Evolution Z : Stage Two (An apocalypse zombie survival thriller Book 2)

by David Bourne

  Josh placed the scalpel and made a y-shaped incision. He cut from both clavicles in an angle toward the sternum and from there straight to the pubic bone. The wound was hardly bleeding when he finished the straight cut with his scalpel along the sternum. He folded the skin to the side and clamped it, so he could get an unimpeded look at the interior chest area. Then he cut the ribs with a bone saw and used a rib spreader to look inside the corpse.

  “The blood vessels are very constricted and atrophied since the heart is no longer beating. The aorta is deformed, and the blood has a dark red discoloration. It looks as if some coagulation has set in. The lungs have collapsed and the breathing reflex probably stopped about ninety minutes ago.

  Nurse... Swab. Damn it, even in the most low-budget medical drama a pretty blonde in scrubs would now come teetering in and dab the sweat off the operating doctor’s forehead.

  “Next I am going to open the abdominal cavity.” Josh started a t-shaped cut. He performed a horizontal cut below the chest, about eight inches long, and then cut vertically down from the center point of that incision. Then he pulled the patient’s skin to the side and clamped it as well. He examined the gastrointestinal tract, but could not find any abnormalities there, either. For a dead person, all organs looked perfectly normal.

  “Finally, I am going to open the skull and examine the brain, or what is left of it.” Josh made an incision on the scalp and folded it sideways. Now the white skull was visible. He reached for the bone saw and opened the cranium with a round cut. When he was finished, he removed the bone plate and took out the brain. The shot had damaged the left side of the brain considerably, but he hoped that he would at least get some relevant samples. He started his examination. He dissected several parts of the brain and wrote down his observations. Dissecting the brain seemed to take forever. Then he examined tissue samples of each brain region under the microscope. When he was finished, he picked up the voice recorder one more time.

  “The brain shows effects similar to an infection with Lyssavirus. The progression of the disease had some similarities to rabies, but also many differences. There is a noticeably brighter color in the area of the hippocampus and the caudate nucleus. The frontal neocortex is deformed and swollen. This explains the partial movement disorder. The medulla oblongata is inactive, as far as I can discern, and therefore there was no more controlled breathing. The cerebellum is in a state of metamorphosis, which was ended by the pistol shot, which ultimately led to the cessation of all bodily functions. The deceased displayed irregular walking and uncontrolled movements during the onset of metamorphosis. The bullet entered through the rear of the skull, traversed the brain and exited at the frontal lobe. Nothing more can be determined due to the tissue damage. To sum it up for a layperson: I have no idea how he got infected, dad. The shot destroyed the brain, and I am not able to perform a more detailed examination. Furthermore, I am not an expert on the brain. What I can confirm is that I am unable to find anything that could have infected the young man.” Josh finished his cold coffee and took all the filled-out forms and the voice recorder to his father’s office. On the way back he informed some people on the night shift that his work was done. They cleaned the medical area and took the corpse to the cremation pit.

  The Conspiracy (I)

  Later that evening, a human shadow scurried across the base and looked for a sign described on a piece of paper he had found in his lab coat after his shift ended.

  Doctor Schaefer recalled the text. Dinner with friends? Campground. It also had included a drawing: a cross, with a circle above its center. He did not know for sure who had placed the note there, but he had his suspicions. The Company. Had they actually managed to infiltrate this base? This might be the solution to all his problems.

  The doctor had been in Fort Weeks for almost two weeks—and definitely not on a voluntary basis. During a military evacuation mission in Augusta, he had been picked up, taken to the army base and kept there. He was allowed to move freely within the confines of the base, but he was forbidden to leave it. He spent most of his time in the makeshift lab, where he pretended to examine the undead. Schaefer had made it through the interrogations by the Master Sergeant without too much of a problem, but he noticed their tone had grown harsher lately. It was truly a matter of survival for him to avoid caving in and tell them nothing. Otherwise, he would be worthless to the Company.

  Casually looking around, Dr. Schaefer walked across the campground for the refugees. He stopped at a tent in front of which there were two crossed boards with a ball in the middle. How simple.

  Two special agents, codenamed Jonah and Moses, sat on their cots in the rear of the small tent the military had assigned these two alleged refugees to. The tent still had space for at least four additional persons, but so far, they were housed here alone.

  After it became obvious that Dr. Schaefer had been evacuated to Fort Weeks— and there were clear indications he had survived the journey—the two of them had been immediately dispatched to bring him back to New York City. Their employer wanted to make sure the doctor would not remain in military custody. What he knew was too valuable and could become too dangerous if it fell into the wrong hands.

  Moses held a black object the size of a shoe box in his hand and was doing something with a pair of pliers, when the tent flap slowly opened. Jonah noticed it first.

  “Psst, put that away!” he hissed. Moses’ eyes widened in alarm, and he immediately stopped working on the object. Dr. Schaefer looked around outside one more time before entering the tent.

  He could just see that Moses placed a kind of shoe box-sized object on the ground and pushed it under his cot. He walked toward the two men and stopped in the middle of the tent below a camping lamp attached above. Then he unfolded the small piece of paper.

  “Did you send this?”

  Jonah nodded, “Nice to see you, Dr. Schaefer. We are Special Agents Jonah and Moses.”

  “I assume that we have friends in common?” Schaefer asked.

  “One could say that. We are here to get you out.”

  Schaefer breathed a sigh of relief. “You brought some toys, I see,” he said and pointed toward the box under Moses’ cot.

  “We managed to smuggle in a few things. We ourselves were carefully checked, but they just superficially searched the Land Rover. Most of the soldiers seemed to be overwhelmed by the whole situation, particularly during the first days. Even today they don’t pay much attention to what happens inside the base,” Moses answered.

  “And what is that?” Schaefer tilted his head and looked underneath the cot.

  “C4,” Jonah said.

  “Explosive? Are you completely insane?”

  “Stay calm, doc. Only one of the Company’s little side projects. We don’t want to be kept here—and if you don’t go on shouting about it, nobody will notice.”

  The doctor took a deep breath. He actually didn’t care how he got out, he just didn’t want to stay here any longer than necessary. He hated the US military.

  “Oh, well. How does the Company plan to evacuate me? I doubt they will let me leave by the main gate. When I’m in the lab I’m pretty much under house arrest.”

  “Don’t worry, doc. Here is everything you need to know.” Jonah handed Schaefer a small envelope.

  “There was an unforeseen problem we didn’t consider. We don’t know the exact time of the evacuation yet, and we had trouble contacting headquarters. Radio has been useless since New Hampshire, therefore we have to find a different method for establishing contact.”

  Schaefer frowned and thought about this.

  “I think I might have a solution,” he finally said. “Let’s talk again after I’ve arranged a few things.”

  Dr. Schaefer left the tent and hurried back to the lab. He was surprised to find that nobody had noticed his absence. He went to his desk, opened the envelope and read the short note. Gradually, an evil smirk appeared on his face. It is not very subtle, but certainly efficient.
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br />   Signs of Life

  As Ray and Scott were having breakfast one morning, Chris strolled into the mess hall in an upbeat mood and joined them. They had been at Fort Weeks almost three weeks and they had established a kind of routine, considering the circumstances.

  “Good morning, gentlemen, did you sleep well? Scott, I hope you haven’t recently had any nightmares—because of the shooting range?” Chris joked.

  Scott commented to this remark first with a skeptical look, followed by raising his eyebrows and frowning. Ray had to grin a little.

  “Let the big boy eat his breakfast in peace. He hasn’t had his coffee yet.”

  “Well, something can be done about that,” Chris said with a grin and went over to the coffee urn. The mess hall had meanwhile turned into a large supply station where the entire personnel of Fort Weeks were having their meals. In addition, the ration packages for the refugees in the satellite camp were prepared here. About five hundred people had arrived at the base by now, which pretty much exhausted the capacity of the camp. While various search troops repeatedly went looking for new supplies and equipment, their mission radius around the base could not be expanded indefinitely. It didn’t take a genius to realize that sooner or later external help would be needed.

  While Ray was eating his scrambled eggs, he saw from the corner of his eye that Chris was sneaking up behind Scott, holding two cups of coffee. In order not to reveal that he had noticed this, he concentrated on chewing his scrambled eggs.

  “You’re smacking like a passel of pigs, Thompson,” said Scott, behind whose back Chris was stealthily approaching.

  At this very moment Chris reached from behind over Scott’s shoulder, with one the cups in his hand. He smashed it on the table, so that the coffee spilled, while at the same time loudly yelling “BANG!”

  Scott flinched. People at other tables looked over in surprise. Chris laughed out loud. “Don’t worry, Scottie, it’s just me.” Ray had to laugh, too.

  Scott picked up his coffee cup and took a big gulp of what remained in it. “You can be glad that you’re still recovering, pipsqueak. If things were different, you would now be drinking your coffee from a sippy cup.”

  Chris wasn’t too sure how seriously Scott meant this, but he didn’t want to push too hard.

  “Sorry, couldn’t help myself. I mean—look at you, a guy as tall as a tree, and you’re afraid of weapons?”

  “Only firearms. I actually like using my fists—if you know what I mean,” Scott said with a malicious grin.

  “You guys are worse than an old married couple, “Ray interjected. “Let’s look at our schedule for today, instead. Chris, are you and your brother going to work in the communications center again?”

  “Yes, as soon as the shift changes. Over the past few days we’ve received new signals more often—unfortunately nothing interesting so far, except for that scene across the border in Canada. I’ve never seen anything like it, but you know about that already.”

  Ray nodded, shoved the last piece of scrambled egg into his mouth and then wiped his lips with a napkin. “Scott?”

  “Today, I am helping Private Petersen in further fortifying the perimeter. More and more of these damned beasts are getting through. Then I have to dig a grave for Chris.”

  Chris rolled his eyes. “Scottie, for my funeral they would fire a 21 gun salute since we’re on a military base. So you wouldn’t really like that,” he grinned.

  Ray stood up. “Enough bullshitting, you two boneheads. I’m going to continue helping with the helicopter repair. We’ll see each other at lunch.”

  For several days, Ray had been assisting the chief mechanic of the base, a tall black guy everyone called Screw. Screw, who was twenty-three, had still been in training before the catastrophe, but due to the shifting personnel situation he was by now the most knowledgeable mechanic at the base. The Master Sergeant was satisfied enough with Ray’s abilities to assign him to this position even though Ray only had rudimentary technical knowledge. Ray liked making himself useful in this assignment, plus he wanted to pay something back this way.

  Judging from their identical build, Screw could have been Scott’s long-lost twin brother. Ray soon noticed, though, that this initial observation was misleading as Screw was an extremely dexterous, clever worker. Ray remembered his father whose words had taught him never to judge people by the first impression they made. He had ignored this rule countless times, including in Screw’s case, but Ray was soon the wiser. Furthermore, the two of them got along well on a personal level, which was partially due to Screw’s sensitive character—something that Ray would not have expected at first.

  “Good morning, Captain,” Screw said, when Ray entered the maintenance hangar. Screw, as usual, wore his grey coverall. Around his neck there was a gold chain with a small cross.

  “Good morning Screw, my little wizard of bolts,” Ray said with a grin. “How is our baby doing?”

  Screw knocked against the outside of the Sikorsky Little Bird helicopter they both had been working on for several days. “Baby doesn’t want to cooperate just yet. The gears and the bearing points in the transmission still don’t get enough oil.”

  “Then let’s take a look at the oil pump. Too bad we hardly have any spare parts,” Ray said.

  “If God makes you wet, he will also dry you again,” Screw said.

  “If you’re trying to say that everything is going to be alright, I’m a bit curious. What with all that’s happened in the past few weeks, God’s going to need a bigger hair dryer,” replied Ray, who until recently had only believed in the divine revelation experienced in the bedroom. Then he recalled that his last quick prayers had been answered in a general sense since he and his group had made it here alive. “However, if anyone has such a large hair dryer, it would be God,” he added hesitantly.

  “You don’t have to believe in God for my sake,” Screw said and smiled. “He will protect you nevertheless.”

  “It would be enough for me right now if he could send me a new transmission,” Ray groaned, as he loosened a bolt with all his strength. “Well, that’s that. Looks like we have to clean the pump again. Could you hand me...”

  Out of nowhere, Chris ran into the hangar, completely out of breath. “Ray. You have to see this—quickly!”

  The Conspiracy (II)

  At the same time and not too far away, Weasel, the radio operator, was trying to avoid attention. He sneaked between the huts carrying a small package and then went into the side entrance of the fuel depot. Once inside, he reluctantly walked toward the rear section of the building. Northwest corner, as arranged.

  His heart was beating so fast in his chest that he was afraid it could explode at any moment, and his hands were constantly sweating. He was still having qualms about the whole thing. Dr. Schaefer had spoken with him in the mess hall when Weasel was alone and having his dinner after one of the depressing shifts at the survivors’ station. His desperation must have been obvious when Schaefer sat down next to him with a look of pity—and one thing was even more important: He had listened to him. Finally someone was listening to him and understood how terrible it was to have to write down the fates of people suffering outside of Fort Weeks. Yet, Sergeant Weasel still could not completely buy what Schaefer had then offered him: Supposedly there was an opportunity for him to be saved from his job and to leave Fort Weeks., plus there was more: Schaefer had assured him they would be taken to a place where there was no danger of infection—if Weasel just did a little favor for him. Now, he here was inside the fuel depot.

  Weasel went on and walked around several stacked pallets of oil barrels. He stopped all of a sudden when he found himself looking directly at the barrel of a silenced Berretta.

  “Not a word.” Weasel caught his breath.

  A scratchy voice in the background defused the situation.

  “Oh, here is Mr. Weasel. Welcome. Special Agent Jonah, you may lower your weapon. The sergeant will accompany us, and I hope he brings a lit
tle present.” Weasel exhaled loudly and looked past the barrel of the weapon. A frowning guy with long hair, sunglasses and a baseball cap was slowly relaxing and moving the Beretta away from his face.

  Now he could also see the speaker. A pair of glasses reflected white in the semi-darkness of the storage building. Dr. Schaefer obviously had not just recruited him alone, for next to the doctor stood a warehouse clerk he knew by the name “Air Jordan,” and another guy who was dressed like Jonah. A mix of military accessories, consisting of a bullet-proof vest, equipment belt and holster in combination with civilian clothing made them look like employees of a private security firm.

  “Gentlemen, then let’s get started. Mr. Weasel, we just need what you have to complete my little private office.”

  The sergeant placed his box next to a laptop and carefully took out a miniature satellite dish. The doctor connected the laptop and the satellite dish with a cable. He glanced nervously at the screen. After a while, the following text was displayed: Connection established.

  Jonah started to enter commands at a DOS prompt. Shortly afterwards, an old-fashioned chat window opened.

  …knock knock

  …mother?

  ..connection secure... status?

  ..arrived at fort weeks as civilians and were accepted... target person found, plan transmitted... crew complete.

  ...good.

  ...additional orders?

  ...package will be delivered in two days around 0500... preparations ongoing.

  ...we will be there.

  ...good. mother, out.

  The screen went black. Jonah smiled at the doctor.

  “Two days, doc. Then on to the Big Apple.”

  Dr. Schaefer nodded in approval. “Very good. Please take care of the necessary preparations.”