Degeneration

by Mark Campbell

  The diesel engine rumbled to life and sent the infected outside into hysterics as they tried to bash their way inside.

  At the back of the bus, one of the hands managed to grasp the red bar and pulled it up–

  The emergency door swung open and knocked the group gathered around it backwards. Two soldiers bolted over the toppled corpses and started climbing their way into the bus.

  Richard floored the accelerator.

  The bus jerked forward and crushed the infected gathered in front of it. It plowed a gory path through the sea of corpses as it picked up speed and its diesel engine spewed exhaust. The windshield quickly caked with blood-splatter and made seeing through the glass nearly impossible.

  Within seconds, the bus had broken free from the bodies surrounding it.

  The two infected soldiers tumbled backwards out of the bus as it jolted forward. One soldier spiraled out onto the pavement and snapped his neck, but the other soldier held onto the bus by digging his fingernails into the strip of rubber that ran the expanse of the center aisle.

  The infected horde chased after the bus but started to fall behind as it gained speed.

  Richard tried to navigate the vehicle-littered parking lot, but couldn’t see through the smeared glass. He squinted and leaned forward to–

  The bus slammed against the side of a flame-gutted sedan and sent it skittering out of the way.

  Richard jolted forward and quickly fastened his seatbelt, not letting his foot of off the accelerator.

  The solider at the back of the bus managed to pull himself back into the bus and stood up. He started stumbling towards–

  The bus crashed between two cars and sent both cars skidding in opposite directions with their car alarms wailing.

  The soldier tumbled backwards out of the bus. He hit the asphalt headfirst and lay motionless.

  Richard blindly plowed through vehicle after vehicle and knocked them out of the way like toy cars, creating a consonance of wailing car alarms. Smoke billowed through the vents and the amber ‘Check Engine’ display lit up on the dashboard, but he didn’t care as he kept the accelerator mashed firmly against the floorboard.

  The distance between the pursuing horde and the bus grew greater and greater. Some of the infected gave up running after it and aimlessly veered off in other directions.

  Richard stared at the horde in the rearview mirror and an exasperated laugh escaped from between his lips. He–

  The bus crashed to a grinding halt against a metallic light pole at the end of the parking lot. The light pole threw a shower of sparks from its base and then toppled over into the empty street.

  The bus sat motionless on the sidewalk while its dead engine smoldered.

  18

  Richard coughed violently and spat blood. He covered with glass shards from the shattered windshield. His whole body ached. The dashboard of the bus had been shoved forward in the accident and pinned down his legs. Thick smoke seeped in through the vents and he heard flames crackling underneath the hood.

  Groaning, he pushed up on the dashboard with all the strength he could muster in his dazzled state.

  The dash resisted at first, but finally rose a few centimeters. It was just enough clearance for Richard to slide his legs out from underneath it.

  Richard slid out of the driver’s seat and let go of the dashboard, allowing it crash against the floorboard.

  He staggered into the center aisle of the smoke-inundated bus, coughing, and clumsily grabbed the bent door lever. He gave the lever a push.

  Oil shot out of the badly damaged hydraulic mechanism and dribbled down the shattered folding doors. The doors didn’t fold open.

  He turned towards the rear of the bus and limped towards the open emergency exit door.

  In the distance, he saw the infected trudging towards the direction of the wrecked bus. They were following the path that the bus had cleared.

  Richard stood at the open rear door and stared out at the infected. Behind him, he heard the roar of two approaching jets. He looked up at the roof of the enflamed hospital and spotted a group of six CDC white-suits were waving dirtied sheets over their heads, trying to flag down the jets. Two of the white-suits held up a large hand-painted sign that read ‘Not sick – Suits low on O2 – Need airlift’.

  The jet fighters flew low over the parking lot and sent car alarms wailing as they screeched past. The infected stopped walking and looked up towards the sky at the jets as they flew past.

  Both planes made a beeline directly towards the engulfed hospital and then quickly veered off in opposite directions, narrowly missing the structure.

  The CDC white-suits on the roof stared in confusion and dismay as four fast objects, fired from the jets, whistled towards the hospital.

  Creating a resounding explosion, the missiles struck the hospital and four orange blossoms bloomed along the center of the building. The shockwave rippled out across the parking lot, knocked the infected to the ground, and flung Richard backwards into the bus.

  The ground shook as the flame-ravaged hospital collapsed in on itself and threw out a massive plume of ash high into the air. The plume spread outwards and inundated the entire city block in seconds in a dense cloud of soot and ash.

  Richard staggered back on his feet and struggled to breathe in the dirtied air. Tinnitus muffled his hearing and ash blurred his vision. He rubbed his stinging eyes as they welted with tears. Coughing, he stumbled out of the bus onto the pavement. His visibility was shot, so kept his head low and stared at the ground.

  As the ringing stopped and his hearing slowly returned, he heard the infected groaning nearby and heard them blindly stumble against vehicles. He knew that he had to be out of sight before the dust settled or else they would spot him.

  The ash sent him into a coughing spasm and, in the distance, the infected snarled in response.

  They may not be able to see you, but they can hear you, stupid shit.

  Andy’s intrusive voice was as loud as ever.

  Richard reached his hand out blindly and pressed it against the bus and felt his way towards the front–

  He stumbled over the curb at the edge of the parking lot and landed on his hands and knees in the street, kicking up a thick plume of soot. He erupted in a spasm of violent coughs as he struggled to breathe in the polluted air.

  Closer in the distance, the infected gave their response.

  You better shut up, before you lead them right to us, Richie!

  Richard crawled along the street, staring down at the pavement, wheezing, coughing. He heard the infected closing in, honing in on his coughs.

  Suddenly, he saw lights approaching out of his peripheral vision.

  He turned his head and was immediately blinded by the approaching headlights. He raised an arm and shielded his eyes as the vehicle approached, speed unabated.

  Richard stood up and weaved his arms over his head, desperately trying to signal the driver.

  Col. Mathis saw something through the dust-filled air as he sped down the street. He leaned over the steering wheel inside his soiled white-suit and saw a man waving him down. His eyes widened as he saw the improbable: a survivor.

  He slammed on the brakes.

  The FEMA van skidded to a stop with its bumper only a few inches away from Richard’s face.

  Richard stopped waving and griped his bit shoulder with his bandaged hand. He stared at the white-suit sitting behind the steering wheel of the van.

  Mathis switched the lights off, swung the driver’s door open, and stepped out holding an assault rifle.

  “Thank God!” Richard cried, elated. “Please, help me. They’re coming! They’re all around the hospital!”

  Mathis quickly noticed the wounded shoulder and the bandaged wrist. He pointed the rifle at Richard. “How long ago since you were first bitten?”

  Richard startled and stepped back.

  “I don’t know… thirty minutes? Probably close to an–”

  “Thirty minutes and yo
u’re still conscious? How long have you been breathing without a respirator?” Mathis asked, flabbergasted.

  “Since I was- I don’t know! Ever since I woke up in the hospital! Does it matter? Look, we have to get out of here!” Richard screamed.

  Mathis slowly lowered his weapon and ran to Richard as he heard the infected approaching the edge of the parking lot.

  “Put your hands together,” he quickly ordered.

  “Why?” Richard asked, stepping away.

  “If you want me to get you out of here, put your hands together!”

  Richard hesitantly folded his hands together.

  Mathis slung his M-16 over his shoulder, dug out a pair of plastic zip-tie cuffs from one of the cargo pockets on his white-suit, and zipped the cuffs tightly around Richard’s wrists.

  “What the fuck are you doing?!” Richard yelled, tearing away from Mathis. He threw a panicked glance over towards the parking lot. The dust was starting to settle and he could see a multitude of silhouetted figures rapidly approach. “They’re fucking coming! I need my hands to defend myself!”

  Mathis pointed the rifle at him.

  “Move to the back of the van! Now!”

  “Those things are coming! We don’t have time for–”

  “Then hurry up and MOVE! NOW!”

  Mathis pressed the barrel of the gun against Richard’s chest.

  Richard, defeated, hurried towards the doors at the back of the white van. There were no windows on the doors, only the Homeland Security emblem and ‘FEMA’ etched in blue lettering.

  Mathis swung open the doors and Richard noticed that the inside looked like a prisoner transport van.

  “GET IN!” Mathis shouted. He shoved Richard into the van, slammed the door shut, and ran towards the open driver’s side door.

  A scalded man charged from the parking lot towards Mathis, screaming.

  Mathis aimed the rifle at the man but then quickly lowered it when he remembered that the gun didn’t have a single usable round left in it.

  The infected man lunged towards him.

  Mathis turned the rifle around and swung it like a bat.

  The stock of the weapon struck the man hard in the head and sent him collapsing to the ground, gurgling on his own blood.

  Before the man had a chance to recover, Mathis jumped into the driver seat and sped off.

  Infected staggered out from the ash laden parking lot but the van knocked through them effortlessly. It swerved between burnt wreckage that clogged the road, crashed through aluminum police barricade, and careened through an intersection that was littered with abandoned vehicles.

  Within seconds, the pursing horde was left far behind.

  Mathis reduced his speed as he navigated the cluttered street with an air of calculated caution. It both amazed and frightened him how quickly such a well-organized plan had fallen apart.

  The downtown streets had become a maze littered with burnt vehicles, countless charcoaled human remains, and heaps of rubble. Every nearby building, violated earlier by looting during the onset of the crisis, had been gutted by flames. Trashed ATMs had been pulled free from their housing and charred money blew freely across the street. The infected stopped aimlessly shuffling as the van passed and chased after it.

  Mathis knew he had to make his escape, but many of the streets had been rendered impassable. Getting out of downtown was proving to be rather difficult.

  “Where are you taking me?” Richard asked through the checkered grille that separated the front seats from the iron benches in the back of the van. “I need to get too Butner.”

  Mathis glanced up at Richard in the rearview mirror and then focused his attention back to navigating the street. In truth, he didn’t know where he would take him. If the man was infected, he would be worthless. However, it seemed impossible that the man could have survived so long after being bit all while breathing infected air. He knew it highly improbable, but just maybe…

  “I asked where you are taking me!” Richard yelled. He spun around on the metallic bench and kicked against the grille.

  “You’ve clearly been bitten. How do you feel?” Mathis asked.

  “Fuck you!”

  “Are you experiencing any fever, dizziness, nausea, or anything like that?”

  “FUCK you!”

  Richard repeatedly kicked the grille as hard as he could with both feet.

  “Look, you’re not helping any. I need to know if you feel sick so that I can administer the antidote.”

  “I don’t feel sick yet! Now take these fucking cuffs off of me!”

  “In time, I have to be sure first,” Mathis said. Yes, it was a longshot, but if the man was immune then he had found his ticket out of the quarantine zone. He knew from the earlier radio reports that they weren’t allowing anybody to leave, but now he had a card to barter with; the key to making a vaccine that actually works. He just hoped that his discovery was the first. Otherwise his bartering ticket was worthless.

  “Look, I’m not sick yet! So why don’t you just give me the fucking antidote and ease both of our minds?” Richard asked.

  Mathis paused.

  “Because there is none,” he calmly said.

  19

  A box sat in the center of Gen. Falton’s highly polished executive desk next to a red telephone. The box was filled with old awards, medals, and faded pictures of a younger him posed with presidents and congressmen.

  The fact that his legacy, all that he had ever worked for, fit inside a cheap cardboard box depressed him. He slumped down in his chair inside his emptied office and stared at the box on his desk.

  What it all came down to, he decided, is that he gave the order. He gave the order that cost so many lives. If only that helicopter stayed on the landing pad… If only they ignored his call and followed protocol… If only.

  His guilt had whittled away at his very core ever since the Raleigh outbreak and nothing was abating its daunting weight. No matter how hard he tried, rationalization did not untie the knot sitting in his stomach. He no longer felt like the man he was, but rather like a war criminal.

  “Sir, they’re sealing the bunker doors in twenty minutes, we have to go soon,” a man said from the hallway.

  Despite everything that they didn’t know he did, they were going to protect and coddle him in their underground hiding hole.

  Gen. Falton looked up at the man with exasperated eyes.

  The man stood calmly in the doorway with his hands neatly folded below his naval, wearing a black suit, white shirt, and a red tie. Behind the man, people ran past in a panic, each hauling a cardboard box exactly like the one sitting on Gen. Falton’s desk.

  “You can go, I’ll be there shortly,” Gen. Falton muttered, staring down at the box again.

  “You’re a priority, sir. I’ve been instructed to escort you and ensure that you arrive safely,” the agent unwaveringly replied.

  “I’m not a goddamn child! I said I will be there shortly! Now go!” Gen. Falton shouted, standing up abruptly.

  The agent didn’t move.

  Gen. Falton sighed, shook his head, and sat back down.

  “Please? Just another minute,” Gen. Falton said, defeated.

  “I’ll give you a few minutes to collect yourself, and then we have to go,” the agent replied, turned, and walked down the hall.

  “If you knew what I was responsible for, then you’d be escorting me out in handcuffs,” Gen. Falton said to himself.

  Nobody who was still alive knew about his little call to Fort Detrick.

  The flight operations officer had been exterminated along with the rest of the Fort Detrick staff in the clean-up and cover-up operation once the virus arrived in Raleigh.

  In the end, Gen. Falton would be able to maintain his legacy, but he knew that sooner or later his gnawing guilt would force him to tell the truth and that would be the beginning of his demise.

  His legacy would be forever tarnished.

  He refused to lose the only thi
ng he had left.

  Gen. Falton sighed and pulled the box closer to him, moving with the slow and shaky finesse of a decrepit old man. He reached into the box and brought out his medals, admiring and polishing each one of them as he methodically pinned them on his uniform.

  He wondered if he was right to shred the latest, and final, memo from Atlanta. He knew that if his superiors found out about the latest mutation Atlanta had discovered then they would lose all hope.

  Hope of some salvation was all they had left. Who was he to take hope away from them when he was the one responsible for unleashing the hell in the first place?

  They had their hope while he had his legacy and his guilt.

  What they held onto was finite, while what he had was eternal; it was his and he planned on keeping it.

  He opened his desk drawer and reached for what was inside with tears in his crusty eyes.

  The agent who was supposed to escort Gen. Falton to the underground shelter was standing inside a small break room down the hall from Gen. Falton’s office.

  Another agent, an older veteran, stood next to him as they stared at the television screen next to the microwave.

  The news was reporting around the clock about the catastrophic forest fires in North Carolina and how the USDA Forest Service had closed the state borders due the danger posed by the unprecedented scope of the blaze. The news said that rescue crews were having a difficult time getting people out of the affected areas and the loss of life was expected to be insurmountable.

  “Unbelievable how they’re able to spin it isn’t it?” the younger agent said as he stared at the screen.

  The veteran agent scoffed.

  “Nothing surprises me anymore,” the veteran agent said, shaking his head.

  A single gunshot reverberated down the hall from Gen. Falton’s office.

  Both agents gripped their pistols and sprinted towards the general’s office.

  Of course, they arrived too late.

  20

  “What do you mean ‘there is none’?! You told me that there is an antidote!” Richard screamed, pounding against the grille with his clenched, zip-tied fists.