The Cannibal Virus

by Anthony DeCosmo

  Anthony DeCosmo

  The Cannibal Virus

  1

  The glass doors swung open with a bang and two Polynesian men dressed in white shirts and neat gray shorts pushed a gurney into the clinic. Cheap tin badges on their lapels identified the duo as members of the medical response team; otherwise they might have been mistaken for a pair of nervous caddies.

  The clinic's small but neat lobby sat empty; no aging starlets searched for a barbiturate fix, and the nightly wave of wealthy old men in need of Viagra had come and gone back around midnight. Light from a plasma-screen TV playing an American morning show broadcasting from thousands of miles and many hours away flickered on empty chairs.

  A hot gust of wind followed the paramedics in and caused the glossy paper of the desk nurse's People magazine to flutter. She looked up from the pages and gave the two men an angry glance, but her eyes changed from narrow and annoyed to wide and afraid when she noted the motionless body atop the stretcher.

  Name tags identified the paramedics as Ipo and Maru but they were known affectionately around the private island as the candy men, due to their primary job of distributing medicinal and recreational narcotics.

  "He's dead," Ipo said in an exasperated voice.

  The nurse — who had earned the cushy job more for her cleavage than for her medical prowess — brought both hands to her cheeks and gasped as if auditioning for a B-grade horror flick.

  Maru maintained a small measure of calm and ordered, "Call the doctor. We need him right away."

  "Oh my God, who is it?" the nurse cried as she craned her neck to see. "Is that that director guy I met at the casino?"

  Maru responded, "No. We don't know who it is. We just found him outside the spa. He was already dead. Look, we need to call Dr. Jaeger."

  "That's strange," she said twirling her hair. "The spa is, like, closed this time of night."

  Now that a lady was present, Ipo managed to calm his nerves. He then used his grip on the gurney handle as reason to flex his biceps to accentuate his big muscles and chiseled profile. In a tone one step removed from a surgeon on a soap opera he explained, "We think it was a heart attack."

  Maru interrupted their eye contact to ask, "Do you recognize him at all?"

  She peeked carefully, as if too strong a stare might cause the grossness of the cadaver to infect her.

  The body belonged to a middle-aged Asian man carrying an extra thirty pounds on his gut and with patches of premature gray dotting his otherwise black hair. He wore ripped jeans and a badly stained dress shirt.

  "Uh, no."

  "Doesn't that seem strange to you?" Maru asked. "We don't recognize him, either. There's maybe thirty permanent staff on the island and a hundred or so visitors and here's a guy we don't recognize."

  "Looks like a hobo or something," Ipo said. He had finally managed to gain complete control of his nerves thanks to an instinctual ability to focus on impressing chicks who possessed big tits. "Maybe he came in with the luggage on one of the flights."

  Realizing that the nurse was going to be of no help, Maru said, "I'm going to go wake Dr. Jaeger."

  "You don't want to do that," the nurse warned. "He has an early tee time."

  He gazed at her for a long moment and then explained, "Listen, we've got a dead man here. We don't even know who he is or how he got here. I think Dr. Jaeger will be willing to miss his golf game over this."

  "Oh." The nurse accepted the explanation. "So what do you want me to do?"

  Maru considered and then answered, "Jaeger will need to declare him dead. So just keep him here until I get back."

  "Ah, no," she shot back. "Remember that drummer who overdosed last year? A couple of guys got fired because they left him in one of the examination rooms waiting for the doctor."

  "Yeah man, she's right," Ipo recalled the same incident. "They don't want shit like that out where people can see it. Disturbs the guests and all. Hell, doc might tell you to wait until morning anyway."

  Maru relented, "Okay then, we need to store the body."

  "Where?"

  Maru rubbed his eyes in frustration and said, "In the back of the storage room behind the pharmaceutical shelves there are a couple of cadaver drawers."

  Her face twisted into a blend of revulsion and horror.

  "You want me to put him in there? Ah, no, I don't think so."

  "I'll help," Ipo volunteered.

  "Oh you stupid boot, just do it. I'll be back with Jaeger in a few minutes." Maru considered and then added, "If he'll come, that is."

  Ipo and the nurse watched Maru turn and march out of the clinic.

  "What is, like, his problem?"

  Ipo glanced at the body, then at her, and answered, "He comes a little unglued when things get tough around here. Me? I try to be professional at all times."

  "Oh."

  He pushed the gurney out of the lobby and down a short corridor past a pair of dark examination rooms. The nurse led the way but nearly stumbled with every other step, as she kept turning and glancing back at the motionless body.

  "Don't worry; I'll take care of this. Just help me open up the drawer," Ipo said. "Say, you okay?"

  She paused for a moment, stood straight, and told him, "I'm a nurse. I see this type of thing all the time."

  As they reached the end of the hall, she pulled a key from the pocket of her tight-fitting white smock.

  "I don't know why we bother keeping this locked," she said as she turned the knob. "It's pretty much an open house around here."

  "Yeah, sure," Ipo said as he wheeled the gurney inside.

  Several rows of tall shelves lined with bins, bottles, and packets of pharmaceuticals filled the room. The nurse flipped a switch and bright lights beamed down from rows of fluorescents built into the dropped ceiling.

  "Uh, behind all this," she said as she led him around the shelves toward the back. A pair of dusty square metal doors with heavy latches protruded from the wall there. She approached them cautiously, as if something might jump out.

  "Here, I'll get it," the paramedic offered as he undid one latch, rolled out the tomb's metal slab, and wheeled the gurney alongside.

  "Pretty spooky, huh?" He made chitchat while positioning the body for the transfer. She stood on the other side of the gurney with her eyes fixed on the oriental man's body, while Ipo's eyes remained fixed on her body.

  "Yeah, sure. That's weird … should he be …"

  "Say," he said, narrowing his eyes, and then in the most mature voice he could muster he told her, "You do a really good job around here. I just thought you should know."

  "Ah, thanks, that's very sweet of you to say," she replied as her eyes moved from the corpse to him.

  Ipo sensed an opportunity and formulated his next line, but before he could speak, the oriental man sat up on the gurney, almost as if their conversation had interrupted a deep slumber. It happened so quickly — and without any noise or drama — that their instincts did not kick in. Not at all. The two simply stood still, their brains unable to process exactly what had happened.

  Then the man's eyes opened. Eyes coated in a milky white haze like a protective membrane.

  Then his mouth opened, too. He lunged at the nurse, finding a patch of well-moisturized skin at the base of her neck, just above her oft-admired cleavage.

  She screamed. He screamed. The only noise from the oriental man came from his working jaws as he dove deeper into the struggling woman's throat, fell off the gurney, and pinned her on the cold floor.

  The nurse tried to yell again but this time the sound came out more a gurgle than words. Her fists weakly pummeled at the animated cadaver's shoulders.

  Ipo scrambled around the gurney and reached to pull the attacker away, but
as he did the man with the pasty white eyes changed targets. He turned away from the nurse's neck and clamped his teeth on the paramedic's face.

  And then there were three.

  * * *

  A balding man wearing shorts and a striped robe followed Maru as they exited the old Ford Van that served as an ambulance. The two crossed the white-gravel parking lot outside the small clinic. A solitary lamppost carved a circle of bright light out of the otherwise dark lot. A dozen exotic bugs swirled in the glow.

  "We don't know who he is. We found him by the spa."

  "That's impossible," Dr. Jaeger protested as he nearly stumbled on the rocks while keeping a finger pressed against his loose spectacles. "He's either a guest or an employee."

  "None of us recognized him," Maru said as they neared the front doors.

  "My goodness," Dr. Jaeger said as he stopped walking to catch his breath. He cast his eyes toward the perfectly manicured coconut palms that served as a dividing line between the lit parking lot and the darkness beyond. "It's getting hotter. It shouldn't be this hot." He wiped the sweat off his brow with a handkerchief. His glasses slipped crooked on his face for a moment until he had a hand free to straighten them again.

  "Maybe the mountain is venting steam," Maru suggested, referring to the isle's volcano, which was considered unthreatening despite periodic fumarolic activity. "Doctor, please …"

  Jaeger relented and followed the paramedic into the empty lobby, where the only noise came from the plasma TV broadcasting the weather forecast for Honolulu.

  "I told them to put the cadaver in storage. I figured that would be the best move."

  Maru led the doctor down the short hallway.

  Jaeger said, "We can't conduct an autopsy here, you know. We'll need to identify his nationality first and then get the body off this island as fast as possible. This is not the type of publicity we need."

  "I understand that, doctor."

  Maru pushed open the storage room door and, with Jaeger in tow, moved between the well-lit aisles of drugs and supplies. He stopped halfway down one aisle as Ipo appeared and blocked their way. The bright fluorescents lit every nuance of the man's face: the bloody hole where a mouth and nose should be, the thick pool of crimson on his shirt, and the hazy white glaze over his eyes.

  The two men in the aisle froze. Maru felt his stomach lurch and he nearly vomited; his legs wobbled.

  Dr. Jaeger summoned his voice of authority and shouted, "What is going on here?" as if thinking this might be a prank.

  The man with no face stepped toward them, making no sound save for the shuffle of his feet. Jaeger and Maru retreated but found that direction blocked, too, this time by the nurse with the nice cleavage and the tight frock … and the bulbous white growth sprouting from a bloody bite mark on her neck. Behind her stood the animated cadaver of the oriental man. Both had open eyes coated in a white film.

  "Get back!" Dr. Jaeger ordered. "Enough of this!"

  Maru screamed as his former comrade dove at him, clawing and tearing and revealing that there were still a few teeth inside the bloody hole on his face. The two fell to the floor, knocking boxes and bottles and bags off the shelves in the process.

  Dr. Jaeger pushed the nurse with both arms and screamed at her, "Please get out of my way!"

  Her fingers scraped his flesh. Her mouth snapped at his shoulders. Her legs entangled with his and Dr. Jaeger fell over.

  And then there were five.

  * * *

  United States Senator Kendal followed Agent Costa from the bungalow. Dawn had come to the island and both the senator and his Secret Service escort knew that the cover story of engine problems could account for only one day. Any further delay in his trip to Australia would not only upset his scheduled visit with the Aussie prime minister but invite suspicion — and attention — from the media. The celebrities, athletes, and politicians who visited the private resort all knew that attention was the one thing the island did not welcome. The wealthy enjoyed their private playground.

  The fifty-something senator slung his sport jacket over his shoulder. Pools of sweat had already formed around his armpits, and beads of perspiration covered his cheeks.

  "My God, the temperature is through the roof."

  "Yes sir," Costa — a man with broad shoulders and a stone-faced expression — agreed, although he did not remove his windbreaker.

  "I mean, I know it's the South Pacific but this is ridiculous."

  The two-room bungalow with its small front porch sat in a clearing surrounded by a wall of banyan trees and exotic flowers. A dusty dirt road led away. A second agent — a short man in khaki shorts — stood alongside an idling Jeep with the door open.

  "Parker went ahead with your luggage, sir," Costa said. He considered and then added in a softer voice, "He also took the young lady back to her residence."

  "Good, well, we had better get moving."

  The second agent motioned for the senator to get aboard the vehicle. A sharp report stopped all three. The sound of an approaching engine — a gunning, roaring engine — forced them into action again.

  Costa grabbed the senator by the arm and led him toward the bungalow.

  "Inside!" he ordered.

  Another Jeep careened into the clearing. The driver fought with the wheel, changing trajectory too sharply and sending the vehicle into a roll. It landed on its wheels but not until after making a complete revolution. Green fluid poured from between the front tires and smoke rose from the crumpled hood.

  Costa ripped open the bungalow's door and shoved Kendal through with one arm while retrieving an MP5 submachine gun from beneath his blue windbreaker.

  The other agent — Barnes — approached the broken Jeep with his own machine gun pointed at the driver, who opened the door to the sound of groaning metal as he stumbled from the wreck. Costa kept his eyes there, too … except something in the shadows of the jungle tried to grab his attention.

  The third member of the Secret Service detail emerged from the smashed Jeep, a pistol in one hand and a gash of blood flowing from his shoulder.

  "Parker!" Costa yelled, but did not leave his position on the bungalow's porch. "Report!"

  Parker — a short but stocky man wearing a loose-fitting tropical shirt — fell from the toppled vehicle like a sack of laundry tumbling from a chute. His eyes blinked fast and his chest heaved up and down with shallow, panicked breaths.

  Barnes — his machine gun ready — approached his comrade and reached to help him up, but Parker refused the assistance.

  "They're com … coming … coming this way," Parker mumbled with just enough energy for all to hear. "They're every — everywhere."

  Costa glanced around nervously. His battle computer of a mind ran through scenarios, expecting to see a masked hit squad brandishing assault rifles or a crazed bomber in a truck full of TNT. He knew — and had trained for — the idea that a United States senator made a great target for assassination and an even better target for kidnapping.

  "Holy fuck," Barnes said as he bent over Parker. "These look like bites."

  "What the hell is going on out there?" Kendal yelled from inside. "I demand you get me to safety. Now!"

  "We have a situation here, sir," Costa grumbled as his eyes scanned the perimeter.

  The sound that came to his ears served the first notice that the "situation" exceeded his training. He heard a shuffling noise, one continuous sound rolling through the forest around the bungalow.

  Costa did not wait. He acted. He opened his satellite cell phone and punched the red button that dialed a preprogrammed number to theater command.

  Nothing happened.

  Costa examined his phone.

  NO SIGNAL.

  "That's impossible," he muttered, knowing they had confirmed signal strength prior to arrival.

  "Sir, Parker is dead," Barnes said from somewhere far away.

  Kendal shouted, "I demand an explanation!"

  Costa acted again.

  "Sen
ator, we're getting you out of here." He stepped into the bungalow and grabbed his charge by the arm. Costa had decided to get on the move, driving through any threat, if need be.

  "What is the situation?"

  "I don't—"

  "Costa! Holy Christ! Costa!"

  In ten years of protecting government officials both at home and overseas, agent Costa had never heard the sound of outright terror in a fellow agent's voice. He turned and saw why.

  They came from the banyan trees, moving from the shadows into the boiling morning sun. Dozens of them. People. Shabby, shuffling, stumbling people. The people of the island. Costa immediately recognized the nurse from the island's clinic … the local constable with whom Costa had interfaced just the day before … the Hispanic man who managed the small airstrip.

  The senator spoke the first thought on Costa's mind: "What is wrong with them?"

  The mob walked forward quietly, like a tide slowly rolling in. The sunlight illuminated bloodstains, shredded clothes, missing fingers, and ripped flesh, as well as strange white bulbs, some on necks, others on arms, some hidden just inside T-shirts or above hemlines.

  Costa whispered, "Fire …"

  Barnes did not hear. He stood near the toppled Jeep; his professional instincts jammed into inaction by the illogic … the fantastic … the horrific.

  "FIRE!" Costa found more wind.

  Barnes followed the command. His machine gun spat bullets in three-round bursts, clearly hitting the forward-most attackers. One — a half-naked, fat, pale-white man in boxer shorts with his chest torn open — crumpled to the ground, but the others kept moving, the bullets seemingly unnoticed.

  Kendal babbled uncontrollably. Costa did not hear. He fired a burst from his MP5, focusing on the front line of the mob, with all six of his armor-piercing shots hitting a skinny black man dressed in mechanic's overalls. Costa placed one bullet squarely in the guy's head between two pasty-white eyes. The top half of his skull blew apart in thick chunks. The skinny black man in overalls staggered, then continued to wade forward like a blind man feeling his way.

  Twenty yards.

  Costa stumbled back across the porch and into the bungalow wall, his gun barrel hanging lazily. He realized he still held his cell phone and glanced at it.