Medora: A Zombie Novel

by Welker, Wick

  “Hon, you need to go. I will be okay. I don’t think my leg is shot that bad. I love you,” he said. At the moment he felt no pain, but he could tell by the weakness in his leg that the bullet might have damaged the bone.

  “No! Keith, you’re coming!” She clumsily hit the soldier on the shoulder who only more forcefully lifted her up into the back of the truck, out of Keith’s sight. The soldier then picked up Jayne, put her in the back and closed a green canvas, covering the truck.

  The driver stopped for a moment and fished around in the front seat. He produced a small first aid kit, threw it at Keith’s chest, and then got into the truck.

  “Thanks,” Keith said meekly. He wanted to be outraged that they were taking his wife and daughter and leaving him shot in the street, but he accepted that this is how the world was now.

  As the truck started to move again, he could hear Ellen screaming as loudly as he had ever heard her. She was a caged lioness, he thought, loving her deeply. Here’s to you, Dave and Dean. You died so that I could get Ellen on that truck.

  Scrambling backwards into the gutter, he was able to get a view of the fleeing freeway crowd as they began to run past him. Then he saw them at the top of the freeway gravel hill. Hordes of the sick had amassed at the top and were spilling over the freeway railings into the streets below just a few blocks away.

  Keith looked at the truck that was carrying his family as it found a pocket of free space on a sidewalk that it was able to drive through. It then turned a corner, out of his sight. He looked back at the horde, down at his bloodied thigh and then at the tiny first aid kit on his lap and finally laughed for the first time in day.

  Chapter twenty three

  White coats and scrub nurses busily crossed back and forth around the patient floor. Dave was waiting for the surgical team to step out of Ortega’s intensive care room and he was exhausted from the heat. He realized that the hospital was sweltering in humid summer heat because it was only running on auxiliary power and they probably couldn’t run the air conditioning.

  The overhead intercom was continually paging his name, asking that he report to a basement room in the hospital, but Dave ignored it. His eyes were heavy and his head bobbed up and down from resisting sleep. Realizing that he hadn’t slept in over twenty-four hours, he stood up from the chair he was sitting in to make sure he didn’t nod off. He was not going to miss one last talk with Ortega, having him wheeled away to some military facility.

  The surgeons opened the curtain into Ortega’s room and left down the hallway. Dave quickly rushed down the white tile floor and quietly passed through the curtain into his room. Ortega lay supine with the back of the bed propped up, staring straight forward at Dave.

  “What are you doing here?” Ortega said to him plainly.

  “What did Anderson know?” Dave replied.

  “Get out of this room.”

  “Did you have Medora One killed?”

  “I didn’t kill them. Those damn Brits killed them.”

  “You ordered them to do it.”

  “Yes, I did, but they were orders given to me.”

  Dave knew he had caught him right at that moment. Ortega would never have attempted to explain his actions to Dave, a civilian, if he weren’t trying to lie about something. He knew that Ortega was trying to sell a story to him because he realized Dave would be talking to other higher ups about what happened in Baltimore.

  “No one gave you those orders. You weren’t even talking to anybody on your radio.” He had only guessed that this was the case, but reminded himself that there was always a clever way out of everything. “You were just stalling to fabricate whatever lie you needed to make sure Anderson was dead.”

  “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “Remember talking to me about Macbeth? All the talk about whether it was better for everybody if you were dead?”

  “No.”

  “Well, you were losing a bunch of blood into your belly, so you probably don’t remember too well, but some sort of guilt came spilling out of you.”

  “We were ordered to defend Baltimore and that’s what we did.”

  “A small military group was ordered to defend an entire city?”

  “If you don’t get out of here right now, there will be serious consequences for you.”

  Dave could see the emptiness in the man’s threat as he lay, bandaged around his abdomen in a hospital bed. “I think you meant to get those guys killed, and maybe even yourself, too.”

  Ortega’s forehead clenched tightly and he attempted to get up but reeled back in pain from his abdomen.

  “No, don’t get up. I’ll get your bag for you.” Dave lunged for the beige pack that he had seen Ortega carry and swung it over his shoulder. “I’ll just take care of this for a while.”

  “Drop the bag right now.”

  “Good bye, Captain Ortega.” He turned around and ran out of the room while Ortega yelled and slapped down onto the tile floor trying to run after him.

  Dave moved quickly down the ward floor, reaching into the pack and producing a few loose pages. Suddenly, a doctor in a white coat approached him from in front and placed his hand on his shoulder.

  “David Tripps?”

  Dave stopped and looked at the man, putting the pages in his jacket pocket and adjusting the pack to his other side. “Yes?”

  “We’ve been paging you, sir. We’d like to run some tests and talk about how you got out of New York. You were with Medora One, right?”

  “Who are you?”

  “I’m Dr. Sabin. I’m a military doctor and have been authorized to debrief you.”

  “Okay, good, because I have some important information about Captain Ortega.”

  “Follow me then.” The doctor smiled and led Dave to a few floors down to a small office.

  “Please sit down.”

  “How is Richmond doing right now? Is there an outbreak here? I noticed that we’re not on normal power in the hospital.”

  “Yes, Richmond is perfectly safe,” he reassured him with a smile.

  “Okay.” Dave slumped down into padded chair with cracked vinyl, his body screaming for sleep.

  “What can you tell me about Captain Ortega?”

  “Well, first off, I’m pretty sure he commanded Medora One to attack the British without any command to do it. I think he was trying to get rid of the whole team and trying to cover something up. I think that’s why he ordered that airstrike on the tiny town where that plane crashed.”

  “There was an airstrike?”

  “Yes, in Strykersville. Didn’t you know that?”

  “Well, yes.” He paused. “There’s been a number of airstrikes all over the Eastern Seaboard the last day. It’s hard to keep straight where exactly they’re happening.”

  “Okay. Anyway, towards the end before the whole team was killed, I think Anderson was onto him about something.”

  “Do you know what it was that he might have been hiding?”

  “No, not really. Fortunately, I have his pack here.” Dave lifted the pack that he set on the floor up onto the table. “Might be something in here to indicate him.”

  “I will be confiscating this bag, now.” The doctor took the handle briskly and set it at his feet.

  “Oh, yeah okay.” Dave was annoyed. “Just as long as you get to the bottom of why he ordered his unit to death for no apparent reason.”

  “Oh yes, Mr. Tripps, that’s what this is all about.” He reached down and began searching the bag, producing several clips of gun ammunition; a water flask, bandages, and a small cylindrical metal container that looked liked an egg-shaped soup thermos. Dr. Sabin also took out a brown wallet, began flipping through the cards, and stopped at the driver’s license. He was silent for a moment as he stared at the picture.

  “Very good work, Mr. Tripps. I believe this material will shed a lot of light about what happened with Medora One.” He cleared his throat and adjusted his glasses. “Now, you were in Manha
ttan, yes?”

  “Yes, I work there. Well, I did work there.”

  “Okay, excellent, we’re going to want to run some blood tests on you.”

  “Yes, that’s fine.”

  “Did you get bitten?”

  “Hell, no, do you think I would be sitting here if I did? People who get bitten turn in about three seconds.”

  “Oh, I’m well aware of that.” He laughed quietly. “Now, if you’ll excuse me for a moment and just wait right here, someone will be in shortly to transfer you over to the CDC section of the hospital. It’s just a few short walking bridges over there.” Dr. Sabin got to his feet and hoisted the pack over his shoulder.

  “Yes, that’s fine.” Dave awkwardly tapped his fingers on the edge of the table while Dr. Sabin walked out.

  Dave breathed deeply and felt relieved that he was able to explain to someone what had really happened in Baltimore. He was afraid Ortega would get to them first and try to discount anything that Dave had to say. A few minutes passed with no one coming into the room to get him and he quickly fell asleep in the chair, wondering where he would go after he left the hospital.

  The door opened abruptly and another doctor in a white coat walked in with black glasses and dark hair. “Mr. David Tripps?”

  Dave abruptly woke up from his slumped position in the chair. “Yes, that’s me,” he said rubbing his eyes. He looked up at the wrinkled face of a dark haired doctor.

  “Oh, I’m sorry to wake you up, but thanks for waiting. I’m sorry no one’s been able to see you yet. I got held up over at the CDC. I’m Dr. Stark.”

  “Oh, that’s okay. Actually, another doctor was just in here talking to me.”

  “Oh, really? Who was that?” He had a slightly perplexed expression.

  “It was Dr. Sabin.”

  “Dr. Sabin? That’s funny.”

  “Why?”

  “That’s the name of a famous doctor who came up with the polio vaccine in the fifties. What was he asking you?”

  “He said he was a military doctor and was asking me all about the unit that I got stuck with in New York.”

  “Medora One?”

  “Uh… yes,” Dave said hesitantly, not knowing how much this doctor was supposed to know about classified information.

  Stark got to his feet and leaned over the table. “What did this doctor look like?”

  “I don’t know. He looked exactly like a doctor: glasses, grey hair, and uppity attitude. He was your basic doctor. He also took the bag that I took from the captain of Medora One.”

  “How long ago was he here?”

  “Like five minutes ago.”

  Stark produced a photograph from his pocket and showed it to Dave. “Is this him?”

  Dave responded instantly, “Yes, absolutely.”

  Without another word, Stark ran out of the room and looked up and down the hallways. He flagged down a soldier who had been patrolling the hallways, asking him to start searching rooms with him. After they searched several rooms, Stark got a page and stopped at a counter to call the number.

  “Dr. Stark,” he said.

  “Hi, Dr. Stark. This is Dr. Louis over at the CDC.”

  “Yes, what’s up?”

  “I think you should get over here right now.”

  “I’m really in the middle of something very important over here.”

  “We’ve got another healthy person who’s been bitten, but hasn’t become infected.”

  “Alright, well, just do the basic blood cell count to check for leukemia and I’ll get over there as soon as I can.” He thought of the several cases of uninfected people with bite marks that they had in the last few hours. All of them had undiagnosed leukemia.

  “I already did and it came up normal.”

  “You’re kidding. Run it again.”

  “I ran it three times. She does not have leukemia. Not only that, I ran an EM on her blood. The virus isn’t even present.”

  “Did she even get bitten by an infected person?”

  “She swears up and down that she did and she definitely has a human bite on her shoulder.”

  “Okay, yes, I will definitely be right over right now.” He hung up the phone and turned to the guard. “Hey, I need you to organize a search for a man going around this hospital calling himself Dr. Sabin. He’s not who he says he is and the White House believes him to be extremely dangerous.” He pulled out a stack of photographs. “This is what he looks like. I need you to distribute these and find him. He was last seen on this floor about ten minutes ago.”

  The solider took the photos and stared back at him, doubtful.

  “Look, just do it. We think he might be responsible for the outbreak.”

  The soldier’s face became more animated. “Okay, yes, sir.” He turned and marched off.

  Stark turned and began his race back towards the CDC building but was stopped by Dave, who had wandered out from the office where he was waiting.

  “Hey, I don’t know exactly what’s going on here, but that other doctor took some pretty important stuff from that bag.”

  “What was in it?”

  “There was this small metal canister, not bigger than a baseball. I don’t know what it was, but that Dr. Sabin definitely knew what he was handling.”

  “Oh, okay. And you got this bag from Captain Ortega?”

  “Yes, and there was also a flight manifest from the crashed plane that we investigated. I actually have it right here.”

  “May I see it?”

  “Here you go.”

  Stared scanned the pages for a moment and stopped, staring at a single passenger’s name on the list. The name burned into his mind, infuriating him.

  “Did you find any survivors of the flight?

  “No, definitely not. If the plane crash didn’t kill them, the airstrike sure as hell did.”

  “Ortega also had this small metal canister-looking thing in his pack that I think he got from the plane. That other doc took that. Was he not supposed to be in here or something?”

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Tripps, but I have to rush over the CDC right now, but please just hang around, because we have a lot to talk about.”

  “Yeah, no problem. It’s not like I have a home or anything to go to.” He laughed and then felt sad because it was very true.

  “Thank you.” Stark turned and disappeared down the hall towards the CDC which was several walkway bridges and elevators away. He began to wonder about all the possible reasons why Beckfield would have shown up in Richmond. What was this bastard doing? Why wouldn’t he just go into hiding? There must be something that he’s trying to figure out for himself. He was certainly not actively looking for a vaccine for the virus. It seemed as if Beckfield was trying to play some game with him, masquerading with the name Dr. Sabin as if he wanted everyone to know that he was some phantom around them.

  After ten more minutes of walking, Stark made it to the CDC building and into the inpatient ward where he had been working for the past several hours. His team was constantly sifting through survivors, trying to find something in their blood that might have made them immune. Only a handful had been bitten and didn’t show symptoms of the virus. However, with a simple blood test, they found that every single one of them had leukemia, giving them only temporary immunity. Every single one of them, except Ellen Sanders, the name he read on the patient chart outside her room door.

  Stepping in, he saw a small framed, attractive blonde woman lying in bed with her arms and legs strapped down. As soon as she saw him, she looked at him with a fiery stare.

  “Another one of you?” She said in a drunken slur.

  “Miss Sanders, I’m Dr. Stark…” he paused, looking at the restraints.

  “It’s Mrs. Sanders. I have a husband who you people just let die in the street.”

  “What?”

  “I was brought here, against my will by the military after they shot my husband and left him in the street with a whole bunch of the sick coming after us. You people ki
lled him.”

  Dr. Louis, the other doctor whom Stark had been temporarily working with came into the room. Stark ushered him out into the hallway. “Why is she in restraints?”

  “She’s been acting completely psychotic, so we had to give her some Haldol to even get her to stop screaming at us. Plus, we have no idea if she could turn any second.”

  “Is what she’s saying true? About her husband?”

  “I’m not sure. I honestly haven’t even looked into it.” Dr. Louis shrugged his shoulders.

  Stark gave out a forced sigh and walked back into the woman’s room. “Mrs. Sanders, I apologize for what has happened to your husband and what the military did to you. I want to assure you that I have nothing to do with the military. I also would like you to know that I am now chief of staff at the White House and the first thing I will do when I step out of this room is have a military envoy sent to the area where your husband was lost. Where did you last see him?”

  Ellen looked at Stark, assessing his motives. “It was Haverford Street, just a couple blocks away and he’s shot in the leg. They just left him.”

  “Okay, I will personally talk to the unit who left him and demand that they return to look for him. They should know exactly where it was.”

  “Do it now! They left him on Haverford like I told you,” she demanded.

  “Of course.” Stark left the room and returned five minutes later. “Okay, Mrs. Sanders, I’ve bitched out the appropriate people and they assured me that they are already leaving to look for him. Do you mind if I ask you some questions now?”

  “Fine.” she said.

  “I understand you survived the New York outbreak?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you were bitten on the shoulder?”

  “Yes, right here.” She moved the hospital gown from over her shoulder, showing him the bite.

  “I see. It actually looks pretty good. There are some nice healing edges around the wound,” Stark said, gently touching the bite with his gloved hand.

  “And you were bitten by an infected person?”

  “Oh, yes,” she said, recalling the putrid stench of the Winsor carpet guy as he sunk his teeth into her.