The Final Outbreak

by M. L. Banner

  The officer held up a thumb and forced a weak smile, lifting his head up slightly. Then he burst into the suite’s bathroom, slamming the door behind him.

  Ted glanced at David and David glared back before giving him a shrug of his shoulders and a smirk. Then they heard the officer heave and both nodded. They understood—the poor guy was just sick, not crazy. They were just learning about the Rage disease and how it worked in humans. Perhaps it simply made some of the infected sick, but didn’t give them all the symptoms, including the aggressive part of the disease. He so wanted to know more and felt like their survival would depend on it. Finding out what was going on in the world would help. He wasn’t sure what they should do next with the sick officer.

  David lifted his head slightly, a half-nod. “Why don’t you find a channel that works and I’ll stand guard by the bathroom door, in case our officer comes out feeling a little charged up.”

  Ted nodded back. But rather than sitting down, he hustled over to the dining area table and snatched up his weapon. He heard David try to hold back a snicker unsuccessfully, as Ted lumbered back to his seat. He’d not let go of this until they were free of this threat, or he found a better weapon.

  Ted glanced back once more to the bathroom door, behind him. David, whose club was now resting on a shoulder, busily inspected the bathroom door. Feeling satisfied, Ted returned his focus on the TV and the remote.

  He remembered the first channel was always the ship’s channel, and it was likely to show nothing, especially now without any content to broadcast, nor crew to operate it. The next few channels were cable channels and they had pre-recorded content: movies, television series, and some reality TV show called The Colony. Ted realized pretty quick there were far more satellite channels on this TV than the one in their cabin, even when they were fully operational. He continued his progression forward, pressing the channel-up button until he found a news channel. He let out a deep sigh when the bad news poured in, like a fire hydrant opened up during the summer time.

  A big part of him—the unrealistic side—had still held out a small glimmer of hope that it wasn’t as bad as his logical side knew it was. He kept telling himself that maybe it was isolated or somehow different outside of their ship.

  It wasn’t.

  BBC World News showed video after video of cities damaged or destroyed: some beat to hell and barely standing, perhaps because of the tsunamis; some still burning, with uncontrollable fires; and some completely gone, as if they were leveled by a nuclear-bomb-like explosion. And then there were the bodies. Most of the videos showed them everywhere. All but one video chronicled the aftermath of what places looked like after the event, whatever it was, that caused the destruction. British reporters described what each saw or vignettes from survivors they’d interviewed.

  But Ted wanted more about the infected.

  The next channel was CNN. They had some of the same videos, and a few different, but showing the same level of destruction, all while a panel of guests argued the cause of this apocalypse. The consensus was climate change. Ted changed the channel.

  On Fox News, the same video was played over and over again, on a loop, all while a talking head with psychology accolades after her name droned on. The video showed people running down a street in London, away from something. At first Ted didn’t see it, but then after the third or fourth loop, he caught several of the red-eyed parasitics among the group; they weren’t running away, but doing the chasing.

  It was confirmation of what he already knew: this disease wasn’t just local to their ship and what the media was calling Rage was turning animals and people into crazed killers.

  It still wasn’t enough. He wanted—no, needed—more examples, more information so they could figure out how to survive this.

  He flipped up to the next channel, which was Sky News, hoping they had more videos about the crazies and more information about the infection.

  “Any details on the chyrons or just sensationalism like the videos?” David asked, startling Ted, who turned to see he had wandered from the other side of the suite and was now sitting on the arm of a chair closest to the door. His shoulders were still pointed toward the bathroom, while his head was riveted to the TV.

  Ted had been trying to read the chyrons while watching the videos too, which is why he’d first missed the parasitics in the video until it had looped back a couple of times. “Only that the mayor of London was killed by one of his aides, who had become parasitic from Rage. They were at first calling it a hate crime because of the mayor’s religion, which was laughable...” He trailed off and added, “Really nothing that we don’t already know. Anything more from our sick officer friend?”

  “Nope. He’s been quiet in there. I think he was embarrassed by his queasy stomach. But I’m still watching, just in case—Oh, look at that one.” David pointed to the screen. His whole body was now trained at the TV.

  It was a live news feed, coming from Paris, from one of their local correspondents. The camera was on her and a street below in the distance, crossing over the Seine. It looked familiar because Ted had been there several times. There was some sort of blockade down the middle of the bridge, made up of clusters of black. But before it could focus on the blockade, the camera swept past to a mass of movement beyond.

  It was some sort of mob, which appeared to be moving toward the blockade.

  Ted turned up the volume so that they both could hear it better.

  “You can see police below us in their riot gear on the historic Pont Norte-Dame.” The camera had refocused on the reporter’s pretty face, and then it zoomed into the black clusters, which were obviously made up of police in riot gear, standing behind human-sized shields they were holding up. “A large group of Les Fous, which have swept the city, are headed to the Latin Quarter. The Gendarmerie are attempting to hold them back. You can see Les Fous now...”

  “What the hell is lay faux?” David asked.

  “It means crazy people in French,” Ted responded, matter-of-factly.

  Les Fous hit the blockade and were momentarily stopped. Then more piled into the line, some climbing over others, the blockade broke, and many of the military police fell, their batons flailing at their attackers.

  “Oh dear,” bellowed the French reporter. “They weren’t able to stop Les Fous. The same thing happened in London earlier today.”

  Ted and David glowered at the screen as they watched the surreal images of infected Parisians pouring over La Pont, attacking everyone who moved, and even those who didn’t. There were just too many of them as they then fanned into the Latin Quarter en masse.

  David now was leaning against the back of the couch, mesmerized like Ted, when they heard a loud crash behind them. David spun around, almost hitting Ted’s head with his club. Ted sprang off the couch, this time with his own club held high.

  It was the front door they had heard.

  It was still closed, though the bathroom door was wide open now, and Ágúst Helguson wasn’t there. He must have just left.

  David was already running for the door, Ted not far behind, as the TV continued to report on the mayhem in Paris.

  David yanked open the door and burst through in one motion. And Ted caught up to the door, just before it crashed closed again.

  David had stopped just beyond the entrance, first scanning starboard and then forward, doubtless checking out their two blockades. He hollered, much too loudly, “It’s the starboard one.” Ted could see it too. The officer had pushed aside the mattress and knocked over a console.

  David dashed to the broken blockade, which was the only thing slowing down any crazies that might come at them from the starboard hallway.

  Ted limped in the same direction, swinging his head forward, until he had passed that blockade. He could have sworn he’d heard footsteps running away.

  ~~~

  “Still, you can’t find any parasitics anywhere?” Jean Pierre asked again. It had been over half an hour since Deep had reporte
d their conspicuous absence.

  “No, sir. I’m telling you they’re all gone. I still don’t see any of them running around anywhere. It’s like they left the ship.”

  “We should be so lucky... Okay, Deep. I need you to go back to checking each and every camera feed on the ship and cross off the places you can verify they’re definitely not there. We’ll do a physical search if we have to. But we must know where they are. Until then, this is for all personnel listening to my voice. Until we know the location of the parasitics, do not leave your position. Repeat, stay where you are.”

  Jean Pierre let go of the transmit button, considering what else he could say or do right now.

  “Staff Captain?” It was Deep, once again. “Hold on.” His normally even voice sounded harried.

  “Sir... I see a group racing toward the bridge on the port side... I can’t tell if they’re human or parasitic.”

  ~~~

  David and Ted tugged hard at the king-sized mattress, so they could get through, all the while shooting quick glances down the hallway. There was no sign of the officer.

  They moved the tilted-over console back into place. It had been moved aside by the one man, even though they struggled nudging it back into place between the wall and the other console. They then righted the mattress, setting it up more snugly on each side, so there was less access room. Finally, they breathed giant sighs of relief. That’s when they heard the growing sounds of rapid footsteps. Lots of them.

  “They’re coming from the other side,” David blurted, but didn’t wait for Ted’s acknowledgment; scooping up his club from the floor, he raced back to the port side blockade. Ted humphed, then attempted to move as fast as his damaged ankle would allow, pulling up to David a few moments later, behind this blockade’s giant mattress. Ted peeked through a crack between it and the far port wall and saw at least a dozen people jogging toward them.

  “I see at least a dozen people,” Ted huffed. “Can’t tell if they’re parasitic-looking or not. Let’s get back into the bridge: it looks like they can move heavy weights easier than we can.” He backed up from the mattress a few quick stutter-steps, when David held up his hand, signaling for Ted to stop and wait.

  A muffled thump sounded from the other side and the mattress shuddered and started to tumble toward them. Both men put their weight against it and pushed back, involuntarily grunting as they did. They weren’t sure now if in fact this wasn’t a bunch of parasitics. Both helplessly glanced at the distance from them to the cabin door, which looked much farther away than either remembered.

  A woman called out from behind the mattress, “Is someone there?”

  Ted's face, a mug of furious focus with sheets of perspiration skidding off, instantly turned into a giant grin. “TJ? Is that you?”

  “You were expecting someone else?” she said in that same playful voice he knew so well. “Are you gonna let us in or do we need some sort of magic password?”

  It was definitely TJ, acting as if nothing had happened.

  73

  Reunited

  Ted tugged with one mighty grunt at the mattress, followed by ripping off the additional furniture pieces they’d just piled on top of the barricade. His mind impatiently reunited them, while his physical self caught up. And then his mind wandered. He could almost imagine none of this had happened. A crisp mental picture of TJ materialized. It was from the day of their wedding: her lips had an extra shade of rose-colored gloss, her cheeks shined from a healthy dose of tanning she had done earlier in their backyard, her eyes shined bright blue like the most beautiful sky he had ever seen...

  He couldn't wait to see that face. And with each tug of the console to give her enough space to slide in with the others she must have rescued, he found himself hyperventilating, in anticipation of the moment.

  He caught a glimpse of her feet and legs and his heart soared, and then somehow jumped several beats faster. For just the briefest of moments, Ted wondered if he was about to have a heart attack and collapse before he could get his arms around her.

  The final tug, the space was now clear and Ted lifted his gaze. His eyes skipped past what she was wearing and bulleted to her face, fully expecting the same visage of his beautiful bride he’d been visualizing, only twenty years older.

  What he saw struck him with a jolt. He sucked in his breath, tensed and stutter-stepped backwards, so in shock he nearly fell over.

  His wife’s beautiful blue eyes were now mostly red, like two open wounds; her skin was pale, like someone newly deceased; her lips thinner than he could remember, and lacking all color; and her face and body were covered in giant splotches of blood, as if she had just taken a bath in it.

  This couldn't be his TJ.

  Oh God, no! She’s a parasitic.

  Then her eyes met his, and she flashed the coy grin he knew so intimately.

  It was her.

  He exhaled all his tension.

  He didn't know what happened to her or why. At this moment, he didn't give a damn. He needed her embrace. He needed her, no matter her condition.

  She slid through the small opening they had made in the barricade and found herself wrapped in his arms. He squeezed her so tight, he almost expected something inside her to break.

  She squeezed back, but let go quickly, tensing up as if something were seriously wrong. She pushed away from him, hard. And he looked back to find her strained, her face painfully drawn, as if something revolting hit her senses all at once. Was she in pain?

  She regained some composure and said unemotionally, “There will be time for us later. Now, let’s get the rest of these folks to safety.”

  Ted held his gaze on her for just a little longer, as she turned from him and focused her attention to the others who had followed her here. She was right. Whatever was going on with her, they could address that later. She was safe and here with him. They needed to get out of the hallway, which was now unprotected.

  Ted watched and waited as others, one by one, made their way through the opening in the barricade. Some were injured, with makeshift bandages; the rest looked fine, though every single one of them looked like they carried a heavy load of fear on their backs.

  “Yes,” David said. “Let's get the rest of you safely into a cabin... Evie? Oh, thank God, you’re safe.”

  Ted wasn’t paying any attention to the joyous voices, nervous laughter, the happy sobbing, or the congratulatory hand-shaking. Instead, he found himself staring at his wife, who had taken a position against the stern wall of the hallway. Her face was cast down at her feet and her chest heaved rapidly—was she out of breath, like him? Not once did she look up at him. She was obsessing about something, but it was not something in the carpet where her gaze was cast, but something inside. Her whole demeanor and stance were foreign to him.

  Ted senses were both overloaded and confused at the same time. He wanted to rush over to her, but she obviously didn’t want that. And now, what had become of her? How did she survive? How did she contract the disease? And why didn’t she display the other symptoms of the Rage disease?

  “Are you okay?” he whispered in her direction, taking a couple of tentative steps closer.

  David pounded three times on the bridge hatch, but Ted held his gaze on his wife.

  She seemed to wait before acknowledging his question. His heart raced again, this time in fear. Finally, she raised her head up, a grin painted roughly onto her pale features that was meant to say, I’m fine. But Ted read it to mean something was very wrong with her. Her eyes were the exclamation point to this feeling.

  The bridge hatch opened and friendly words were exchanged between the staff captain and someone else, but Ted remained riveted.

  As her eyes burned into his, he remarked at how one of her irises was sort of pinkish, with a blue hue as if it hadn’t completely turned. The other was a bright crimson, the color of blood. They both blazed bright. It was all so surreal.

  “Really, I’m fine. Everyone else is in, come on,” she
said and breezed by him and into the luxury suite, where most everyone had entered, except for Niki Tesler of engineering and part of TJ’s group, who joined Jessica on the bridge.

  Ted followed TJ into the suite, shooting a quick glance at the already-fixed barricade, before the door closed behind him with a thwack.

  He had no idea what he was about to walk into.

  74

  Mixed Emotions

  Ted examined the faces of the more than a dozen passengers and crew. He knew there were many other survivors on the ship, but part of him wondered if these would ultimately be the only survivors.

  Many he didn’t recognize, but some he did. Wasano, the new head of security, was there, and so was Dr. Molly Simmons. Ted vaguely remembered seeing her arrive on the back of some brawny guy who he recognized now as Flavio; Ted could no longer see him as a waiter, after what he had witnessed and how he looked now. Also there were Boris and Penny. Evie stood beside them in the back of the suite, holding hands with David, who was beaming. And then it clicked: Ted remembered the joyous sound of a reunion. It was David and Evie’s reunion.

  Some sat, some stood, but most were wide-eyed and holding to a nervous quiet, while they listened to Jean Pierre speak with Wasano, Flavio and Molly about the captain, as well as what was going on on their ship.

  Al, the ship’s vet, was there too. And he appeared to be acting as their temporary doctor, examining the three injured folks’ wounds.

  Ted briefly watched this before refocusing on TJ. She was once again stoic, her back pushed up against a wall away from the others, head hanging, her gaze fixed at her feet. This time he noticed that she was wearing a swimmer’s nose plug on her nose, a pink cord connected to each side and wrapped around her neck. The words rushed out of his mouth, “What’s going on with you?”