Dead Air (Book One of The Dead Series)

by Schafer, Jon

  Steve noted with amusement that the first three symptoms categorized everyone under the age of twenty-one and that there was still no mention made of people going insane and biting each other. This had been the lead topic on the Web for days now, but the mainstream media seemed to be ignoring it. What the hell was going on?

  "Please stay tuned to CNN for further developments as we keep you up to date with all the latest breaking news." The anchor said this in his most serious tone before switching on a smile and continuing. "And now we go to Cindy Wagner, who has a story about an eleven year old boy who taught himself how to paint with his feet. Cindy?"

  Steve switched between the other news stations and received a slightly different, but still glossed over, version of the spread of the HWNW virus. Remembering something he had learned at broadcasting school, he muted the sound and studied the faces of the reporters and anchors on screen. He knew they read from a teleprompter or a script, adding inflection to their voices to relate if the story was happy, sad, serious or funny, and practiced this until it became second nature, so this made it hard to read them by what they said. If you looked close enough though, their faces would often tell you what they were really thinking. That morning, Steve looked very close.

  Fear, worry and uncertainty came through subtly on every expression he saw except one. A hardened, old, veteran anchor who probably wouldn't have made a face if he were talking through a mouth full of baby shit.

  Switching off the television, Steve went into the second bedroom where his computer had booted up. Hesitating before he sat down, he went back into the living room and retrieved his pistol from where he had stashed it in under the couch cushion the night before. At first feeling foolish for this action, once he settled into his computer chair he felt a sense of security at seeing the Glock sitting on the desk just inches from his hand.

  Accessing the Internet, he was instantly bombarded by ads pertaining to the HWNW virus:

  A spray that was guaranteed to repel anyone infected with the disease.

  A pill that, if taken within five minutes of being bitten, would purge your body of the disease.

  A device, which looked suspiciously to Steve like a stud finder, guaranteed to detect anyone who had been infected by the HWNW virus within a fifty-foot radius. It was named ‘The Infector Detector.’

  The ads went on ad nauseum.

  Clicking on the icon for his pop up blocker, Steve saw it had been turned off. Ginny often disabled it when she used his computer because it kept her from accessing many of the features in the online shops she frequented. After enabling the software to filter out the crap, he pulled up a search engine as he tried to decide on which keywords to type in.

  'Zombie' would be full of hoaxes, as would 'munchin' madness'. Remembering what the news had called it, Steve typed in HWNW and hit the search button.

  For the next hour he went from site to site, reading accounts of people attacking and eating each other and watching video clips of people causing havoc after they had succumbed to the disease. Checking the location from where the reports had originated, he realized this was a worldwide epidemic. Most of the video was taken with cell phones, but some had been shot with camcorders or were supposedly leaked by the news media. After only a few minutes, Steve's perspective was changed as to who was giving out the real story.

  The national and local news was full of shit. This was what was really going on.

  The Minneapolis story about the quarantine made more sense to him after watching video taken at a roadblock that had been overrun in southern Iowa. The National Guard had attempted to seal off the border by blockading the Interstate, but it had somehow turned into a gun battle and a massacre of unarmed civilians. After the Guard had abandoned their position, it left the route open from the infected states straight into Minnesota.

  The most disturbing web page that he visited though, was one posted by a biology professor from the University of Little Rock. It had been put up three days ago and then hastily taken down, but not before it had been copied and redistributed across the Web.

  It showed a video of a woman strapped securely to an examination table, her slowly writhing body hooked up to various medical monitors that were turned off. A white-coated doctor entered the room and started talking but no sound came through. Steve surmised that the audio had been lost or corrupted when the page was copied. Even with no sound, the video was self-explanatory.

  The doctor activated a heart monitor that showed only a flat line.

  A blood pressure cuff was inflated and showed a reading of 00 over 00.

  An EEG was turned on but showed only the barest sign of brain activity.

  The woman's temperature was taken, the instrument showing 78 degrees. The doctor then went behind the camera and panned over to a view of a digital thermometer mounted on the wall. It also read 78 degrees.

  Room temperature.

  For all intents and purposes, the woman was dead. Except, she wasn't.

  As soon as the doctor had entered the room, the woman's eyes had locked onto him and she began gnashing her teeth. She struggled against the straps that restrained her as she clenched and unclenched her hands, twisting her body to try and free it. After showing the room thermometer, the doctor refocused the camera on his patient and moved back into view to stand next to her. Holding his hand near her mouth, he quickly jerked it back as she lunged upward to try and bite it, snapping her teeth together as saliva rolled down the sides of her face.

  It could be a hoax, Steve thought. But deep down inside he knew it was real. To convince himself completely, he went to the University of Arkansas homepage and opened the faculty link. Under the department heading of Biology and Physiology, Steve found a listing for Doctor Lyonel H. Hawkins. His credentials were an alphabet soup that Steve didn't begin to recognize, but he did recognize the picture of the good doctor.

  It was the same as the man in the video.

  Suddenly, the door from the other bedroom was thrown open with a bang, causing him to jump slightly.

  "You know I hate it when you close the door," Ginny complained loudly. "It gets too stuffy in there."

  "Sorry," Steve apologized, shutting down the computer as he debated what to tell her about what he had seen online. After all, it hadn't been all bad news. The National Guard seemed to be out in force in the affected areas and they were doing their best to contain the disease and keep order. There had been widespread reports of looting and lawlessness coming from some of the infected cities and towns, but once martial law was declared in those areas, order was quickly restored. Some of the reports from Missouri, Texas and a few other states actually gave a positive outlook as to how they were stopping the spread of HWNW.

  Deciding that since they were still in a safe area he would keep the worst details to himself, Steve entered the living room to find Ginny watching television and sipping from a mug of coffee. At first he thought she was watching the news reports about the disease and was about to comment on what he had seen online. But when he looked closer and saw what she was watching, he closed his mouth with an audible snap. It was a mindless talk show calling itself The Other View. It consisted of a panel of five women who had all been fired or thrown off their jobs as hosts on a variety of stations. Now they had their own show where they sniped at their guests while back biting and trying to undermine each other.

  To Steve it was like watching Jerry Springer with PMS compete on Survivor. He had just witnessed the most graphic live video he had ever seen without losing his lunch, but he knew five minutes of TOV could easily change that.

  "They're talking about that flu thingy that's going around," Ginny said vacantly, her eyes never leaving the screen. "They say the government needs to come up with a vaccine to prevent it from spreading. I hope it's only a single shot and not two or three."

  Thinking back to one of the videos he had watched earlier, Steve almost answered, 'They have come up with a way to prevent the spread of the disease, but they give it t
o you after you're infected. Don't worry though, it's only one shot and it goes right in the back of your head. You never see it coming and you don't feel a thing.'

  Instead, he replied, "I'm sure it'll be okay. I was watching the news this morning and it hasn't spread down here to Florida."

  Ginny set her mug on the coffee table and patted the couch next to her for Steve to sit. Warily, because he had a good idea of what was coming, he perched on the edge of the cushion and waited for the inevitable.

  Leaning against him, Ginny used a soft silky voice to say, "I've got a small problem at the bank. They say I overdrew my checking account again."

  Groaning inwardly, Steve asked the question he seemed to be asking too often lately. "How much?"

  "With the overdraft fees, they say I owe one-hundred and eighty dollars," Ginny replied.

  "What did you buy?" Steve asked incredulously.

  "I had to pay bills," Ginny pouted. "Rent and electric."

  "I thought we worked out a budget for you after the last time this happened."

  "I went over the budget a little," Ginny explained without a trace of remorse. "I needed a new outfit for work."

  Jesus, Steve thought, this isn't the day I need to be wasting my time dealing with this shit. He remembered when she had done this same thing last month and he had spent two hours with her at the bank negotiating with the representative to try and waive the overdraft fees. Even after getting those taken off, it cost him over one hundred dollars and had blown his whole morning. Looking at his watch, he noted it was already past nine. Damn, time flies when you’re having fun. He'd have to hustle just to make it into work by ten.

  Retrieving his wallet from the bedroom, he extracted two hundred in cash and handed it over. He considered giving Ginny a lecture on responsibility but pushed the thought away. He was already freaked out by what was going on in the world, what with the minor detail of people coming back to life and eating the living, so he knew it would be too easy for him to go from a kindly admonishment directly to a full blown tirade.

  Ginny kissed him, hugged him, stroked him and promised with a wink to pay back the loan with special interest. After getting him worked up, she broke away and went into the hallway that led to the bedroom and bathroom. Steve was about to follow when he heard the bathroom door shut and lock then water running in the sink.

  As soon as he realized she had beaten him to the bathroom, he started to get pissed. Damn it, he thought, she knows I have to get to the station before she does. She can wander in whenever she wants but I have to be in by ten. Taking a deep breath, he said aloud, ''No big, hairy deal” and went into the bedroom to get dressed.

  ***

  Steve pulled into his assigned spot on the top floor of the parking ramp next to the Garnett Bank Building to find Jonny G waiting for him.

  'We need your Jeep boss.” Waving his hand at a cart full of equipment next to him the intern explained, ''I’ve got to get these amps and cables and stuff over to Club Dead End for the live remote tonight. Mesozoic Biscuit is playing and they asked if they could borrow some of our stuff.”

  'What happened to the truck?' Steve asked, irritated that they wanted to use his vehicle again.

  "Meat already took the truck over, but then he called and said he needed the rest of this stuff," Jonny explained.

  Really irritated now, Steve fought to keep his voice calm as he asked, "If Meat's at the club, who's doing the show this morning?"

  "Mary's here, and Meat's calling in and doing a live show called, ‘How do roadies party in the morning?’"

  Great, just fucking great, Steve thought as he turned toward the bank building and pulled out his cell phone. He was about to call Meat and tear some serious ass when suddenly an idea struck him. Absently he put his phone away as a plan blossomed in his mind.

  Handing his keys to Jonny, he said brightly, "You have to unload all the stuff in the Jeep first. Stack it inside the door of my office against the wall.” A thought struck him as he turned to leave and he added, "Use a tarp to cover it up when you bring it in."

  "Why?" Jonny asked. "It's just a bunch of cases of food and water."

  Steve reasoned that he didn't want anyone to know he had the supplies because if things got really bad and food and water got scarce, someone might try to steal them. He knew he couldn't guard the goods twenty-four seven, so it was better to play it cautious.

  Instead of explaining this to Jonny G, he said, "Because I told you to do it and I sign your check."

  This was enough of an answer for Jonny and he set about taking the top on the Jeep down so he could reach everything.

  Steve grabbed his backpack from the passenger seat and felt reassured by the extra weight of the Glock and spare magazines inside. Heading for the elevator, he remembered that it smelled like winos pissed in the corners, so he changed direction toward the stairs. They had a ripe aroma too, but at least they were open on two sides so that a breeze could get through.

  Exiting at the first floor, he cut through the ramp before ducking under the traffic control arm at the entrance and stepping out onto the sidewalk. Most mornings he took the elevated walkway on the second level to enter the bank building and then rode the elevator up to the station on twelve, but today he was on a mission.

  When he glanced across the street to his right, he noticed that EZ-Pawn still had its steel accordion gates stretched across the front of the store. Score one for Heather’s information, he thought. She was right about the pawn shops being shut down. Normally by this time of the morning, there would already be a line of junkies out the door. Not today though. Word must have gotten around Ghettotropolis that the EZ was closed and all stolen property had to be sold on the street.

  After walking past a row of thick hedges between the parking garage and the bank building, Steve entered its foyer. To his left were the elevators and stairs, and to his right was the doorway to the bank itself. Ignoring both, he moved straight ahead through an arched opening with a trendy sign above it informing him he was entering the Shops of the Galleria.

  The aroma, which had enticed him since coming through the foyer doors, now reached up and smacked him full in the face. Set in a kiosk at the center of the shops that lined the walls of the Galleria was the object of his quest. The Cinnabun cinnamon roll vendor.

  Five minutes later he entered the station with two boxes containing two dozen Cinnabuns each, and after setting one on the table of the conference room, he carried the other to his office. As he entered, he noted with pleasure the stacks of cardboard boxes and bottled water inside the door to his right. Jonny G may be annoying at times, but you had to admit he was a hard worker. Steve decided that the next time the graveyard shift Jock called in sick, he would give the intern a shot at filling in.

  Steve's butt had barely sunk into his chair when the intercom buzzed and Tom Oliver's voice came over the speaker in a harsh rasp. “I saw you come in, Wendell. Did you think you could sneak by me?”

  In his most professional voice, Steve answered, "I have no idea what you're talking about, sir." But realized he was talking to an open line.

  Damn, busted.

  Seconds later, his door opened and the station's owner strode in. Before Steve could say anything, Tom held his hand out with the palm upward and said, "Don't try to cover up, what gives?"

  Donning an innocent expression, Steve replied, "I have no idea what you're talking about, sir. Could you please elaborate on that statement?"

  "Don't try and snow me with that 'sir' bullshit, cough them up."

  Reluctantly, Steve extracted the box of Cinnabuns from where he had stashed them in his drawer. Setting them on top of the desk, he half whispered, "Bastard."

  Ignoring the slight, Tom opened the box and pulled one of the sweet rolls out. He settled into a chair in front of the desk and said, "I love these things, especially when they're free."

  "There's a whole box of free ones in the conference room," Steve pointed out sarcastically. "Help yourself."<
br />
  Tom waved the comment away. "Are you kidding? The sales staff smelled those from a mile away and they were tracking your every move from the time you hit the door. Those babies are long gone. Besides, we need to talk. I've been gone for –.“

  “Three weeks." Steve prompted.

  "Yeah, three weeks, so fill me in on what's been going on here."

  Steve first went over sales figures and programming schedule before filling the owner in on a proposal he had received from marketing. They were trying to push a syndicated show, which would air on the seven to midnight slot. He had told them no, so they asked him to bring it to Tom's attention.

  When Steve was finished explaining his objections to airing a syndicated show, Tom raised an eyebrow and asked, "Cost analysis?"

  “We’d save a little money but in the long run I think we'd lose out in the ratings. Like I was saying, it’s called ‘The Darla Show’. Its sweet, sappy love songs with broken hearted lovers calling in requests.”

  Tom made a face.

  “My thoughts exactly,” Steve commented. "We play rock, classic rock and some alternative rock. Darla wouldn't fit in.”

  Tom agreed and then asked, "What’s your take on the newest craze sweeping the nation?”

  Steve gave him a blank look so Tom added, "Nosh on your neighbor, munchin' madness, the snappin’ fits. I’ve been through five different states in the past few days and they call it something different everywhere I go.”

  Steve stopped and thought about what to say before replying. Tom had always treated him decent and been straight with him. He remembered one time when he reprimanded Mary for coming in late and she had complained to her brother about him and threatened to have him fired. In a snit, Mary had called a meeting between Steve, Tom and herself so that her big brother could put Steve in his place. Wary that family ties would prevail and he would get reprimanded by Tom, or possibly even fired, he entered the meeting with trepidation. After Steve laid out the facts though, he was surprised when Tom turned to his sister and said, "Sounds like you better get your shit together, sis. If you keep this up, Steve might just fire your ass.” After Mary had stormed out of the office, Tom turned to Steve and said, "I don't play favorites, I run a business. When I’m not here, it’s your job to run it for me as you see fit.”