Degeneration

by Mark Campbell

  Like the soldiers before him, Richard ran out of ammunition.

  Panting, he quickly surveyed the room.

  He had no choice.

  He dropped the MP5 and sprinted towards the cutting torch, jostling infected out of his way.

  An inmate moaned and grabbed him, snagging his shirt.

  Richard tore himself free and kept running–

  He slipped in a pile of bile and slid across the polished floor, knocking anybody in his way down like bowling pins. He slid to a stop a few feet away from the torch–

  A crawler grabbed Richard’s foot–

  Richard drove his other foot into the man’s face and pulled free.

  Infected started to converge on all sides–

  Richard quickly crawled over to the cutting torch and scooped it up, panicked. He frantically searched for the gas canister’s control valve.

  A cluster of inmates swarmed him. They piled around him on all sides, scratching at him, trying to bite.

  The clustered horde let out anguished cries as they were engulfed in flames. They stumbled back off of Richard, ineffectively batting at the flames that spread across their bodies.

  Richard stood, wielding the cutting torch in front of him. He had the flame extended as far and as hot as it could go. He pointed the cutting torch at two nearby infected inmates, pointing the bright blue flame directly at their face.

  The inmate’s flesh charcoaled and their uniform shirts engulfed. They swatted at the torch before collapsing onto the ground, tousling blindly.

  Richard ran back towards the exit, burning anything that shambled its way into his path.

  Near the exit, a white-suited soldier lurched out towards him.

  Richard pointed the torch at the white-suit.

  The flames had no effect, aside from a slight darkening of the suit’s material; the white-suits were highly flame retardant.

  The white-suit moaned and–

  Richard pulled the pistol out from under his belt and shot the white-suit twice in the face.

  The white-suit turned out to not be so immune to bullets.

  Richard jumped over the white-suit, ran out into the corridor, and slid the door shut, panting madly.

  The infected in the corridor were closer and would be right on top on him in a minute. The S.O.R.T. officer led the horde, limping single-focused towards Richard, moaning.

  Richard ran towards the locked security gate and started burning through the locking mechanism, anxiously looking over his shoulder.

  With an unexpected burst of stamina, the S.O.R.T. officer hobbled faster, snarling, excited to grab his prey.

  The flame finally cut through the locking mechanism and the lock fell against the ground with a hollow clang.

  Richard slid the gate open and ran over to the other side.

  The S.O.R.T. officer grabbed Richard’s arm–

  Richard spun around and fired his pistol three times into the officer’s face.

  The officer’s weak grip loosened and he collapsed against the ground.

  Richard leaned down and snatched the handcuffs off of the officer’s duty belt and then kicked the officer’s corpse back away from the gate’s track. He slid the gate shut and secured it by handcuffing its iron bars together, preventing it from sliding open.

  Infected clustered against the security gate, swiping their boney hands in-between the iron bars towards him.

  Richard backed away from their reach and collected his breath.

  Slowly, he turned and limped towards ‘F Block’.

  “F Block, cell 22,” Richard said. “I’m coming, brother.”

  At the ‘F Block’ door, he ran the cutting torch down the locking mechanism. The lock disengaged.

  Slowly, pistol in hand, he slid the heavy door open–

  An infected guard lunged towards him and vomited on his chest.

  Richard shot the guard point-blank in the face.

  The guard floundered backwards and collapsed against the cement floor, motionless.

  Richard stepped forward, staring down at the man. It was clear to him that the other type of infection, the slower variety caused by the government’s experimental antivirus, hadn’t made it inside ‘F Block’ yet.

  The housing unit was quiet and all of the cells were locked.

  Richard walked into unit cautiously, footsteps echoing.

  “Andy?” Richard called out loudly.

  The entire unit immediately awoke in an uproar of banging, snarling, and pounding as the infected inmates tried to break out of their cells. Hundreds of emancipated faces stared at Richard through narrow cell door windows. Most of the cells were empty, but ‘F Block’ was the mental illness and protective custody ward, so it never had a full house.

  Richard slowly started walking towards cell 22. He didn’t see any movement inside the cell and that made him pick up his pace. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted the nurses’ station next to the officer’s station.

  The nurse’s station was empty and her desk was still intact; she never even showed up for her post during the crisis. The unit normally required a mental health nurse to be in house at all times. Richard remembered her… she was always so nice to him.

  His head throbbed, making him freeze and wince in pain.

  He shook the memories out from his mind and continued walking towards cell 22.

  The infected inmates furiously pounded against the cell doors all around him, making his headache even worse.

  A helicopter hovered overhead and pointed its harsh searchlight through the housing unit’s skylight windows. The bright light sent the infected into even more of an uproar.

  “Shut up!” Richard screamed, covering his ears. His voice only agitated the infected more.

  Richard ran towards Andy’s cell and nearly collapsed against the door, panting.

  “Andy?” Richard asked through the door. “I’m here!”

  No response.

  Richard peered through the cell’s narrow window, but it was pitch-black inside. The light switch was off. He pulled on the cell’s door, but it was locked tight.

  He took the cutting torch and ran the flame around the locking mechanism, creating a shower of sparks.

  The lock disintegrated as the flame gutted it.

  Richard kicked the cell door open.

  It swung inward and revealed a darkened tomb.

  He stepped inside and slapped a hand against the light switch, turning on the single overhead light.

  The metallic bed was made and had fresh linens on it. A single tube of institutional shampoo, a bar of lye soap, a cheap toothbrush, and off-brand toothpaste sat on top of the bed. Next to the neatly stacked items, a new ‘Bureau of Prisons Inmate Orientation’ booklet sat unread.

  Richard’s eager expectation fell flat. The cell looked clean and ready to take on a new inmate. There was no sign of Andy. He started to panic.

  He turned, about to run outside the cell, and then gasped.

  “Andy! I didn’t see you standing there!” Richard said, ecstatic.

  Tall and lanky, with dark brown hair, Andy was a sight for sore eyes. Burns covered half of his body and his dress shirt was badly tattered and covered with blood. Stubble covered the non-burnt portion of his face.

  Richard leaned over the metallic institutional sink and stared into the mirror, smiling.

  “It’s about time you got here, brother, I was beginning to worry,” Andy’s reflection said.

  “I told you I’d come for you. I’d never let you down,” Richard said.

  Andy looked away.

  “I let you down once, though,” Andy said, quietly. “That’s why I was worried you wouldn’t come save me. You… remember that day in the kitchen…”

  Richard winced.

  “You remember, don’t you? Of course you do. It’s all I ever think about,” Andy said, pain evident in his voice.

  Yes, Richard remembered it all.

  It was dead and its blood covered his hands.


  Stacy saw everything. He had to do it because she saw too much.

  She was supposed to be over with friends, but she came home early. She saw him do it.

  It was the cat. She saw him kill another fucking stray cat.

  “A stray cat?” Andy laughed. “No, it wasn’t a cat she saw me kill. Remember? She saw me kill you.”

  Andy winced again and swirled away from the mirror. He backed out of the cell and clinched his hands over his face, shutting his eyes tightly.

  His brother, Richard, was always the spoiled one, always the normal one. Whatever Richard wanted, he got, unlike Andy…

  Richard had a wall full of trophies. He was a rising star. His trophies brought him fame and admiration from mom and dad.

  Andy’s trophies were all buried in the backyard and hidden in alleyways. If he displayed his grotesque trophies of mutilated animal carcasses, he’d be put away in an institution.

  Mom and dad always knew that he was different, but they never knew just how different, except for Stacy, of course; she saw him kill a cat once. Ever since she witnessed a snippet of the real him, the hidden him, she feared him.

  Secretly, Andy always wanted to be normal like his younger brother. He always harbored a strange feeling though…

  At first, he thought it was simply jealously. Then that day in the kitchen happened…

  His parents were at the store and his sister was out with her friends. He stood at the counter, making a ham sandwich.

  Richard walked into the kitchen. His uniform was still dirty from practice. He sat at the kitchen table, trailing mud into the house.

  “Hey, make me one too,” Richard told Andy, yawning.

  Andy frowned and continued to slowly slather mayonnaise on his sandwich, staring down at the knife.

  Richard stared at him.

  “Uh, did you hear me, dingus?” Richard asked.

  Andy kept smearing mayonnaise and sighed. Whatever Richard wanted, he got. He always thought the strange emotion he harbored for Richard was jealousy.

  Richard, annoyed, stood up and stomped over to Andy.

  “I don’t know why you have to be such a freak sometimes,” Richard said as he reached for some bread to make his own sandwich.

  Andy screamed, spun around, and slid the mayonnaise-smeared knife deep into his brother’s chest.

  It was then, at that very moment, that Andy realized it was not jealousy he felt, but, rather, pure hatred.

  He hated him for being everything that he would never be.

  He hated him for stealing his parent’s affection.

  He hated him and his fucking trophies.

  He hated how cruel he treated him.

  He hated how he talked down to him.

  He hated him.

  He hated him.

  He hated him.

  As he harbored that hatred, meditated on it, Andy stabbed Richard in the chest, again… and again… and again…

  He turned and saw that his sister had walked into the kitchen.

  She saw everything, and this time it was more than just a stray cat. He had to do something…

  Andy collapsed onto his knees outside his old prison cell, defeated. He stared down at the polished concrete floor, staring into nothingness. All around him, the infected clamored against their cell doors, snarling, screaming.

  Richard’s ghost had haunted his mind ever since that day, so had the crushing guilt. He could never escape the guilt that he enjoyed killing his brother. He would have killed him a thousand-times over if he could.

  The guilt was more of a prison than any physical fortress could hope to be.

  The ironic part of it all is that Richard never would have bothered to rescue his brother; he always was a self-absorbed asshole.

  In all honestly, he probably wouldn’t even fucking care.

  Andy slowly stood and wandered into the middle of the housing unit, moving at a snail’s pace. As he walked, the skylight’s shattered out and the sound the helicopter hovering overhead became deafening.

  Glass pelted down all around him.

  Andy stopped walking, slid the pistol out from underneath his belt, and stared at it a moment.

  Four soldiers in white-suits fast-roped down into the housing unit through the shattered skylights.

  Andy tucked the pistol’s barrel underneath his chin and closed his eyes.

  Before Andy could wrap his finger around the trigger, taser barbs stuck into his back and he was quickly incapacitated by a massive electric shock.

  As he lay twitching on the concrete floor, one of the soldiers ran to him and injected him with a syringe.

  Andy’s world spun as he slowly drifted off.

  41

  Andy’s eyes briefly fluttered open and he found himself lying on an uncomfortable cot. His body was restrained against it by thick nylon straps and he had multiple IV tubes running into his left arm. The sound of airplane turbines was deafening. Struggling, he raised his head and glanced around.

  A clear plastic tent had been erected around him and white-suited soldiers stared at him from the other side, talking amongst each other. He glanced to the side and saw the night sky through the plane’s circular porthole windows.

  He was on a cargo plane, a rather large one judging by the sound of the engines.

  Vertigo overtook him and he laid his head back down.

  Before he slipped back into unconsciousness, he looked over at the long rack of IVs and watched as they fed their drug-laced drips into him.

  Andy fell back asleep, drool dribbling out from the corner of his mouth.

  Day 5

  42

  The prattling of the television roused Andy out of his drug-induced sleep. He found himself lying in a hospital bed, strapped down. He weakly raised his arm as high as he could and stared at the numerous IV tubes feeding into it. Slowly, he looked around his hospital room.

  The room was strange. It had no décor and appeared heavily sanitized. The walls, ceiling, and monitoring equipment were all white and reflected the harsh lights overhead. A television was mounted on the wall at the foot of his bed. The room’s door was steel and the hinges were hydraulic. Next to his bed, there was a long window.

  Andy glanced out the window but the bright sun gave him a piercing headache and he had to look away. He briefly made out a city skyline and he could hear the ambient background noise of a normal hustle and bustle of a busy metropolis outside.

  The news was playing on TV.

  He tried to watch it, but his head pounded and his vision constantly blurred in-and-out of focus. The bright images on the television hurt his eyes, so he closed them and just listened.

  “–in an undisclosed location while Texas’ interim governor pushes ahead with the succession of the state, despite the UN’s objections. In Denver, William D. Yorkton, Secretary of Energy, was hastily sworn in earlier today in accordance with the United States’ order of presidential succession. His incumbent, Patricia West, number fourteen on the presidential succession list and former Secretary of Transportation, was sequestered and forcibly removed from office by the Secret Service after falling victim to the–”

  The voice on the television disappeared as Andy fell under the spell of medication-induced sleep once again.

  Day 6

  43

  Andy’s eyes slowly opened and he felt a sense of clarity. He tried to move, but found himself still strapped to the hospital bed. He looked at his arm and saw that less IV’s were in his arm and he took that as a good sign.

  He lifted his head up and stared at the TV, but the screen simply read ‘Stand By… Acquiring Satellite Signal’.

  He looked over at the window and saw that it was beautiful outside. The sun was shining, the sky was clear, and the streets were full of busy commuters. Judging by the view, he knew he had to be at least ten stories high. Staring at the skyscrapers outside, he recognized the Bank of America Plaza, the SunTrust Plaza, the One Atlantic Center tower, and the Westin Peachtree Plaza.

/>   Something above him whirled.

  He looked up at ceiling and noticed the camera for the first time.

  The door’s hydraulics released and it slowly opened.

  A doctor wearing a self-contained white-suit walked into the room.

  “Good morning, Andy, how are you feeling since we talked yesterday?” the white-suit asked as he sauntered over to check on Andy’s vitals.

  “Where am I? You never told me yesterday,” Andy muttered, hoarse.

  “You’re safe, which is a major accomplishment considering where we found you,” the white-suit responded as he entered some information into the computer next to Andy’s bed. “You are in a secured room inside the Center for Disease Control and Prevention’s headquarters in Atlanta, Georgia. My name is Dr. Gladstone, chief virologist on this floor.”

  “How long have I’ve been here?” Andy asked.

  “Two days, but we should have you out of here soon,” Dr. Gladstone said.

  Andy struggled weakly against the nylon straps, trying to sit up.

  Dr. Gladstone placed his hand on Andy’s chest and gently pressed him back down against the bed.

  “Relax, we’ll have you out soon, I promise,” Dr. Gladstone said. “In the meantime, I need to order another battery of tests.”

  “Raleigh… how is Raleigh? My brother? Did he get…? No, wait,” Andy winced and shook his head.

  “Your head, Andy, how is your head feeling?” Dr. Gladstone asked, ignoring his questions.

  Andy stared at the television and sighed. The television said that it was still acquiring a signal.

  “I’m fine,” Andy muttered, thinking about Richard.

  “I hope that’s true, and I hope that what we’re seeing is just acute radiation syndrome, but I… don’t like some of your test results. I’d like to schedule you for another MRI and take a better look inside your head. I want to make sure the brain swelling hasn’t gotten any worse.”