked. “Your husband is in there?”

She nodded. “Husband” She pointed with the sickle.

Jack glanced at Carlson and both men took a step.

The younger of the women, reached out, stopping Jack.

“What?” Jack asked. “We’re going to go check.”

She pointed to his rifle and reached for it.

Jack moved it from her way.

The woman pointed to the rifle, shook her head, then mimicked raising the gun.

“Um, Sarge,” Carlson said. “I think she’s telling us to raise our weapons.”

“I think you’re right.” Jack lifted his and motioned his head. “Let’s go.”

The shack was only twenty feet away, but it seemed like a mile. Arriving at the door, Jack signaled Carlson to stand back and then Jack sprang open the door.

Nothing.

They looked at each other, then with weapons raised walked in.

It was quiet and dark. Another step then out from no where, with an inhuman growl, rushed a man.

His snarled and raged for Jack and Carlson, snapping to a stop inches before reaching them.

Jack stepped back. The man had been restrained by chains, but he fought and struggled to reach and bite him.

His face, his wounds, his coloring. All the same.

Jack didn’t need to be a doctor to know, this man, in this remote village, was infected.

PART TWO

INTEGRATION

CHAPTER ONE

May 7th

Twenty Thousand Feet above Germany

The radio earpiece slipped from the Co-pilot’s fingers as he fumbled to get it in place. Fingers that trembled and were covered in blood. In fact, there wasn’t a part of Greg Harlow’s body that didn’t shake.

He had never been so scared in all of his life.

The plane was at twenty thousand feet. An altitude that would have to change, because soon he would need to prepare for his descent into Berlin.

But before Greg could land he had to radio in. And before he could do that, he had to get a grip.

Marion wasn’t helping. She was a veteran flight attendant who brought the situation to his and the pilot’s attention. Her hysterical screaming turned into continuous crying. What had happened? An out of the ordinary call from the tower sent Marion to the back of the plane in search of a high profile doctor who wasn’t supposed to be on board.

When she returned from her search, Marion was out of control.

Unable to decipher what had brought the usually calm woman to hysterics, the Captain went to investigate.

Greg didn’t have time to determine why Marion was bodily blocking the cockpit door or acting the way she did. He wanted to radio Berlin about the passenger, but a call from the Captain halted that.

“Greg, we have a situation. You need to . . .”

That was it. The only words the Captain spoke. The call from the rear of the plane ended.

Greg had to find out what was going on.

No sooner had he reached for the cockpit door in an attempt to unlock it, Marion flung herself at him, begging Greg not to go. In his mind, what could possibly be so wrong? Did this passenger get out of control? If this ‘Dr. Hans Riesman’ was violent, then Greg figured he’d be best to go back there. After all, he was a big guy.

After saying, “Good God, woman, what is wrong with you?” he pushed her aside.

The second he opened the cockpit door he heard the yelling, screaming and crying. He honestly debated on whether to turn back around, but Marion slammed the cockpit door.

He had to move ahead.

From the cockpit to the passenger section was short. One or two slow steps into his journey he could see commotion. Just as he reached the passenger area, a woman sprung into his view. Her face was desperate, her voice graveled with fear. “Help me,” she said to him.

Greg didn’t get to register the plea before she was yanked from sight. Blood shot outward describing an arch over the open doorway.

She must have gathered some strength, because her bloodied hand gripped Greg and in one final plea, she cried out for help again.

Greg tried. He did. However, he didn’t realize he engaged in a tug of war. The moment he pulled her, a man with pasty white skin and eyes of death snarled at him, widened his mouth, and lunged his teeth into the woman while pulling her toward himself.

When that happened, the passenger area came into complete focus.

It was deadly pandemonium.

People ran, screamed, and fought. Blood smeared the walls, windows.

They attacked one another. As if his eyes were a camera, they automatically zoomed to the back.

The Captain.

He could still see the tendons from the Captain’s neck dangling like spaghetti in the mouth of a young boy who hovered protectively over the Captain’s dead body, like a lioness devouring her prey.

Twenty seconds. That was all Greg was in that hallway … maybe. But it seemed like forever.

When he whispered out a ‘Dear God’, he was spotted, and three or four of the passengers who had turned into madmen, raged toward him.

Greg turned and bolted.

Locked.

“Marion! Let me in. Please.”

He pounded on the door, all while peering over his shoulder. “Please.”

They were at the edge of the short hall; they fought against each other to squeeze through.

“Marion! For the love of God!” His hand slammed against the door.

One man emerged victoriously in the struggle to gain access to that hall and to Greg. He was younger, twenty maybe, wearing a New York Islander Hockey Jersey that was soaked with fresh blood. He leapt into the hall, free from the other two, and paused, almost tauntingly before Greg. Arms extended, he opened his mouth rolling his head side to back to side before snapping his view straight at Greg and growling like a demon.

Greg pounded frantically at the door and the young man charged.

Marion opened the door just enough, Greg edged through, locking it just as something ‘slammed’ loudly against it from the other side.

The banging continued, growing louder and with intensity.

Greg didn’t say anything to Marion, he just resumed his seat and grabbed for the radio. Three or four tries later, he succeeded in putting it on and was ready to radio Berlin.

“What are you doing?” Marion asked.

“I’m calling for help and getting permission to land.”

“We’re supposed to be landing already. Just get the normal clearance.”

“Are you joking?” Greg snapped. “You saw what’s happening back there. Dear God, what caused that? ”

“I don’t know, but you can’t tell them.”

“What?” Greg laughed in disbelief. “I have to.”

“No.” Marion beckoned. “If you tell them about this, they’ll never let us land.”

“That’s preposterous.”

“Think about it.” Marion cringed with the bangs and groans outside the cockpit. “We don’t know what caused it. But I know for sure they were looking for that doctor. He had to have something. They know it. They’ll shoot us down. Please, I beg you, don’t tell them very much. Give you and me a chance to live.”

Greg didn’t have much time to make his decision. He had to radio in for clearance and about Dr. Riesman. He took a brief moment to figure out what he was going to do. Then he picked up the radio.

<><><><>

Berlin Brandenburg International Airport had many air traffic controllers on duty that evening. The one in particular, communicating with Flight 76 wasn’t really given any information other than to convey back to authorities the status of the flight, the status of the wayward passenger.

He didn’t have any idea why they wanted to find this doctor. Maybe, he was some sort of guru or medical miracle worker. In any event, the ATC received an update transmission from Flight 76.

Passenger found and moved. The search for the passenger caused some sort of ruckus and the Captain bumped his head, leaving the co-pilot in charge.

The Air Traffic Controller replayed the information. Authorities were called to arrest and detain the few passengers on board who were engaging in a fight, and emergency medical personnel were requested for the Captain.

Berlin officials, irritated, transferred the information regarding the doctor, stating they’d detain him at the airport.

That was all that was needed to be reported to the Americans.

Flight 76 was cleared for landing.

<><><><>

As a doctor, he knew better. Yet, Saul Klein took another dose of Ibuprofen to battle that headache that seemed to be conquering his being.

Without a doubt, it was stress related. Being the director of the Centers for Disease Control had its prestige, but it had its moments, as well. Saul was experiencing one of those moments.

It wasn’t a moment that would easily pass.

En route back to the United States, Saul brought with him what he believed to be the most brutal virus ever to infect a human being. The samples of the contagion lay within the cells of the victims secured in the back of the plane.

Delivered via a rock from the sky that landed near a small village in Peru, the virus infected the villagers then turned them into something unimaginable.

It regenerated their corpses, making them mindless, murderous beings. Contagious beings that spread the incurable mystery virus through the simplest of bites.

It was something that had to be stopped. It spread too fast.

He hoped to get more samples, not just from victims either. Captain Steven Long, a virologist traveling back to the states with Saul, told him he had soil samples from the impact site.

While both Long and Saul agreed that it could be a fatal error to bring the infectious disease to the United States, it was something that had to be done.

Sophisticated lab equipment wasn’t found in a makeshift field unit in the middle of Nowhere Peru.

Saul held on to hopes that a ground zero specimen could lead them to isolating the virus, which in turn, would lead to a cure … hopefully.

A least one thing was removed from his mind, the worrying about Dr. Hans Riesman. The call from Colonel Manning at the Peru site was reassuring. Riesman had been found on the plane and everything was fine.

Saul had visions of Riesman on that plane. He was fearful that Riesman was infected and the ramifications of that infection reared its head on that flight. His horrific daydreams would have been considered nightmares had Saul not been awake when he experienced them.

But the Riesman situation could be put to rest. Saul didn’t have to worry about that.

He would, however, have a firm talk with Riesman once he got him on the phone. Saul planned on slamming him for being so irresponsible. He had his speech ready to deliver.

Little did Saul know that his reading the riot act to Riesman would never happen.

CHAPTER TWO

May 7th

Carancus, Puno, Peru

Something didn’t ring right to him. Colonel Manning had an uneasy feeling in regards to the phone call from Berlin.

Dr. Riesman left without notice, without telling a soul. He took the first flight he could. Something was up. Scared perhaps, but fear wouldn’t send him running like a fugitive trying not to be discovered. Only one thing would: If Dr. Riesman was infected. He indeed would know the outcome of the virus, and that alone would make him want to hide. Yet, Berlin airport stated all was fine and they would detain Dr. Riesman upon landing.

Despite the fact that Colonel Manning was informed of this, a part of him felt truth was being withheld.

For as much as he ran the scenario of an outbreak on a plane through his mind, for as much as he wanted to call Saul again and see if there was a way they could double-check the report . . . he didn’t.

Colonel Manning had other things to contend with. One of those things being the newest orders from health officials and the state department. Clean sweep ground zero and all surrounding areas of the infected; move and detain those not showing any signs of the virus; then pack up and move out. A ‘fire hole’ order was given for a fifteen mile radius. When that was done, not even an insect would be alive to spread the virus.

That was one order, one proverbial button Colonel Manning had no problem endorsing.

The immediate area was clean. The last of the moans stopped. The gunfire went from rapid to slow, sounding more like the end of popping corn than the extermination of over four hundred infected men, women and children.

His last radio call from within the perimeter delivered an ‘all clear’. Colonel Manning and staff began to pack up, but they wouldn’t leave. Not yet. Not until they heard from the Special Force groups that were out in the surrounding villages.

He hadn’t heard from them yet. Colonel Manning hoped that he wouldn’t. No news was good news, and that meant the virus was confined to the perimeter only.

He stared at his phone. It had been twenty minutes since he spoke to Berlin. The plane was set to land and Manning debated on whether or not he should call again. Just as he made the decision to do so, a knock came at his make shift office door.

Clearing his throat, Colonel Manning turned around. “Yes, son.”

He was a Corpsman with the Marines; he stepped forward and handed a folder to Manning. “We have three more, sedated and prepared for flight to the United States, per Captain Long’s request.”

“Just three. That’s better than we estimated.” Colonel Manning took the folder and looked at it.

“I know they needed more than that, possibly earlier stages, but we were efficient with the extermination.” The Corpsman gave a partial smile, almost arrogant.

“Unlike the movies.”

“I never doubted for a moment that we’d do better in this situation than the movies depicted the military. Wouldn’t make for good fiction if the undead were annihilated before their numbers could grow.”

“True.” Colonel Manning reviewed the contents of the folder. “Pretty minor injuries, I see.”

“Yes,” the Corpsman replied. “Hopefully, with the sedation, we bought our scientists some time to exam them before these victims succumb. But, this is unpredictable. They can turn in an instant. For that, we have an armed soldier watching them during the flight.”

The flight.

Manning’s thoughts, once again, went to the Berlin flight. He would, without a doubt, make another call. Even for his own peace of mind. However, total peace of mind would come when his men had returned from the field and the entire area surrounding Carancus was ‘fire holed’ and cleansed.

Colonel Manning had been on many battlefields in his life time, but this particular one frightened him like no other had ever done.

It was the start of a nightmarish war that he prayed would end just as quickly as it began.

<><><><>

An infantryman for his entire adult life, Sergeant Jack Edwards had known death. He had seen it, touched it and smelled it. But never in his entire life had he encountered such a foul odor as that which came from the mouth of the creature before him.

Its mouth was wide, biting air, snarling with each futile attempt to get Jack and his team member, Specialist Carlson.

The chains that held him strained to the limits with each violent move of the undead man.

Jack and Carlson were the only two of their team in that shed. Led there by the man’s wife Jack wanted to shoot it, or rather him, but the wife seemed to take a protective mode over her husband, flailing a machete freely through the air threatening Jack when he even tried to raise his weapon.

“We need someone to interpret,” Jack said. “Convey to her that we have to take him.”

“You want to take him back to base?” Carlson asked. “Are you nuts?”

“No! I want to take him out . . .” Jack lowered his voice. “And shoot him.”

The wife shrieked hysterical, rambling in her native tongue, lifting the machete in a taunt to Jack.

Carlson shook his head. “I think she knows English.”

Jack nodded in agreement. His mind raced for a plan, he had one, but he couldn’t convey it. Not there and then. “Carlson, nothing we can do. Back up and let’s join the others.”

“But, Sarge.”

“Just back up.” Jack held tight to his weapon. He turned to aim his voice outward, to call for his men, and that’s when it happened.

With a snarl, snap and a hard jerk of his body, the creature lunged out. But this time the chains didn’t stop him. A simple ‘crack’ of the wood, the restrained man, mouth agape, raged at Jack and Carlson.

Both men were fast, but not fast enough. The enraged man aimed his open mouth at both men as if a weapon, snapping, growling in a biting attack; finally, locking his teeth into Carlson’s hand.

Jack knew at that instant, pulling the man from Carlson was useless. The young specialist screamed out in pain as blood poured from his hand into the man’s mouth and he struggled to free himself.

Close range, Jack, weapon ready, fired a single shot into the man’s head. No sooner did he do that, the wife released a blood curdling scream. She raised the machete high, swinging it down at Jack.

Quickly, he latched on to the machete and grabbed it from the woman. As she raced to Jack, he fired at her in defense. The moment she fell to the ground, Carlson dropped to his knees, holding his bleeding arm.

“Sarge,” the young man, weakly called in desperation, looking up to Jack. “Help me.”

There was no hesitation on Jack’s part. In fact, if asked later on why he did it, or what made him think to do it, Jack wouldn’t have a clue. Instinct perhaps. But he shoved Carlson back, knocking him backwards to the dirt. The much bigger Jack stomped a boot down on Carlson’s shoulder to pin him, then with one continuous swing, brought the machete down severing his arm.

Carlson screamed his loudest yet.

Dropping the machete Jack, reached for his own belt, pulling it from the loops of his pants.

He didn’t hear what the other two soldiers said when they blasted in the shed, Jack was too focused.

Dropping to his knees, he whipped the belt around the stump of Carlson’s arm, snapped it tight and created a tourniquet.

“Get a jeep. Now!” Jack ordered. “We have to get him to camp stat.”

The other two soldiers didn’t move. In their shock, their eyes shifted to the massacre in that shed.

With a ‘fuck it’, Jack shouldered his weapon, then swiftly lifted Carlson, tossing him over his other shoulder.

Carlson’s body slumped. Whether he was dead or he passed out, Jack didn’t know and he wasn’t taking the time to find out . He darted from the barn. They had footed their way into the small village; a jeep had dropped them off a short distance beforehand.

Carrying the weight of all that happened along with Carlson, Jack just ran. He would run until he met up with the rest of the platoon and the jeep or until he made it to camp. Whichever was first. It didn’t matter to Jack . What did matter was getting Carlson the help he needed as fast as possible. If Jack had to carry him all the way to camp, he would.

<><><><>

It was a wound. Plain and simple. About four inches long, a gash that needed stitched, and it was just on the inside of the forearm.

Colonel Manning didn’t have a clue what type of wound it was. Scratch, bite, or some other injury. Jack wasn’t any help. He couldn’t recall how he received it.

When Jack arrived at camp he was covered in blood. Most of which came from the young specialist that Jack toted over his shoulder.

The strong veteran sergeant didn’t seem shaken by what had happened, just focused. It was when Manning debriefed him that he noticed Jack’s wound.

Jack was tested. No sign of the infection was present. However, the calmer the victim the longer it took for the infection to show in the blood stream. So Manning couldn’t use that as a determination that Jack wasn’t bitten. Especially since Carlson still showed no signs either.

In any event Manning couldn’t take any chances. He explained to Jack, until some time had passed, he had to treat Jack as if he were bitten.

Jack understood.

He and Carlson were placed on the transport going to Atlanta with the other injured soldiers.

Captain Long was excited at the prospect of examining Carlson.

When Manning told Long what Jack had done, Long replied, “Wow, really? That was really cool thinking.”

Really cool thinking.

Manning, a doctor himself, had to agree with Long, even though he wouldn’t have chosen those words. Jack’s actions were logical, and perhaps something thought of by medical personnel down the road but not practical when in the field.

Maybe Jack was thinking if he took the limb, he would stop the virus from hitting the blood stream.

Manning could only guess Jack’s motives.

He questioned Jack about amputating the limb. Jack only shrugged. He seemed more distraught about having to leave Peru than the possibility of having been bitten.

Jack told the colonel, “I can’t leave. My work is not done.”

Colonel Manning simply told him. “No one said you were done working. You’re just finished in Peru.”

If the injury to Jack’s arm turned out to be invasive and not infectious, then someone like Jack was needed in Atlanta should problems arise with the infected they were testing.

What he also didn’t convey to Jack was that in all reality, in a few hours, everyone’s work was finished in Peru.

CHAPTER THREE

May 7th

Berlin Brandenburg International Airport

It was cloudy and damp, not very bright for morning and that gave it an eerie feel. Greg impressed himself. Despite the fact that he couldn’t focus, was scared out of his head, he landed the plane gently and probably the best landing he had ever made.

He knew it would be his last.

They didn’t roll into the gate, ready to have the passengers disembark. Somewhere just after he touched down, Greg brought the plane to a stop on runway 19 and shut it down.

“What are you doing?” Marion asked. “What?”
“I can’t, not with a clear conscience, bring this plane near the airport. Not with what is happening in the back.”

“But we don’t know what is happening.”

“We know enough.”

And Greg did. The load moans, the constant attempts to get into the cockpit were there. There were no more screams for help, no crying. Only sounds of the damned came from the plane, and that told Greg pretty much him and Marion were the only ones who hadn’t turned into those things.

They weren’t on that section of runway more than a few minutes when the tower radioed to see what was wrong.

“We have a situation on the plane,” Greg told them. “It started when we had to find Hans Riesman. He started it all. Things . . . things are out of control. People are dead. Lots. They’ve taken over the plane.”

Tower asked them if they were secure in the cockpit and told them to stay calm.

Stay calm.

Within a few minutes airport security was on the runway. Then following them, were police -- at least eight squad cars.

Greg felt a little better. He and Marion would get out of the cockpit eventually. But one thing Greg didn’t realize. Perhaps he should have been more specific when conveying what was happening on this plane.

<><><><>

“We believe it is a terrorist situation,” Thomas Bauer, head of the Brandenburg Police division told John Koch when his SEK teams arrived thirty minutes later. The SEK were an elite squad, the German equivalent of a SWAT team.

“And it goes way beyond what we have here,” Thomas continued.

“What is the situation?”

Thomas exhaled heavily before beginning his explanation. “The flight took off without incident. Approximately three hours ago we received a call from Health Authorities and US military that a virologist Dr. Hans Riesman had fled a Peru infection site and was on the plane. He left the site without notice and, while they didn’t believe he was infected, they wanted him located.”

“Infection?”

“Some object contaminated a local village.”

“Bio warfare.”

Thomas held up a finger with a slight smile. “Makes sense when you hear the whole story. Riesman was located, Seems from what we gathered from the co pilot, he was violent with another passenger and he and others began taking control of the plane, attacking people. Looks like some are dead. Looks as if possibly the passengers revolted.”

“The co-pilot not the captain?”

Thomas shook his head. ‘Captain was killed in the violence.”

“So basically, you have a bio weapon in Peru, looks like maybe this virologist had something to do with it, fled and took over this plane. Why?” John asked.

“Maybe he had plans to spread this virus further than Peru.” Thomas shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine.”

“Whatever his plan was it stops here.” John nodded in a pointing motion to his preparing team. “My men are getting ready to gas and storm the plane. From both emergency exits and the cargo.”

Thomas looked at the teams taking placement. “We have the co pilot and the attendant in the cockpit.”

“They’ll be fine.”

Thomas nodded. “Let’s get this done with.”

<><><><>

Billy Meyers was nearly kicked from the church youth group over his obsession with horror films. The pastor believed Satan was digging his claws into Billy via evil movies. Billy like the youth group so he lied about his infatuation being done, never divulging the fact that he rented a good zombie flick every chance he could.

He was a typical teenager in so many ways.

He was also grateful for the abundance of knowledge he gained form horror films.

Returning from a mission trip to Peru, getting a connecting flight from Berlin to New York, Billy never expected what transpired on that plane.

“Haven’t any of these people ever heard of George Romero?’ was Billy’s first thought when all hell broke loose. The second thought was to get to safety and get out. To Billy, that was the Cargo hold.

He led the small group from the main belly of the plane.

It started with eight, and only five remained for the last leg.

Lisa was a hold up. Not that there was anything wrong with praying, but Billy felt she could do that when she was running. He kept his cool, logical, was remarkably keen for a seventeen year old. The final straw with her came when one of the zombies grasped her hair as they made it to the last secure door of Cargo.

With all of his weight, he charged as fast as he could, bodily slamming the cargo door closed and amputating the undead arm.

It still clutched to Lisa’s hair.

“Enough!” Billy blasted. “Calm down.”

The undead were relentless. They banged against the door. It wasn’t going to hold, Billy knew that.

Lisa cried hysterically.

Before leading the small group to find the cargo door, Billy calmly removed the hand still clutched to Lisa’s hair.

“Let’s go,” he ordered brushing by Lisa and leading the way, hopefully to the door. At the very least Billy was thinking about making a barricade wall with luggage.

He had moved about five feet ahead when he noticed Lisa was still in the back. “Lisa!” he called, then with irritation ran to her. “Come on.” He reached for her, but she pulled away.

Her eyes rose from her hand to Billy. “I’m bit.”

<><><><>

Using high powered, precision grenade propelling weapons, the SEK team simultaneously shot six windows of the airplane that sat on the run way. Doing as they were designed, the windows did not break, they popped inward with the force, and canisters sailed into the aircraft releasing an opiate fentanyl based gas throughout the cabin.

It was a bold move, but one the SEK team was confident of.

Smoke seeped from the broken windows. Giving it a few seconds, John waved his arm and called on the radio to his team and other squads that were there.

It was time to storm the plane.

At top speed they raced across the runaway.

It was a well rehearsed ballet.

How could it go wrong?

<><><><>

Billy heard the commotion and knew something was going on above them. That noise along with the undead trying the hardest to get through the one door made things tense enough, but when everyone started yelling Billy was ready to scream.

As if he held all the answers, they panicked, asking how they were going to get off the plane when they were so far off the ground.

Billy thought maybe the emergency chute would deploy; it didn’t matter, they’d cross that bridge when they opened that door.

It was daylight, and Billy was pretty certain whoever flew the plane radioed for help, so someone had to be out there. That had to be the people who fired the shots.

“Help is out there. I believe it.” Billy told them. “Now let’s just open this door.”

Two things occurred within five seconds of him saying that.

The first, just as Billy and another man reached to unlock the cargo door, it opened and four soldiers, armed stood there on a mobile stair case.

The second . . . the undead broke through.

Billy let out a shriek of shock. Lisa screamed. Summing up the best advice he could in one word, Billy grasped the arms of a soldier, looked him squarely in the eyes and said, “Run!”

Then Billy, forgetting everything else, followed his own advice.

He took off.

<><><><>

Thomas exhaled loudly in relief, relaxing just a tad when he saw the squads storm the plane and the passengers running free.

At first there were five, then following some gun shots and commotion, a lot of passengers flew from the cargo area. Thomas thought, how smart they were for hiding down there, but so many and then he chuckled a little how in their enthusiasm they were falling down the stairs.

That cheerful moment lasted briefly.

He heard the crackle of John’s radio just before the panicked cries of his men onboard. More shots rang out and then there were more screams.

“Get out, pull out.” John ordered.

It all happened so fast. Pull out? Thomas went from looking at John to raising his eyes to the plane; more passengers emerged from the aircraft, leaping from the open door to the ground. In what should have been a fall that broke their legs, they stood again and raced Thomas’ way.

Mouth moving in question, yet not speaking, Thomas saw the first group of five running his way at top speed. They didn’t stop. A young man in the lead took a second to make quick eye contact with Thomas, cry out the words, ‘Get out’ and he kept fleeing.

Thomas made the mistake of watching the young man, trying to make heads or tails out of the situation. A close shot fired by his ear caused him to turn around, when he did, the wall of passengers ascended on the wall of police.

It was a riot out of control. His men fired on the frantic passengers. But they kept coming, pouncing on the police officials. Something wasn’t right, they didn’t look right. Before he could decipher what was wrong with them, one jumped on him knocking him to the ground.

Struggling, Thomas pushed the man up from him as best as he could. He caught one glimpse of the pale and bloodied face, took one whiff of the nasty odor that came from him and then Thomas lost his struggle. The man overpowered and lunged with an open mouth for his neck.

Then man succeeded in literally ripping apart Thomas’ neck.

Thomas was dead . . . for the moment.

CHAPTER FOUR

Centers for Disease Control – Atlanta

Deep below the surface it was hard to tell day from night. No windows, just a clock on the wall or the time perched in the corner of a computer screen.

Captain Steven Long knew it was morning. He hadn’t been to sleep in over 24 four hours and if it hadn’t been for the smell of bacon, he wouldn’t have known it was morning.

They were given a section of the underground lab, even though they worked on the virus on the floors above. Where he and Saul set up shop was more to study the victims in a hospital setting.

Steven thought he’d probably end up living down there until the episode was over.

He didn’t figure himself to be the one to find the cure, although he had isolated the bacterium, and impressively, at least to himself, was discovering a lot about how the bacterium ran its course. More than likely, Dr. Powers would be the one to beat it. He was brilliant and was working with his team, nonstop several floors above. As a young medical student in virology, Steven had heard a lot about Powers and his work.

Steve waited to hear from him, in fact, before he checked in with Saul, he called Dr. Powers. Dr. Powers wasn’t willing to give out information, but he did reluctantly. Steven reasoned he’d probably be the same if he was in Dr. Powers’ position. Powers didn’t know him at all and was pretty much forced to work with the Army doctor.

Armed with what information he had along with a warm bagel, he raised his hand to knock on Saul’s door. The sounds of commotion, screaming flowed from Saul’s underground office. Muffled sounds as if Saul were listening to a recording.

Steven knocked.

The sound stopped.

“Come in,” Saul called out.

Steven entered. “I brought you some information and something to eat.”

“Ah, thank you Captain Long. I appreciate that.” Saul turned his chair from the television. “My wife would appreciate knowing someone was feeding me.”

“Does she know you are back in the states?”

Saul nodded. “I called and let her know. I was a bit vague.”

“Understandable.”

“Ever been married to a Jewish woman?”

“Can’t say that I have.”

“Being vague doesn’t wash. I give her about another half hour of tolerance and then she’ll be calling nonstop.”

“What are you going to tell her?” Steven asked.

Saul shrugged. “Don’t know, Captain.”

“Please, call me Steve.”

“Steve.” After a pause, Saul exhaled. “What news do you have?”

“Well no deaths . . . yet. One is close, very close; vitals are so slow they are nearly undetectable.”

“What about the other soldier.”

“Not far behind,” Steve replied. “We’ve managed to slow the progress of the bacterium in the blood stream with sedatives. But that’s prolonging its reaction time. Right now, we have a the second soldier prepped in a CT scan and hooked up to EEG for when he passes and well, regenerates.”

Saul cringed a little. “Why not the one closer to death?”

“He was thrashing quite a bit. We’re probably going to probe the brain here shortly, with your permission, to halt regeneration.”

“You may do so if he’s already violent.”

“Thank you.”

“What about the boy?” Saul asked.

“Calm and quiet. Like our second soldier.”

“Could there be two strains of the?”

“I doubt it. It’s how the bacterium affects the brain. The calm and quiet is abnormal. We have five more due to arrive. Three are showing signs in the blood stream, according to our initial blood tests and sequential ones run on the plane.”

“The other two.”

“One is a Sergeant who has a wound of unknown origins during an attack. No bacterium yet in the blood, he’s coming here as a precaution and if he’s clear, posted here because of something he did.” Steve shuffled through his notes. “Seems a Specialist Carlson was bitten and this sergeant amputated the arm immediately in the field. This is the one Dr. Powers upstairs is waiting on.”

“Why is that?”

“As of two hours ago in flight testing revealed he was showing the bacterium in his blood stream, however it seems dormant or dead. Hard to say. Could be a possible key to stopping it.”

“Think he has immunity”

“Quite possible.” Steve closed his folders and finally glanced to the monitor behind Saul. “What are you watching?”

“Oh . . .” Saul exhaled. “You can call it my own research. Since we have nothing real to base this on, no case study, I’ve turned to what seems to be the closest thing to case study.”

“Fiction?”

“Movies -- yes. My God, a twisted mind came up with this zombie shit. Do you suppose they’re psychic?”

Steve chuckled. “Not at all. They didn’t really find this walking dead information in the creative portion of the brain. Zombies date back hundreds if not thousands of years.”

“Excuse me?”

“Well, not walking dead per say,” Steve explained. “There is this fish toxin that is used in voodoo to create a comatose near death state, and when the victim snaps out of it, they are pretty much mindless drones. Zombie is actually derived from a Haitian word zonbi.” He shrugged.

“But ours are indeed dead,” Saul said, turning to the video monitor and pointing to the frozen image on the screen. It is one of massive amounts of zombies. “How do you suppose, if should this happen here, what would make it get so out of control?”

Steve rubbed his chin. “My best explanation? Remember that shampoo commercial from years ago. One friend bites two friends, they bite two friends, and so on and so on . . .”

“That’s not funny.” Saul shook his head and paused. “Okay, it is. Call it the Faberge effect ”

“Exactly. The same thing happened in Peru. Plus what adds to it is human nature. Like the Sergeant who amputated that soldier’s arm. We don’t have it in us to kill the injured. We try to save them. We can’t, they turn, they bite. One bites six, they bite six, before you know it,  the Faberge effect.”

“The Faberge Effect. So all it takes is one infected person.”

“If not handled correctly. Yeah, but, I think we’re a bit more sophisticated than the movies make us out to be.”

“So you think we made a mistake by bringing it to the US?” Saul asked.

Steve shook his head. “Other than this lab, I highly doubt it is leaving Peru.”

At that instant Saul’s phone rang. He held up a finger to Steve then turned to retrieve the call. He listened more than spoke, muttering, ‘I understand’ three times before thanking the caller and facing Steve. “You doubt wrong.”

“Excuse me?”

Saul ran his hand down his face, revealing a distraught look as his hand hit the desk. “Hans was infected. He attacked on the plane . . .”

“Oh my God.” Steve closed his eyes.

“They landed.” Saul paused. “As we speak, they lost control of the airport.”

CHAPTER FIVE

Fayetteville, NC

Lil had been married to Jack eight years when she cheated. One time was enough and she was still paying the emotional consequences for her actions. That was fine with her; a punishment she felt was well deserved.

Each day that went by, since the incident that occurred nearly a year before hand, she thought less and less of that fateful night. No longer had an hourly or daily guilty thought, but rather occasionally. In fact it had been a while since it crossed her mind. Then she saw that roadhouse saloon and she couldn’t get it out of her head.

That’s where it started. Out with her new found friends when Jack was away at training or home and just not there. Drinking, dancing, acting single.

She forgot that one night, with the slight help of alcohol bravery, that she was indeed married. Forgetting again when she went home with that man that she had seen several times before at the saloon.

It ended as quickly as it started and Lil gave up all of her friends and not at Jack’s request. All of them except Garrick.

It was the one friend that Jack really liked and posed no threat at all to their marriage. Actually, he was Jack’s friend long before he was Lil’s. He was a good one to have. Especially at that moment. To many, Garrick was labeled a nut job or eccentric. To Jack he was sincere and the man with the means and knowledge to be any way he wanted to be.

Garrick’s parents were ‘old’ money from down south. He went to the best school, West Point, joined the service, and then after on re-enlistment. Garrick, totally convinced that the world would meet its demise in his lifetime, retreated to work on his survival world.

It was a project Jack helped a lot with, only because Jack enjoyed it. Well, hidden, the survival hub was, as Jack described, a safe haven. Nine foot concrete walls encircled the camp which consisted of a huge concrete building. Below that, over a hundred feet down was another concrete bunker. It had its own water supply, power supply and ability to grow food. It was secluded deep in a wooded area on a large piece of land owned by Garrick’s family.

He made a small living by being an online trader.

A fortress to meet any apocalypse scenario, well just about.

Lil was certain if the current situation tuned into an apocalypse scenario, Garrick’s fortress would be the place to go.

So she went ahead of time to talk to him.

He didn’t live in the fortress. Garrick had an apartment in town and claimed he’d only go to the fortress to party or in case of impending doomsday.

His cell phone was off, no answer on his landline; Lil had to talk to Garrick. She was certain Jack wouldn’t mind.

After trying his apartment, Lil headed to the hills to find him; that had to be where he was hiding. It was a short two hour drive and she hoped it would keep her mind off Jack. She hadn’t heard from him.

She arrived at the property driveway and was greeted by a tall, rusted, wire fence with a ‘Keep Out. Government Property’ sign dangling. A rouse?

Stopping the car, Lil stepped out finding the intercom control hidden by the fence. “Hey, Garrick, you there?”

After a brief hiss of static, his happy voice flowed over the speaker. “Hey, pretty lady, sure am. Come on it.”

Lil said her thanks, got in the car and watch the gate open. It swung shut after she drove through.

A hundred yards or so she arrived at the Iron Gate that looked like a garage door. The concrete walls were well hidden in the trees and brush.

The gate rolled to the side and she drove in. It was indeed a different world in there.

No sooner did Lil step from the car, Garrick emerged from the building. He was stoned, of course, Lil didn’t expect anything less.

With a hardy, ‘hey, hey, hey’ Garrick embraced her welcomingly. A taller man, not as big as Jack, would be considered ruggedly handsome if the ‘I haven’t bathed in days’ look counted for something. “Let me help you with your stuff,” he said.

“I didn’t bring any stuff,” Lil replied.

“Man, whoa, you ran that fast for the hills? Things that bad?”

“No. They aren’t bad. I just needed to talk to you. Get your opinion. Can we go inside?” Lil asked.

Garrick motioned his hand toward the building, allowing her to lead the way.

<><><><>

He poured a double shots of whiskey in a glass for Lil. “Got an entire room full. Jack will be pleased.” He sat down on the couch across from her.

“So that’s why you’re here?” she asked.

“Yep. Been monitoring radio. Listening to the little man.” Garrick lifted a marijuana cigarette and lit if up as if it were regular tobacco. He showed it to Lil.

“No. But thank you,” Lil said. “So you think this is it?”

“Without a doubt. I predict a week before this thing gets out of control. Dude, really, last transmission it had spread to the hospitals in Berlin. Fucking Germans though, they aren’t no American soldiers. Can’t battle like we can. Speaking of soldiers, what’s Jack say.”

“That’s why I’m here. You know this shit’s up my alley.” Lil explained. “Jack’s in Peru. Sent there for a situation.”

Garrick coughed. “Man, Peru is where it started. This mad cow, rage virus shit that the terrorist doctor let loose on the plane. He was in Peru.”

“It’s not mad cow or rage, Garrick. Jack was able to get me a message. Sent it in code. To let me know what was happening down there. Three letters. WWZ.”

With a ‘whoa’ Garrick exhaled loudly. “World War Z.”

Lil Nodded.

“Fucking zombies.” Garrick smacked himself in the forehead. “I knew it. For real?”

“That’s what I got from Jack. If he sent that and he doesn’t buy into it, then you know it‘s for real.”

Garrick stood up and began to pace. “Then it is only a matter of weeks. If that shit is there, then some big shot science guys are bringing it here to work on it, thinking they can cure it.”

“You don’t think they can contain it?”

“No. Fight it? Yes. Contain it? No. All it’s gonna take is one person to be infected. That’s it.”

“Are you gonna stay put here?”

“Yeah, get things ready. This will be the safe place to be.”

“I agree.” Lil stood. “OK, I’m gonna head back and get my own things ready.”

“You aren’t staying?”

Lil shook her head. “Not now. I’ll be back. But I can’t return until I hear from Jack. Will there be anything you need?”

“A woman, perhaps.” Garrick laughed. “You know, to help with those lonely times during the apocalypse.”

Lil chuckled at the joke, stood to leave but stopped when Garrick called her name with seriousness.

“All kidding aside. Don’t waste time. Get back here, Jack will find you.”

Lil nodded, took in his advice, gave a simple nod of agreement, and then she turned and left.

CHAPTER SIX

May 8th

Atlanta GA

There were three vital things that told Irma Klein that something was amiss in regards to this virus. She had been married to Saul for too long not to know it in his voice.

But his voice wasn’t what sent the alarms in her head blaring. His voice merely confirmed it. The virus.

For as long as Irma could recall, not a single CDC team member ever died in the field of the virus, like Katherine. Saul, since becoming director, never left to go to the field, and he was gone and back before Irma knew it.

And now he was holed up at the CDC. He placed a simple call to her the evening before telling her he was back, and he would call her later.

That was hours earlier.

Usually, Irma would give a half an hour, but knowing the graveness of the situation, she held off.

She tried to nap. Lord knew she didn’t sleep all night, but it was useless. She then turned to the news and that made matters worse.

The terror outbreak in German was all over the news. Some sort of Chemical weapon attack that cause the infected to act insane. The news told of how local authorities and the military were trying to gain control of the airport and other public buildings.

It wasn’t until the news stated that authorities had identified the terrorist responsible for releasing the chemical agent . . . Hans Riesman.

Hans?

Surely that was untrue. Irma wasn’t crazy about Hans as a person, but to release a weapon. Hans was working on the virus in Peru.

Irma paced.

Think Irma, Think.

Her thought process relied on her years of experience in listening to Saul. Hans was in Peru, working on the highly contagious virus, what if . . . Hans was infected and escaped.

That had to be it.

Slightly panicked, because the virus had left Peru, Irma raced to the house phone. It was then her cell phone rang.

No one really called her cell phone. Irma told them not to because Saul hated using minutes, even though their daughter told them about unlimited usage plans.

Irma was unsettled with surprise to see it was a call from Saul’s cell. Something was definitely up.

“Sauly,” she answered the phone with worried haste.

“Irm, I don’t have a lot of time to talk . . .”

“Sauly, what’s going on? I just saw the news. . Hans and . . .”

“Irma, listen to me. Forget the news.”

Irma heaved out a breath, hand to her chest. She closed her eyes and held tight to the phone. “I’m listening.”

“I’m not sure, what will become of this, if anything. It may fizzle. But, pack a bag, call Sara, go get her and little Jerry . . .”

“Saul, is it . . .”

“Do it. Hit the ATM, get as much cash as you can, head north to your sister’s and stay there. “

“What’s wrong with our home?” Irma asked. “Can’t I get our daughter and grandson and bring them here.”

“Get out of Atlanta, Irma.”

“Why?”

“We brought cases back with us . . . I just need to feel secure. Understand?”

“Yes.”

“Then you’ll go.”

“Yes.” Irma nodded, even though he couldn’t see her.

“Take the phone charger for the car.”

“I will.”

“And, Irma . . .” Saul paused. “Bring the gun.”

Before Irma could say anything, Saul was gone. The line went dead. She stared at it knowing full well he didn’t dramatically hang up. Never in all of their years together did he ever end a call without saying, ‘I love you’.

It had to be bad. Irma prepared to call her daughter. She would then pack a bag, get Sara, and before she left Atlanta, she was going to see Saul. Because she didn’t know, with the way he sounded, if she would see him again. She just didn’t know.

<><><><>

Saul lifted his eyes to Jack. He stood there, armed and somewhat intimidating as he held Saul’s phone.

Saul nodded slowly. “Could you have had less of a dramatic timing in taking that phone?”

“Sir, I gave you a minute. I have to delete this call history before they found out I let you make that call. I was supposed to just get this from you.”

“I know. I know.” Saul watched Jack, his large fingers fumbled with the phone. “Problem?”

“Yeah, 1998 called and wants this phone back. What the hell?”

“If you’re trying to delete the history, I haven’t a clue. It’s an old phone.”

“No shit.” Jack breathed out. “Okay, you have it.”

“What?” Saul asked.

A few more moves of his fingers and Jack handed the phone to Saul. “Here. See if you can figure out how to delete that last call.”

“What was it you did?”

“I sent your wife a text telling her you loved her. You know, just in case.”

“Thank you.” Saul examined his phone. He stood, and then paused in his phone manipulation. “Sergeant. I know they took your phone. Did you need to call your wife?” He extended his phone to Jack.

Jack shook his head. “Thank you. But I’ll figure something out. I’m sure I’ll get to call her soon.” With a motion of his head, Jack placed a hand on Saul’s back, leading him to the door. They were leaving the basement sanctuary, even if only briefly, for the meeting with Dr. Powers.

Gene Powers was an amazing mind. Well ahead of his time in thinking and technology. If anyone could figure out what was going it was him.

Jack stood guard outside the door, and only two individuals went inside. Saul and Steve.

Powers looked frazzled, three laptops set upon his desk. His graying hair was tossed about and glasses were a tad crooked.

“If I were my teenage son,” Powers said. “I’d probably phrase it as we’re, well, screwed.”

Steve chuckled. “Come on. Screwed? Who is screwed? Us? CDC? What?”

“Everyone.” Powers shrugged and took a seat.

Saul took things more serious than his colleague, Captain Long. “What’s going on?”

“First, our guard posted outside, I determined it was a surface wound not caused by an infected. He’s fine. Another positive is, we are dealing with the reanimated. Meaning, walking dead. As ridiculous as that sounds, it’s true. And they are human. Meaning . . . a few months maybe they’ll be a threat. Even if we don’t kill them all, they’ll eventually just decompose until there is nothing left. Problem being . . .”

“They carry more than just a viral threat?” Saul asked.

“Exactly. Like every other dead body.” Powers replied. “Now, why they’re dangerous. The brain works on pure instinct, in most cases. Only a portion of the brain survives when they return. And it reanimates after it was dead a few minutes. Hence why the violent behavior. They don’t know. The longer it takes for them to reanimate, the worse they are.”

Steve asked. “What about the child?”

“Without a doubt he reanimated instantly. Retaining some cognisance.” Powers held up a finger. “We have so much to learn from him. Unfortunately, he is decomposing and the order has come in to do final testing and relieve . . . to put it kindly . . . all those infected, reanimated or not.”

Steve released a heavy sigh. “We’re going to kill the boy?”

The corner of Powers’ mouth rose in a hidden smile. “He’s already dead.”

Steve shook his head. “In a conventional way, yes, but . . . there’s something there. A bit of soul. I don’t know. I just . . .”

Saul reached over laying a hand on Steve. “It’s inhumane to allow him to exist like this. I know you and I see this little boy. But, Steve, really, he can’t go on like this.” Saul then looked at Powers. “What about the soldier who had the amputated limb. Carlson.”

“He’s fine.” Powers replied. “No sign of infection, traces of it in his blood, but he is recovering. We had to move him to County for the amputation. He’s under guard, but we feel he’s safely out of the woods. He holds the key to possibly fighting this thing. Or at least that strain.”

Both Steve and Saul produced the same curious and questioning looks.

Powers explained. “There are three strains to this virus. The original, ground zero strain. Those exposed got sick, died, reanimated. Strain two were those like Carlson, those bit or scratched. Strain three is long term exposure. The contagion was still present in the air for a twenty mile radius before the area was burned out. It wasn’t as strong as we believe the initial levels were, but like radiation, continuous exposure . . . would cause those to get infected.”

Steve asked. “How long? I was there and exposed.”

“I ran your blood, Dr. Klein’s as well. You are fine. Those there maybe twenty four hours,” Powers shrugged. “Those are the ones I’m waiting to test. Because I am pretty positive they are infected. This is theory, remember, I don’t know. But we have to check.”

He spoke so nonchalantly, Saul couldn’t believe it. It wasn’t a measles outbreak or chicken pox, this was unreal, frightening. “All of those who were there for over twenty-four hours,” Saul said. “They are arriving in the States as we speak.”

Powers nodded. “Four different flights. Four different locations. Yes. We are rounding them all up now.”

“So they landed?” Saul asked.

“Four hours ago.”

Steve released a shriek. “Four hours ago? They can be anywhere.”

Powers held up his hand in a calming manner. “Remember this is theory. The data regarding the air samples only arrived two hours ago. I moved as fast as I could.”

“My God.” Saul sank into his chair, slouching in defeat as he ran his hand over his face. “If your theory is true, we just invaded our own soil.”

Powers shook his head with closed eyes, and gave a reassuring look. “No, we’re okay. I’m positive. Colonel Manning was there the longest and I spoke to him ten minutes ago. Relax. He’s fine. He’s absolutely fine. If he’s not showing symptoms yet, no one is.”

<><><><>

Colonel Manning made one more phone call from the back of the limousine. It was quick; it was to base, informing them he was going to be heading to Atlanta shortly. He coughed once as he placed down the phone, holding back the gag the cough had caused him.

Sweat grew on his brow and he wiped it. His stomach churned and that antacid wasn’t working. The flight was bumpy and he always was prone to airsickness. He suffered what he believed was the worst case of airsickness he ever had. The long ride to Washington in a hot limo wasn’t helping him either.

Manning knew he had to deal with it. Take another pill and be strong. He relaxed somewhat but not all the way. He couldn’t. Before long, he would arrive in Washington. He had to meet with the president. When that debriefing was finished, then Manning could relax. And after the meeting, he had to catch another flight to Atlanta right away; he wasn’t sure his poor stomach could handle it.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Berlin, Germany

The officials in Germany were able to cap the media and keep the truth from leaking. And the truth was . . . things were out of control.

The injured were taken to the hospitals and they in turn had infected others.

People were urged to leave or stay secured within their homes. The infection caused maddening behavior and homicidal tendencies in those infected.

That was the information the public was given.

The four youths, no older than twenty, decided they were staying behind in Berlin with their parents. It wasn’t looking good and the constant blaring of sirens was eerie and frightening.

They packed up with all intentions of heading to Italy. One of the youths had friends there.

The health authorities had set up military check points on the outskirts of the city and the four youths made it through, cleared of any signs of infection.

They felt safe.

Taking the back country roads was, in their minds, the best way to go. The exodus was causing major traffic jams everywhere.

Traveling at a good pace, just about ten miles from Berlin, they spotted the straggler. He moved slowly.

They felt bad for this man. He obviously, like them, had made it through the check points. He was probably tired and the young driver pulled over to see if he wanted a ride.

Winding down his window, he called to the man, wiggling his fingers as he pulled up to him. Calling out, ‘do you need a ride?”

The straggler stopped and turned to the car.

The youths didn’t know it was Hans Riesman, but they knew instantly something was wrong with him. He growled and snarled; his face white and bloody.

Hans lunged for the car but the driver was quicker and they sped away.

Picking up speed, the driver breathed out in relief. They got away from that mad man. Yes, he was slightly injured when the straggler scratched him, but he got away. He would keep driving until they couldn’t drive anymore. Only when they were far away from Berlin or even out of the country, would they stop. Then, and only then, would they truly feel safe.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Atlanta, Georgia

Ashley Simon had worked for the Centers for Disease Control for ten years. She was a lab technician and knew her job well. But it was the first time in her entire career that the prospect of a new virus frightened her. That fear stayed with her as she gathered up the last of the blood samples prior to the extermination that would take place.

There were only a few ‘alive’ patients remaining and she was on the last one, the last sample. Perhaps that made her lax, she didn’t know.

But her usual firm grip on the hub went out the door when the patient jerked violently. A patient she assumed was heavily sedated. The needle and hub unit ripped through the surface of the skin, flew up in the air and slammed back down, needle first into her foot.

She felt a slight pinch. Nothing major and she even assumed it was her imagination. Quickly, she left the room, disrobed, told no one about the incident, showered and disinfected.

The tiniest drop of blood was on her foot and it was so minimal she didn’t say a word.

She should have.

Not four hours later, Ashley found herself face forward, staring into the commode, heaving everything in her stomach. Her head pounded. She had never felt so sick in all her life.

Still at the CCD headquarters, Ashley, fearful of vomiting stayed near the toilet until she felt well enough o stand and get help.

Obviously she caught the infection and she had to let them know.

She would as soon as she threw up one more time. That would happen. Her stomach churned and sharp pains shot through her abdomen. Waiting for the eruption, not wanting to force it, Ashley leaned back between the commode and the wall.

She closed her eyes and passed out.

<><><><>

Powers was indeed correct in his statement that Spec Carlson was fine and posed no threat when he was transferred from the CDC to a hospital for proper medical treatment of his arm.

He was fine. In fact, he was in great spirits, wide awake and conscious when he arrived at County Hospital. Carlson even ate a soft food tray before he fell asleep for a nap.

Somewhere after the beef broth and red sherbet, Carlson died. Because he wasn’t hooked up to life support,  no one knew or even suspected that he passed away.

Bad timing for the nurse’s aide who came in to take his routine blood pressure. Carlson rose, took a chunk out of her arm. She screamed as he tore the flesh from her.

Her blood curdling scream summonsed help from the others in the hall. At that point though, tendons dangling from his mouth, Carlson was out of the bed, and racing for the door.

He tackled another nurse on his way out, bit her, stood and raced down the hall.

With almost a ‘conscious knowing’ to his movements and actions, Carlson took out three more people with bites before he flew into the stairwell and made his escape with ease, despite the fact he wore only a hospital gown.

<><><><>

The procedure was to be simple. Using a simple construction tool, a brad nailer, the two inch brad would go quickly into the front portion brain and end the secondary post life cycle of the undead.

Steve wanted to be the one to take care of Juan. The six year old boy they brought back from Peru.

Juan was different, he wasn’t violent toward people. He was clam, loved to play with his trucks. He even showed emotions. Steve grew close to him and because he knew alive or not, Juan felt fear, he didn’t want the child to go alone.

Placing the tool down on the small table as he entered the room, Steve focused on Juan. The small child began to smell despite the room being kept at a cool 50 degrees. He was showing signs of decomposition.

The second Steve walked in the room, Juan held up a toy bird. His mouth moved and it was obvious he was trying to speak.

“Bird?” Steve asked.

Juan smiled.

Smiled?

Steve’s heart sunk to his stomach.

This child, this poor child was left alone by his father who had been infected. He was alone when he initially got sick and died. How sick that boy had to have been without someone holding him, comforting him. That was probably the reason he cried so much.

Before stepping forward, Steve grabbed the power tool of death and kept it out of Juan’s sight.

“How are you doing?” Steve moved closer. He wasn’t afraid of Juan, not at all. He wasn’t fearful for his life. He crouched down next to Juan and the child extended the bird.

“Thank you,” Steve took it. “It’s very . . . very nice.” A lump formed in his throat as he gazed into what should have been lifeless eyes of the boy. But they weren’t, there was still a spark, still color unlike the other undead whose eyes had turned gray.

Not Juan’s.

Juan moved closer.

“What?” Steve asked.

And then Juan laid his head on Steve’s crouched leg. Almost as if he were looking for comfort, love, something.

Steve closed his eyes tight. It was heartbreaking for him. The child sensed something, Steve knew it. He felt it.

Juan cried.

With one hand on the tool, his other hand stroked Juan’s dark hair. “It’s gonna be all right,” Steve whispered. “It’s gonna be all right.”

<><><><>

Just a little past eleven a.m., Ashley went into the second floor ladies room at the CDC to throw up her stomach contents. It was there and then she passed out and shortly thereafter died alone.

The virus raged quickly into her body, shot into her like a drug via a vein in her foot.

A concerned coworker innocently went to check on Ashley. Of course she never made it out of the ladies room, alive that is. Ashley severely attacked her, leaving the floor glazed with the coworker’s blood, limbs and intestines.

Throat torn, insides missing, the coworker did rise, but Ashley had moved on from that second floor ladies room.

The coworker followed suit.

Soon two had turned to three and so on, unnoticed in what was considered a safe and secure place to work.

<><><><>

“See this is exactly, how it starts,” Saul told Powers.

Jack didn’t see what Saul was doing or facial expressions. He was stuck in his own train of thought. He left Fort Bragg with eight men to join sixteen others in Peru from Fort Bragg. Jack was the first to come back. The plane landed over six hours before hand and it was just under two hours that the order was given to retrieve all those returning from Peru.

“I hoped my theory wasn’t true,” Power said. “On the bright side, they located nine of the sixteen in Fort Hood.”

“All positive,” Saul said. “So that tells me the others were too. Where are they? This is how it starts. Sgt. Edwards, how many did they located from your base.”

It took a second for the question to hit Jack and for it to register that he was being asked a question. “Um, ten.”

“All but four sick,” Saul added. “And how many did Carlson take out, that we know of.”

Powers responded, “They think they got them all.”

“Except Carlson.”

When Saul said that, Jack’s thought was, ‘except Morgan’. Morgan was his next door neighbor in base housing. Morgan wasn’t found or retrieved. It was Morgan’s deployment that made Jack go to Command and ask to go.

Saul’s hand slammed on the desk, the thump jolted Jack.

Jack looked over.

Saul shook his head. “One bite turns someone; this is how it got out of control in Peru. Only we’re not dealing with a small town. We’re dealing with cases dotted across our country.”

“Shut it down?” Powers asked.

“Get a hold of FEMA. We need to get everything shut down now, until it’s under control.”

“Will they do that with only a few cases?” Powers asked. “I mean, you’re the head of this, will they listen?”

“You and I both know a few cases will not be a few cases for long,” Saul said.

Jack’s blurting, ‘fuck it,’ caused both Powers and Saul to look at him and stop their discussion.

“Soldier?” Powers questioned.

“My next door neighbor is one of the men from Peru they can’t locate. So, turn me in, try to stop me, I don’t give a shit.” He grabbed the phone. “I’m calling my wife.”

CHAPTER NINE

Fayetteville, NC

Everything she needed was packed in a duffle bag, her revolver loaded perched on top of the bag waiting to go with Lil. She had a note, all ready. One that she would leave for Jack on the door. He didn’t need one, but she’d leave it anyhow. Though she wanted to hear from Jack, Lil grew uneasy. Small news tidbits of random violence, sick people, the events in Germany, along with the buzz on the conspiracy sites she frequented, aided in her decision that it was time to go.

She didn’t want to. The last thing she packed was a backpack with pictures and memorabilia of her and Jack’s life. Things that couldn’t be replaced.

Once it was over and done with she could return to her home, but just in case there was no home to return to, Lil was taking the items.

She was just getting ready to leave, backpack over her shoulder, purse as well, duffle in the entrance hall. Preparing to grab the duffle, she heard a slight bit of commotion outside. She didn’t think much of it, why would she.

She would have investigated had her phone not rung the second she picked up her things.

It was a number she didn’t recognize, but she answered it anyway.

“Lil,” it was Jack.

“Jack,” she gasped out. She hadn’t talked to him at all since his text. “I was so worried about you . . .”

“Lil, have you gotten in contact with Garrick yet.”

“Yes, yes, I have. Jack, where are you calling from?”

“Atlanta. I came back because of an injury.”

Lil breathed heavily.

“I’m fine, Lil. I’m absolutely fine. But I need you to go. OK? Just for a while. Go to Garrick’s.”

“Jack, what’s going on?” Lil asked.

“The bug broke perimeters. In fact, we inadvertently sent men back home not knowing if they were carriers. They’re turning Lil, if you know what I mean.”

“I do.”

“Some of those men went to Fort Bragg. One is missing, Morgan.”

Lil paused. “Morgan, our neighbor?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, Jack, I . . .” Lil’s eyes shifted. “Jack?” She said with simple question. “Hon, no need to worry about Morgan. He’s fine. He’s out front.”

“Lil.”

“In fact, he’s on the porch.” Lil walked to the door. “I’ll tell him you guys are looking for him.”

“Lil, don’t . . .”

Lil opened the door. Morgan stood with his back facing her. “Hey, Morgan, Jack’s on the phone, he . . .”

Morgan spun around. His arms flailing lifelessly as he did. His graying eyes caught hers, his face was one of death, and he opened his mouth, lunging with a growl. Lil shrieked and slammed the door, locking it as she did.

“Jack. Jack. Morgan’s . . .”

There were two long, thin panes of glass on each side of the door, Morgan’s fist sailed through the glass shattering it and causing Lil to scream again.

“Get out of the house!” Jack shouted.

Lil heard that, wanted to responded but didn’t. Although the door windows were only about seven inches wide, Morgan was trying his best to squeeze through, chards of glass searing into him.

Muttering out, ‘how stupid could I be?’ Lil tossed her phone in her purse, swept her keys from the table, reached down, grabbed her revolver and fired at Morgan.

She didn’t aim well. The bullet hit into his throat and he stumbled back. Still clutching her gun, she grabbed the duffle and raced to the back of the house to use the kitchen door.

Wanting to play it smart, Lil cautiously peeked out. No one was in the yard. But there was a problem. Her car was out front and she had to get around the house. It sounded quiet and Morgan was her only obstacle. Quietly she stepped out, back against the house, gun ready, and she inched her way to the edge of the house and peeked.

Clear.

Making a run for it, she spotted her vehicle, no one was around it. In the distance she heard screeching tires, people yelling. The commotion grew louder.

Her first thought was that someone heard her fire the gun and the Military Police were coming.

She as she emerged from the back of the house, she was greeted with the barrel of an M-4. The soldier who was aiming it lowered it some and stepped back. “ma’am.”

Lil breathed heavier, lowering her own gun,

“Ma’am, we are securing the area. You have to get back in the house,” he ordered.

Was he nuts? Did he see the front of her house?

“I want to get to my car,” she said.

“Ma’am, I need you to get back ...”

A blood curdling growl rang out, almost a split second before Morgan plowed into the solider, taking him by surprise and knocking him to the ground. Immediately, Morgan dug ferociously into the soldier’s stomach, ripping flesh and innards from him.

The soldier screamed. Lil fired.

This time she hit Morgan directly in the head, he flew back and dropped.

Body convulsing in pain, the soldier’s voice cracked as he called out and reached for Lil. “Help me.”

Lil Froze. As she was about to crouch to him, she spotted two more, like Morgan, heading her way. “I’m ...I’m sorry,” she said to the soldier. “I’m so sorry.” With that, and arms boggled with belongings, Lil flew to her car.

The two things neared her and she tossed her items inside, still clutching her gun and purse over her shoulder.

It was dumb, she knew it, she should have dropped everything, but she didn’t.

Hands slammed to her car window the moment she shut the door.

Grateful she was holding her keys, without fumbling, Lil started the car and sped out, she released a sigh when she heard the auto locks shift into to place with the shift of the gear.

There wasn’t as much activity the further down the road she drove. A military jeep tried to flag her down, but she raced around them and kept going.

She made it out of the housing plan and onto the main road. Another mile and a half she’d be off of base. Driving faster than she should have, Lil didn’t care. She just wanted to get out.

The moment she did. The moment she drove through those gates, things seemed normal. Traffic moved normally, almost as if no one had a clue.

She switched on the radio and was greeted with music.

No special alerts. No news.

That was a good sign. But Lil knew that would change. Her heart raced, her breathing was heavy, and she had to calm down.

The normalcy outside of the base made her feel as if everything that occurred at her house was surreal, a bad dream. She knew she had to get in touch with Jack.

Slipping her purse from her shoulder, she tossed it on the passenger’s seat and reached in blindly for her phone. She found it, lifted it and dialed Jack. It went immediately to voice mail.

After a quick disconnect, Lil, went to the last call she received. The unrecognized number. She called that number.

‘You have reached the Centers for Disease Control Atlanta, Please listen closely for our menu has changed. Press . . .’
Lil hung up and placed down the phone.

“Centers for Disease control?” she spoke aloud.

It made sense. And as the exit for the highways neared, Lil made a fast change of plans. She veered for the exit. Although she was supposed to be going to Garrick’s, until Lil heard from Jack, she decided to go south and find him.

CHAPTER TEN

Atlanta, GA

Twice Lil’s phone went directly to voicemail. Jack rationalized that she was trying to make calls and would give it another minute.

Saul stood by. Concern played over his face for Jack. “Keep trying. She’s fine.”

“I know. I feel it.” Jack lifted the phone again. He had gotten five numbers into dialing when a panicked Powers raced in.

“We have a problem.” He breathed heavily. “Secretary on the second floor is hiding in an office. Said people are going nuts trying to get her. It has to be our virus.”

Saul’s head lowered. “Dear God.

Jack brushed by. “Security room. Saul, come with me. Powers, find me Captain Long,” he yelled as he raced down the long hall.

It was a special room with eight security monitors showing the floors above. Jack was the first one there. A security guard was monitoring the activity.

“Second floor?” Jack asked. “Supposed to be activity up there.”

A few clicks of his finger and the security guard brought up a monitor. “There.” He pointed. “That has to be it.”

Ten, maybe fifteen people pounded relentlessly at one office.

Saul arrived out of breath. “Did you locate her? What’s going on?”

Jack motioned his head to the screen. “It’s them.” He checked his pistol for ammo. “I wish. I had more.”

“What are you doing?” Saul asked.

“I’m going up there to get that secretary.”

“Against that?” Saul asked. “With just a pistol?”

The security guard handed Jack his revolver. “Two.”

“Thanks,” Jack said, checking the clip on that as well. He then lifted a brad power gun. “And this, I should be good. I gotta go.” He turned again to the security guard. “Lock it all behind me. If you see anyone but me get on that elevator, power it down.”

“Will do.”

Jack grabbed a radio. “I’ll be in touch.” He turned quickly, and headed to the door. Just then Powers arrived. “Where’s Long?” Jack asked.

“Gone.” Powers replied. “And so is the boy.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Interstate 85,

33 Miles South of Columbia South Carolina

Just to remain inconspicuous, Steve pulled off a lesser taken exit onto a secondary road, finding a gas station a mile down the road. The less people the better. After all, it was easy to see that something wasn’t right with Juan.

He knew with every bit of his heart that taking Juan wasn’t the right thing to do, but he had to. Things were exploding all around and quickly, too. He didn’t fear repercussion from superiors as much as he feared repercussions from God for abandoning a child, who, Steve swore, still had remnants of a soul.

With a clear conscious, Steve couldn’t end the child’s Life. He just could not do that. Knowing eventually the child would die, Steve wanted to take him far away, to the woods, and let him relinquish his life there.

Juan was a bright boy, and probably super special at one time. Steve could see it. He imagined the boy having quite the creative side, losing time and thought in playing with this cars and soldiers. A typical boy who loved the sun, playing running, and most of all loved his father.

But there was a bit more than just a twisted desire to not finish off the child. It had a lot to do with Steve’s own little brother. When Steve was thirteen and his younger brother Jimmy was six, just like Juan, Jimmy was hit by a car. For weeks, he lay in a coma. For weeks his parents agonized. Finally, they stopped life support. Steve didn’t understand it, he really didn’t. He swore up and down that Jimmy was still in there, that he wasn’t a vegetable, that he had life. His arguments to his parents were futile and they sided with the doctors. A second before Jimmy’s heart monitor went flat, the boy squeezed his mother’s hand and a single tear rolled down his face.

Jimmy was in there. He was screaming ‘no’, but it was too late.

It was a guilt Steve’s mother carried with her for a long time. A guilt he swore killed her.

Perhaps Juan was a second chance with Jimmy. Steve didn’t know, but he did know he couldn’t just put a two inch brad into the boy’s skull and not think twice about it.

He told Juan to ‘stay put and down’. No one else was using the small station. The owner was inside playing with his phone and a golden retriever was chained next to the garage. ‘Stay put, stay down’, there was no reason for Juan not to listen. After all, he didn’t display any signs of trying to escape at the CDC, nor did he even attempt to leave the room. Steve left him in the back of the car. After swiping his credit car, locking the gas pump, Steve waved to the owner, a big thick man, and darted to the side rest room for a quick leak.

When he returned all was quiet, and the gas pump was still going. Safe.

No worries.

Until he heard the cry of the owner. “Oh, God, what happened to my dog?”

Hand removing the nozzle, Steve jolted. The dog, still on the chain convulsed in a pool of blood. Juan covered in blood and fur, looking like a demented pet himself, stood a few feet from the car. The owner was so engrossed in his dog’s demise, that he didn’t see Juan.

He cried out, unchaining the dog.

With wide eyes, Steve flew to Juan, grabbed the boy, swept him up and raced to the car, tossing him inside.

Ignoring the shouts from the owner, Steve started the car. “No,” he scolded Juan. “We don’t eat people’s pets.” With that parental warning, and just wanting to get out of there, Steve sped away.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Atlanta, GA

Sara Klein was a young mother. She had little Jerry when she was merely twenty years old. Jerry’s father was in the Marines and stationed in the Middle East. Both Sara and her husband were so young, that was one of the excuses Irma used for being over protective of little Jerry. But truth be known, Irma adored that little boy and her ho hum life lit up with meaning the day he was born.

The longest she went without seeing Jerry was two days, never longer.

There were no arguments from Sara when her mother showed up to get her and the baby. Irma rarely over reacted to news, and when Sara was told that her father said to leave and go north, there was no hesitation.

That’s why she didn’t understand why her mother was driving the opposite direction.

“I need to see your father. I just need to see him, just in case this thing gets out of control,” Irma told her. “We’ll only stay a moment.”

Thinking about it, Sara could only agree. If her father, the head of the CDC, was warning them, then it was big. Sara, like her mother needed to see her father.

It would only take a few moments. What would it hurt?

<><><><>

“Aim for the head. Save bullets,” Saul instructed over the radio.

Jack knew this from Peru.

He also knew he didn’t have enough ammo for what he had to face. Not that there were hundreds, but the virus certainly took hold of dozens. All of which were on the second floor, surrounding and blocking the door to the office, as if the petite, older secretary were a free buffet.

The adrenaline tremors he felt rush through his body were similar to those he felt while serving in the war.

And Jack took that same mindset.

It was war. But instead of a battlefield in the Middle East, he was in an office building.

Getting off the elevator on the second floor was not an option. Jack didn’t know for sure whether the undead heard, saw, smelled . . . he just knew he couldn’t take a chance.

Knowing the first floor was clear, Jack stepped off of the elevator there and sneakily made his way up the stairs.

Just before entering the floor, he grabbed the fire ax that hung on the wall just inside the stairwell. It was in the more-than-likely event he ran out of ammunition.

A revolver and brad power gun tucked in the waistband of his pants, a gun in his hand, ax behind his back, Jack radioed. “Heading onto the floor. How’s it looking? Over.”

“Good. They’re all still gathered at the records’ office.”

Jack opened the door just an inch and peeked out. He could see them about fifty feet away, down the hall. Focused. Relentless.

Foot holding open the door, Jack braced his revolver. With a purchased stance in that doorframe, precision aim, he fired. A simple crack and one went down.

The others didn’t seem to notice.

Jack was an expert shot. A marksman and picking them off, one by one wasn’t even a challenge.

As they dropped unaware of what was happening around them, Jack wondered how it even got to that point. How did it slightly get out of control at Fort Bragg? There was no way. Not when Jack, by himself, was taking out two dozen.

He kept telling himself, one person could bite ten people before they were stopped. If any of those in the CDC building escaped, how many did they bite? Jack had them contained. Like mice in a maze. The cheese was behind that records’ office door.

With only four remaining, Jack ran out of ammunition in both clips. He secured his weapons in his belt, took a deep breath and charged forward.

He was within a few feet when one of them finally saw him. Wielding the ax, Jack hit the first one. It didn’t cut through, it jammed in the head and the zombie went down. Through his peripheral vision he caught another one coming. Fast, he grabbed the brad gun with his left hand, extended it out, popped a brad, and it sailed directly into the temple of the undead.

She, too, dropped to the floor.

Not letting go of the ax, Jack’s arm followed the weight of the zombie to the floor. Using his foot, he braced the zombie, lifted the ax from the skull, and tossed it hard. It sailed handle over blade, hitting the face of a charging undead, sinking straight through the flesh and bone.

One more came at him, and with ease, using the power tool, Jack dropped him.

Situation was secure. Bodies of the undead sprawled about the hallway, overlapping.

The one with the facial ax still twitched. Jack removed the ax, put the brad gun flush against the flesh of the temple, and pulled the trigger.

That did the trick.

Jack grabbed the radio. “All clear, I’m going in. Watch the elevator for me and keep me posted of anything else. Over.”

Saul released a brief sigh of relief when he saw Jack, via the security monitors; emerge from the office with the secretary. He nodded in gratefulness. Preparing to tell Jack that the elevator was clear, Saul felt his world sink as he watched monitor two. He had to tell Jack something else. The elevator was indeed clear, but he had to get to the lobby. Saul’s family was walking in the door.

After radioing Jack, there wasn’t any hesitation in Saul. He grabbed one of the power tools and headed toward the security office door.

“Where are you going?” Powers asked.

“Up there.”

“But Sgt. Edwards is there.”

“Yes, well, as much as I trust him. My family’s fate has to be in my hands as well. I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

Knowing he didn’t have much time, and even though things looked free and clear of the undead, Saul couldn’t take that chance. He rushed from the security of the basement.

“Mom?” Sara whispered with question, holding Jerry on her hip as they entered the silent CDC building.

“I know.”

“Something is not right.”

“I know.” Irma repeated, leading them to the security desk.” Where’s the guard?”

The desk was tall, mid chest, and as Irma reached for the phone that sat on top, she saw the security guard, head down on the desk, surrounded by a pool of blood. “Oh, dear God.”

Sara shrieked, just slightly, shielding the baby from the vision. “Mom? You think Dad is. ..”

“Daddy’s fine, I feel it.” Irma again reached to lift the reviewer, doing so, over Sara’s should, she spotted her. “Oh, there’s Ashley. We’ll ask her if . . .” Irma noticed. Something was wrong.

Barely did Sara have time to make a quizzical face at the lack of Irma’s finished question, that Ashley bolted over pummeling into Sara’s back and sinking her teeth into her shoulder.

Had she not jolted Sara, Ashley would have gotten two for one and bitten Jerry as well. But the toddler toppled from Sara’s grip.

It seemed in slow motion to Irma, she screamed out, hands extended, catching Jerry before he hit the ground. Fumbling with the toddler who began to scream in fear as well, Irma cried out.

She didn’t know what to do.

Sara calling, ‘Mom! Help me!’, the baby in her arms. Ashley attacking her own flesh and blood. Quickly, she darted around to the back of Sara, trying to block out the agonizing cries. Clutching Jerry, Irma reached with her other hand and pulled Ashley’s hair.

Ashley wouldn’t budge.

Irma tried as hard as she could, pulling and pulling, then through the corner of her eye, she caught Jack racing her way.

“Step back!” he yelled.

Irma did.

He was there in three steps, power tool extended and when close enough for a safe shot, he plunged a brad into Ashley’s skull.

Ashley fell and Sara’s leg’s buckled.

Jack caught her before she hit the ground.

“Oh my God, Oh my God, my baby. My baby,” Irma cried out, backing up. “Help her.”

“I got her, I got her.” Jack said, holding his hand against the gash. “See if there’s anything on the desk for the bleeding.”

Irma turned. When she did, up from behind the desk stood the guard. With a growl he reached out, grabbing for Jerry.

With a gut wrenching scream, Irma pulled back, reached for the phone on the desk and, holding it tight, hit the guard. “Get . . . off!” She hit again. “My bubby!” on her final, emotional filled hit, she slammed the phone into his head and down he went.

“Irma!” Saul cried out, running to her.

“Saul. Saul.” Irma shook, her heart raced. “What’s happening? What’s going on?” Her words were tear-filled, frightened. She held on to Jerry for dear life.

Saul laid his hand on her face. “I can’t explain it all.” His eyes shifted to Sara. "Jack?”

Jack looked up. “She needs help.”

“Saul, we have to get her to a hospital.” Irma cried.

“Listen to me.” Saul said. “Are you hurt? Bit?”

Irma shook her head.

“Jerry? Is he bit or scratched?”

“No, we’re fine, but Sara . . .”

“I’ll take care of Sara. Take the baby and go. Jack.” He shot a look to Jack. “I’ll get my daughter. Take my wife and grandson to the car. Get them out of here. Please.”

Jack nodded, as he stood, he lifted Sara into his arms and carried her to Saul.

Sara’s eyes fluttered. “Daddy?”

“I got you, baby.” Saul slipped his arms under Sara and took her from Jack. Sara’s head fell into his chest. “I got you.”

“Saul.” Irma whimpered out, stepping to him.

“Irma go. Go now. Just get as far north as you can. Got it. Please. I’ll call.”

Sniffing, Irma nodded fast and leaned into Sarah. She kissed her daughter, running her hand over her face. “I love you.”

“ I love you, mommy. Protect my baby.”

“With my life.” Irma kissed her again, and with Jack’s strong hand pulling backed up.

Sara tried to reach, but her arm weakly fell.

Irma stooped just before walking out the door; she glanced back watching Saul carry Sara to the back.

“He’ll help her," Jack said assuredly. “But you need to go.”

He led her to the van which sat out front and he opened the door.

“What’s happening?” Irma asked. “Why did they attack?”

“It’s the virus,” Jack answered. “It’s bad. It’s already out of control at the hospital and soon it will spread. You need to go. Don’t stop unless you have to for gas, but go. Ok?”

Irma nodded and opened the driver’s door.

Jack reached for the baby. “I’ll put him in the seat.”

“No!” Irma shook her head. “Law or no law. He will not be out of my reach. Ever again.”

With a look and a nod that said he understood, Jack fastened them both in. “Be careful. Good luck.”

“Get him out of there as soon as you can, please.”

“I will… I promise, Ma’am.” Jack shut the van door.

Irma looked at him once more, then she started the van. Jerry’s chest was to her chest, his legs to her sides as he grabbed on to her and cried. As best as she could and safely as she could, Irma drive off.

Because Jack knew if it were him, he’d want to know, he stood there watching as Irma drove from his sight. Hopefully not much longer she’d be on the highway.

Going back inside, he saw the blood slicked floor. Hating to admit it, even to himself, Jack was scared. Not so much for his own safety but the helpless, like that baby and, even though she wasn’t all that helpless. Jack was scared for Lil.

As soon as he checked on Saul and his daughter, Jack was going to try again, to get in touch with Lil.

Saul placed the last bit of adhesive on the bandage, and then checked the intravenous flowing into Sara. He had sutured her as best as he could and was pumping her with high doses of antibiotics. But he knew, even without a blood test, it was futile. Her fever was already raging and she groaned even through her sedation.

He kept the phone gripped in his hand, he had just given a progress call to Irma, but he was worried. She said the temperature gauge was reading above normal. The van always ran hot, and usually Saul didn’t think twice about it. But this time, he did. He told Irma since she was already out of the state, to put some more coolant in when she stopped for gas.

It was just a matter of waiting to hear back.

He took a deep breath and lifted his eyes to the sound of the door opening.

It was Jack.

“Sergeant, thank you so much for sticking around. Especially when everyone else booked.”

“It’s no problem. Building is secure, and I um, promised your wife I’d get you out of here.”

“I can’t go yet. You know that.”

“I do.” Jack nodded.

“You can leave, I’d understand.”

“No, I’ll stay. Plus, like I said, I promised your wife I’d get you out of here safe.”

“Where is safe?”

“I know of a place. Maybe we can get your wife there.”

Saul gripped his daughters hand and rubbed his eyes. “Speaking of which. Have you called yours?”

“Gonna try again. It rings once and goes to voice mail.” Jack pulled out the phone and dialed. “Here goes nothing.” After a second his eyes widened. “Lil?”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

South Carolina

Lil wanted to scream. Her hand trembled and the phone nearly toppled. In fact, she swerved so as not to lose the phone and the call. “Jack. Oh God, you’re Ok.”

“I’m fine, Lil. Are you ok?”

“Yes. It was so horrible at Bragg, Jack. It’s out of control there.”

“And a lot of places.”

“I thought, you know, the worst, when I didn’t hear from you for hours.”

“Me, too, sweetheart,” Jack said. “Me, too. I have to stay here for a little bit then I’ll find you, ok?”

“Jack . . .”

“Lil, just tell me you’re safe and with Garrick.”

Lil bit her lip.

“Lil?”

“I’m safe, Jack. But I’m not with Garrick.”

“Where are you?”

“I’m about three hours from you.”

Lil could envision his face, she heard his growl.

“Jack, please. I needed to be with you. Find you.”

“Listen to me now. Stop the car. Turn around. Atlanta is not safe. Ok.”

“But that’s where you are.

“I don’t care; I won’t be here for long. Promise me Lil you’ll turn around. Promise me.”

“I promise. I’ll turn around and go to Garrick’s.”

“Thank you.”

“Jack,” Lil spoke softly. “Promise me you’ll get there.”

“I will. Call when you’re at Garrick’s. And Lil . . . . I do love you.”

Lil’s lips puckered and she fought to control her emotions. After conveying her love in return, Lil pulled over the first exit, would gas up and turn around.

Irma didn’t know if it were a bad thing or a good thing that the car blasted white smoke from the hood a half of mile from a service station. She prayed with every inch the car would make it in there.

It was a quiet road, far from Atlanta, out of Georgia completely. A part of her felt safe. Maybe even safe enough to put little Jerry in a car seat. But with moving her car seat up front.

She spotted a lot of cars on the highway, a lot of traffic leaving the city. She could only imagine what people thought about this older woman driving with a baby on her lap. Then again, if they were leaving for the same reasons she was, they probably thought she was smart.

Two state cops passed her, looked and kept driving.

Not once was she pulled over for driving with the baby on her lap.

Truth be known, Irma was an emotional mess. She worried for her daughter and her husband, but she had to stay strong and focused for Jerry.

There was one car at the pump as she sputtered her way to a stop at the gas pump.

She didn’t see the driver of the car, but did see a woman and man on the side of the building.

Jerry still in her arms, she found her credit card, turned off the ignition and left the van.

The garage door was open and she wondered if the service man would be able to help her. She spotted him moving about the garage.

She would ask after she filled her tank.

Opening the side door of the van, Irma set the baby in the seat while she pumped gas. Give her arms a rest, she thought;

After swiping her card, she grabbed the gas hose, eyes always on Jerry and opened the gas cap.

No sooner did she put the nozzle in the car, the dog barking caught her attention.

It wasn’t normal.

The dog sounded mad.

“Bad doggy, Yaya?” Jerry pointed.

Slowly, Irma turned her head.

The sound of the dog was frightening enough, but not nearly as the sight of his half missing body.

The nozzle fumbled from her hand and dropped to the ground.

The dog charged for her.

Into the side door, Irma dove, slamming it shut and locking it.

Her keys were still in her hand and she squeezed to the front. Quickly she locked all doors; put the key in the ignition . . . nothing.

“Come on.” She tried again.

Still nothing.

A hard ‘slam’ against the side door, made her jolt and Jerry screamed.

The gas service man hit his bloodied hand against the wide window trying to get at Jerry.

He held the same ‘death’ look as Ashley and the security guard.

Lifting from the driver’s seat, Irma squeezed to the back. She heard more slams against the van. A man and woman hit and hit against the van.

Stay calm, stay calm, she told herself, and think.

Hands lifting Jerry, the first of the windows broke; it was the driver’s window. Arms reached in.

A big woman, Irma knew it was hard to maneuver. But she squeezed to the back of the minivan, tucked Jerry tight to her chest, lay on the floor, and pulled all the luggage over her and the baby.

There, trying not to cry, holding the baby tight, she prayed. She prayed harder than she ever had in her life.

She promised God that He saw fit to get them through this, that she would be the strong woman He intended her to be, and no longer weak.

Another window broke.

Then another.

It was a matter of time.

At least the last moments of her life would be spent with someone she loved more than life itself. She worried about Jerry. She feared for him, and begged God that should something happen, let him not feel a thing.

Then she saw it.

Her revolver.

The case protruded from the bag.

Hand extending, she reached for it. Barely did she touch it when she heard the sound of a gunshot. Then another. There were three more, and finally silence.

No banging against the van No glass breaking. No moans.

Silence.

Irma didn’t know what to do. Stay down, stay put? Or lift her head.

Jerry cried.

“I hear the baby,” the female voice called out. “Is anyone else in there?”

Irma closed her eyes, she wanted to answer, but a sob was all that came from her.

“It’s safe. I’m not gonna hurt you,” she called.

Irma wiped her eyes and took a breath. She moved, but not much. “We’re fine. But I’m wedged back here.”

A few seconds later the side door opened.

“Hold on, I’ll get you. You got stuff on top of you,” she said.

Irma began to feel the weight lift and she was able to shift her body. “I’m a big woman; don’t ask me how I managed to get back here.”

“Grace of God, perhaps?” she said.

“Yes, grace of God.” Irma lifted up, holding Jerry. The moment she saw the petite woman shouldering an M-4, her head dropped and she started to sob again.

“Hey, no.” she reached inside extended her hand. “It’ll be alright. Let me have the baby while you get out.”

Moving toward the door on her bottom, Irma handed over Jerry. “Thank you.” She scooted out. “Thank you.” When her feet touched the ground, and she saw the bodies, Irma just collapsed on the floor of the van and cried.

An arm embraced and comforted Irma. “Let’s get your stuff and get you out. Before anything else happens, ok?”

Irma nodded.

“Come on.”

Irma stood, “Thank you again.”

“You’re very welcome. My name’s Lil.”

“Thank you Lil.” Irma sniffed and regained her composure. “We won’t forget this.”

Lil gave Irma a gentle, reassuring smile. And Irma knew, at least for that moment, things were fine.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Washington, DC

The Oval Office was the last stop for Colonel Manning in every sense of the word. He had been sick for hours. A strong man, he held on as long as possible, vomiting what he truly believed were every ounce of his insides. He also was a smart man and knew it wasn’t air sickness or food poisoning.

Despite the fact that he was sick, he continued with the briefing. Many occurrences happened while with the president, the reality of Berlin and the chaos around the country. It was moving toward a Marshall Law situation.

He just wanted to finish the briefing, excuse himself and go. Manning had every intention, knowing full well he was infected, to take a revolver and put a bullet through his own brain. He didn’t want to come back as one of them.

What Manning didn’t count on was dying in the Oval Office. Keeling over the second he stood up.

Dead.

Not for long.

The president was the first to rush to his side and call for help. Feeling for a pulse, and staying by Manning’s side, the president should have known better. Against what Manning wanted, he did become one of them. And in doing so, took his first victim in the rising.

The President of the United States.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Atlanta, GA

For as much as Jack wanted to give Saul privacy and alone time with his daughter in those final moments, he couldn’t take a chance that Saul would lose sight of what needed to be done. It was conceivable, in his grief, he’d only see his daughter and not the ‘thing’ she would become.

So Jack stayed on hand . . . just in case.

He stood in the corner of the room, Weapon in his hand, staying close, yet far enough away from Saul as he stared at his daughter and held her hand.

Saul made a phone call.

Jack really didn’t listen. It wasn’t the time or place to eavesdrop. He knew Saul called his wife to let her know the painful truth about Sara.

Saul was keeping it together as best as he could.

But as a father it had to be the hardest thing, Jack couldn’t even conceive the pain Saul was facing, watching his child die.

Saul placed the phone on the bed next to Sara’s leg. “You, uh, aren’t gonna believe this Sergeant.”

Jack cleared his throat. It had been so long since he had spoken, he felt the phlegm in his throat. “What’s that?”

“My wife broke down as she pulled into a gas station. There were three of those. .. things there. They attacked the van. It wouldn’t start. She uh, couldn’t get away.”

Jack closed his eyes. He really didn’t want to hear anymore. He didn’t want to hear about something happening to the baby.

Saul continued. “Someone came to the rescue. Shot them, saved my wife, my grandson.”

“That’s good. Where are they now? With this man?”

“Man. No, woman. Ironically, her name is Lil Edwards.”

Jack’s heart skipped a beat.

“Would that be the same Lil Edwards as your wife?”

“I would assume so. I hope so.”

“Do you know where she’s taking them?” Saul asked.

“I do.”

“Will you take me there?”

“I will.”

Saul nodded, with sadness. “Thank you.”

Silence engulfed the room again, and the Sara gasped. Saul could feel it physically in his body. The pain of watching his daughter lying there, helpless, and there was nothing Saul could do.

Sara’s eyes opened and she whimpered. “Daddy.”

“I’m here, baby, I’m here.”

“Daddy, I’m scared.”

Saul clutched her hand tighter. “I’m right here. I am right here.”

Sara blinked once, gasped again and her eyes stared out.

Saul’s head lowered some, his shoulders bounced with emotion. He raised his eyes to his daughter and ran his hand over her head. It was pain he never in his life thought he’d face. It crushed him. Literally crushed him.

But he watched her.

It seemed like seconds, when in actuality it was closer to eight minutes. Still clutching her hand, Sara widened her eyes and opened her mouth with a snarling gasp.

Barely did Jack whisper out a warning, ‘Saul’, Saul lifted the nailer, placed it to her temple, and pulled the trigger.

Sara’s head fell to the side, and Saul crumbled. The gun toppled from his hand, his head dropped to her arm,  his body racked with deep sobs.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

North Carolina

How did it happen? Again, Lil called it the Grace of God. Still angry that Jack told her to turn around, she veered off the exit with all intentions of turning around and getting back on, but then she spotted it in the distance.

The gas station.

It wasn’t so much the gas station, but the people surrounding the van. She drove closer and saw they weren’t people and they seemed to be attacking the van.

Obviously, there was someone in that van they wanted and Lil floored it, screeching the her vehicle to a stop, grabbing her weapon from the passenger’s seat and firing it the second she stepped out.

Lil honestly didn’t think twice about what she did. When she saw the baby, she was glad she took that chance.

Irma still clutched the baby on her lab. Jerry had fallen asleep hours before hand, and Lil knew it would be a long time before Irma set down that child.

Irma wasn’t sleeping. She stared out. Her face drawn with sadness.

“I’m so sorry about your daughter,” Lil said. “I am”

“Thank you.”

“Where were you headed?”

“North. Saul said to stick with you. Said you had somewhere to go.”

Lil nodded.

“Where?” Irma asked.

“North. But somewhere safe.”

Irma looked at her. “Safe? Is there such a thing?”

“If anywhere is safe, this place is,” Lil said assuredly.

Irma sat back. “What is happening?”

“I don’t know. All I do know is we just have to go forward, keep fighting. Survive.”

“Can we? Can we survive this thing?”

“I believe so. I really do.” Lil reached over and placed her hand on Irma’s. Upon touch, their hands instantly gripped to each other.

In silence, sadness and fear, they held hands and continued on to the next phase of their journey that seemed nothing less than a nightmare without an end.

Part Three

INVASION

CHAPTER ONE

May 9th

Five miles North of Huntersville, North Carolina

“It’s okay, baby, hold on, almost there.” Rene Lincoln conveyed those words via the rearview mirror to her six year old daughter Kayla. She didn’t put her in the booster seat; in fact, Rene would have preferred to have the child up front with her. But since she was uncertain of her driving, she didn’t want to chance Kayla suffering another injury. And Kayla was injured. Normally Rene was a cautious driver. In fact, her driving record was impeccable. But as she drove from her home to seek medical attention in Charlotte, Rene’s entire body shook. Her concentration teetered between the road and her daughter in the backseat.

Kayla was bleeding; she whimpered and moaned while growing increasingly pale.

What had happened?

Rene’s husband Brad, an Army Reservist, returned from a very short and secretive mission in Peru. He told Rene that on his drive home from the airport he started feeling sick. By the time he reached home he could barely make it up the stairs.

He claimed it was airsickness or something he ate on the plane and went right to bed.

Rene didn’t think twice about it. In fact when his Commanding Officer called to see if she had heard or seen him, Rene lied. She knew her husband and if duty called, he answered. So she told his commanding officer she hadn’t heard from him at all.

It was when she and Kayla went to check on Brad that she discovered everything was wrong. Terribly wrong. Brad had changed dramatically and the low-grade fever had compromised his senses. He was out of control.

He lunged for Rene and Kayla. Despite the fact that Rene tried to fend him off, to reason with him, he kept coming. That was when Kayla was injured. Fearful, Rene grabbed the child and fled from the house. She placed Kayla in the car and took off. She left her purse, her phone, and everything else in the house.

Kayla didn’t seem that bad, more hysterical and scared than anything else. A trip to the Emergency Room in Charlotte wouldn’t take that long, twenty minutes, depending on traffic.

How bad would Kayla get?

Within minutes, Kayla grew worse.

Another worried glance to the back seat and Rene saw even more blood. Kayla’s moans grew faint.

“It’s okay, baby,” Rene reached her arm back, one hand on the wheel, the other for her daughter. “Daddy didn’t mean to bite you. He didn’t mean it.”

And Daddy did bite her.

On the nape of the neck, just by the shoulder. At first Rene swore Brad took a chunk out of Kayla, but it had to be an optical illusion, there was no way he could have done that.

Now as she drove, Kayla’s shirt now saturated with blood, Rene began to rethink that reasoning.

“We’re on the highway now, sweetie. There aren’t any cars and we’ll be there real fast,” Rene said.

But Kayla was quiet. No moans. No cries. No sounds.

Rene’s heart thumped with fear. She glanced to the rearview mirror and Kayla was slumped over. “Kayla!” Trying to keep the car steady, Rene reached back again for her daughter. She felt her leg. Her skin was cool. Panicking, wanting to scream, Rene looked again in the mirror.

Kayla’s eyes opened.

“Oh, thank God. Thank God.” Rene gasped. “Thank …” No sooner did her fingers grip her daughter’s leg in relief, Kayla growled deep and demonic, and with a near scream planted her teeth deeply into Rene’s hand.

Screaming and terrified, Rene ripped her arm from Kayak’s grip. But the once weakened child had gained strength and Kayla leapt into the front seats and lunged at Rene.

Perched on her mother’s chest, Kayla savagely grabbed Rene’s cheek, widened her mouth and like a famished demon, took a huge bite out of Rene’s face. Her eyes covered by blood and astonished by Kayla’s attack, Rene couldn’t see, she couldn’t drive, she couldn’t even scream in pain.

The car swerved first left, then right until finally, at full speed, it smashed through the guardrail and rolled over the hill.

CHAPTER TWO

Washington, D.C.

At one time, perhaps when he was a teenager, General Greg Lance had ambitions of being President of the United States. But he served his country in another way, and one he loved. He became a dedicated Marine and worked his way up to serving in the Pentagon.

When he was appointed Secretary of Defense, he knew he had reached his ultimate goal.

Retirement wasn’t that far off. He took pride in his position of authority.

Lance was well aware of the meteor that landed in Peru and the infectious disease it carried. He signed the order for the men to go down there, even assigning Colonel Manning personally. Manning was the best, he and Captain Steven Long.

When it was discovered that the disease was highly contagious and caused violent dementia, it was Lance himself that recommend using a thermobaric bomb to turn the area into a ‘fire hole’ in order to burn out the infection and halt the spread.

He then immediately brought this men home.

He saw no need to be rushed from the pentagon to the Whitehouse to be present at Manning’s briefing with the president. The menial aspect of things were not his forte. That was Manning’s. Lance was focusing on other things. He was focused on the military aspects of the recent hostage and ‘lone wolf’ terrorist attack at Fort Bragg.

It was Saul Klein, Director for the Center for Disease Control that recommended that all personnel brought back from Peru were to be located and detained.

That warning skipped right by Lance. He was, somehow, out of the loop on this one.

Had he known of it, he would have put two and two together with the incident at Fort Bragg. As it was, he was headed to the briefing unaware.

Fixated on one disgruntled and mentally unbalanced soldier going crazy at Fort Bragg, he was blind to anything else it could be. Or rather ignorant.

Things had progressed quickly. So much so, by the time Lance arrived at the Whitehouse, he was totally out of the loop.

As he approached the oval office, he met up with Secretary of Health Donald Kraus. He greeted Kruse with a firm handshake.

“Don,” Lance said as they walked. “The Peru thing must have been worse than we thought, bringing you in here. Manning must have some good Intel.”

“Well, yes.” Don was the same age as Lance, pushing retirement. Stood about the same height as the dark skinned General. Although he looked less worn, he did appear more worried than the coarse General. “But I don’t think Manning knows about the distress signal from the CDC.”

Lance stopped walking. “The what?”

“About an hour ago. Shortly after the Mayor of Atlanta requested the National Guard. Didn’t you know?” he asked.

Lance hadn’t expected to hear any of what he was told. Briefly he felt like an idiot. “No. I was wrapped up in the Bragg thing.”

“We’re guessing it’s connected,” Don said. “That virus …. It got out of Peru.”

“Yes, we know that,” Lance stated. “That stupid CDC doctor brought it to Germany, but the Germans said they have it under control.”

Don shook his head. “No. we brought it here.”

Just as Lance’s eyes widened, an ungodly scream came from the Oval office and without hesitation, Lance flew by Don, and burst through the doors.

The scream came from the president, but that quickly ceased.

Where was he? Lance didn’t see the president.

He saw four men by the desk. They were hunched over, fighting and pulling unsuccessfully at someone or something.

“Where’s the president!” Lance cried out.

“Help us,” One of them called.

Then another of the men, an aide, screamed. He swung around, grabbing his arm. Blood poured from a deep wound.

When he did that, Lance saw the president’s leg. The president was on the ground with Manning on top of him.

He couldn’t believe his eyes. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing. A step forward confirmed it was not an hallucination. Manning was pulling out and gnawing on every organ possible from the gaping hole in the president’s torso.

“Back away!” Lance ordered, then shouted, “Manning!”

Colonel Manning cocked his head from his feast and turned with a snarl to look at Lance. Manning’s eyes had lost all color, his blood-filled mouth contrasted starkly with his deathly white skin.

Lance paid no attention to the noisy commotion in the room. He knew what he had to do.

Retrieving his revolver, Lance took aim just as Manning lowered his mouth again to the president. Lance fired a single shot. It hit Manning in the head and the colonel sailed sideways.

Still holding his weapon, Lance raced to the president and knelt on the floor.

He had never seen anything like it. The president was in a pool of blood. His stomach, large intestines and liver lay half eaten on the floor next to his body. A huge chunk of skin was missing from the president’s neck.

“Help is on its way.” Lance heard someone say.

Help? Lance thought. Are they kidding? He brought one knee up and laid his arm over it, lowering his head in complete confusion.

Thinking, ‘what the hell just happened here?’ Lance peered down to the president.

The president opened his eyes.

“What the hell?” Lance jumped up and stood.

The president sat straight up. His eyes stared without blinking, then machine like, he turned his head to Lance.

His eyes … his eyes were exactly like Manning’s. No life, no color.

Then the president extended his hands, widened his mouth and hissed.

He snapped his jaws once and it was too close for Lance’s comfort, He didn’t need to be a CDC doctor or virologist to know something was fucked up.

The president tried to stand and the rest of his organs flowed from him. Lance calmly aimed his gun and fired. One shot to the president’s forehead, and the president fell backwards.

Stepping back, Lance turned slowly. The room was full. Everyone stared at him.

“You …” Don pointed. ‘You just killed the president.”

“What are you insane?” Lance snapped. “You saw. You all saw.”

“You killed him.” Don repeated.

“I didn’t kill him, you idiot! He was already dead.” Lance said with a harsh tone, then ran his hand down his face. “Someone please tell me what the hell is going on?”

CHAPTER THREE

Center for Disease Control, Atlanta.

Everyone else had left. Sergeant Jack Edwards and Saul Klein were the only ones who remained behind at the CDC complex.

Saul was ready to leave, really ready to leave. His own daughter had passed on and revived not a few hours before hand. It broke his heart to see her die; it killed him to place the three inch nail into her skull to kill the brain.

The plan was simple; Jack’s wife Lil had picked up Saul’s wife and grandson. A freak occurrence brought the women together and they were traveling north to a secure place.

Saul and Jack were going to leave.

That was until they discovered that despite the fact the CDC building was secure, it wasn’t secure outside.

All of the land phone lines seemed to be out of order and Jack’s cell phone ceased getting a signal.

They placed a distress signal via the computer network.

Saul sat back in the communications room. Massively depressed because of his daughter was an understatement. Sipping a drink, he watched the monitors.

So many people were there trying to get in, banging on the doors and windows. The sad thing was the infected made their way there as well.

Pandemonium and death ensued, windows were broken and the first floor crawled with walking dead.

Jack and Saul were trapped without enough ammunition to get out.

Saul paused in his monitor watching to refresh his drink. He then poured some in Jack’s glass. “Anything?” he asked Jack.

“No signal. I’m thinking of going up to get one.”

Saul slowly shook his head then ran his hand through his thick, curly salt and pepper hair. “You’re nuts.”

“I’m also not resting until I know my wife and your family are safe at Garrick’s.”

“Hating to beat a dead horse,” Saul said. “You’re sure this Garrick’s is safe?’

“Sir, Garrick has been planning the apocalypse for a long time. If anyone did it right as far as a safe haven or fortress, he did.” Jack downed his drink. “Nothing from CDC Vermont or Washington?”

“Nothing.”

Jack exhaled and finally sat. “What’s the deal? I mean, could this thing have taken over this fast? I know Atlanta has to be in disarray, but the entire country?”

“Doesn’t make sense and the expert in me has to say, ‘no’, there has to be a communication breakdown,” Saul said. “Not this fast. Just this morning everything was fine. We were chasing twenty men across the country who may or may not have been infected. Even if every single one of them began a chain of events, the country for the most part would have to be up and running.”

“And we’re just out of the loop?” Jack asked.

“That’s my theory. Suffice to say, Jack, I think you and I may not quite make it to Garrick’s, because we still have a job.”

“I’d like to do that job,” Jack said. “It’s what I do best and what I can do to keep my wife safe.”

“Me as well.” Saul chuckled softly. “Not that Irma will like that much. Me working and her in session.”

“Sending our families to the hills, that was the right thing to do, right?”

Saul nodded. ‘Absolutely. I want my family …’ His head lowered. “Or what’s left of them, to be safe and secure somewhere. Because even if we beat this, who knows how long this thing will go on or spread until we do.”

“But first we need to find out what’s going on outside of Atlanta.”

“And what’s left.” Saul added.

And they were about to find out sooner than they thought. Across the room, the laptop screen blipped and a man’s voice came. “Hello.” the man called.

Jack and Saul spun to look at the laptop. On the screen a webcam chat had initiated and a thin balding man with glasses, spoke close to the camera on his end. “This is Vermont. Anyone there?”

CHAPTER FOUR

Five miles North of Huntersville, North Carolina

When Bud Stewart took the job as school bus driver twenty years earlier, he knew what that entailed. He knew he’d have to deal with screaming, fighting, loud and often time smelly kids. But he loved it and got to know those kids well.

Everyone loved Bud the bus driver.

When he heard the chaperone for the yearly field trip to the Charlotte Museum backed out, Bud volunteered.

It was a good time, up until about an hour before they were to leave. They got a call from Principal Harborrow telling them to hang tight, that Atlanta was reporting some sort of virus outbreak and ironically, some mad man was on the loose from Fayetteville.

Bug hung tight, but Ms. Lange the third grade teacher took off in a panic, claiming she had family in Atlanta. To Bud, rushing out and about made no sense, and really neither did sitting at the museum with 22 third graders.

But the principal assured Bud that many people were panicking and to stay off the roads for a spell.

Bud agreed, but around five pm, the kids were getting restless and some were even crying. The principal was getting bombarded with calls from parents, so the instruction came to bring the kids directly to the school.

Relieved, Bud packed up the kids and headed out of Charlotte.

It wasn’t a long drive and traffic was pretty thin. Like a late evening traffic flow. He knew the trip home wouldn’t take long and the further down the highway he drove, the fewer cars he saw.

He wanted to turn on the radio, but for fear of scaring the kids, he didn’t. He did manage to get one more call into the principal, who informed him that things were looking bad in Atlanta and in Fayetteville.

It was like a nightmare.

Some virus was hitting two states?

“Gosh darn it,” Bud told the principal. “What the heck is going on?”

The principal didn’t have an answer.

Bud himself, just wanted to get home and watch the news.

Just about four miles outside of Huntersville, Bud saw one car. An SUV with two women, and the one had a baby on her lap. Not in the back, not in a car seat, but on her lap. That irritated Bud and he actually wanted to report them. He would, too, so he memorized the license plate.

But first things first. Get the kids home.

Just before the exit, Bud hit the brakes gently. At first he thought his eyes were deceiving him, but then as he slowed down and got a closer look, he realized it wasn’t his eyes. It was a child. A little girl. Young too, walking the highway.

“What the heck?” Bud asked and slowed to a crawl. She was barely walking the side of the road, weaving in and out. Luckily for her there wasn’t any traffic or she would have been hit.

He pulled alongside the little girl and opened the door.

The little girl stopped walking, yet stared ahead.

“Little girl? Honey?”

“Mr. Bud?” One of the kids called. “Who’s that?”

“Don’t know.” Bud looked in the rearview mirror. “We’re gonna help her.” He called for the girl again. When she turned and looked at him, it was then Bud noticed she was covered in blood.

“Dear, God.” Bud gasped. He realized at that second, the child was hurt. He put the bus in park in case he had to get her and help her inside. “Sweetie, get on the bus.”

And she did.

But the little girl didn’t step up slowly; she charged full speed up those steps and dove on Bud, gnawing at him instantaneously before he had a moment to even comprehend what was happening.

The kids on the bus screamed.

But out on the highway, no one was around to hear them.

CHAPTER FIVE

North Carolina

The two women had met not a few hours earlier and already they had bonded. Irma Klein felt an immediate kinship to Lil Edwards. She was indebted as well, because had it not been for Lil, she and her grandson, Jerry would be dead.

At that gas station, surrounded. The van was out for the count and Irma had her barely two year old grandson, tucked between her body and the floor of the van, trying to protect him from the undead who relentlessly pursued.

The windows were breaking and they were getting closer. Irma spotted her revolver and had her fingers on the handle.

She wasn’t able to move her thicker body, it was wedged. She was stuck.

Her only option, or so she thought, was to spare her and Jerry and take their lives.

Then Lil arrived.

Lil, like Irma was on her way to find her husband Jack. Both of their husbands were together.

And Jack told Lil to turn around.

It was a good thing he did. Irma tucked her belongings in Lil’s SUV, and with Jerry on her lap, they headed to a place owned by a man named Garrick. A safe haven. A fortress Lil swore was safe.

They were a bit west of Fayetteville, Lil’s home town, and it seemed the more north they drove, the more back to normal things seemed. Irma still clutched little Jerry to her lap, she wasn’t taking any chances.

The last weird site Irma took in was that lone school bus traveling on the highway outside of Charlotte.

Just before Greensboro, the last leg of the trip, traffic increased. There were no longer one or two cars, but a steady flow. No one seemed to be rushing anywhere in particular or had an urgency to “get out of dodge.”

Lil turned on the radio and was able to pick up several stations, every single one of them talked about Atlanta being under quarantine and how the government was setting up a strict exodus of the city starting at five AM.

The incident at Fort Bragg was related to the same strain, but was contained within the perimeter of the base.

The news was an honest as could be, the newscasters relaying the information as they received it. According to the government, a group of soldiers were unknowingly infected with a biological weapon that induced rage- type seizures.

The bulk of the soldiers returned to Atlanta and Fort Bragg. A few of the soldiers were scattered about, but they were retrieved.

The virus was contained with the exception of Atlanta.

That was the report.

Lil and Irma knew otherwise.

The little gas station where they met, where Irma was attacked, was in South Carolina.

But by the looks of the outskirts of Greensboro, all was normal.

They needed fuel for the SUV and their bodies and felt safe in stopping at a interstate exit gas station and diner.

“Looks fine,” Lil said as she pulled into the station. “I don’t see any of them.”

“Were we in a nightmare?” Irma asked. “Really, these people seem clueless.”

“If things keep up the way they are, they won’t be clueless much longer.”

“Are we overreacting?” asked Irma. “Going into hiding?”

“Wouldn’t call it hiding,” Lil replied, pulling up to the pump. “More like lying low to stay safe.”

Irma sniffed. Her nose was still stuffy from crying. Tears that she was certain she would still shed were merely on pause. “I’m gonna go inside, get Jerry a hot dog from the convenience store. Maybe some other things like milk. What do you think?”

“I think it’s a good idea, but wait for me.”

“Oh, honey, absolutely.” Irma opened the passenger door and to her surprise a police officer stood there. She was startled and looked at him, really looked.

“Ma’am.” The officer nodded once. “Did you not have that child in a retraining seat?”

Irma was honest. “No, sir, I did not.”

“You realize that’s against the law.”

“Yes, I do.”

He peered in the SUV. “I don’t even see a safety seat at all.”

“And you won’t” Irma said strongly. “He won’t leave my arms. We barely made it out of Atlanta.”

He took a step back. “Atlanta? You were in Atlanta?”

“Oh, yeah, my husband is Director of the CDC. We were overrun; they tried to get the baby. I won’t let him out of my hold.”

The police officer didn’t ask any more questions, he stepped back even further. “Try to get a seat for him, please.” And he turned and went into the store.

Lil pumped the gas and Irma stood there, looking oddly confused. Why didn’t he question her? Why didn’t he ticket her? More importantly, why did he keep a distance?

Staying by Lil’s side, they finished pumping gas and headed into the gas station.

The cop was at the counter as were three other customers. The second Irma, Lil and the baby stepped inside, all chattered stopped and they stared at them.

Irma had changed her shirt and removed the bloody one, so that couldn’t be the cause. They watched them wander the store, staying quiet and not saying a word.

Irma picked up the items she needed, as did Lil. Things that Garrick probably wouldn’t have. Then again, one never knew with Garrick.

Arms full they approached the counter and the older gentleman behind there, asked, “It true you came out of Atlanta?”

“Yes.” Irma answered.

On that he tossed three bags on the counter. “Pack your things, keep them, I don’t want your money. I don’t wanna touch anything you touched.”

Lil laughed. “We’re not infected.”

“Still.” He nodded/ “You never know.”

That made Lil laugh harder. “Oh, trust me, you know the infected. But, you know, hey, we’ll take the groceries.” She began to bag them.

“Are you sure we can’t pay you?” Irma asked.

“No, just take them and go.”

Irma shrugged. “Ok, that’s very kind.”

Lil kept shaking her head until she gathered all of their things and she and Irma left the store.

“Maybe they’re confident in their safety.” Irma suggested.

“They shouldn’t be,” Lil said.

“Who knows, maybe it will stay contained and never make it here.”

Just as they got to the SUV, a car pulled up sloppily to the pump. The driver stumbled out of his car, his arm bleeding, face extremely pale.

The thought of the infection being small scale or contained went out the window, because the man was clearly infected and it wouldn’t be long before someone else in that town was as well.

CHAPTER SIX

Atlanta, GA

Jack thought of Lil.

When he took the assignment to travel to Peru he did so to avoid his wife. While he was able to forgive her infidelity of a nearly a year before, he was unable to come to terms with it or forget it enough to move their marriage beyond it.

To Jack, staying busy helped but he didn’t want to get into an assignment that would take his mind off of things.

Special Forces being sent to Peru was the jackpot.

Jack believed that time away from Lil would do one of two things. It would make him realize he was over her or make him want to make it work.

Never did he think it would become emotionally extreme, making him not only want to work it out with Lil, but realize how much in love with her he really was.

Jack loved Lil and each day that went by that he couldn’t see her gnawed at his gut.

When he got injured in Peru and sent back to the states he was grateful.

Truth be known, from what Jack experienced, he was scared. Scared that there was no turning back the ravaging virus. The last thing Jack wanted was for the world to go to hell and he not be with Lil.

He truly believed after being cleared and infection free that he’d go back to base. That didn’t happen; he was immediately put on duty at the CDC.

When things went haywire there and only he and Saul remained, Jack believed that he and Saul would eventually get out and find their wives.

A simple video call from Vermont followed by one from the Pentagon told Jack that not only were he and Saul not going to see their wives, they were going to be separated from them.

The National Guard was due to roll in and a rescue operation to free Saul and Jack from the CDC building would follow.

By nightfall the streets of Atlanta would be under strict martial Law.

Saul would be sent immediately to Vermont and Jack would hit the front lines at the check point for the exodus and placed in charge because he had more firsthand knowledge of what to look for.

The only good thing about getting out of the building was getting a signal on the cell phone.

He did ask the doctor at Vermont to try to call Lil and Irma to let them know what was happening.

The doctor said he would.

Jack hoped that was the case.

He hated the thought of once again, not seeing Lil. Not getting to her. But he knew once she was at Garrick’s she would be safe.

The best that Jack could do to protect her was do his best to stop any infected from leaving Atlanta. But they already left, Jack knew that. How much good would the exodus do?

Saul caught a nap while Jack watched the exterior monitors.

From what he could see if the streets and parking lot, the number of infected grew by the hour. The lobby of the CDC was filled.

Jack informed his superiors what the National Guard had to do to handle the situation. But no matter how much he told them, Jack knew the soldiers would be ill prepared in what they would face. Being ill prepared meant military casualties and sequentially more infected.

The mission was to roll into Atlanta, clear the streets, clear the CDC and retrieve Jack and Saul. Easy enough.

But with each passing moment, Jack doubted the ease in which the soldiers would accomplish that mission.

He hoped he was wrong.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Washington, DC

The President of the United States was alive and well and handling the crisis … not really, but that was what the general population was told. General Lance knew the people were already panicked by this virus, and they didn’t need to know that the president was killed, reanimated and then killed again.

That would tell people two things. One, the virus was frightening and two it escaped the confines of the quarantine.

The news media was all over it and the Vice president issued a statement that the President, was moved a safe location – standard procedure.

The Centers for Disease Control was planning on an official news conference where they would tell the public that the two locations had been quarantined and everything was under control.

But that was far from the truth.

Germany, already on a media blackout, informed the United States that the virus had broken boarders and had moved into Italy and France.

While Washington DC was fine, a few solders returning from Peru remained unaccounted for. Those who were rounded up and showing signs of infection were taken to a hospital in Dallas.

Dallas was ill prepared for when they turned.

Chaos and bloodshed erupted in the hospital and the instant infectious chain event spilled into the streets.

It wouldn’t be long before Dallas, like Atlanta, would see the National Guard rolling in and an exodus planned.

General Lance was a smart enough man to know that the virus was scattered through the country and, like well placed terror cells, remained silent until its deadly onslaught.

Secretary of Health, Don Kraus was scared and he wasn’t afraid to admit it.

Not only had he witnessed what Colonel Manning had become, he saw the split second transformation of the President.

Having worked with Saul Klein at the CDC for several years gave him the expertise in the field of virology and the knowledge to carry the keen foresight that this thing was far from under control.

He agreed with Lance that they could very well be facing a new type of civil war, a battlefront could erupt on American soil, and for that, they needed every man and woman in the military, back home and on the front lines. ... Just in case.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Five miles North of Huntersville, North Carolina

Evening descended and the school bus was dark as it sat on the side of the road, only the right turn signal blinked.

Officer Crawford spotted it on his rounds. He had left the small town of Huntersville in search of that bus. A bus that should have arrived back at the school long before.

Anxious and worried parents ignored the assurance from school authorities that everything was fine. They wanted answers.

It didn’t take long for Officer Crawford to find the bus. In fact, not long after getting on the highway he saw it on the southbound side.

“HP, this is Crawford. I have a visual on the school bus.”

“What’s the location?”

“Maybe two miles from the exit, southbound 77, turning back now.”

That was all he conveyed. He didn’t want to tell anymore until he actually could take a closer look. After doing a U turn on the highway across the median area, with a ‘Blip-Blip’ burst of his siren, lights on, Crawford pulled behind the school bus.

“HP, the bus looks abandoned, stepping out to investigate.” Leaving his car running, Crawford stepped out. He was perhaps ten feet from the bus. The closer he approached, the more he knew something horrible had happened.

Seeing the blood smeared across the back windows, he withdrew both his flashlight and his weapon and raced to the bus. Using his collar radio, he called out, “HP, we have a situation here. Boarding the bus. Get emergency services out here. STAT.”

His heart thumped as he approached the open door. An immediate knot formed in his stomach at the sight of the blood.

What happened? Who could have done something to the children? Or rather what?

His foot slipped in the thickening blood on the metal school bus stairs and the beam of his flashlight hit the driver seat. It was saturated. It looked like someone had taken a bucket of flesh and blood and tossed it across his seat.

Crawford gagged, stepped into the bus fully and shone his light.

He whimpered out an ‘Oh God,’ just before vomit shot up his esophagus into his mouth. He spit and fought for control.

“HP,” he called out in revulsion. “Oh, God. I need back up. Oh, God.”

“Crawford, what is the situation?”

Crawford didn’t reply. Against what he wanted he took in what was around him.

Blood everywhere, not a spot of the bus was without it. He saw an arm, a tiny arm with painted nails holding a book bag. Another step revealed what appeared to be part of a torso. Guts and intestines decorated the bus like Christmas tinsel.

“Crawford, come in,”

When that call for him arrived, Crawford lowered the volume on the radio because he swore he heard something at the same time.

A growl.

Then it repeated. A snarling growl accompanied a chilling wet sound. It came from the back of the bus.

It was an animal. It had to be an animal.

With the beam of his flashlight leading the way and gun extended, Crawford inched to the back.

As he drew closer, he saw sneakers and then he saw the little legs. Just a portion of a moving child who appeared to be on his knees, maybe hiding from the animal.

His little feet wearing blue high top canvas tennis shoes, extended into the aisle from the last row on the bus.

He wanted to yell out for the kid, tell l him he didn’t have to hide, that he was there to help him, but Crawford didn’t want to alert the animal to the child’s presence.

Quietly, he crept closer.

Just as he hit that last row, he moved the beam of the light and softly called out, ‘Son. It’s okay.”

The little boy was half under the seat. His head moved back and forth.

The sound.

The snarling.

It was close.

Too close.

Then just as another ‘Son,” slipped from his mouth, Crawford saw. There was another child under the back seat, that child was probably hiding. And then high top tennis shoe boy, pulled from under the seat, lifted his head and snapped a glare at Crawford with a snarl.

Flesh dangled from his baby teeth and Crawford saw the gaping, open stomach wound of the little boy that was hiding.

High top tennis shoe boy snarled once more then returned to his task of the child under the seat.

Covering his mouth with the back of his hand, Crawford spun to get the hell out of there.

Bud the bus driver stood at the front of the bus, arms outward. His mouth was bloody, face half missing as if eaten, and what remained of his face was pasty white. Crawford froze in fear.

Bud growled.

Thinking the only way around Bud was to shoot him, Crawford raised his weapon.

He never got to fire.

At least not at Bud.

They came for him from all angles. Agile and fast, two lunged from his left side another from the right. A small girl latched on to his legs and another boy, no older than six, raced down the aisle at an incredible speed and leapt at Crawford,  latching onto him as if he was Velcro. Rapidly he climbed up Crawford body and went for the face.

All of the children moved fast, gnawed fast and were going through Crawford’s body like piranha.

Crawford screamed in pain, just once and not for long,

They took him down fast and Bud joined in.

CHAPTER NINE

North Carolina

“Unfortunately, he is decomposing and the order has come in to do final testing and relieve . . . to put it kindly . . . all those infected, reanimated or not.”

CDC head epidemiologist, Doctor Powers spoke these words to Captain Steven Long, not a day earlier.

Yet, even though Steve was a virologist himself, he asked for clarification.

“What about the boy? Are you going to kill the boy?”

Powers and Saul both looked at Steve as if he were insane. Kill the boy? The boy was already, technically dead.

But to Steve he was different. Even they knew he was different.

Juan came from Peru, the village where the meteor landed. Steve was on hand as a soldier and also to assist the World Health Organization. He had seen many infected, but none like Juan.

A six year old boy who flew to the hills when his own father took ill. It was unfortunate for Juan that he flew in the direction of the meteor which spewed the deadly virus into the atmosphere.

Juan was found in his dark home playing with a toy truck.

He, of course, had died of the virus, reanimated and simply went home. He wasn’t violent he didn’t attack. In fact, the only thing he hungrily devoured were animals. He never attacked a human.

Steve grew attached to the boy. Juan even showed emotions, lots of them too when he sobbed all the way to America after being locked in a cage.

When the order came to exterminate Juan, Steve tried. He really did. But the second Juan cried, knowing something was up and laid his head against Steve. Steve knew he couldn’t do it.

Juan would eventually succumb. His body would have to.

But it wouldn’t come at the end of a gun. Not when Steve could still see some remnants of life within his young eyes.

Doing the only thing he could do in the midst of the confusion of the CDC outbreak, Steve left with Juan.

His plan was to go north, his parents had property in the hills, and there Steve would hide out with the child until his body gave away and he truly did pass on.

The family property had a cabin and Steve’s eccentric brother had a place up there as well. All within those hills. He tried to call his brother, but got no answer.

He and Juan arrived on the family property just after dark. If he remembered correctly the back winding roads would eventually lead them to the cabin. From there, he’d just wait it out. It was isolated, secluded and far away from civilization.

No one would know and they would be safe.

CHAPTER TEN

USS Hartford

Mediterranean Sea

Captain Marlene Carmichael was miffed.

A career Navy woman, she flew into Italy and awaited her mission. She enjoyed the celebration dinner the night before, where the admiral congratulated her on being one of the very few women to command a US nuclear missile submarine on a three month sea control mission.

Marlene was proud of her accomplishments. She worked damned hard to get there.

So when the call came in that the mission was aborted and she was to head directly home and position the sub a hundred miles off the coast of Roanoke, she wasn’t a happy camper.

“Ma’am,” Executive Officer Harold said as he handed her a small slip of paper. “Confirmed by the pentagon.”

“Damn it,” she said under her breath. “Are we given any reason why?”

“No, Ma’am. Not yet. Our communications officer said that information will be forth coming and restricted.”

“I see. Then chart our course.”

“Aye-aye, Captain.”

Marlene turned in the slightly cramped control room when she heard her name called again.

Doctor Roger Chase stood, clipboard in hand, “Captain.”

“Everything alright?” she asked.

“Not sure.” He handed her the clipboard. “Seaman Lawrence doesn’t seem to be making any progress, in fact, incredible as it may be, he’s worsening.”

“Worsening?”

“Fever is raging. Despite everything I have tried, it seems the infection is out of my control.”

“Should we surface and airlift him, Doctor?”

“Let me see if this next course of antibiotics works,” he said. “If not, that may be an option.”

“Odd. Not that I know what I’m looking at, but does it seem sudden to you?

“Yes, considering he was injured in the bar fight just last night. Never seen anything move this quickly.”

“Is he contagious?”

As if she were asking a ridiculous question, Chase shook his head. “No, no, this is from the wound. There’s a lot of bacteria in saliva.”

She extended the clipboard. “Keep me posted.”

“Yes, Ma’am.” He retrieved the board.

“Doctor Chase?” she called him, causing him to stop. “It says bite wound. What type of animal?”

“Not animal. Human. It was a human bite.”

“Human?”

“You’ll have that when you mix alcohol and testosterone.” He gave a fast flash of a smile, turned and walked out.

“I’ll have that?” she repeated as she turned to her executive officer.

He chuckled. “You’ll have that.”

They continued on, without a second thought. It was just a bite. Really, what was there to be concerned about?

CHAPTER ELEVEN

North Carolina

“Crawford, come in, Crawford do you read, over,” the dispatcher at the Huntersville station kept repeating the call. He had heard nothing since Crawford called for emergency services and back up.

A second squad car, coming from a neighboring community was sent, because Sheriff Wilkes had all available officers down at the school trying to keep the parents calm and all in one place.

He also wanted to keep the away from the highway and the school bus. What happened out there was a mystery and it didn’t sound good.

“HP, this is 122, I see your squad car.” the backup officer responded.

“Let us know the situation,” the dispatcher said.

Sheriff Wilkes was on hand to hear the report.

The backup squad car reported it was a blood bath and not a single body was there. Limbs along with other body parts, yes, but no distinguishable bodies.

Two EMT vehicles were on scene searching through the carnage.

Carnage.

They were children. All younger than eight.

Wilkes immediately placed a call to the county corner and to State officials. It was obviously bigger than his small town could handle.

But he had to deal with another end of the spectrum…. the parents.

How was he to tell the parents of 24 grade-schoolers not only that their children were missing, but that perhaps violently murdered? He didn’t have any easy answers.

He left the school bus situation to the others and he headed down to the elementary school.

No sooner had he arrived he was encircled and bombarded with questions by parents in the parking lot.

“What’s going on, Sherriff?”

“I heard they spotted the bus.”

“It’s almost nine. Where are my kids?”

Sherriff Wilkes held up his hand to stop the tangled crowd of worried parents and to bring silence.

“I wish. I wish I had more answers.” He said to the parents. He looked to the other officers on scene at in the parking lot. The look on their faces said they too were as surprised as the parents to the lack of news.

“I’m sorry,” the Sherriff continued. “We’re waiting on word. The bus was spotted on the side of the highway …”

“Did they crash?” one questioned.

“Are they hurt?” another asked,

“Look!” a parent called out. “There!”

Look? There? Curious as to not only the call out of those two words but the unison, loud sounds of relief from the parents as they suddenly moved from him. Wilkes turned his head to the right.

“The kids,” the one officer said with a smile. “They’re all right.”

Something wasn’t right and Wilkes knew it, he looked and saw what the parents did. A wall of children walked down the dark street at the end of the parking lot. They appeared more as shadows being lit by only one street light behind them.

Wilkes blinked, took a step and stopped. “Something’s wrong.” He mumbled.

“Sherriff?” The officer asked.

The parents didn’t have to move too close to their children. In their racing enthusiasm to greet their kids, as if someone shouted, ‘go’ the kids charged for their parents.

They moved fast, too fast and the orchestration of groans and snarls rang out.

Wilkes saw his initial worried assessment was correct when the children came into light and they weren’t all right.

Instead of cheers and glees at the reunion of parents and children, there were screams. Blood curdling screams. Wilkes was at a loss at what to do as he watched the children pounce viciously on their unsuspecting parents.

Wilkes could shoot. But shoot who? The kids? He couldn’t bring himself to do that, he just couldn’t. And while the other officers ran to assist the parents, Wilkes backed off, got in his car and took off.

<><><><>

Garrick had a cigarette chomped between his teeth, a glass of whiskey in his hand as he sat on the really comfortable couch in the recreation room of his survival fortress.

He leaned forward exhaling the smoke, sipping the whiskey and listening intently to the police scanner.

Former military, that was how he met Jack, Garrick had transformed into an eccentric survivalist. Always on guard to be the next homeland soldier, ready to protect his country in the event of all out apocalypse. He had it all and his family’s money helped him get it. His fortress was stocked to care for many people for a long time and prepare for the future. He was ready for many apocalypse scenarios. Including the one he faced.

He listened as if he were back in time enjoying a radio program.

Static-beep, “There’s fifteen, twenty. Good God they’re fast.”

Gunshots.

Static-Beep, “I can’t shoot. They’re kids. Little kids.”

“Dude,” Garrick spoke to the radio as if the officer reporting could hear him. “Run.”

Static-beep, “….officers need assistance. They’re . . . .”

Scream.

Gunshots.

“Fuck.” Garrick sat back. “Little dead fuckers have to be fast.”

He was so engrossed and taken with the scanner events, that when Lil’s voice came over the intercom with a simple, “Garrick,” he screamed and jumped, grabbing his chest.

“Fuck.” He stood.

“Let us in,” Lil said in a factual manner.

Garrick question out loud, “Us?” and pressed the button to open the first gate. He’d leave the fortress, go outside and manually open the wall for her. He was curious about the ‘us’.

Did she bring Jack? He doubted that. Jack was an on duty soldier during a crisis; no way would Jack leave post.

Then Garrick downed his drink, lifted his weapon and walked to the door. He chuckled, thinking about his last words to Lil before she left.

“I’ll be back,” she said. “Do you need me to bring you anything?”

Garrick had joked, “A woman.”

After all he was still young and a partner in the apocalypse wouldn’t be too bad. Perhaps Lil brought a friend, he thought. Then quickly erased that one because he knew since her affair she gave up all her friends.

He stepped outside and opened the wall. The low level motion lights came on as the SUV pulled in and Garrick secured the gate.

The vehicle stopped and Lil got out first. The he saw the woman who emerged from the passenger side holding a sleeping toddler. She was older than he expected, and while her round and tall frame wasn’t his usual fare, her bigger brown hair was right up his alley. But who was Garrick to complain, it was the end of the world.

Who wants to be alone?

Those ‘end of the world’ hook up thoughts were fleeting when he got a good look at Lil and the woman she brought.

Both looked as if they had been through hell.

From what Garrick had heard on the scanner and seeing the two women, he was left to wonder how bad things had turned since he took refuge in his hideaway just a few days earlier.

<><><><>

Jack would swear he had never felt as helpless in all of his life as he did watching the National Guard arrive at the CDC complex and engage in a brutal battle. He was locked in tight below with Saul and wanted to go topside several times. When the outbreak of the undead hit the center, Jack, Saul, Dr. Powers and a few others were below

Saul urged him to remain below. He needed Jack there and encouraged him to have more confidence in the ability of his fellow soldiers. Saul and Jack were the only ones who remained.

.

.

Then after Jack cleaned house and Saul’s daughter attacked during her unexpected visit, Dr. Powers and the others left.

How far they made it out of the city, if they even did, was still unknown.

But below, watching the monitors, Jack felt helpless.

“They move much faster than the movies,” Saul commented.

Jack flinched as he watched a soldier shoot an undead in the chest. “Aim for the head. Aim for the head, fuck. You would think they never saw a zombie movie.”

“I didn’t,” Saul said. “Never.”

“Never?”

“Never.”

“How is that possible?”

Saul shrugged. “Wasn’t interested. But, medical common sense would have told me that the reanimation started in the brain so disabling the brain would be the means to ending the reanimation.”

“How are they so agile? They’re dead.”

“They aren’t all agile.” Saul pointed to the screen. “I think age, how fast they reanimated, all plays a factor.”

“Medical knowledge?” Jack asked.

“No a guess,” Saul replied. “But it’s medically based. They don’t bleed like in the movies, so the blood is coagulating. And I would venture to guess the eating is instinctive. They have to get full almost immediately. There is no digestive process.”

“Hence why they vomit it not long after?” Jack quizzed.

“Unless of course, like this one …” Saul pointed to the screen and to an undead without any insides. “It would just go straight through.”

Jack cringed.

“Ah, someone got smart. Look.”

Jack had been rubbing is eyes. He raised them to the monitor. The undead were going down. Finally they were firing accurately.

There were hundreds of the undead and more meandered outside.

As if they knew it was fruitless to head into the CDC, the undead wandered off.

The soldiers topside didn’t worry about the wandering undead outside. When it was all clear and safe indoors, Jack and Saul allowed the soldiers to enter the sub level lab area.

Saul had his data all packed and was ready to go; he would be moved almost immediately to Vermont.

Jack informed acting First Sergeant in charge of the unit that the injured men were to be quarantined. That was during the quick debriefing, before Jack departed to the front lines to manage the exodus and before Saul was escorted to the airport. But somehow, Jack didn’t feel his warnings would be heeded. That wasn’t Jack’s immediate concern.

Jack had to find out if their wives made it to Garrick’s.

Unfortunately both women’s phones were going directly to voicemail. Jack kept trying but knew time was running short and he looked as if he wanted to bang his head against the wall.

“What now?” Saul asked. “Tell me what your guts says. Did they make it?”

“I firmly believe …” Jack paused, ran his hand down his face and shook his head. “Fuck.”

“What?”

“I forgot. It’s Garrick.”

“Well since I don’t know him, tell me your revelation.”

Jack rummaged through his phone. “Garrick has a satellite phone. He’s buried so deep in the woods he felt he had to get one.”

“Those are expensive.”

“He has money,” Jack said. “Inherited it. Here.” He smiled. “I do have it.”

“Will he answer?”

“He better.” Jack pressed a button. “Yeah, he will.”

<><><><>

It had been a long time since Irma had eaten someone else’s home cooking besides her own. She was amazed at the place Garrick had constructed. A two floor structure, one floor completely underground with an escape tunnel. The top floor was concrete bunker style, yet there was nothing drab, dirty or militant about it.

Perhaps the place he called the family room was the most militant. It has the most stockpile of weapons, secured in cases, radios and computers. Although every single room in his fortress had a weapon box.

But the place was clean.

The kitchen stainless steel and spotless. So much space and storage. Irma couldn’t wait to cook a meal in there.

But Garrick had done well.

He told Irma he had purchase fresh produce prior to arriving and was doing his best to can or freeze what he could.

The dinner for the evening was stuffed peppers.

They were divine. Then again, Irma really hadn’t eaten in days and her mood was still at an all time low.

Jerry draped across her lap. His head tilted all the way back as he slept hard.

Irma sipped her wine. A drop rolled over the edge and dropped to his forehead.

Jerry didn’t budge.

“Oh, baby. Ya-Ya is sorry.”

Garrick stood. “Here” He walked to Irma. “Let me lay him on the couch.”

Irma shook her head. “I don’t want him out of my sight.

“He won’t be,” Garrick said softly. “I promise. He’ll be right on the couch and I swear nothing is gonna happen to him. I swear.”

There was conviction in his eyes and words.

Garrick repeated. “I swear.”

Nervously, Irma nodded.

As Garrick took him from her arms, Irma glanced at Lil.

Lil smiled at her. “You’re safe here. The baby is safe here. I promise.”

“Thank you.” Irma watched Garrick place Jerry on the sofa and cover him.

Jerry’s arms flailed outward in a jolt when the odd ringing sound startled him. In fact, it started everyone.

“The satellite phone,” Garrick said, rushing across the room.

Irma’s eyes shifted from Garrick to Jerry who rolled over and returned to sleeping.

Garrick lifted the phone. “I may have to go outside for this.” He walked toward the door. “Hello?” His face cringed. “Hold on.” He said into the phone. “Let me step outside.”

Garrick opened the door and slipped through.

The second his voice said, “Jack?” both Lil and Irma rushed to the doorway.

“Yeah,” Garrick said. “Yeah, she’s here.” He showed the phone to Lil.

Lil inched into the doorway. “Jack?” she peeped.

“Lil, thank God you’re ok. I couldn’t get a hold of you on the phone.”

“It died. It’s charging. Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” Jack answered.

“When will you be here?”

“I don’t know.”

“Jack. You said you’d come. You promised.”

“I know. But I can’t protect you if I don’t do my job. I have to stay here to do it. But Lil, I promise, if it gets to be too much, I’ll be there. I won’t take a chance. Now do me a favor?”

“What’s that?”

“Stay put. Stay with Garrick. Okay?”

Lil nodded. A gesture Jack didn’t see.

“Lil?”

“Yes, I will.” She said. “I love you, Jack. Be careful.”

“I love you too. Lil, is Mrs. Klein nearby?” Jack asked.

“Yes, she is.”

“Can you put her on the phone?”

Lil handed the phone to Irma.

Irma traded places with Lil in the doorway and apprehensively spoke, “Hello?” it was followed by a gasping, “Saully.”

Lil stepped inside of the family room to be closer to the baby and to keep Irma’s mind at ease.

“Saully, we’re fine. What about you? When are you getting here?”

“Things aren’t going to go as planned.”

“What?”

“I have to go to Vermont, Irma . . .”

“Saully. No.”

“Irma listen to me. If there’s a way to beat this thing, I have to do it. Understand. You’ll be safe there. You and Jerry being safe are what’s important.”

“Saully?” Irma questioned. “Can it be beat?”

Saul paused. “I’m gonna try. So that another parent doesn’t have to go through what we did, I’m gonna try.”

Irma released a sob. “Tell me you held her hand at the end. Tell me you told her we loved her.”

“I did.”

Again, Irma cried.

“Irma listen to me. I have to go. You are the strongest woman I know. You stay that way, you hear and I will get to you. I will.”

“And what am I to do if you don’t make it? Live without you?”

“Yes. You have Jerry.”

Irma sniffled and tried not to shed another tear, she conveyed her goodbye to Saul and handed the phone to Garrick. Immediately she went inside where, Lil awaited with open arms to give her comfort.

The two women, strangers a day earlier, were bonded again by the same circumstances.

Garrick stepped further outside when he heard Jack’s voice return to the line. “What’s going on, Jack?” he asked.

“There’s an exodus going into effect in about four hours. I have to work the lines checking people. Things are pretty bad here. I’m not sure what we’ll see or run into.”

“Then what?” Garrick asked.

“I don’t know. But I do know this. If things get so bad that I don’t see a fighting chance, I will be there. I’m giving Saul this number. I need you to be his lifeline back to his wife if he gets stuck and I can’t help him.”

“Sure thing.”

“And Garrick, don’t let my wife or Irma leave your fortress. You have that place locked tight.”

“They won’t leave.”

“Watch them.”

“With everything I am. And Jack. Be safe. Get here.”

Garrick ended the call. He held on to the phone and stayed outside for a few moments. The weather was great, sky clear. On his property, far from civilization it was so quiet, so peaceful, it was hard to imagine twenty miles away was a world lost to chaos.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Washington, DC

Lance read the report and despite what the information conveyed, he had a hard time believing all that was happening. The soldiers taken into custody in Texas, infected. But they weren’t exterminated, which was a mistake. Two of them escaped.

Dr. Saul Klein called it the Faberge effect. One turns into two, they hit two and so on and so forth. Based on an old shampoo commercial but how true the old quirky commercial conveyed not only word of mouth, but infection by mouth.

Problem was the infected were taking out more than two. Each infected before being destroyed would bite at least one person and scratch many others.

Those hundred or so infected down in Texas, how many did they infect? How many of their victims were clueless to what they caught? Just like those at the CDC who were infected, they ran amuck with the virus.

The Specialist down in Atlanta who was deemed fine was different. He was hope for those bitten because he started to get well. But that changed. He got loose and they still hadn’t found him; but he was responsible for over forty infected.

Fort Bragg.

San Diego.

Atlanta.

Dallas.

Seattle.

Lawrence, Kansas.

Those were the main locations reported within the United States. Lance knew it had grown beyond that and he was waiting for the reports to come in.

At least he believed the problem started and stopped in Washington with Colonel Manning.

He believed that until he found out differently. Apparently an aide was on hand when the President was attacked. He tried to help but was scratched in the process. The aide didn’t think about it until he became ill. He tucked himself away until the scheduled press conference for the evening when the Vice President would address the nation and try to instill calm while telling them more about this virus.

Lance and Don heard the chaos, shots and screams before they got to the press room. Instead of a briefing before the conference, it was pandemonium.

One of the CIA agents in the room …. having been bitten himself, told how the aide stumbled in, walked to the Vice president and bit him.

Agents on hand rushed to help the Vice President, and the aide attacked them as well. They shot the aide, but not in the head, and the he kept lunged into the audience and went after a reporter from Fox news.

By the time Lance arrived, the chaos was in full bloom. Those with deadly bite wounds rose up almost immediately and turned on others.

.

A group of undead gathered around the remains of the vice president’s body, pulled on his limbs and insides as if searching for a hidden treasure.

Others were occupied with those who were down and snarling, lifted their heads at the annoyance of the bullets.

“Aim for the fucking head,” Lance ordered. “Quit wasting shots.”

And the General, Secretary of Health, along with the remaining and injured CIA man shot and destroyed all they could.

Once the situation calmed down, Lance ordered Don to see if any of the injured had escaped and to notify the guards on the premises. He told this to him just before he calmly turned and shot the injured CIA agent in the head.

Don backed up fearful. “He wasn’t one of them.”

“He would be. Did you see how many bites he had?” Lance checked his weapon. “And I swear to God Donny, if it happens to me and you don’t put a goddamn bullet in my head, you’re the first person I am eating. Now we have to go. You head that way...” Lance pointed. “I’ll back out this way to see if anyone escaped.”

Don, visually shaken, nodded and raced from the room. He slipped several times on the blood slicked floor.

Lance started to leave as well. He stopped briefly to check out the room to make sure no one stirred. They didn’t.

He realized the ‘would-be’ conference had done just the opposite when he saw a bloodied reporter on television news, standing in front of the White House, the reporter in disarray was shaking and out of breath. “That footage was raw and disturbing,” he said. “But it holds the truth about this virus that has hit several of our cities including Atlanta. I came for answers today. More than words that video of the massacre at the press conference says it all. But, I left the White House. I was lucky to escape with my life and only a few minor injuries.” I’m waiting now to get more information.

Lance reached up, turning off the TV as the Anchorwoman stated, “Well be showing that footage of the conference again in ….”

Rubbing his eyes, Lance took a moment to calm down and think. He had to come up with a plan.

Calm was out the window.

Covering up was out the window.

The news had broken and broke big time.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Atlantic Ocean

The Captain was asleep and the First Officer in the control summoned Doctor Chase to read the health bulletin. After all, it more than likely dealt with him.

Chase didn’t mind being roused from bed, he wasn’t sleeping and he was shocked at the bulletin.

It didn’t come from the CDC or WHO, it came from the Pentagon. It stated that all vessels that had left port from Europe were to report any personnel who exhibited the following symptoms.

High fever

Delirium

Rage

Bite wound or scratch that does not heal.

And the list presented three or four physical characteristics as well. Personnel who exhibited the symptoms were to be placed in high security quarantine.

‘Report these individuals to receive further instructions’ the bulletin said.

Upon reading, Chase turned to the officer and returned the bulletin. “Get the Captain. Tell her she needs to report that Seaman Nelson is possibly infected with this.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Tell her I am going to check on Nelson and will return with my findings.”

“Yes, sir.”

Chase paused in the door. “I mean it. Now.” Without waiting for further argument, Chase made his way quickly to the medical quarters.

Nelson was the only patient they had in sick bay and a Corpsman was on duty, watching the patient for any further signs of deterioration.

Chase hoped that he would walk into sick bay, see Nelson and there would be some improvement. The bulletin was unclear about what they were dealing with and he couldn’t take the chance of a highly contiguous virus being unchecked in a closed in vessel such as a submarine.

He entered sick bay and it was dark except for the light that came from the corpsman’s desk in the back of the room.

It was quiet, too quiet and something didn’t feel right.

Chase stepped quietly to the third bunk.

“What the hell?” he gasped outward at the empty bunk. The IV laid on the bunk, but no blood, no Nelson.

“Corpsman.” Chase called, moving quickly to the back.

As he drew closer he could see the Corpsman. His head was down on the desk.

“Son of a bitch, he’s sleeping.” He quickened his stride and something slippery caught his foot as he neared the desk. Chase slid a good foot before he caught his balance. “Corpsman!”

The Corpsman slowly sat up straight.

“Corpsman, our patient is missing. Did you fall …”

Chase was about to ask if the corpsman fell asleep, but the words never came.

The corpsman turned to Chase and as he did, the huge gaping hole that took up half his throat, left him with no neck support and the Corpsman’s head flopped to the side.

“Oh my God.” Chase backed up.

The Corpsman opened his mouth wide, but there was no noise. Standing, the corpsman’s head hung, attached to him by the few remaining ligaments. It was a pathetic sight as he reached outward, but the Corpsman was unable to focus on what he was reaching for.

Chase’s thought was to run. Get the hell out. Secure the sick bay doors.

He was prepared to do so and rushed back a single step before he was stopped further and could go no further.

Chase never saw what he backed into or what got him.

Feeling the searing pain in his skull, Chase cried out in agony and the last thing to go through his mind was the realization that Nelson’s teeth were deep in his neck.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

May 12th

“Okay, you’re good. Move on,” Jack instructed the car with two occupants. Six lanes of highway, all of them outbound from Atlanta, and traffic was backed up as far as the eye could see.

It as getting tiresome, he had been at it for days. Checking the cars, asking question, scanning for body temperatures. He had come across many that were fevered and had to be isolated.

The reality of the situation was evident as the military carried gas cans, water and food for the vehicle passengers. Some people shut off their cars and waited on the side of the road. Some opted to move their vehicles and take available mass transportation. But one choice seemed to be unanimous. Get out of the city.

Reports had reached Jack that the virus was out of control in Atlanta, and in fact in several cities. But nationwide the military seemed to be doing a great job of keeping the homeland secure and the infected areas contained.

An elderly couple pulled up to Jack’s check point. “Ma'am, sir. How are you?”

The man, driving, nodded. “We’re fine.”

“Any encounters with the infected?” Jack asked.

The man and woman exchanged glances and then the man answered. “Yes. Our Neighbor. We got away.”

“Any bites or scratches. Injuries of any kind?” Jack questioned.

Both shook their heads.

They looked fine, coloring good. Perhaps a bit frazzled and Jack raised the temperature scanner. They were normal. “You’re good folks, you can go through.”

“Ya might …” The man pointed backwards. “Wanna send some men back there. Looks like commotion is building. Gotta lot of people in this sun.”

“Yes, sir, thank you.”

Jack raised his head to peer down the long line of traffic to see what the man was referring. He could hear commotion, arguing. He knew he had men back there and was going to send a few more back when he heard a woman scream not a few feet from him.

“No!” she cried out. “She’s not sick!”

The woman’s cry out was deep and the emotions of it cut through Jack. As the next car pulled to him. He held his hand up and moved to where the woman screamed. Why was she so emotional?

She had gotten from her car and was struggling with a soldier who was reaching in the back seat. “What’s going on?” Jack asked.

“Sarge,” the young soldier turned. “The baby is sick. Fevered.”

“No. No!” The woman argued. “She’s not. She’s teething. I swear. We weren’t around anyone sick.”

There was a distinct tug of war over that child. The mother fought diligently to keep the baby in the seat, while the soldier tired to take the small child.

Jack stepped in. “Hold up,” he said to the soldier. He whistled and signaled for someone to take his post then he turned to the young man. “Harris.” He viewed the name tag. “I’ll take over here. Why don’t you head to the back line of cars to see if our men need some help with the commotion?”

“Yes, Sarge.” Harris nodded and walked off.

“She’s teething,” the mother persuaded

Jack gave a calming look to the mother. “I’m just gonna look at her, okay?”

“She’s not sick.”

“You said that.” Jack leaned into the back of the car. The infant girl cooed and smiled at him. She wasn’t older than seven months. Jack ran his hand over her head, felt her arms. He then pulled the skin under her eyes and gave a visual exam. “All right.” Jack stepped back. “Go ahead. You’re good.”

“Thank you.” Surprising Jack, the young mother tip toed up and kissed him on the cheek. “She’s fine. Thank you.” Hurriedly she got in the driver door.

“Sarge?” Another private approached him. “Harris said the baby was fevered.”

“The baby isn’t infected.” Jack stated.

“How can you be sure?” the private asked.

“Because I have seen this virus. I have seen the infected. Trust me son. When you see one that’s been bit, you’ll know. You’ll know by the eyes,” Jack said assuredly and waved the next car forward.

Harris was disgruntled about the incident. In fact, he complained about Jack in a audible mumble all the way through the line of cars. He saw the glances people gave him.

Yeah, Jack was in charge, but Harris was following orders.

Somewhere about the halfway point things felt a little different with the cars. He could hear the rise of commotion from the back of the line. It was pretty far back, and he couldn’t believe Jack expected him to go all the way back there.

But right there, right smack in the center, it was quiet. Oddly quiet.

Harris turned to look back to the check in points, and then took in his surroundings. The cars around him were empty. How many cars had he walked by since he saw someone? Had he become so indifferent to seeing people that he didn’t notice them in the cars?

About four cars ahead he saw a man struggling with something in the back of his car. He was reaching in, his body moved with rigid jerks.

“Sir.” Harris called out, trotting closer. “Sir, is everything okay?”

He got to the open driver’s door, the man still didn’t respond. “Sir!”

The man stopped.

He withdrew from the car and when he did, Harris caught a quick glimpse of the passengers in the back. Children. Two of them. Their mouths agape, eyes wide, bodies bloody and the man pulled from the car. He turned with a sneering growl to Harris.

Harris gasped. But that was all he had time to do.

Jack swore he heard a scream. But those sounds, screams, yells and cries were so commonplace; he no longer let them ring a bell of warning in his head.

He should have.

Waving forward another car, Jack halted when he heard the screams turn from one to many. He stepped forward. He could see commotion at the far end of the line of traffic. Was there a riot? What was happening?

Just about to tell the occupants of the vehicle to hold on, Jack heard gunshots. Lots of them, and abandoning his task of checking the vehicle, he moved to find the cause of the commotion and firing.

“Second squad follow me, Stat!” Jack yelled. He charged about ten cars in and then he stopped. At first the word ‘no’ just slipped from his lips in his shock, then everything came into focus.

About the time Jack saw it, so did the people in the cars.

Those stuck behind a long line of traffic bolted from their vehicles, causing more problems for Jack.

They brushed into him in their panicked run. Some cars just sped off.

It was like a tidal wave. Long, thick and unstoppable. Only it wasn’t water. It was the undead.

They came from the direction of the city barreling through the long line of traffic. As on a mission, they were nimble as they charged fast and furiously.

They didn’t move like the ones Jack saw in Peru, these ones jumped on cars, violently sought their victims and pursued their prey with speed and agility.

“What the fuck?” Jack yelled as he jumped on top of an SUV and then standing on the roof. “Take them down!” Jack ordered. “Aim for the head! Aim for the head!”

He fired. But the wall of undead drew closer. They dragged people from cars, pouncing on those who ran. And those who were left mired in a blood bath didn’t take long to reanimate and join forces.

Hundreds?

Thousands?

They kept coming.

Horrid screams of the victims filled the air.

Children’s cries, so many children cried and screamed out.

The sounds went through Jack like a dagger.

As hard as it was for Jack to admit, he and his men were outnumbered.

He kept firing, but it was useless. Even the best marksman couldn’t take them all down. Jumping over the tops of the vehicles, Jack radioed for air support in the situation. Then doing something he never in his life thought he’d do, Jack called his men and ordered a retreat.

<><><><>

Saul didn’t need Jack’s report to give him insight. It was information he already knew, but he listened as if Jack were telling him something new.

“And they run, Saul. They run. I don’t know if they’re fast, or it’s my perception,” “And the kids. The kids that turned, they aren’t like Juan.”

“Where are you heading now, Jack?” Saul asked on the phone.

“I don’t know. North. Some town. Closer to Lil.”

“Make sure you get there.”

“I will. But not without you.”

“I’ll …. I’ll get there,” Saul said. They spoke some more then Saul ended the call. He didn’t convey to Jack his uncertainty of making it to his wife.

And Saul was very uncertain.

CDC brought undead in. Saul heard rumors of infections within the city, but they weren’t confirmed. He looked at the map. It didn’t look that bad to him. In fact he recalled in the past, cases of Swine flu that lit up the infection map a lot brighter. But then Saul, taking in the unconfirmed reports, added them into the computer system and a massive change transpired on the map.

The United States map looked like the face of teenager. It went from just a few blemishes to a full-blown case of acne.

And it was frightening, because Saul knew how fast it spread. Quarantining the living that had been bit wasn’t going to cut it; He had to implement a wide scale plan to handle them once they died.

He’d issue recommendation to ‘spare’ the living before they died, but if Saul himself couldn’t do that to his daughter, he couldn’t expect others to do it as well.

Saul was a realist. If things were not capped and contained soon, then with the Faberge effect, the virus that hit American soil would escalate from a simple invasion to a full blown war.

A battle that once it would hit a certain level would be virtually unwinnable.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

100 Miles off the coast of Virginia

She made it.

As the Captain of her vessel, Marlene knew she had to be the one to get supplies for the eight people out of 120 who remained alive in the submarine control room.

She didn’t leave alone, but she returned that way. Having lost a seaman to one of them just outside the galley.

How it got to that point she still didn’t know.

She was rustled form her sleep a couple days earlier about the seaman who was bit. When the doctor failed to return to the control, Marlene sought him out and found him.

He was mutilated; the entire back of his skull was missing, including his brains.

She called for help, but had to rush from the sick bay when she herself was nearly attacked.

But that was just at sickbay. Someone infected had gotten into one of the sleeping quarters and had themselves a hum dilly of a time in there with just a few of the sleeping seaman. Then they of course were infected and within hours, the entire Bay One sleeping area was swarming with the undead.

Marlene, of course thought it was some sort of rabies and sealed the sleeping quarters.

Those who fought the infected and were injured were quarantined.

Her mistake.

They eventually turned too.

Things got out of control, until only those who remained sought refuge and security in the control room.

But supplies were limited and that was why Marlene left.

At first the cameras showed no one was in the hall outside the control room door. That happened. They’d swarm there, then move on.

She found her opportunity in one of those empty hall moments and went out.

She returned alone with a box in hand. Barely escaping the undead.

In fact, an arm frantically reached in the door for her just before it was severed from its owner when the door sealed.

Out of breath, Marlene watched the arm on the floor.

“Where’s Daniels?” her executive officer asked. “What happened?”

“He didn’t make it.” Marlene set down the box. “They got him. I was lucky to get free.”

“We have got to get off of this sub,” Harold said.

“We will. We will.” Marlene said assuredly.

“When?” Harold asked. “What did the admiral say? Surely he can’t expect us to stay on this ship with the infected. Eventually we’ll get infected ourselves if this thing mutates to an airborne state.”

Marlene didn’t answer. She rummaged through the box. “I got us water and some dry goods …” Her entire topic of conversation switched.

“Captain?” Harold stepped to her. “When you had radio contact yesterday. I heard you. You picked up the phone …” Harold backed off with a shocked expression. “Dear God. It was a ruse.”

Marlene ignored him.

“Captain. You haven’t let the authorities know, have you?”

Nothing.

“Have you?”

“No!” she snapped. “And I won’t. Because once I do, you can bet they’ll put out the order to take us out.”

“How do you know?”

“”We’re carrying an infectious disease that is unlike anything we’ve seen. It’s something from the movies. They’ll take us out. I know.” she said. “Because if I were them, I would.”

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

North Carolina

Garrick assured Irma it was fine. He assured her that his property was private property and tucked away where the general public couldn’t find them, let alone infected. And even if the undead walked their way to the fortress, there was no way they were getting in.

Garrick didn’t just have a plan ‘A’ and ‘B’, he had a C, D, E, and F.

The visions of her daughter Sara, bleeding on that floor, crying out for her, were still so fresh in her mind. Her heart carried a heaviness that Irma knew would never go away. Nor would the sadness ever leave her. But Irma was fortunate in one regard, she had a part of her daughter in the form of her surviving toddler son.

Jerry asked for ‘Mama’, but accepted the response that his mom was busy or was with Pap. But no matter what excuse Irma gave Jerry for his mother’s absence, she followed it with how much she loved Jerry.

Despite Jerry’s lighter hair which was similar to his father’s, Irma saw Sara all over his face.

But Jerry was a child, a toddler who was rambunctious and full of energy.

“Take him outside, let him run,” Garrick suggested.

“I can’t.” Irma said. “They may be out there.”

“And I am in here. A shout away. You have a pretty study fence and wall around there. Stay near the door,” Garrick assured.

Irma took his words as Gospel and took Jerry outside. She stayed not far from the door, which Garrick left open for her piece of mind.

The property wasn’t entirely surrounded by a wall. Most of it was a fence. But it wasn’t a normal link fence. It was strong and thick. And that gave Irma reassurance.

It was warm and quiet outside, Irma hadn’t packed any toys so Jerry’s amusement devices were limited. Garrick had given him a baseball, which Jerry rolled and chased.

He giggled and kicked the ball.

Irma kept him in her eyesight. “Get the ball, baby, throw it to Ya-Ya.”

“Ball.” He tried to throw it. Laughed when Irma missed. “Ball,” He said again, holding out his hands.

Irma lightly tossed it his way. Jerry missed then pushed the ball with his foot. Another giggle and Jerry trotted a few steps.

He stopped and reached down.

“Boy.”

“Boy?” Irma laughed. “No Ball.”

“Boy.” Jerry pointed.

Irma looked.

“Nothing new?” Lil asked, accepting a cup of coffee from Garrick.

“Just the same, rumors have it they shut Atlanta down. It got bad.”

“Oh, God.” Lil covered her face. “I wish I’d hear from Jack.”

“Give it …”

“Garrick!” Irma’s shout carried into the house. The frantic tone of it left no room for Garrick to wonder if something was amiss. He set down his coffee and raced outside.

Lil followed.

No sooner did Garrick step outside and see Irma, he slid to a stop reaching for his weapon.

A child stood on the other side of the fence, just staring, but it was no normal child. Clearly the boy was one of the undead.

“Step back,” Garrick instructed and raised his weapon.

Lil gasped and Irma whimpered out an ‘Oh my God.”

“Wait!” a voice called from the distance. “Don’t shoot. Garrick, please don’t shoot him!”

A rustle of leaves from running feet and a soldier appeared. “Please.”

Garrick kept aim. “Step away from him. Can’t you see? He’s one of them!”

“But he’s not like them. Trust me. I know. I know.” He put a protective arm in front of the child. “See he’s not even biting me.”

Irma’s grasped onto Jerry and covered her mouth. “He’s just a little boy, Garrick.”

“His name is Juan.” The soldier said.

Without lowering his aim and staying focused on the boy, Garrick said, “You named him?”

“No it was his name before he turned.”

“He’s still one of them. And you brought him here, Steve?”

“Yes, I thought …”

“Mother fucker!” Garrick was ready to shoot.

“Please. No.” Steve begged. “Please. Listen to me.”

“Garrick?” Lil stepped forward. “Do you know him?”

“Yeah,” Garrick nodded. “This is Steve. He’s my brother.”

Lil walked up behind Garrick and gently laid her hand on his forearm speaking soft near his ear. “Then you need to lower your weapon. Hear what your brother has to say. Ok?” She waited. “Garrick.”

After some hesitation, Garrick said. “It better be good,” And he lowered his weapon.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Washington DC

Secretary of Defense, General Lance received word from the Admiral of the Navy about the Los Angeles attack class sub positioned off shore of Virginia.

It was there as instructed and up until an hour before, everything was thought to be fine.

They were going to be on sea control in their own home territory. But a simple radio check sent warnings off to the communication officer and he relayed them to the Admiral.

The Captain was doing her mid-day check-in and just as everything was seemingly fine and routine; the communications officer heard a voice in the background. An arguing voice simply stating, ‘tell the truth. We aren’t …’

Transmission ended abruptly.

They hadn’t reached the submarine since.

Was everything really fine or was there a mechanical problem on the ship? The communications officer searched further into earlier communications with the submarine and found that the ship’s doctor reported five days earlier on his medical report that he had one injured man who had come aboard the submarine with a bite wound.

It was missed.

Lance knew as soon as he saw the report. Something had to be done.

“You’re overreacting.” Don tried to reason with him. “Why would the ship’s doctor not get back to us with regard to the health bulletin we sent out?”

“Maybe he’s dead.” Lance replied. He paced around in the warn room at the pentagon; he and the Secretary of Health, the only two in there.

The White House was cleared since the incident days earlier and Washington was fast becoming a ghost town.

“There have been no reports of death,” Don said. "They have to report them.”

“She’s covering up.”

“Why?”

“Why not?” Lance shrugged. “She knows damn well we will not give her permission to come ashore and more than likely we will label them as a threat. She knows this.”

“So what do we do?”

After thinking for a moment, Lance ran his hand over his face and grabbed the phone. “This is Lance,” he spoke into the phone. “I need a line to that sub. Donnie and I are on our way. Thank you.”

“Communications room?” Don asked.

Lance simple nodded, grabbed his folder of notes and he and Don left to make contact with the submarine.

<><><><>

Jack thought he was going to Washington, instead, after the retreat from Atlanta, Jack was on the road north. He and a group of twenty soldiers were being moved to a small town five miles north of Charlotte. A rescue operation. A distress call had come from the police station in town, merely stating they had a dozen or so, uninjured people trapped there and needing help.

Jack and his men were Special Forces. An small elite group sent in.

No other information was given except to get to that small town. It didn’t make sense to Jack. Why they were so worried about a distress call from a small town. Weren’t there bigger things to be concerned about?

Soldiers were being deployed to Charlotte, and pretty much all over the state of North Carolina.

From the rumors Jack received, it appeared that all of North Carolina, like the city of Atlanta in Georgia, was going to be sealed off.

Too many occurrences too fast.

But Jack also didn’t mind going to that small town, because he knew, that town wasn’t very far from his wife.

One more retreat, call of duty or not, Jack was going to retreat on his own and find Lil.

<><><><>

Six hours, that was it. Six hours and the Center for Disease Control building in Vermont went from over a hundred workers down to eight.

Saul remained.

He worked diligently on trying to beat this virus. His personal team consisted of him and one other person; and she was one more good scare from walking out the door.

But Saul was close; at least he believed he was.

Antigens taken from Specialist Carlson, the soldier who showed remarkable recovery then changed his antigens, were synthesized in hopes of making an antidote. Taking what he had one step further.

Carlson was so close to beating the virus transformation. One step.

Saul saw it on the screen, against the viral strain that hit the cell structure. Biting his nails, Saul watched his antigens battle the infection like soldiers in a war zone.

“Dr. Klein,” his assistant’s voice cracked.

“Yes, Susan.”

“My husband called. There are reports of infection on our street. I’m going. We’re leaving.”

“And going where.” Saul made notation.

“Out of Vermont.” Susan pulled out a copy of the United States Map. “Montana. That’s a state with no reported cases. And a few others out west.”

Saul kept watching the screen. “We’re close.”

“I pray you are. I must go.”

Saul didn’t respond. He closed his eyes, listening to her gather her things. She wished him luck. He needed it.

The test on his screen was nearly complete, and it looked good. But so did the other batches. But like the other batches, he would try. This one was different. He took what he was calling SP1 to another level.

He could see what he needed to do. He needed to build the body’s defenses against the invading force and to do that, Saul took the good antigens and made them bad, in a good way. When the Peru strain tried to take over the blood, the new virus would combat it.

A virus there was a cure for.

A soupped up, biological weapon version of small pox.

And on the screen, which was like a paper version of a test, it looked promising.

Saul was on his last leg. If he had more time, maybe he could beat it, but things were chaotic outside his window. He could hear growing gunfire and screams, rioting and breaking glass.

His last attempt. He would leave if it didn’t work.

Waiting for the serum to mix, Saul thought of calling Irma. He picked up the phone and it rang before he could dial.

Jack.

“What’s wrong?” was Saul’s answer to the ringing phone.

“They’re moving me to North Carolina,” Jack said. “ Just touching base. If it’s bad Saul, I’m heading to the fortress, letting you know.”

“Well, I’m finishing up here and heading there myself.” Saul rubbed his eyes. “I’m on to something Jack.”

“What do you mean?”

“Carlson. You know how he developed antibodies to the Peru strain?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, we synthesized them. Had the same results in others but it needed something more. I believe I’ve come up a combination that may work. I’m going to test it here, real soon.”

“And if it works?” Jack asked.

“Then, Jack, I don’t know. It may be too late to mass produce. If it works at all. At least we may be able to help some once they’ve been bit.”

“I’m keep my fingers crossed. Saul, when are you leaving there?”

“After I run this and see. A day or two,” Saul said.

“Keep in touch. I promised your wife.”

“I will. And Jack, if you get there and I don’t …”

“Won’t happen.”

“Jack.”

“Saul, I have to go. It won’t happen. I’ll talk to you soon. Good luck.”

Saul stared at the phone for a moment, and again, ready to dial Irma, he stopped when the alert on the computer told him his new test batch was done.

He went over, retrieved one of the six vials, and filled a syringe.

The walk to the testing area wasn’t long. Down the hallway with glass windows.

Test subjects one through six had turned and diligently fought the restraints that kept their reanimated bodies in bed.

Subjects seven through ten were turning fast. Their color was going, they thrashed. Vitals signs dropped as fever ravished them.

Test subject eleven had been bitten on the forearm four hours earlier.

She arrived alert and frantic and quickly fevered. She was strapped to the bed. Saul walked in the room.

Eleven was no older than twenty. She whimpered and her head thrashed back and forth. Her long dark hair reminded Saul of Sarah.

“Help me. I’m so… so…sick.”

“I know.” Saul reached for the intravenous tubing. “I’m trying.”

“Is that a cure?”

“I don’t know,” Saul said. “We can only hope.”

He injected the fluid into her intravenous.

If his theories were correct, it would start to work immediately. All his previous serums did. But the working immediately wasn’t his concern; it was the long term effect. The other serums failed and the patient reverted.

A few hours. That was all. A few hours and Saul would know if he were on to something or if he just tossing out another failed attempt at a hopeless cause.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Atlantic Ocean

After about twenty minutes of continuous attempt to contact, Officer Harold had enough.

“Hartford this is General Lance, Secretary of Defense, do you read me. Over.”

Consciously they called out.

Marlene had kept everyone in the control room at bay. Then Harold seized the moment and took control.

He had her restrained in a chair and held at gunpoint.

With the best interest of the few survivors in mind, Harold had to do what he thought was best and that was take control so he could get them off the submarine.

“This is Hartford. Executive Officer Harold speaking, sir.”

“Where is the Captain?” Lance asked.

“The captain, we believe has lost control and not capable of making decisions Sir. I have taken over command.”

“Do you have infected on board?” Lance asked.

“Yes, sir. We do.”

“How many?”

“Sir,” Harold said. “We are in the control room. We’re trapped here. The entire submarine has been taken over by the infected.”

“How many remain?”

“Eight.”

“Thank you.”

“Sir, when can expect a rescue? When can we come ashore? We haven’t eaten properly. We have two here with broken bones and cuts.”

“You have infected. You realize we cannot let you come ashore.”

“But, Sir …”

“Over.”

Nothing.

Harold hung his head in defeat. He lifted it slowly to Marlene’s mad laughter. First he looked at her over his shoulder then turned his body.

“You fool,” She said. “Why do you think I didn’t tell them? Let the infected die out, surface the sub, make an emergency escape. Now you don’t stand a chance. They are and will take us out.”

“No.” Harold shook his head. “No they won’t. They’ll spare us.”

“Then you’re more of a fool than I thought. What makes you think they’ll reason with you?” she asked.

“I have a bay of eight trident missiles whose launch codes I have the authority to override.” Harold said assuredly. “They’ll reason.” He turned to the communications officer. “Get them back on the line.”

CHAPTER NINETEEN

North Carolina

Juan was placed in the tool shed. There he sat with the ball that Jerry had tossed him, he played with it and was occupied enough for Steve to secure him in there and visit with Garrick.

Lil was frazzled but tried not to show it. “Garrick, how did Jack not know your brother?”

Garrick shrugged. “Don’t know. Never met him. Steve is a big virologist for the Army. And let’s face it, my last name is common.”

Irma spoke as she combed Jerry’s hair. “The question is, why does he have the boy?”

“Thing,” Garrick stated.

“Boy,” Steve said as he emerged, hair wet. “Thank you for the shower.” He reached for the bottle of booze and poured a drink. “He’s a boy. We brought him back from Peru for testing. He was different.”

“Peru?” Irma asked. “You were in Peru? Where did you bring him for testing?”

“Atlanta,” Steve answered.

Irma looked at Lil quickly then Steve. “Then you know my husband. You must. Saul Klein.”

Steve smiled. “Dr. Klein is an amazing man. He is.”

“Then you must have met my husband,” Lil said. “Sgt. Edwards.”

“Jack. Yes.” Steve nodded. “Wait. Garrick, is that Jack the one and the same friend you talked about all these years?”

“Yep. That’s him. But enough of this shit,” Garrick said. “Why did you bring him up here?”

“He’s different,” Steve said then downed his drink. “He doesn’t attack. On the way to America, he cried the entire way. He understands, he does. When the order came to exterminate him he … he looked at me and put his head on my lap. I couldn’t do it.”

Garrick rolled his eyes.

Irma covered her mouth. “He begged for his life.”

Steve nodded.

“What life!” Garrick asked. “He’s dead. Dead, Steve.”

Steve cringed. “I know. But I couldn’t do it.”

Lil asked. “So you took him? Why?”

“Look at him. He’s decaying at a normal rate. Most of the reanimated seem to have a slower decomposition rate. He will eventually just pass on. I brought him up here, away from it all to be in peace and to do so without being killed. Unlike the others, for some reason, he still has a bit of his soul in there.”

“And for that reason, Steven,” Irma walked to him, “You must end it for him. If he has any inkling of life. Any soul. If that is really him in that reanimated boy, then he is scared. He has to feel the pain of his body decaying. Don’t do this to this child. You need to end it for him.”

“He’s just a child,” Steve said.

“Exactly,” Irma replied. “Don’t make him suffer anymore. My husband made that choice for our own daughter who was bitten. If he can do that for his own flesh and blood, you can do this for that child.”

Steve shivered a breath, “But he’ll know. He trusts me. I can’t do it. I can’t.”

Garrick pursed his lips and pulled his weapon. “Then I will.”

“No.” Lil said firmly. “No. You aren’t going to go out there and execute a small boy.”

“Then what do you suggest?” Garrick asked. “Who will do it?”

Lil looked around the faces in the room. “I will. But we’ll do it right.”

<><><><>

By the time Jack pulled into Huntersville, North Carolina, his team of twenty had dwindled to eight. Not because of death, but because most of the soldiers just went AWOL.

Jack didn’t blame them. There is a duty to country but more to family first.

He had made the promise that he would make it to Lil before risking anymore.

Huntersville was quiet and Jack pulled the convoy of vehicles up the main street.

There was no destruction, no chaos as the Humvee, two jeeps and a Fox rolled into town.

In fact there wasn’t a sound. They found the police station without incident. The doors were barricaded. What was going on?

If there were an undead epidemic like in Atlanta, surely Jack would have seen one. But he didn’t.

He picked up the radio. “This is Foxtrot Zulu Niner, come in. We’re in center square facing the destination. What’s our directive… copy?”

“Foxtrot Zulu Niner, we will try to reach those inside to tell them you have arrived. Stand by.”

“Copy that.” Jack lowered his radio. “This is absurd.” He waved out his arm. “Let’s move it in.”

Perhaps Jack shouldn’t have called out his order so loudly. Had he not, he and his team may have made it into the station. Instead, his booming voice was like a lunch bell and when it rang out, so did the screams and damned cries of hundreds of undead.

Jack cocked his head.

They came from everywhere. Over buildings, from behind cars. Fast and furious. Leaping out, jumping like animals. The slid down the side of the police station.

Jack watched three lunge at a soldier taking him down.

“Take them out!” Jack ordered, and then recognized it wasn’t going to be easy. He realized it as soon as one came for him. Jack lifted his weapon to shoot but couldn’t.

It was a child.

No older than four.

With mouth agape, hands outward, the child sprang at Jack. He couldn’t bring himself to shoot.

He revved back his foot and booted the child back ten feet. Turning, Jack saw another of his men go down, then another.

A child hit his back and Jack flung the little girl to the ground, took a deep breath, tried to shoot, but again, couldn’t.

What was wrong with him?

He fought them furiously, swatting them away, hitting them with his M-4, battering them with his hands and feet, his weapon, everything but bullets.

From the corner of his eye he saw one of his soldier shoot an undead child. The kid’s body exploded and it was like a blast of emotion in Jack.

He didn’t know what to do.

For some reason, the killer instinct instilled in him left and he was conflicted. He needed to think, he needed to be safe and Jack flew for the Fox vehicle.

The hundreds of children rained in like demons, snarling, biting, growling and screaming.

It was mayhem. Why weren’t they warned? He was facing an enemy he could beat, but emotionally was unable to battle.

Quickly, Jack climbed up on the Fox. He opened the hatch and jumped inside. Reaching to close the hatch, a little arm reached in.

Jack had to ignore the fact it was a child. He had to fight the emotions within him and slamming the hatch, he severed the arm.

Breathing heavily, he had to take a moment.

“Sarge.” The voice of a soldier startled Jack.

Jack grabbed his chest. “You ok?”

“Yeah. Yeah.” Private Allan replied. “I barely made it in here. What do we do?”

“What we have to do.” Jack scrambled into the driver’s seat of the Fox. “We get out of here.”

CHAPTER TWENTY

Saul had fallen asleep. He thought the sound of breaking glass had awoken him, but when he lifted his head, it was quiet.

In fact, at eight in the evening, Saul saw nothing on the screens, heard no noise at all except that which came from outside.

He didn’t bother looking. It was time to check subject eleven.

He looked at her an hour earlier and her fever had broken. It was a good sign. But that didn’t mean anything. Carlson was responsive and healthy and still turned.

The testing hall was noisy as the reanimated ones, strapped to their beds, cried out. Number eleven was at the end of the hall. Saul made his way to her. He stopped in total shock at the observation window when he saw her sitting on the bed.

“Remarkable.” Saul whispered, seeing her vital signs. They were normal.

“Doctor.” She called from the room. “I think it’s working. Look at my arm. Look.” She held it up. “It’s healing.”

Saul pressed the intercom. “Let’s keep hoping.” He smiled at her.

Yes. He thought. SP1 was a lucky hit. He may have had something there. Excited about his possible success, Saul turned and headed back down to his lab.

Just as he was about to enter, he heard the sound of breaking glass again. This time it was real.

Reaching for his lab door, he cocked his head to the left and saw that the glass door at the end of the corridor had cracked because of the massive number of undead who were relentlessly pounding at the door trying to get in. And it wasn’t going to be too long before they succeeded, Saul knew.

<><><><>

Steve had found the family cabin about six miles from Garrick’s fortress and that was where he had his belongings.

Lil went with him to the cabin.

They took Juan.

Steve would return to Garrick’s, but they had to take care of something first.

Irma was right.

It was inhumane what was happening to Juan.

But Steve had become attached to Juan and Lil knew how difficult it was for him.

It wasn’t easy for Lil either, and she kept hearing Irma’s words over and over again in her head.

In the cabin, Steve placed Juan in bed. He gave him the ball, and told the child to close his eyes. Juan did as he was asked.

Steve told him everything was going to be alright and that soon he would see his mother and father.

Though his mouth was decayed and cracked, Juan smiled.

Steve ran his hand over the boy’s head and said good night.

Lil slipped into the quiet room.

The child lay quietly on his back, not moving.

She slowly made her way to the bed and paused. There she said a silent prayer asking God to forgive her if what she was about to do was wrong. She asked that Juan go fast and peacefully.

Then Lil lifted her revolver. She placed a pillow over Juan’s head and before he could move or react. Then, with every muscle in her body shaking and with a fearful breaking heart, she pointed the revolver at the pillow, closed her eyes, and pulled the trigger.

<><><><>

How many did they hit? How many thumbs and bangs hit against the Fox? Jack tried with desperately to radio in what had occurred but couldn’t get a signal. His only hope was to keep driving out of Huntersville, and he did.

Jack failed.

He had no problem shooting the undead before but these were different. These were children.

And no matter what they were, no matter how badly they looked, when Jack saw them, they were still children and he couldn’t fulfill his job.

With that knowledge, Jack knew he was done.

He was going to be a statistic and one of those soldiers who just took off.

He was close enough to Garrick’s property and that was his plan.

Private Allan was fine with that, in fact he told Jack to do whatever he needed to do.

Jack got out of Huntersville first, and once at a safe distance, he pulled the Fox over.

He was done.

He told Private Allan he would be right back and climbed from the Fox.

Jack needed a moment, he needed some air, and he needed to call Saul.

<><><><>

“Full speed ahead.” The communication specialist relayed to General Lance.

“They’re what?” Lance asked.

“Full speed ahead, sir.”

“For what?”

A pause.

“Virginia.” The communications specialist replied. “At this rate, in seventeen minutes they’ll be aground.”

“What do we have in the area to take them out?” Lance asked.

“USS Washington and two other subs,”

“Instruct them all to lock in coordinates.” Lance ordered. “And take them out immediately.”

“Yes, sir.” The communications specialist picked up his radio. The second he did, an alarm sounded.

“What’s going on?” Lance asked.

“Sir.” The Communications specialist, with a drawn look, turned to Lance. “Their entire bay of trident missiles …. They overrode authority. They’re engaged.”

Lance grabbed the radio. “Officer Harold. This is General Lance, I order you to disengage your weapons and turn your vessel round.”

“We cannot do that,” Harold replied. “Permission to come ashore.”

“Permission denied.”

“We’ll ask one more time,” Harold said, “Permission to come ashore.”

“Permission denied.”

“Then we’re sorry.”

Lance spun to the communication specialist. “Are the other ships locked and loaded?”

“Locked and loaded.”

“Order them to fire at will.”

“Yes, sir.” The Communications specialist said, “USS Washington ... you are …”

Before he could finish his command, alarms blared.

“What’s going on?” Lance asked.

The communications specialist, his face an ashen white slowly quietly said, “They launched their entire bay.”

<><><><>

Saul had raced into his lab, grabbed the two vials of SP1 that remained, tossed them in his briefcase along with his phone and a revolver. He lifted the M-16 that rested on the counter and moved to the window.

His plan was to lock his lab door and escape through his office.

He was on the second floor.

But the moment he looked outside he knew that was futile.

The streets were swarming.

Swarming with undead.

Saul’s next thought was to get out of the building. With his briefcase and weapons he raced from the office.

His only option was the staircase. The hallway was till clear and safe.

He grabbed for the stairwell door and paused.

Number eleven.

Running down the hall, he raced to her room and opened the door, “Come on.” He told her. “We have to get out.”

She ran to him and he grabbed her arm, pulling her into the hallway.

They were only a few feet from the stairwell when the glass door at the end of the hall shattered and hoards of the undead broke their way in.

Frightened, Evelyn screamed and froze in stride.

“Move!” Saul shouted, tugging her to the door.

But the undead raced down the hall.

Saul opened the stairwell, slipped inside. She stood absolutely frozen in that hall.

“Come on!” Saul screamed. He was about to step forward, to grab on to number eleven and yank her into the stairwell, but he wasn’t fast enough.

An entire mob of undead tackled her like a football team. She screamed beneath them only briefly.

Saul knew it was useless to try to save her and reached to shut the stairwell door. One of the undead jumped in, knocking Saul back.

Saul was quick.

Snarling jaw coming at him, he put the revolver to the zombie’s temple and fired.

The attack stopped, Saul pushed the undead from him, hurried to his feet and bolted through the stairwell door.

Down was his first thought, until he peered over the rail to see massive numbers of undead a few staircases down.

So it was up.

From where he stood it was smooth sailing. No undead and Saul raced, like a man half his age, the five floors to the top of the building, emerging out on to the roof.

He had lost all ability to breathe normally and his chest burned with each breath he took.

Hands on his knees he took some time, but couldn’t take too much.

He could hear the undead in mad pursuit.

Stuck on that roof, he jammed the M-16 in the roof door handle to secure it.

He was safe, but for how long?

From the chaos of the streets, the wails and moans carried to him and Saul was ready to give up.

He walked across the roof and sat down to catch his bearings.

He looked at his revolver then reached into this briefcase. Pulling out his phone to dial, it happened again. The phone rang. Again it was Jack.

“Hello.” Saul answered.

“It’s Over, Saul, at least for me,” Jack spoke.

“Me, too Jack.”

“What’s going on?” Jack asked.

“We’re overrun.”

“I’m heading to the fortress now.”

“Good. Good.” Saul caught his breath. “Do me a favor, ok. Tell Irma I love her. To be strong and move on. Stay alive and watch our Jerry. But make sure she knows I love her.”

“Saul?” Jack questioned. “You aren’t coming.”

Saul chuckled emotionally. “Jack, I’m not able to. I won’t get there.”

“Try to get out. Just leave, Saul.”

“I wish I could,” Saul said. “But once again, I’m trapped at the CDC and the city is swarming. This time, I’m on the roof and it won’t be long before they get to me.”

“Saul.”

“It’s over for me, Jack. Tell my wife I love her.”

“No.” Jack said strong. “Tell her yourself. Hang tight, I’m on my way.”

“Jack.”

“No Saul, end of discussion, end of call. I’ll be there in ten hours. I won’t leave you. I’m on my way.”

“Jack.” Saul cried out, but the call ended. Saul tried to call Jack again, but it was useless.

Saul wasn’t giving up though. He sat on the roof, his back against a vent and phone in his hand. He’d keep trying to call Jack. He had to.

But he had to catch his breath and his bearings. He whimpered some in frustration and exhaustion. The revolver dangled in his hand and he knew he would use it eventually when the time came.

But before he did that, he had to get in touch with Jack. He had to tell him not to come; he didn’t get a chance to really tell him how bad Vermont was.

Catching his breath, Saul looked down to his hand and to the thin stream of blood that tricked just below his thumb.

Most importantly he had to get in touch with Jack to tell him coming to save him was in vain. Saul had been bitten.

Table of Contents

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY