Degeneration

by Mark Campbell

  The people trapped inside the vehicles screamed and flailed in the fire.

  Traffic further along Fayetteville Street stopped in both directions with a succession of multiple fender-benders. Numerous secondary accidents occurred as people attempted to turn their cars around in the middle of street. Most abandoned their vehicles altogether and took off running on foot.

  A Raleigh police car was the first responder. It weaved in-between abandoned vehicles with its blue lights flashing and siren blasting. It stopped in the intersection of Morgan and Fayetteville, in front of the State Capital Building.

  Two more police cars weaved through the vehicle maze and joined the first responder, blue LED lights flashing.

  The officers got out of their vehicles amongst a sea of panicked people that swarmed past them away from the helicopter.

  Most of the Wachovia Tower’s facade was scattered along the street amongst the wrecked vehicles and flaming wreckage. Screams of pain and agony echoed into the air from the people trapped inside their engulfed cars and trapped underneath smoldering rubble.

  A fire truck slowly rolled up next to the police cars, pushing a path through the abandoned cars, repeatedly blasting its air horn, severely hampered by the tide of evacuating people. In the distance, more fire trucks and ambulances struggled to get to the scene, but were rendered immobile by the clogged streets.

  The first firemen at the scene jumped out of their truck and started unraveling their hoses while the police officers advanced towards the wrecked helicopter.

  A black military helicopter arrived and hovered low above the street, kicking up dust and debris.

  The police officers froze and looked up at it.

  “Attention, do not approach the wreckage! This is the United States Army, repeating, do not approach the wreckage! Stay back and wait for military assistance. Help is on the way!” the helicopter announced over its loudspeaker.

  The spreading flames engulfed another FEMA bus.

  The police and firemen flinched and stepped back.

  The rear emergency doors of the bus flung open and people ran out screaming, completely covered in flames. The engulfed bodies aimlessly ran forward a few feet, floundered, and finally collapsed.

  The firemen and police officers watched in horror and started to run forward… but then looked up at the helicopter, uneasy.

  The helicopter hovered above the street, an aerial view of the carnage below.

  “Do not approach the accident, help is on the way. Return to your vehicles for your own safety!” the helicopter’s loudspeaker repeated.

  In the distance, additional helicopters approached.

  “Forget that!” one of the police officers yelled and turned towards the others. “There are people trapped in there!” He took off running towards the flaming wreckage and others joined him.

  Six police officers and four firemen rushed towards the flaming rubble, weaving in-between empty cars. Curious onlookers started walking out from the alleyways and adjacent buildings, trying to catch a glimpse of what was happening; the sidewalks filled quickly. The helicopter continued to circle and bark ignored orders over the loudspeaker, when–

  Lloyd’s charred body lurched out of the flaming wreckage.

  The officers and firemen froze at the sight of Lloyd.

  Flames danced madly off of Lloyd’s blackened skin. Every hair and every strand of fabric had been burnt off of his body and burning flesh fell off of him in clumps. He ran forward, slowed to a stagger, and then collapsed to the ground.

  A fireman rushed towards Lloyd with a first-aid kit. He sat the kit down on the ground and pulled out a silver fire blanket. He draped the blanket over Lloyd to smother the flames, pulled the blanket off, and turned Lloyd over on his back.

  Lloyd’s burnt eyelids fluttered opened.

  “Bring me a crash cart!” the fireman screamed over his shoulder. He looked back down at the man, afraid to even touch him with such serious burns covering the man’s entire–

  Lloyd convulsed and vomited in the fireman’s face.

  The fireman gagged, quickly stood, and blindly stumbled backwards. He tripped on the edge of the curb and fell against two gawking onlookers. The bile splattered onto the two onlookers and caused both of them to throw their arms up in protest, cursing. They shoved the fireman back into the street.

  Lloyd struggled, got back on his feet, and turned his gaze towards the crowd gathered on the sidewalk. He ran towards–

  A soldier wearing a respirator fired a single shot from his sniper rifle aboard the hovering helicopter.

  The round entered the back of Lloyd’s skull and blew out through his forehead, spraying the crowd on the sidewalk with blood, bits of shattered skull, and brain matter in the process.

  Lloyd collapsed and lay motionless.

  In an instant, the infected crowd took off screaming in every direction, pushing each other aside.

  “Sierra-Eighteen to Control,” the helicopter pilot spoke into the radio. “Downtown is hot. Wildfire has begun.”

  The hapless police officers and rescue personnel stood frozen while civilians swarmed around them.

  Additional military helicopters arrived and flew low in-between the skyscrapers while the civilians scattered in a blind panic.

  White vans and Humvees approached from the distance. They pushed their way through and created a path through the congested downtown streets.

  “This is the United States Army,” one of the newly arrived helicopters announced above the panicked crowd. “Please remain calm. We are here to help you.” The helicopter kicked-up debris, shattered windows, and sent car alarms wailing. “Please clear the street and seek shelter inside immediately. Rescue is on the way.”

  While chaos overtook downtown, an Amtrak train approached unaware.

  9

  The two Amtrak police officers crept closer towards Howell’s row.

  Howell stared at them and held his duffle tightly against his chest.

  The other passengers handed their carry-ons to the officers disinterestedly and without protest. Most of the passengers were too busy trying to get their cellphones to work. Inevitably–

  One of the officers approached Howell and extended a hand.

  “I need to see inside your bag, sir.”

  Howell unzipped his duffle, reached inside, and blindly felt for the manual trigger mechanism. Sweat beaded on his face and he took a nervous dry swallow. He hesitated.

  The old lady sitting next to him turned and offered a toothless smile.

  “Don’t be sc’ard. They aint gonna keep it,” she said and cackled.

  The other officer walked up and approached the scene with suspicion.

  Howell continued to feel inside for the trigger mechanism.

  “The bag, sir,” the first officer said, extending his hand.

  Both officers watched him cautiously and Howell noticed that the second officer had a hand resting on the butt of his holstered pistol.

  Howell’s finger brushed against the triggering mechanism, the switch that overrode the timer. He didn’t plan on becoming a martyr, but he didn’t have many options left. Licking his lips, he–

  Up in the locomotive, two distracted conductors stared at the numerous military helicopters hovering over Raleigh’s downtown skyline, awestruck. One of the conductors lazily drifted his gaze back down to the tracks ahead as they entered the edge of downtown.

  “Christ!” he screamed as he noticed the mass of vehicles that blocked the railroad crossing ahead. The street was packed with panicked evacuees and traffic was at a complete standstill. A FEMA bus and four passenger vehicles were parked on the tracks at the railroad crossing.

  The railroad signal started chiming as the stripped crossing arm swung down. The crossing arm snapped as it struck against the roof of the FEMA bus.

  The drivers on the tracks watched the approaching train in horror. They panicked and either tried to back-up off of the tracks while others tried to drive forward to saf
ety, but the heavy traffic on the narrow street was unyielding in both directions and prevented the vehicles from moving more than a few inches. People abandoned their vehicles and left them idling on the tracks.

  The driver bailed from the FEMA bus, but left the busload of screaming passengers onboard. The passengers clawed through each other, desperately trying to make their escape.

  One of the conductors hit the airbrakes, but it was way too late and they were going way too fast.

  The train plowed through the FEMA bus and punched through the other vehicles on the track like a missile, creating a chain of violent explosions. Both conductors were reduced to bloody splotches and the interior of the locomotive quickly engulfed in flames. The fiery locomotive derailed and brought the other cars along with it–

  Back in the passenger cars, the initial jolt sent every occupant whiplashing against the seatback in front of them, knocking many passengers unconscious. The two Amtrak officers flung towards the front of the cabin. The screams were deafening.

  A second violent jolt simultaneously shattered the windows and whiplashed the occupants again. Suitcases poured out from the overhead bins and the overhead lights darkened. Suddenly, everything started spinning, tossing luggage and unconscious passengers around like ragdolls; the passenger car was rolling.

  The six train cars, still linked together, rolled to a stop on Wilmington Street, smoldering, lying upside-down. Twisted corpses, luggage, and scattered burning wreckage littered the pavement.

  Just a few blocks away from the derailment, a military checkpoint marked the edge of the downtown quarantine. It had been set up on Glenwood Avenue in an area heavily populated by restaurants and nightclubs. Normally, the avenue served as a main thoroughfare in and out of downtown Raleigh. Now the checkpoint was the only remaining thoroughfare since the military barricaded all of the other roads. The Glenwood Avenue checkpoint was codenamed Glenwood-Five Points.

  Glenwood-Five Points was a hodgepodge of military vehicles and police cars. Tall generator-powered halogen flood lamps gave the area a harsh clinical light and blinded the frustrated gridlocked drivers who had been waiting for hours to get out of downtown. Rows of barbwire and .50 caliber-mounted Humvees cordoned off traffic while two rows of guardsmen wearing hazmat suits and brandishing riot shields formed a line in front of the barbwire and Humvees, facing the crowd.

  The street was gridlocked with busses and cars stacked high with luggage. Angry drivers blew their horns and edged as close as they could to the car ahead of them. Traffic was allowed to pass one vehicle at a time through a small passageway in-between a row of barbwire and Humvees. Four CDC white-suits checked every vehicle occupant for any sign of infection before allowing the vehicle pass through the checkpoint.

  Suddenly, a guardsman ran out from one of the white tents on the side of Glenwood-Five Points and whispered something to one of the CDC white-suits. The startled CDC worker quickly signaled the other CDC white-suits and they ran away from the narrow passage in unison. In their place, another Humvee mounted with a gun turret pulled up and blocked off the passageway while more guardsmen ran multiple rows of barbwire across the path. The only remaining thoroughfare out of downtown Raleigh had been sealed.

  People panicked, abandoned their vehicles, and started running towards the checkpoint. The guardsmen kept the besieging crowd back with riot shields and batons.

  A CDC white-suit holding a loudspeaker climbed atop one of the Humvees behind the guardsmen and surveyed the frustrated, screaming crowd. He cleared his throat and placed the microphone against the speaker on his facemask.

  “May I have your attention, please!” he yelled, feedback whining. Hundreds of sweaty angry faces looked up at him. “CDC has confirmed the presence of a deadly contagion within the quarantine zone. As–”

  Loud murmurs rippled through the crowd. “Bullshit!” a man screamed near the front.

  “And– As a result, downtown must be temporarily sealed to prevent the possible spread of infection! FEMA has established grouping centers at a number of downtown high-rise structures. Please turn back and seek safe shelter inside any one of the official FEMA grouping centers! Once inside, listen and wait for official instructions! When it is safe to do so, evacuation procedures will resume from within the established FEMA grouping centers! Turn back, now, and seek out the nearest FEMA grouping center! You cannot pass here!”

  The people didn’t turn back. Instead, the crowd seemed to come forward. The white-suit raised the loudspeaker again, nervous.

  “If you do not turn back immediately, we have been authorized to use deadly force in order to enforce this quarantine.”

  Somebody flung an empty bottle at the white-suit and startled him. He dropped the loudspeaker. As the crowd erupted in angry protest, the frightened white-suit jumped off of the Humvee and ran to safety.

  The guardsmen manning the turrets on the Humvees opened fire into the crowd.

  Men, women, and children gave shrill screams as the gunfire tore into them. Bullet-riddled corpses collapsed on the blood-soaked pavement.

  The guardsmen stopped firing, turrets smoking.

  The blood-splattered crowd screamed and collapsed back in on itself in a wild panic, trampling many and stumbling over the already dead.

  Half of the panicked drivers tried to go in reverse while the other half tried to drive forward. A chain of collisions rippled down the street and the drivers quickly realized that they had rendered themselves immobile.

  One of the vehicles in the front tried to barrel through the checkpoint–

  The .50 caliber rounds tore the vehicle and its occupants to shreds. The scrapped, bullet-riddled vehicle rolled to a stop, tangled in razorwire.

  People abandoned their cars and took off running away from the checkpoint towards the center of downtown.

  Within minutes, the crowd in front of the Glenwood-Five Points checkpoint had dispersed and all that was left behind were bullet-riddle corpses and countless abandoned vehicles.

  Hours later, Howell slowly opened his eyes. He was sure he was-

  (dead?)

  He was lying on the remains of a fluorescent ceiling light. The bulb had shattered and glass shards had embedded into his side. Something cold and heavy was lying on him, crushing him, restricting his breathing.

  He groaned and, with glass shards crackling underneath him, turned his head. He saw that the corpse of the old lady who had been sitting next to him was lying on him, not breathing. She was buried along with him underneath a large pile of luggage.

  He laid his head back down and coughed violently, spurting up blood. Howell knew he wasn't dead, but also knew that he wasn’t far from it. What happened? It had to have been the bomb-

  (sensitive trigger perhaps?)

  No, couldn't be. Howell knew he didn't build mistakes. With painful effort, he elbowed the old woman off of him with a curse and clawed his way out of the luggage tomb.

  As he moved, his body ached with sharp pain. He ran a cautious hand along his throbbing side and felt the embedded glass shards protruding from his side. Carefully, he pinched one of the shards and slowly pulled it out; the pain was intense. He pulled out another shard, sweat beading across his forehead; it was longer, more painful to remove, and was coated with darker blood. He gave an agonizing cry and threw the bloody piece of glass down. The other pieces inside him would have to wait since he couldn’t work up the nerve to even touch another one.

  He tried to calm himself and look around–

  It quickly became apparent that the bomb didn’t cause the damage. The whole train car was laying upside-down. He looked up at the rows of seats above him. In some of the seats, people hung limp with their arms and legs dangling down, swaying side-to-side. They were still fastened against their seats by the seatbelts wrapped across their lap.

  Those who hadn’t worn their seatbelts lay scattered and twisted amongst the tossed luggage.

  Howell stood up and searched through the scattered luggage. He finally
found his duffle underneath the mangled corpse of man. He kicked the corpse aside and snatched the duffle greedily. Moving carefully, he waded through the mangled corpses and scattered suitcases towards the exit door.

  At the end of the car, in front of the exit door, he saw the corpse of one of the Amtrak cops.

  Howell reached down and pulled the pistol out of the cop's holster. He slid the gun under his belt, tucked the duffle under his arm, and crawled up to the exit, using the corpse of the police officer as a stepstool.

  The officer’s spine cracked audibly as Howell’s bodyweight pressed down on it.

  Howell climbed up and tumbled over the top edge of the door. He landed outside of the car and rolled over onto his back, screaming in pain as the glass shards slid deeper into his lacerations. After lying still for a minute, withering in pain, he stood, spat blood, and took a look around.

  Wreckage lay strewn all around him. Train cars were scattered everywhere and multiple fires billowed black smoke into the air.

  Despite the chaotic scene of the derailment, Howell’s thoughts inevitably drifted back to his bomb. He unzipped his duffle and looked–

  “Shit,” he said faintly. The timer that he had activated when he thought that the Amtrak cops were going to arrest him was still counting down diligently by the microsecond. He only had eight hours until the bomb would detonate. Eight hours to get to New York? Normally, it wouldn’t be improbable, but he noticed that the day looked anything but normal.

  Army helicopters hovered between the skyscrapers and smoke billowed out from the center of downtown. Burglar alarms and sirens wailed everywhere. In the surrounding streets, he saw people running around aimlessly, many carrying boxes or armfuls of clothes with the tags still on. Shouts and gunfire echoed in the distance. His first thought was that he was in the middle of a riot. But–

  Howell’s gaze slowly went back to the train accident itself.