The Fortress
Michael Scattergood
Chapter 1
The Fortress was once Tommy and Bobby Nagel’s home. They were raised there, played sports in the backyard, swam in the pool, went sledding down the hill past the fence, wrestled on the carpet, ate their meals at the table, did their homework in their rooms, and played monopoly in the dining room. It sat at the very end of a cul-de-sac on Andreas Road, house twenty-five out of twenty-five. It was a large white house with green shutters situated at the base of a large hill. But after November 21st, 2020, the Fortress was seen as a place of refuge, a place where they would bring all remaining friends and family to keep safe, a place to start over once/if this ever ended, a place they hoped their friends would learn to call home.
Tommy and Bobby Nagel grew up as athletic, smart, handsome, well-liked, gifted children. They may not have shown it regularly, but they knew, unwaveringly, that they could handle anything thrown their way. They had yet to be proven otherwise. In a way, their arrogance helped at the start of the outbreak. They barely hesitated before running out for supplies instead of cowering at home.
Other than the self-appointed leaders, The Fortress housed several people. It housed Uncle Ned, a dorky electrical engineer who was now going crazy at the high probability of his demise. It housed Sergeant Major Matthew Mickelson, a marine, and Tommy and Bobby’s cousin. It housed Casey and Tracey Stacey, whose parents were almost as poor at raising children as they were naming them. It housed Nicholas MacNamara, everyone’s least favorite member. And it housed Jordyn Thompson, Bobby’s oldest friend and literally the sweetest girl in the world.
The Fortress had many means of “self-defense.” There were the initial pistols, taken from their uncle’s closet, the hunting guns and ammo stolen from the sporting goods store, and plenty of heavier machine guns taken from Fort Allen. Needless to say, the Fortress would smile at an attack, wink, and then stick its tongue out for good measure. There’s a reason why it’s called “the Fortress.”
Before Uncle Ned was crazy, he was an electrical engineer and owned a generator. On his first day at the Fortress, he had the whole house running with electricity, and as far as they knew they were the only place with electricity within the radius of the attack. It would be nice to use the lights at night, but that was banned, Tommy and Bobby Nagel didn’t want the attackers to be attracted to the Fortress. They also had a well, which gave them running water, another rarity in today’s world which made the members of the Fortress very happy. These luxuries were also accompanied by some means of entertainment. Although they obviously lacked cable TV and internet, (Ned couldn’t fix the collapsed cell towers after all), they could still play DVD’s, video games, etc. They had it pretty good in the Fortress.
Nobody really ever wanted to leave the Fortress, but sometimes it had to be done. The Nagel brothers went on “trips” to look for other friends or family, or to go grocery shopping. Occasionally, they brought Sergeant Major Matthew Mickelson with them on trips if they wanted/needed extra defense against the attackers. Although he had seen better days, Sergeant Major Matthew Mickelson still had the instincts of a marine, and twice the shooting ability of Tommy and Bobby Nagel, although they would never admit it, and Sergeant Major Matthew Mickelson really couldn’t care less who the best shooter was.
“You’re telling me that you two can outshoot Matt?” Nicholas brought up one day.
“I’m saying we are at least in the ballpark as Matt,” defended Tommy.
“That’s crazy! You’re not more accurate with a gun than a goddamn marine, there’s just no way!”
“Look I’m not saying I’m anywhere near the level of soldier he is, but if we’d set up some target practice in the backyard it would be a fair fight.”
“Oh, why because you’ve been on a few trips? That makes you a shooting expert?”
“Y--“
“How did Matt get here?” Nicholas interrupted. “Huh? How did he get here? He and his troops took on a freaking horde of them! And he’s the only one that made it out! And you’ll sit there and say you’re still better than him!” Nicholas immediately regretted bringing that up, his face turned guilt-stricken and cherry red, and when he looked over he saw that Sergeant Major Matthew Mickelson had left the room.
These “trips” always occurred during the day. Even over-confident Tommy and Bobby wouldn’t leave the Fortress at night, and they made sure all trips were to be completed in time so they could get back by nightfall. The windows were boarded up every night, and un-boarded the following day. Rain or shine, they still desired the illusion of the outside world.
In all honesty, the Fortress was just a house with boards up on the windows, the only thing that made it safer than anywhere else was the number of guns inside, and the only thing that made it more desirable was the electricity. Tommy and Bobby Nagel named it the Fortress only because it was much easier to convince friends and family who have stayed alive thus far to come to “the Fortress” than it was to convince them to come to “our house in New Jersey.” It was foolproof logic; the only person who ever questioned it was sane Uncle Ned.
“You have to come back to the Fortress with us, Uncle Ned,” said Tommy.
“Yeah, come to the Fortress!” added Bobby.
“Why is it called the ‘Fortress’?” Ned asked.
“Because it’s safer than anywhere else right now.”
“It’s the safest place right now, Ned!”
“But what makes it safer than my house?”
“Because it’s the Fortress!”
“Yeah, Ned it’s the Fortress!”
“But why is it called that?”
“Because it’s so incredibly safe, Ned!” This confused Uncle Ned, but the smiling, proud faces of Tommy and Bobby Nagel made him believe they were confident for a reason, and he knew that they were his best chance at surviving, especially since the whereabouts of his own family were unknown. So he left a note at the house:
Dear beloved family,
Tommy and Bobby showed up today to take us back to their house, which is now the Fortress and the safest place around. If you do come back here, I recommend you go straight to the Nagel house, where we could reunite and be safe. I love you all so much.
God Bless,
Dad
The Fortress was conceited because its owners were conceited. The residents just assumed that it would withstand an attack easily, because Tommy and Bobby Nagel said it would, and Tommy and Bobby Nagel were never wrong. Tommy once convinced his baseball coach and his entire team that Babe Ruth was a better pitcher than he was a hitter. Bobby once convinced his college history professor that George Washington was a mediocre president. Tommy once convinced his aunt and uncle that a raise in allowance would cause a boost in morale and lead to a higher chore production. Bobby once convinced his film major friend that The Godfather: Part III was the best out of the series. They believed them, because Tommy and Bobby Nagel were never wrong. The only person who didn’t think that way was Nicholas McNamara, who lost faith in the wisdom of the Nagel’s once he found out they wouldn’t let him leave. But Nicholas still believed Tommy and Bobby Nagel was right about the Fortress being impenetrable. Although he would never admit it, even to himself, deep down he knew Tommy and Bobby Nagel were almost never wrong.
Chapter 2
Dr. Michael Bujnowski had a loving and caring wife and a caring and loving mistress. But Dr. Michael Bujnowski didn’t care about either one. Since 2003 Dr. Michael Bujnowski only cared about his work, his goal, his dream, his passion: finding a cure for Parkinson’s disease. There were many amazing scientists in the science community experimenting for a cure, but Dr. Michael Bujnowski was going to be the first, he had to be the first, it was his destiny
to be the first. He worked nights, he worked weekends, he worked holidays, he worked birthdays. He wouldn’t be satisfied until his prophecy was met.
Curing Parkinson’s seems like a noble cause, a cause that many scientists aspire to for the right reasons. Dr. Michael Bujnowski was not one of them. His intentions were almost purely based on the fame and fortune that would follow such a marvelous and insurmountable feat. He wanted his name on a giant statue in Times Square and have it read “This guy cured Parkinson’s.” He wanted to be on news interviews, he wanted books and movies to be made about him. But that would only happen if he did it first, nobody would write a script on the second guy to cure Parkinson’s, nobody would build a statue that read “This guy almost cured Parkinson’s before Dr. Whatshisface.” He had to beat everyone else, Dr. Whatshisface, Professor Insertnamehere, all of them.
Rooted deep within his subconscious was another motive. Dr. Bujnowski’s mother suffered from Parkinson’s disease. He watched his mother suffer every day for the first ten years of his life. Easy tasks became impossible; she couldn’t take care of herself let alone her child. He watched his father slowly lose his mind taking care of her as the disease progressed. He also watched his father turn that stress into a drinking problem. And he watched from his bedroom window as his father loaded his car with his suitcase and left in the middle of the night on Michael’s eighth birthday. His aunt moved in to help care for them, but that didn’t stop Michael’s mother from falling into a deep depression. His mother took her own life two and a half years after her husband left them. Dr. Michael Bujnowski never told anyone about his troubled past, including his wife and mistress. He was too busy talking about his work.
“Can’t you just spare one weekend so we can visit our family in Cleveland?” his caring and loving wife pleaded.
“I can’t believe you would even ask me that!” Dr. Michael Bujnowski said as if it was the most absurd request he’d ever heard. “You know I haven’t the time to go lollygagging throughout the streets of Cleveland with “our” family. If your parents and siblings were really “our” family they wouldn’t make such an incongruous entreaty of me! I need to work! I’m trying to do something amazing here! And when I’m done, we can go visit YOUR family in Cabo, or Tahiti, or Bermuda, or wherever we decide to buy them a vacation home with the fortune we’ll attain from MY work!”
This “fight” as some would call it, which consisted of Dr. Michael Bujnowski berating his loving and caring wife for an extended period of time, happened biweekly. But his wife still loved him and cared about him, although she feared those feelings were becoming partisan, although she rarely saw her husband, although they seldom made love, although she had no idea why he didn’t get home until 3:30 a.m. on Wednesday nights, she still loved him.
Dr. Michael Bujnowski was a tall, slender man in his mid-forties. He cared immensely about his appearance, as he had to look good for the soon-to-be-coming cameras. He had a Hair Club for Men haircut that was dyed almost black by Just for Men products. He had a large birthmark below his right eye that couldn’t quite be covered by makeup, though that didn’t stop him from trying.
Immortality, the unfeasible desire to live forever, the endless quest to not be forgotten, the unwavering hope that his soul won’t be elapsed, the unattainable goal that many men have strived towards, that’s what drove Dr. Michael Bujnowski. He wanted to live forever, not rot in a box for all eternity, not have his ashes spread at a beach or off a cliff or some other cliché spot. And he figured if he can’t live forever, his name would take his place. People would praise and thank his corpse every time a loved one was cured by his amazing accomplishment; children would read about him in history textbooks, science textbooks, and biographies about him. His name had to live on, and in that regard, he succeeded. But his name wouldn’t be hailed, it would be detested.
In April 2016 Dr. Michael Bujnowski’s latest attempt at target validation was successful. In Saxton & Hoser Pharmaceutical research lab, just outside of Philadelphia, the drug BC-7 transformed stem cells into fully functioning neurons to repair the damaged brain of Parkinson’s patients. In August 2018, BC-7 was then able to alter a genetically made brain with all cells surviving and thriving. In January 2020, BC-7 was then tested on Parkinson’s induced rats, and the results were strange, to say the least. BC-7 began to adjust to the new environment, successfully, but the rats’ immune system resisted the drug altered cells, causing a momentary death of around seven seconds before springing back to life. Although the rats were indeed dead, no heartbeat, no pulse, they seemed to be shaking, almost in a seizure-like state. But every rat eventually came back to full life, and came back Parkinson’s free.
Of course Dr. Michael Bujnowski saw this as a victory, and wanted to begin human trials immediately. However, his colleagues and his boss, Dr. Curtis Allen, a stocky old man with a large scar on his right arm, did not share similar views, and did not give Dr. Michael Bujnowski permission to proceed to human trials, permission that he needed, and craved. Dr. Curtis Allen was nervous about the seven-second period where the rats were dead, and thought if the rats’ immune system would repel the drug as it did, humans would definitely experience similar results. Dr. Curtis Allen contemplated for years whether starting human trials was worth the risk. The entire time Dr. Michael Bujnowski badgering in his ear to let him try it, and he made a compelling argument.
“For every day, week, month, year we sit here and don’t move on to phase 1 human trials, hundreds of thousands of people all over the country are suffering from this disease and getting worse.” Dr. Michael Bujnowski said.
“I believe, and your colleagues agree, that the results won’t be equivalent in the human body, we could kill more people than we would save if we begin human trials.” Dr. Curtis Allen responded. “You’ll just have to go back and tweak BC-7 to fix the error.”
“Go back? Are you insane? That will take years! We don’t have that kind of time. People with Parkinson’s wouldn’t want us to waste that time!” Again, as if he cared. “We need to start phase 1 now!”
“Your colleagues still think that—“
“My colleagues think that way because they’re also working with stem cells but haven’t had my success yet. They’re jealous, Curt!”
“Maybe they wouldn’t feel that way if you let some of them help you, for once. We’re a team here, Michael.”
“Don’t give me that bullshit, you and I both know how competitive this field is, they wouldn’t let me in on their work if they were as close as I was.”
“Maybe so, but when a Parkinson’s drug eventually does hit the market, whether it be from our pharmaceutical company or not, it needs to be perfected, because people everywhere are going to be rushing to their doctors to get it for their loved ones. And right now, your drug isn’t perfect. It’s too risky.”
“Who, the hell, is talking about it going to the market? No drug goes to the market without going through the three phases of human trials! We’ll never know about the success of BC-7 unless we try! We need to try dammit!”
Dr. Curtis Allen thought this over, he thought it over for days, and he knew Dr. Michael Bujnowski made a point. So he finally agreed to start phase 1 trials, roughly 15-20 Parkinson’s infected people would test BC-7, he decided. Then Dr. Michael Bujnowski used his “people need it now” argument yet again, and convinced him to have 50 people, then 100, and before Dr. Curtis Allen knew it they were jumping to phase 2 trials without ever having gone through phase 1, testing BC-7 on 250 Parkinson’s infected patients. They were all volunteers, after all, people who would try anything to have their motor functions back to their normal state.
The patients were brought into a large testing facility, one massive, white, radiant room with surrounding windows above from which Dr. Michael Bujnowski and others watched this historic event. Among the crowd was Dr. Curtis Allen; James P. Fitz, CEO of Saxton & Hoser Pharmaceuticals; Dr. Edmond Raymond, the newly appointed chairman of the FDA; reporters from CNN, N
BC, Fox News, Wall Street Journal, basically every major reporting company; and his “colleagues” were in attendance. It was out of the ordinary to have the press at a drug trial, but CEO Fitz thought it would be great publicity to show the world the research funding was going to important causes, even if one-third of it was going into his bank account.
On November 20th, 2020, 5:30 p.m. BC-7 was given to the 250 patients simultaneously with 250 doctors and 250 needles. Dr. Michael Bujnowski was anxious, yet excited, nervous, yet ecstatic. All of his hard work over the course of a decade was about to pay off, he could envision the news conference already, the one where he tells the world of his success, and begins to reap the endless benefits and praises. The cells were injected directly into the patients’ brains. All seemed to be going as planned, as expected, as wished, until 5:42 p.m. One patient’s heart monitor went flat, then another, then another. A flurry of flat lines suddenly spread across the entire room, every patient was gone.
Dr. Michael Bujnowski’s face went pale. It was the longest minute of his life. They waited anxiously for the heart monitors to begin again, the patients would wake up, and they would all celebrate the amazing accomplishments made on that day. But that would never happen. The patients slowly began to awaken, one by one, but they were not alive.
Out of nowhere, as if a switch was flipped, the pale, seemingly lifeless patients began viciously swarming and attacking the doctors. Gnawing, biting, and ripping their bodies apart as screams filled the room. They were ruthless, powerful, and fast. The defenseless, unexpecting doctors didn’t stand a chance as their numbers dropped quickly. In seconds, every doctor in the room was dead.
When almost all life was sucked out of the room, the attackers began targeting the windows! Throwing beds and machines at the windows to break them, the glass was strong but not invincible. Many of the observers in the viewing room had already left, their screams echoed down the hallways. But some stayed, whether it be out of shock or curiosity, they stayed, and were soon attacked.
The Fortress Page 1