Pestilence: The Infection Begins

by Craig A. McDonough

  “Come on, we need to—” Tilford began but the sound of a voice, a woman’s voice, caught him midsentence.

  “Help me, h-e-lp…”

  Tilford reached out and grabbed Sanders by the arm, pulling her back. “Wait, wait, we don’t know what’s in there.”

  “There’s a woman in there, begging for help. We have to!” Sanders sounded frantic in her answer.

  “Damn…a flashlight or two…some weapons, maybe a platoon of soldiers.” Delaney muttered. She’d coped well so far, trying to stay alive can keep you focused, but nothing was going right and they still hadn’t come close to finding a way out. They weren’t in a good position, she knew that much. Tilford heard her but said nothing, he realized she was starting to struggle. They didn’t have any weapons or a platoon of soldiers not even a boy scout group but no one was callous enough to abandon a woman crying out for help.

  “Get behind me.” Tilford waved with his free hand.

  If a bloodsucker was inside the room, then maybe, he reasoned, maybe the women could run to the security office while he occupied himself with the ghoul. He didn’t like the idea of playing hero, but he didn’t have much in the way of choices.

  I bet if Nurse Childs body slammed them, that would fix ’em… but good! He allowed a tiny smile to creep onto his face over his comical thought. He motioned with his open hand three times in the air as if pushing against an invisible wall; stay there, stay there. If any infected charged from the corridor, they’d have nowhere to go but inside the patient’s room. Options were fewer and fewer.

  Shit!

  Nine

  “Yes, sir, of course, sir,” Calgleef told one of the presidents’ personal assistants with confidence. “It is unfortunate, but it was out of our control. The vials were packed in England and rushed onto a waiting plane, and everyone from the manufacturing point to the airport luggage handlers had been informed of the necessity for haste, and that’s just what we got. I’m sorry to say, sir, but haste equals waste, as I’m sure you’ve heard many times before.”

  Calgleef listened attentively when the assistant replied before continuing.

  “The outbreak of the Legionnaires’ disease took everyone by surprise, sir, and it’s fair to say there have been some bizarre reactions with the contaminated vaccine. But as soon as we can contain the Legionnaires’ we can begin initial treatments. We may lose some of the elderly and the newborn but…” Calgleef didn’t want to focus too much on the negative, “we shouldn’t let this slow down the schedule to produce the vaccine here in the United States. It will be of the utmost importance if we’re to prevent the spread of Baltic flu. Have you seen the latest casualty figures from Europe?”

  Calgleef knew the secretary hadn’t, and when he replied as much, the director of the CDC was more than delighted to elucidate. “Well, after a short lull in which fatalities actually receded—which caused a false hope—there’s now been another spike and an increase of five percent in recorded deaths.” He paused once more for the assistant’s response. “Yes, sir, that’s correct,” Calgleef answered, his admonitions and recommendations alone wouldn’t be enough to sway government policy nor would those of the FDA. But figures, figures don’t lie, and one thing politician’s love is to manipulate figures to their benefit.

  “Thank you, sir.” Calgleef ended the call satisfied he had convinced one of the president’s most trusted aides not only of the need to continue with the vaccination program but almost guarantee the manufacturing here in the States before it was too late.

  It already was too late of course. Not for Noel Thorncroft, who would have his contract fulfilled, but for the millions of Americans, their fate had been decided. The Baltic flu wouldn’t find its way to the North American shores, instead it would be introduced. Deliberately. The fear and panic that would follow would assure Throncroft and his accomplices of their massive profits as panicked millions lined up for their vaccinations. One in ten thousand recipients of the vaccine would contract the Baltic flu, which was the original plan but somehow the vials containing the virus were packed into the same storage unit and shipped to Des Moines, were everyone who received a shot got it. The “one in ten thousand” would be enough to ensure the pestilence would spread far and wide but at a rate that wouldn’t bring down the entire infrastructure; just enough to make sure everyone got their shots. And the demand for Thorncroft’s serum would be overwhelming and so would the profits. The government would make it compulsory and doctors would eagerly distribute the lies that it was done for the safety of America and its people. Nobody would question the motives, not at a time like this.

  Most also believed the world was created in seven days or that a fat man with a white beard, dressed in a red jumpsuit brought gifts on December 25 each year.

  The initial batch of vaccines, manufactured in Europe and transported to the United States, were meant to execute the “one-ten thousand” action, as referred to by many in the pharmaceutical industry, but the mix—up meant that only those at Riverside Hospital received the dose.

  Thorncroft wasn’t the only one who understood that healthy people are of no value to the industry or the medical profession either.

  Live strains of the Baltic flu in vaccines distributed throughout the United States it was a recipe for disaster if ever there was one. Perhaps it was Thorncroft’s plan or maybe someone else with another agenda, terrorist’s for instance, but whatever it was it didn’t look promising. Calgleef ran all these thoughts and possibilities through his head. Like Moya his feet were getting cold.

  “Now might be a good time to get the house in St. Martin’s ready. I might need it soon.”

  Tilford crept into the patient’s room as best as he could without overbalancing; he never was any good at sneaking up on anyone. He kept an eye on the bed where the woman lay, her cries for help subsided now. It was darker in the room with only the light from the corridor, and he didn’t help his night vision by constantly glancing back toward Delaney waiting nervously at the doorway.

  “I’m a doctor,” he whispered as he neared the edge of the bed. “Are you injured?”

  “I-I-I don’t know, but I feel weak, very weak…” She rolled her head toward the sound of Tilford’s voice. “I was resting. I just gave birth and my baby is in an incubator and—OH MY, MY GOD! MY BABY, MY BABY… WHERE’S MY BABY?” the woman screamed hysterically.

  “Your baby is all right,” he lied; he had to, every blood—eyed ghoul in the hospital would hear. “Just relax, your baby is fine.”

  “What’s wrong?” Delaney came up behind Tilford too fast.

  “Jee-zuz!” Tilford felt his bones jolt when Delaney approached him. “You scared the—”

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

  “I was just lying here when someone took my arm, a doctor, I thought,” the woman in bed expounded, the presence of another woman’s voice had a calming effect. “I felt a sharp sensation, many in fact, and I assumed he gave me a needle and I-I…”

  “What happened, what…? Oh my God!” Delaney’s eyesight apparently adjusted faster than Tilford’s, because she saw the large bite marks along the patient’s sleeveless arm. Human bite marks. Blood ran from the wounds where it smeared on the floor below. “Oh shit…”

  “What—” Tilford heard Delaney’s cry but hadn’t caught on.

  “We have to get out of here, Isaac, we have to get out—NOW!” It was no longer necessary to remain quiet.

  “My babeeeee!” The woman who just gave birth scowled at Tilford. “You killed my babeeeee!”

  She lifted up from her prone position, shooting both arms out at Tilford, who had become accustomed to the lower light. He noticed the dark ovals where her eyes would be—they were covered in a film of blood.

  She’d become one of the infected.

  Tilford didn’t have time to think, only react. Dropping his mop, he grabbed the edges of one side of the thin hospital mattress, lifted it to where he could get his body weight behind and then giving a
n almighty shove. The patient–turned–blood-thirster fell to the floor with a thud, and the mattress followed. A screaming war cry from behind turned Delaney and Tilford into pillars of stone as they feared an attack, before they were brushed aside by a charging Jenny Childs wielding the small metal wastebasket above her head. Still trying to get their hearts out of their mouths, neither Delaney nor Tilford could prevent Childs as she launched onto the infected woman struggling to free herself from under the mattress. The wastebasket came down with a resounding clank when the woman lifted her head up from the floor. The wastebasket buckled with the force of the blow, but Childs struck again and again and…

  “Jenny! Jenny!” Sanders implored. “Stop, she’s dead! You killed her already!”

  Childs dropped the wastebasket to the floor as Sanders pulled her away. It made a hollow echo-like sound; every sound seemed louder in the deserted hospital. Just like a mausoleum it wasn’t really deserted; as long as you count the dead.

  “She-she… she was turning into one of them, one of those things that attacked Mr. Gerard. They, they—”

  “It’s all right, Nurse, we understand. You haven’t done anything wrong, but we have to get moving.” Delaney reassured, while at the same time eager to get everyone moving. She was certain that with all the commotion their presence had been detected. “Grab your mop, Isaac and let’s go!”

  Delaney gave Tilford some room to lead them out while Childs could be heard chastising herself “I had no choice, I had no choice… she was going to turn into one of those things” as they picked up the tempo of their step.

  “Is the security office lo—” Delaney caught herself and answered her own question. Wouldn’t be much of a security office if it wasn’t locked, would it?

  “There!” Sanders who was in front of Delaney and behind Tilford as they turned the corner into the smaller aisle.

  “Wait for us!” Delaney took it upon herself to watch over Nurse Childs, who, despite having traveled less than - forty yards, struggled for breath.

  “Can we stop for a moment? I need to catch my—”

  “Not now, Nurse! You best get your fat ass into gear!” Delaney hated to speak to Childs like that but when five bloody-eyed creeps led by the naked woman Tilford had first come across in outpatients burst through the doors into the main corridor she had little choice; get Childs moving or leave her to die. Delaney noticed the blood smeared over the mouths of the blood seeking infected, it reminded her of the mess young children made after devouring an ice cream cone. The eyes of all five were full of blood. The naked woman’s body was almost covered by blood and most of it was over her tits.

  “Don’t look, just run, fucking run!” Delaney grabbed Childs’s puffy hand and led, her along.

  Tilford was at the security office door when Delaney and Childs round the corner and into the smaller aisle. “It’s open, it’s open!” Tilford announced surprise in his voice.

  “Well, get in, get in. Those fucking things are right behind us!” Delaney prayed Childs didn’t collapse while she had a hold of her hand. “Go, go, go!”

  Growls, not unlike a pack mangy dogs, came from the corridor behind signifying the approaching horror. Tilford slammed the door as Delaney, with Childs in tow, raced through. He didn’t hesitate, dead-bolting the door and switching off the overhead light.

  “Do you think that will hold?” Delaney asked him after helping Childs to a chair.

  “Shh, shh, stay quiet!” He whispered.

  “Over here, over here.” Delaney eased a chair away from an office desk and quietly summoned Sanders and Childs over. Tilford slid his back against the wall on the hinge side of the door, which, was away from the window. The staccato of clapping feet was heard outside in the aisle as the infected ran down the aisle outside the office; aware their prey was near.

  Delaney whispered from behind the desk. “Listen… sounds like they have gone.”

  Tilford nodded and crawled over to where the others were. There was more than enough light coming through the window to see. “The room behind us is the security storeroom.” He told Delaney. “There might be something in there that could help, but I think we should wait until our guests have left, don’t you?”

  “Sure. Does security keep any guns in there?” Delaney wanted something more substantial than a mop.

  “I don’t know, I—”

  “They keep a couple in there for emergencies, but they’re kept in a safe.” An out of breath Childs managed to answer. “I helped transfer some files onto their computer once and noticed it.”

  ”I don’t suppose anyone has the combination?” The silence that followed told was answer enough for Grace Delaney.

  They all huddled behind the desk, which wasn’t large enough to hide four grown people, especially when one was the size of three on her own. They kept their chatter to a whisper in the dimly lit office.

  “Well… let’s cross the bridge when we come to it,” Tilford said. “Anyway, what do you know about guns?” Delaney had noticed that, even in the midst of this danger, the more time spent together the more questions he asked.

  Was he becoming interested? She asked herself.

  “I’m no expert, but I have a .38 revolver and practice with it regularly. My first husband was a cop, and he taught me how to shoot.”

  “Your first husband?” Tilford’s attention switched to her marital status.

  Delaney noted the change of pitch in his voice. This wasn’t the appropriate time, but she leaned forward to answer his question, touching him lightly on the shoulder and…

  “OH SHIT!” The cell phone in the pocket of her doctor’s coat blasted like the brass section of an orchestra in the small office room. Delaney, startled by the ring of the phone, bumped the back of her head against the edge of the desk.

  “Oh fuck!” Sanders and Childs squealed as one.

  “Quiet, quiet!” Tilford was quick to jump on them.

  Delaney fumbled with her cell. Her first reaction was to turn it off, but considering the situation and all calls were now monitored, she didn’t think it would be a telemarketer.

  “Hello…” she whispered into the phone, until she heard the voice on the other end. “MOYA, YOU FUCK!”

  “I’m sorry you feel like that, Dr. Delaney, but I guess I would be the same if I was locked up with carriers of the Baltic flu and—”

  “Baltic flu? You don’t know half of it—or perhaps you do and you’re still playing dumb. Either way, Moya, this outbreak has the sufferers in a state of complete mental breakdown, they’re seeking the blood of others, killing—”

  The door to the office rattled when the handle was grabbed from outside and rapidly pulled. The walls shuddered as a heavy pounding followed; it would only be a matter of time before the infected discovered the window would be an easy way to gain entry.

  “Quick, get in the back,” Tilford was he first to react. The infected were already here so no need to worry about being heard now. Tilford tried the door to the storeroom but it was locked.

  “What the hell do we do now?” Childs’s shrieked. Her fear was as obvious in her voice as it was written on her face.

  Nurse Sanders, on the other hand, had gone quiet. She stared back at the vibrating office door hoping, praying for a miracle.

  “Dr. Delaney, Dr. Delaney?” Moya squawked over the phone.

  “What? What is it, Moya, we’re about to become blood donors here!” Delaney held the phone away from her face.

  “The door, the door you’re trying to access, it has a code, eleven dash two dash one, nine, five, nine.”

  “What?”

  “Try it, Delaney, try it!”

  The office door started to split under the constant pressure and the hinges bent. Delaney had no choices.

  “Do something, please… do something!” Tears flowed down Childs’ puffy red cheeks as her panic increased. A tiny trickle of blood also seeped from one eye. In their panic to escape from the infected; no one noticed.

 
“Eleven dash two dash one, nine, five, nine! In the number pad,” Delaney pointed below the door handle. “Now!”

  Tilford immediately did as told, no questions. He punched the numbers in, turned the handle. The door opened.

  “Inside, quickly, get inside.” He waved his arm while keeping a watchful eye on the door of the office. The door was about to give way any moment.

  Tilford locked the door behind as he did the other one but stopped to observe the locks or that is what

  “What is it, is something wrong Isaac?” Delaney asked.

  “No, nothing’s wrong not at all. This door is more strongly built, with reinforced metal frame and locks. This might hold them at bay.” Might being the magic word.

  “Did it work? Delaney, Delaney, did the door open?” Moya’s voice cackled once again from the cell phone, Delaney still held in her hand.

  “Yes, yes it did,” she answered Moya’s cackling call. “How did you know, how?”

  She pressed the phone into her ear as the sound of the outer door crashing down reached them—the infected were in the next room.

  “Moya? Moya? You shit!”

  “Who’s Moya and what was that all about?” Tilford asked her.

  Heavy contact caused the door to shudder, preventing her from answering; they had been discovered.

  Ten

  Moya hadn’t become so de-sensitized by his crossover to the dark side that he didn’t feel any grief over the loss of life that was, confirmed, to be taking place at the hospital. He had spent all of his professional life in the field of immunology, infectious and contagious diseases, and death was not a total stranger to him; he’d witnessed its many guises and of course the consequences. As a young man, not long after his graduation from medical school, he’d volunteered to assist in treatment centers in West Africa. He was of the belief that hands-on experience was the best teacher. What he saw in Africa, particularly in Mali, Guinea and Burkina Faso, was how disease that was thought controlled, preventable or nonexistent in Europe flourished in poverty-stricken areas of the world. Moya saw the relationship between wealth and health firsthand; he didn’t need to read how the greedy treated the poor or their contempt for the suffering—he had witnessed it with his own eyes. The lack of clean water, food, sanitation and electricity, which the modern Western world takes for granted, and the continuous warfare on display in many parts of Africa contributed to the spread of disease and death.