Doc seemed puzzled. “Necrotizing fascitis? Christ, anthrax, botulism and B-Hemolytic Strep?”
Cap shrugged. “And all together, as you can see. And this stuff, it’s flat out meaner than cat shit.”
“You said it was in the water supply,” Doc said, “not airborne. I don’t see how that could have worked scientifically.” His mind began to struggle with equations. Something didn’t make sense. Unless…someone released it on purpose. Unless this was a test gone wrong. That thought was too horrible to contemplate for long.
More noises came from the yard, as infected people began to fumble for a way inside. As if to cover some of the racket, Bowden spoke up for the first time. “Well it did work scientifically, Doc. The skinny is that the infected alternate between comatose states and fits of rage. See, it’s the intense agony makes them psychotic. They kill in the rage state, then go back to sleep, then wake up and kill again. Meanwhile they just keep rotting away.”
“It’s the perfect weapon,” Cap said. “See, they kill while they’re dying. And when they’re done, they die themselves. Planned obsolescence.” He paused. “You know what really scares me, though?
Billy Ray looked ready to wet his pants. “Oh, wow. Gee, no, whatever the fuck could that be?”
“Well,” Cap said, “when all this started, they were a bunch of nut jobs wandering around, falling asleep and waking up pissed. But in just the last couple of hours, they’ve begun to exhibit some kind of weird group behavior. It’s almost like…”
He didn’t finish the thought. No one else wanted to. If these things begin to act like a coordinated group with a strategy… Boffo searched his pockets for more pills, came up empty. “How many are out there?”
Cap said, “I don’t know. But we’ll need support, and I lost touch with my command center fifteen minutes ago.”
“Oh, great,” Billy Ray muttered. “We’re cut off too, man. Perfect.”
Cap touched Doc’s shoulder. “Your phones are down, right? What about broadband?”
Callie cleared her throat. “The computer died, just a few minutes ago.”
Champ said, “I can’t get any cell signal up here. So you guys can’t even ask the Army for help?”
Bowden turned to her. He seemed like a far softer man than Cap. He winked. “Believe me, we’ll keep trying. Now, Nurse Callie, can you give me something for the pain that won’t knock me out?”
“I’ll get a couple of Percocet.”
Boffo finally found and crunched a couple from his own supply, as if they were a fist full of peanut M&M’s. He turned his back to the others, moved closer to the shutters. WHAM! A bloody hand suddenly broke through and grabbed at his clothing. Boffo gasped, tripped trying to move away and fell heavily on his ass. He cried out from fear as much as anal pain. Doc stepped back, stunned.
Cap hammered at the hand with the butt of his pistol. “Do something!”
But no one else moved. Cap kept pounding. A finger broke. Blood spurted. Finally the arm was withdrawn. Cap stared around the room. “You stay frozen like that, you’ll all die tonight. Fight back, damn it.”
That got their attention.
“One last time. Here’s the situation everybody. We are surrounded. They won’t stop. Some will die but the rest will just keep coming.” Boffo stood up, rubbed his ass. “And here I’d at least forgotten about my hemorrhoids for a couple minutes.”
“According to our orders,” Cap said, “changes in light can throw them off, so the good news is that if we can stay alive till morning we may be able to get out of here.” They heard it again. More noise from outside. An electric current ran from person to person as the little group realized it was all or nothing from here on. They had to depend on each other for their lives. Billy Ray jumped when he heard the sound of breaking glass. It had come from upstairs. The attic. “Coming, Paris! Oh, just until morning, huh? Is that all? Nothing to it, then. Piece of cake.”
The group of ten besieged people stared at Cap. “All right, here we go. This is it. Move out. You have your assignments.”
“Guys,” Doc called, “make sure you grab some bottled water, stay hydrated. Find something to fight with. Anything. Then hit those stations and stand your ground.”
Everyone left the room. After a pause it went silent. Nothing was moving. Anywhere.
Theresa called, “Uh, sir? Cap? Any idea why it is so quiet all of a sudden? “No,” Cap said. “But I can damn well guarantee you it won’t be for long.”
10:02 PM
A storm front was moving north through the high desert mountains, dragging cooler air on a black cloak of bitter wind. Thin clouds seemed to race across the moon like slender fingers. The animals were still, puzzled by the crowds of unusual predators out and about. The owl remained still in the trees, the raccoon hid by the chill stream, its intelligent eyes gleaming silver coins in the darkness.
The infected. Here and there they were visible, the ones not already gathered by the little building at the end of the paved driveway. People, or what had once been people, in shredded garments, their skin peeling or torn away, eyes rolling, sharks in a feeding frenzy. The sounds they made were not rhythmic, toned, or ever intended to communicate anything but despair, agony and dread. Here a woman sat down abruptly in her nightgown, slumped over as if shot dead, though her chest continued to move. There a man in a suit woke up and bellowed in pain, tore at his own face and skin, managed to get to his feet, ran aimlessly as if trying to escape the inevitable, rapid decaying of his own mortal flesh. The infected just fought, killed, slept and woke again to excruciating sensory overload. On and on and on.
Sometimes they attacked each other, more to get even with some unspeakable satanic force than for pleasure. Their agony drove them mad, but the sudden narcoleptic seizures gave them just enough respite to keep breathing, against their own will, for another hour or two. They’d wake up to find other body parts had rotted away or broken off. Never before had so many living things wished for the tranquil, sensation-free silence of death at the same moment in time.
««—»»
Inside the ER, the stunned survivors took their places in silence. Callie paused briefly in the hallway to make one final attempt to reach the outside world, but the broadband was still down or perhaps it had been blocked by the military. The laptop stayed snow white as it flickered dumbly and hissed like a cornered kitten. Champ and Doc squatted together at their station by the back door. Doc had a bottle of bleach and some syringes. He filled three with bleach, placed them carefully on the floor.
“I’m going to inject them as required,” Doc said. “Ouch, eh? Pretty nasty idea coming from a healer.”
No response from the girl.
“Just put them on the floor. Not much sense in trying to be sterile.”
Champ was playing with her cell phone. Some kind of game with pop music. She didn’t look up. Doc said, “Don’t suppose you can just text a friend to get us the hell out of here, huh?”
Champ still did not bother to answer. She just shook her head “no.” Doc recognized the surly defense; he had nieces he hoped were still alive, likely down in Washoe County. If there still was a Washoe County. He imagined Reno a barren landscape of tortured, burned metal and garish buildings become ash. Dry wind blowing dust along roadways packed with dirty, dead cars with only grinning skeletons behind the wheels. They had better stop this thing here, he realized. Here in a small mountain town. Or America could be toast.
“They called you Champ. I’m Brian Roth. Doc.”
Champ ignored him again. Doc watched her turn up the volume on the game, a pretty clear signal to buzz off. Doc tried again, “Fine, thanks. And you?”
Doc whistled. “Wow, it has been very nice hanging out with you, Champ. Really. But I have to get going. Places to go and people to kill.”
That brought a thin smile. Doc got to his feet with a groan. One knee popped. He jogged down the hall, change jangling in his pants pocket, then stopped at the entrance to the storage cl
oset. He paused by the door, held up two fingers. Be right back, couple of minutes. The building had settled during a small quake in 2005 so the wooden door moaned when he opened it. Doc stepped into a cooler, darker place. He flicked on the light.
The shelves had been emptied hours before, only a few stacks of spare sheets and curtains remained. But Doc was looking for something else. He ran the beam along the back wall to a dented metal panel marked EMERGENCY GENERATOR, then down the wall to the floor. There was, as he’d remembered, an entrance to the crawl space below the ER. It was a paneled hatch, just large enough for plumbing equipment to snake the drains. Far too small to allow a man his size to escape. Doc went down on one knee and tried the lock. It was stuck. He slammed his palm against it. Once, twice. The third time opened the lock, but also scraped his skin enough to bruise him and draw a bit of blood.
Doc sucked the wound, lifted the hatch, set it down again. “Okay,” he said, aloud to himself. “That will have to do.”
God, I wish someone had thought of enlarging that son of a bitch.
He left the closet and jogged back down the hall to sit next to Champ. The girl had stopped playing the game and had returned to searching for some kind of signal. Doc glanced down the hall. The computer screen was still white fuzz.
“Okay, Champ?”
“Yeah?”
“Inside the closet there’s a wooden door. In the floor. It leads down to a crawl space under the ER.”
“Yeah?”
“A small one, but big enough. So when it gets really bad, you run for it. Get the hell out of here. I’ll cover you.”
Champ didn’t say anything in response. She just stared. Doc didn’t notice. He was already looking away, thinking about something else. Her expression was bewildered.
««—»»
In exam room one, Fred was sitting quietly next to Riggs, who remained unconscious. The first rush of downers was leaving his system. He stared at his friend for a long moment. In his hands, he gripped a large pair of garden shears. Opened them, closed them again. Snick snick.
“What if you have whatever it is, old buddy?”
Riggs, of course, did not reply.
“See, if you did, I’d be well and truly fucked.”
Riggs twitched a bit. Startled by the movement, Fred struggled to his feet. “Oh, hello? Doc? Could somebody maybe come in here for a minute?”
No one responded. Riggs stirred again but then started snoring. Fred moved his chair back a couple of feet, then sat down again. He stared at Riggs for a while and saw that the taller man’s lips were moving. Was he trying to say something? To warn someone? Against his better judgment, Fred got up and tip-toed closer. He leaned over his friend. Had a sudden flash of terror as he pictured Riggs sitting up, nothing to stop him from reaching out, grinning with long, white vampire teeth, going at his throat, tearing it out in a gush.
Riggs moaned. Whispered again. Fred forced himself to inch closer. And then he heard it, soft but clear as a bell. “Man,” Riggs said, “I got me the shittiest luck in the world.”
Footsteps and the door swooshing open, and a hand gripped Fred’s shoulder and he screamed. “No!” Fred spun around, garden shears high and ready. But it was only Doc Ross.
Easy, Fred. What is it?”
“Doc,” Fred said, “I hate to say this, but we got to tie Riggs down.”
Doc, being no dummy, got the point at once. He just nodded. He held out a roll of thick twine. “Yeah. I know. Let’s get busy.”
««—»»
Billy Ray sneezed and waved his hand against the dust. They had done everything possible to secure the window. The attic was mostly squared away, but he hated feeling cut off from the others. Part of his mind wondered if they’d be safer up here, out of the way, when things got ugly. The other part worried he’d be trapped. Billy Ray watched Officer Paris as she nervously checked and rechecked her side arm. She was an attractive lady, in a butch sort of way.
“How many bullets do you have left?”
She looked up and then away. “Less than one clip.”
Billy Ray said, “Don’t you guys carry shotguns, too?”She cleared her throat like someone stalling for time. Her cheeks went pink. “I forgot the shotgun.”
“Oh. Great. Well, when you run out maybe we can throw spitballs.” He sat next to her, as if feeling totally defeated.
“You don’t have to be a dick about this,” Officer Paris said. “Let’s look around. There. Break those up.”
She pointed to some wooden slats left over from an emptied crate. Billy Ray split them into stake-sized pieces. Officer Paris produced a hunting knife from her utility belt and one by one sharpened all the boards to wicked points. Billy Ray nailed what was left of the wood over the already blocked window. The more the merrier.
Officer Paris cleaned her weapon for the third time. She aimed it at the ceiling.
They were sweaty and tired and scared. The silence was almost worse than what was likely to come. They squatted there together in the gloom, just waiting. Billy Ray edged a bit closer. Officer Paris sighed. She was exhausted, rested her head on his shoulder. Billy Ray pondered the situation. After all, for an optimist, every situation presented a new opportunity. He slid his hand down. Stroked her thigh. Her eyes remained closed. Was she sleeping or just pretending? Delicious, like the back of a car on a first date.
Billy Ray went for a boob beneath the uniform blouse. Officer Paris stiffened, woke up and scuttled away from him like a spider.
“Jesus,” she snapped. “Are you out of your fucking mind?”
««—»»
In the first examination room, such as it was, Boffo tugged on the white curtain and checked the boarded up window for the tenth time. He backed away and leaned sideways against the sink to rest. Boffo was panting and holding a large hammer in his right hand. He looked more ridiculous than usual. His makeup was smeared, sweating off. Callie made a motion with her hands, and Boffo figured it out. He set the hammer down, found a towel and vigorously wiped his face. Callie was surprised. Boffo was a handsome man, just overweight. He had decent features, full lips and nice eyes. Of course there was still the clown outfit, red rubber nose and floppy shoes. Still, Callie thought, he’s not a bad looking man.
Callie had parked on the metal exam table. Boffo went to check the boarded window for yet another time, which made her remember what was going on out there. She dropped her head into cupped palms. She sobbed, visibly upset. Boffo walked closer. He touched her shoulder. Callie dropped her hands, opened her eyes. His handsome face seemed sympathetic.
“You need something.”
Callie felt a rush of gratitude. Her eyes filled. “Yes, thank you for understanding, I do. I really need to talk. Thanks for understanding and for listening. See… It’s because I’m feeling pretty guilty. It’s our anniversary, and I just cheated on Doc again anyway. Something is wrong with me, so I could sure use a friend right now to help me sort things out. I really do.”
She hugged him. Uncomfortable, Boffo extricated himself and patted her on the shoulder. “Uh, actually I meant you need something to fight with.”
He located a piece of sharpened lumber and handed it to her. Boffo turned his back on the awkward scene, peered out into the hallway and walked three steps. In the second exam room, the huge homeless man was lying on the bed. Fred seemed worried, which seemed to Boffo like a sensible idea, considering sleeping folks weren’t all that safe these days. The weird little trucker was sneaking a line of meth. He snorted and rubbed his nostrils. Boffo considered asking for a hit, then figured he didn’t want to be opening any conversations with motormouth.
Fred patted Riggs on the leg. Boffo realized the large man was tied down, taped and roped to the gurney, in case he’d become infected while outside. Made good sense, because Doc seemed in the dark about how this fever really operated No sense taking chances. Boffo backed out of the room. He continued on down the hall until he was near the back window, where Theresa and Timothy had bee
n stationed. They were both praying, lips moving silently, hands clenched together. They stopped at the same time and sat back.
“Hello,” Boffo said, softly. “You guys ready back here?”
Theresa grabbed a sharpened broomstick. Timothy took out two of his knitting needles. The woman said, “As ready as we’ll ever be.”
Timothy said, “Why did he split us up like that? I hope he knows what he’s doing. Do you think Champ will be okay with this Doc person?”
“I’m sure she’ll be fine,” Boffo said. But they both ignored him, so he moved on. At the back door, Champ and Doc were whispering and listening intently to something going on outside. Scared, Boffo trotted back to his own post, where Callie was waiting. She seemed to have numbed out. He paused in the doorway. He could hear Cap and Bowden. They were at the front, in the waiting room. First line of defense.
“Okay,” Cap said, “I’ve got six rounds left. You?”
“Nine. Radio still isn’t working.”
“Fix it.”
“Huh?” Bowden said. “You want me up here, right?”
“The more I think on it, maybe not. There are bars on the window, so I can handle the front. You have the skills, so get on their computer and stay there for now. See if you can raise the Major.”
Boffo heard Bowden struggle to his feet. He backed up, stood in the doorway of the examining room. He didn’t want these soldier boys to catch him away from his station. Bowden paused in the hall, with his back to Boffo. “Cap, they wouldn’t just leave us here to die, right?”
To Boffo’s horror, Cap didn’t answer. He turned, and gasped. Someone ran right into him, knocked him back a step. Boffo almost screamed, then looked down. Callie had come to the doorway.
Pain Page 5