by catt dahman
The Lodge
catt dahman
Copyright.
catt dahman
©2013, catt dahman
[email protected]
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book, including the cover and photos, may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author / publisher. All rights reserved.
The characters, places, and events depicted are fictional and do not represent anyone living or dead. This is a work of fiction.
Chapter 1
Test One…Place Your Bets…Love At First Bite…
Iron Out A Craving…I’m Burning for You….
“He’s drunk.” Ines said, rolling her eyes. “Ken is smashed.”
“Yes, but he’d do the same if he were sober. He’s a loose cannon,” Michael Parce agreed. They sat in a control room, observers of behavior. Screens lined the walls, and they watched them, turning this way and that to see everything. Military physicians and scientists observed the screens as if they were watching a television program; they were fascinated. Only one man sat in a corner, ignoring the test because he had seen an accidental test already and had no desire to repeat the experience.
“Why don’t we pull him out? We know he’s dangerous,” said Ines as she watched from the cameras, turning her head to catch all of the action. They were focused on the action on the cameras, for there was action on the camera, but she still drew attention with dark hair like a curtain. Some good that did her now that she was assigned to this program.
“No interference,” someone responded, making Ines roll her eyes
“We need to know. Will he restrain himself, knowing? He has to do what is right,” Parce responded. He watched the man in question order another drink for himself and for the woman he was talking to. “If he is irresponsible, then we should know.” He sat forward in his comfortable, black leather chair. He was the lead scientist for this program.
Ken and the woman had previously been on the dance floor, gyrating to some song from the 1980s, but they added sexual movements as their physical chemistry flashed and thumped like the music and discotheque lights. Both sweated lightly while they drank, cooled off, and caught their breath.
“You’re my heart. Beat. You’re my love.
Beat, beat. You’re my love.
You own my heart. Beat. Beat.”
The singer lowered his voice and whined the lyrics, using the thumping beat to his advantage. Dangers swung around on the deeper beats of the drum and thrust their pelvises, embracing the lyrics of the song. Hands brushed against backs and breasts, rumps thrust, and sheets of hair swept through the air as the dancers lost themselves to the sexy music.
The woman with Ken, who was hot and winded from dancing, sucked on an ice cube and licked at it, moving it about in her mouth. She watched Ken as he watched her. She knew that he was excited by her flirtations. She reached up and brushed her hair away from her face with her fingertips, emitting a cloud of musky sweat, perfume, and heat.
Ken inhaled her fragrance and watched her lips, licking his own lips in response.
“Anything from the others?” Dr. Parce asked. He tried to ignore the sexy woman all the scientists were all focused on. He tried to think of the woman as a lab rat. Subject 3. Subject 3 and no other name. “We just have Ken and Subject 3 engaging?”
“Negative,” Major Reid said, “they are behaving. A few got some big come-ons…but nothing. That dark-haired one in the shiny blue dress…the guy wanted to make out with her, but she didn’t go for it. He looked gut-shot.” Reid chuckled.
“Right,” Parce said.
Reid watched again, “She’s really flirting. She knows he wants her. Watch her pupils, amazing.” He used the camera controls to zoom in on the woman’s eyes. Subject 3’s pupils dilated seductively. With the screens on the walls, observers could watch the girl in the blue dress, the dancers, Subject 3, or Subject 3’s pupils.
“This is unreal. We tell them the truth, much of it: they are contagious if they share fluids, but this will protect them and that the epidemic is coming…for sure it is coming and what? They can’t control their libido for a few weeks until the world is dead? Seriously?” one of the others in the control room said. This was Nick Hoyt, and he was going to provide security for the upcoming mission, but he followed the details carefully; it was fascinating.
He had to see first hand what he would need to provide in terms of security and an escape plan, based on this test. He was going to see if he could provide a positive outcome for Test 2, but if subjects weren’t cooperative, he didn’t know how it was possible to contain quarantine.
“Nick,” Ines said, her accent strangely robotic, “this mimics real life; the subjects are real people in real situations, and if we can’t intervene and stop this at a small level, then we have no hope once it gets out.”
“A mass epidemic is very hard to comprehend,” Dr. Ericka Dickson said, “in addition, if they feel there will be a death threat, the normal reaction is to procreate.” She was the behavioral specialist, “I told you that this experiment would fail because they are only human.
“That is so, but we have rule changes,” Ines said. But every eye was on the screen, watching the sexy Subject 3’s eyes dilate.
“I’m disappointed in humans,” Nick said.
“Welcome to my world,” the man, sitting in the dark corner, replied, “whatever happens is justice. Humans are a blight.”
“I didn’t mean that,” Nick snapped back.
“Dance floor three o’clock,” another voice called.
Dr. Parce eagerly watched one of his female subjects lean close to another woman and breathe with her. The women danced back to front and were panting, their eyes slit shut with passion, lips engorged with desire, and their hands were roving. “I didn’t expect this one….” They showed more bodily contact than anyone else in the room the scientists watched.
Everyone’s watching, leaning forward. They focused on the women, watching for a first real move, a first sign that this was more than a dance.
The women kissed, and several people in the laboratory watched and then groaned as money was passed over to Major Reid, who had predicted this woman would break the rules first.
“How the hell did you know?” Ines reached into her lab coat to pay up. They knew someone would win the bet, but she had hoped it would be she who won.
Direct contact was a winner.
Ines glared at Parce, unhappy that he won the bet.
“Lock it down,” Parce demanded, “of all the people, did anyone else know she was bi?” He felt cheated, “Time zero and go.”
“That is time zero and go,” a scientist responded, marking the information down.
“No clue, but she’s hot so I made the bet,” Major Reid said. He followed protocol and punched buttons and flipped switches, “Lock down is done.” He wanted to watch the women. The one who had broken the rules…Brittany or Bethany, whatever, had a tight, firm rear and was well endowed. He liked women with curves. She was small less than five feet tall, but very womanly, and the bit of tummy she showed was extra hot.
He watched Brittany-Bethany kiss the other woman, and then he switched to Subject 3 with the beautiful eyes who was trying to seduce Ken with her ice cube tricks; that was Subject 3, he reminded himself; she was nothing more than a test subject.
Of the thirty people they watched, ten were inoculated against the infection but carried it within their bodily fluids. They could spr
ead the bacteria but would not be harmed if it were spread to them. Ten others were told they were inoculated but were not. The final ten were not told about the inoculation but were kept in isolation as well and warned about a bacterial infection. The groups were isolated from one another until now.
The first two groups had been repeatedly cautioned that while they would be safe from an attack and couldn’t catch the infection, they could easily spread it. To celebrate the end of isolation, the thirty were granted a military leave to spend the evening at a base dance club. They were all new military recruits.
The woman on the dance floor was kissing another who was not inoculated. She had been told not to dare share any fluids: blood, mucus, spit, absolutely no fluids. All hell was about to break loose.
Ken, whom they had been watching, would be the first to break the rules, had missed being the first, but he wasn’t out of the mix. He grew bored with the woman and her ice cube, and he walked over to the door, maybe to get fresh air or to have a cigarette, and found the door locked. He was Subject 19.
Major Reid had already flipped the switch, locking the door.
Reid wiped his mouth, hiding a smirk; people never listened.
Drunkenly, Ken frowned. “Hey, who locked the damned door?”
“You’re drunk, Ken; try turning the knob,” a man laughed at him.
“Shut up, smart ass. I did turn it. Did you lock it?” Ken laughed back, almost angry, but still riding the good mood his drinks had given him.
“Why would I lock the door? Dumb shit. You’re smashed.”
“What did you call me?” Ken raised his arms and chest, making him look larger. He spread his feet in a fighter’s stance. He wasn’t really all about fighting, but his adrenaline was high and his testosterone was high; women, sex and alcohol were all fueling his fire.
“I knew he’d do it,” Dr. Michael Parce noted from the control room. He checked his notes and marked the action on a chart. When he looked back and listened, he saw and heard the two men going at it, fighting.
Ken took several punches and went to his knees, his eyes wide with shock that he was already bested in the fistfight. Blood splashed as his nose popped.
“We have blood,” Major Reid announced. To his right, Doctor Parce scribbled that in a notebook and added scribbles to a chart on the wall. The other scientists leaned closer to the screens, alert for every movement, almost excited now that blood was shed.
Ken moaned as he looked at his own blood. The man who hit him, Tommy Eldritch, looked at the blood as well. The warnings and concerns flew away as the scent of blood drove him mad with pent-up lust and hunger. Normal brain functions slid sideways as they stopped being logical in any sense; the basic needs took over. That part of the brain lit up with prions and crystals and assumed control.
Without thinking about the situation further, Tommy, Subject 6, slid to the floor and bit into Ken’s arm, right above the elbow. He bit into flesh and groaned thankfully as blood pooled in the wound and filled his mouth. It was delicious.
Dr. Parce called out, “We have a bite.”
“Bite confirmed: zero plus two minutes,” a scientist replied.
Ken shrieked, yanking his arm back. A ragged hole marred his arm, and Tommy quietly chewed the flesh. “Dumb ass, we’re not supposed to bite. What if I hadn’t had a shot? What if I wasn’t immune? And now look at my arm, asshole. It hurts, dammit.” Ken looked at the hole and knew he was scared forever; he would need surgery, plastic surgery and stitches and antibiotics, but at least he was immune to that bacterial infection the doctors had warned them about. He was suddenly sober and in pain.
He was horrified, actually; the alcohol had dulled his reaction some.
He tried to recall what they were told about it. It was serious, he knew. Life- or-death-serious. He felt afraid for some reason.
Ken was in the second group who were told they were given an inoculation and thus immune to the infection. However, he was not immune. “Damn, this hurts.” In seconds, his arm began to throb with pus that gathered in the wound; he spiked a high fever, and his stomach began to ache and feel nauseous. He gagged as he wiped sweat off his face.
“Symptoms: Zero plus five minutes.”
“Symptoms confirmed,” Parce said.
Tommy knew he had broken the rules but was unable to stop himself from biting as the craving for raw meat caused sweat to pop out all over his body. Once he saw blood, he wanted to eat. Ken’s arm, infected and foul smelling, looked somewhat inviting. It looked very appealing. No, it looked fantastic.
At the door, a woman banged on the metal door, “We need a medic.”
“Stage Two,” Doctor Parce announced.
Someone turned the music off, and the lights came on. Ken sat against a wall, his hand across his wounded arm; he moaned and rolled his eyes with the pain. The woman who had been kissed curled into a ball in a corner as her lips swelled and her passion turned to pain and nausea. A boil burst on her lip.
As the woman screamed for the medic and for someone to open the door, several more of the inoculated shivered delightfully with the scent of blood in the room.
“Group A is reacting to the scent and sight of blood, and they are going into attack mode. Group B senses the danger and is beginning to show fear. Doctor, I feel the saliva was way too concentrated and that the reactions are much too high as opposed to what is expected,” Ericka said. She might be in the behavioral section, but she knew this anyway.
“Agreed. I would say we inoculated a hundred times the expected.” Parce shrugged.
Ericka Dickson looked at him, her eyebrow cocked, “Why? That makes no sense to do.” She hadn’t known that part. If they knew the concentration was wrong, why did they do it, and why waste subjects, time, and supplies? Insanity.
“Worst case scenario,” Dr. Parce said, “to be honest, Ericka, it just sped up the process so we can see what would normally take hours, and we didn’t need to wait. We know what will happen. This was all for your team so you can see the human quality and how no one likes to behave.” He cast a glare into the corner where the quiet man sat.
“If your people hadn’t locked them away….”the man said.
“If you hadn’t been nosy,” Parce said.
The man chuckled madly, “Your curiosity….”
Ericka stomped a boot and said, “Stop it. I have heard this a thousand times. Doctor, really? Blame space and whatever is out there. Blame nature.”
“We know that there were several avenues of infection,” Ines said, trying to get back on track.
“Exactly. The next test, and sadly probably the last test if the time line is correct, we will see possible outcomes, and if we can estimate if humans have a chance.” Parce didn’t enjoy seeing the outcome of his experiments and work; he was horrified with the results.
“And based on that…we decide about inoculations? That isn’t viable testing. How can we decide based on…this?”
Michael Parce rubbed his eyes, “Ericka, the problem is that we have no time left and no options for proper testing. We can’t find the missing subjects. They got out. We were too late. It’s done. It’s a matter of time before this gets out. What do the young people say? Ah, ‘we are screwed’.”
“All my fault,” the man in the corner said dully.
Dr. Parce was eagerly waiting.
Instead of destroying the town with fire, along with the deadly bacteria, they sealed the area, but subjects got out. They were going to spread the infection.
Ericka caught Ines’ gaze. Their glances made it clear that they didn’t want to die and felt helpless. “I hope you know the correct concentration, Doctor,” Ericka said.
“I do. Have some faith. Even at the dawn of the end of the world, someone must survive. With our having the heads-up and the tools we need, it might as well be us. You have taken the same inoculation as I, but I wouldn’t have taken it unless I knew for sure. Let’s concentrate on saving some people now that we know we are safe, okay?”
Parce looked again into the screens.
Nick Hoyt shook his head nervously, wondering how they could have hope after seeing the same events he watched. At least he wouldn’t become one of them.
A man roared with pain as three of his fingers snapped off in the jaws of a pretty woman he had danced with. She began ripping her nails along his face as if searching for a way to remove a mask. Nails slipped under skin and crescents of blood formed. Furrows opened. She began to peel his face away, picking at the edges, pulling at the skin.
Of all the men and women who were inoculated, seven of the ten leaped at the rest to snatch off fingers and bite into warm flesh. They were attacking anyone and everyone they could.
Of the twenty who were not inoculated, all either fell into corners or along walls to scream with their wounds pouring huge puddles of blood, or they were forced to the floor under teeth and nails that dragged their flesh away and then dug into their organs.
“What are Two, One, and Five doing?” one of the researchers asked.
Dr. Parce shrugged, “I don’t know. They aren’t attacking the injured. Look: Two just hit Seven with a chair. He’s defending the rest. I told you.”
Ericka found this fascinating. “You were right. Even at this concentration…amazing.”
The chair made a poor melee weapon, and in a few minutes, Subject Two was ripped apart. His fingers, stomach, and face fell into parts on the blood-slicked floor; the scent of opened bowels filled the room. While the inoculation kept the test subjects from becoming infected and turning into a Zed (nick-named for Zombie and Deader because the team couldn’t decide which slang word to use and finally combined them to sound like Zed), it didn’t keep them from being beaten, kicked, broken, and then devoured by the rest.
Those bitten, if it were a mortal injury, died and busy prions and magnetite-
crystals filled the brain and took away memories and reason, leaving nothing but the most basic of instincts. The reanimated people were technically dead, but the chemicals used them like puppets, causing them to exhibit rage, cannibalistic behavior, and a need to spread the bacteria. It also caused a flocking behavior.