by Jeannie Rae
She continued down the corridor until she reached the end of the building. Another cyclone fence, this one topped with razor wire enclosed the entire backside of the shop. A few broken down vehicles could be spotted through the fence in the moonlight. Sprawled out in the yard were a mishmash of vehicles including, an older, rusted sedan, missing its back wheels and propped up on a jack, a compact hatchback with the windshield busted out, and an old yellow truck with a mismatched camper shell, along with the guts of at least four other vehicles. A gate on the far side of the yard led out to an alleyway locked with a chain and a padlock.
What are we doing? We could get arrested and my dad will kill me. This place is not going to work. We shouldn’t be doing this. Why do I always let everyone around me make decisions and never make any for myself? She recalled the numerous lectures from her father about not being a follower and to stand up and say something when things aren’t right. The suggestion to break into this place was just sprung on her, and while at the moment it sounded like a good idea, she didn’t want to participate. Turning back, she wiped the sweat from her upper lip and brow, the sweltering night air felt unforgiving. Dave still messed with the door knob. As she made her way back toward him, she heard squealing from the road.
Dave stood from the door and sprinted down the narrow space between the mechanic shop and the fence surrounding the next building with Roxy running just behind. Reaching the edge of the sidewalk, looking west, they could see a tour bus driving turbulently toward the park. It veered over the center line, traveling on the wrong side of the road. It swerved quickly to the right speeding straight toward the mechanic shop. Dave grasped Roxy’s shoulder, ready to pull her out of the way. The bus took another hard left, this time it tilted off-center. The bus leaned toward them before toppling over, smashing into the pavement. Skidding across the road on the passenger side, gravel burst from the road under the bus as it slowed to a stop, not forty feet from where they stood. The dogs stood at Roxy’s side barking anxiously.
“Ladies,” she said firmly. They silenced and sat, looking up at her. “Dave, I think we need to go…now.”
“I’ll get us in,” he rushed back to the door, crouching down once again.
Roxy and the ladies remained on the corner of the building. From there, she could see Dave to her right and the bus straight ahead. Her thoughts of standing up and doing the right thing were diminishing fast. She wanted off this street and away from that bus.
The passengers were causing a commotion, growling sounds masked by screams resonated down the street and throughout the park. Roxy recognized the pained echoes. They were the same sounds that Ann had made in the car and that could be heard throughout her neighborhood, earlier this evening. Passengers began to emerge from the top side of the bus, climbing out of windows. A normal seeming man with a bloody wound on his forehead, wearing a torn suit had been the first to make it out. He hurried through the window, followed closely by three others. Scrambling to the end of the bus, he was tackled by the others and the four of them tumbled off the bus. Roxy cupped her hand over her mouth thinking that she may scream, as she stepped around the corner out of view of the bus.
“Ladies, go lay down,” Roxy whispered to them pointing in the direction of Dave. They sauntered toward Dave and laid down about five feet from him, still facing Roxy.
“Dave, how’s it coming?” She whispered urgently, as she peeked back in the direction of the bus.
“Almost there,” his voice echoed down the passageway to the street.
Roxy looked on, as now close to twenty people had exited the bus. They were beginning to spread out in the area. A few had taken notice of the noise coming from Roxy’s wrecked car and were headed in that direction. Not many of them were normal, and the ones that seemed like they weren’t fiends, were being violently attacked. A young girl of Kate’s age launched herself at what could only be surmised as her mother. Taking the woman to the ground, four others joined the girl, brutally ripping the flesh from her arms and face.
Roxy stepped back, at the sight of the horror unfolding on the street, in doing so, a crunch came from beneath her boot. Lifting her foot, she saw that she had stepped on a shard of glass from a broken bottle. Lifting her head, she found that had caught the attention of two fiends. The man out in front tilted his head back, roaring at a volume that sent shockwaves through Roxy’s eardrums. He broke into a sprint with almost a half dozen following. Roxy’s mouth hung ajar, finding nowhere to hide. She stood in place, temporarily unable to move as the group of fiends closed in on her.
“We’re in,” Dave shouted.
Roxy snapped out of her paralyzed state and raced for the door. Dave opened the door and the dogs immediately entered the building to investigate as Roxy approached. Glancing over her shoulder before entering the shop, she spotted the group rounding the corner. Dave slammed the door behind him and locked it. They silently backed away from the steel reinforced door, hearing to the thuds and grunts emanating from the other side.
Frosty air in the brick structure lingered. High ceilings and concrete floors were to blame for the chilly temperature. Roxy exhaled gently as the cool air was a welcomed contrast to the hot summer night outside. The structure itself had a penitentiary feel to it. The walls are at least twenty feet tall and made of massive, concrete bricks, with small windows across the top of the walls. Possibly to let in some natural light, as they are too high to see out of them. There are two steel reinforced doors in which to enter or exit. The first is located at the front of the shop, facing the street and the second is the side door that they had used to gain access to the building. Three large, metal roll up doors located at the south end of the shop—open up to the fenced in lot at the rear of the property. Near the center of the building, there are two rows of shelves containing greasy bins with miscellaneous auto parts and tools. Beyond the shelves, are three vehicle lifts, two being unoccupied, and the center one having a faded-blue, Ford Probe about six feet in the air. Across from the third lift, at the front of the shop, is a loft. Roxy studied it for a moment, thinking maybe it contained a storage room or an office. She could hear a lock being twisted and turned her attention back to Dave. He stood at the front door now, checking the security of the door.
The pounding on the door had now subsided and the few grunts being made by the crazed people outside were with far less frustration in their primal dialect.
Roxy walked toward the front door and around a dated counter to the left. A small, filthy desk resided behind the counter. Piles of receipts and paperwork were tossed all over, topped with candy wrappers, half a dozen partially full soda cans and nearly half of a mystery meat sandwich.
“This must be the office then,” Roxy joked. “How did you get that door open, Dave? Have we done a little time for B and E?”
“Very funny. I learned to pick locks as a kid, and yes I did get busted for it. It’s not something I do regularly, but I figured that the circumstances called for it,” he said. His shoulders loosened up as he pulled up a chair at the desk.
While a nagging voice of reason lingered in Roxy’s head, telling her that they could get into serious trouble for breaking and entering, she did feel more relaxed now that they were inside this building. More than anything, a feeling of safety and relief fell over her.
“I really need to get a hold of my dad and sister. They went to the carnival tonight, and I haven’t heard from them all night. I need to make sure that they are okay and see where my dad wants me to go, since I can’t go home. Do you see a phone? My cell has no reception here, zero bars,” she said, slipping her phone into her pocket.
“Yeah, there is a cordless back here,” he retrieved the phone from the counter, under a pile of tattered paperwork and handed it to her. “I’m sure they’re in a safe place.”
She dialed the phone and waited for a moment, shaking her head. She hung it up and put it down on the desk. “All circuits are busy on the landline, and I haven’t had cell reception since this a
ll started. What’s going on?”
“We should think about settling in, here, for the night and wait until daylight before we do anything. What do you think? The police might have all that craziness under control by then.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Walker pulled the bloody towel around his hand tighter, from within the Expedition as it sped along the winding street within the perimeter of Angora.
“It won't stop bleeding man,” Walker said huffing, repositioning himself restlessly in his seat.
“Suck it up wuss. It’s only your hand. Be thankful he didn’t go all vampire on you and bite your neck. We're almost to the dock,” Boots said. “That was some crazy shit back there. What do you think was up with those people? You think that it had anything to do with the target?”
“Who knows, man?” Walker sighed, feeling hot—extraordinarily hot, and lightheaded.
“Listen, you have no idea what was going on at that carnival. You’re lucky to still have your arm,” Boots said as he slowed the vehicle.
The SUV pulled up to the loading dock, located on the back side of Angora. Two other Expeditions were already parked ahead of them. After having changed back into their security uniforms, Rhino and Junior stood out on the dock along with Randy and Shotgun, watching as Boots killed the engine.
“Buzz and Doyle aren't back yet?” Walker asked, noticing a team missing, he found it difficult to believe that they weren’t the last to arrive. “Wasn't their target right over by Randy & Shotgun's?”
“Yeah, only a few blocks away, they radioed that they were backed up in traffic, but it shouldn’t have taken that long. Maybe they ran into trouble too. Let’s go get you to the doc, before you bleed to death. I’ll find out about Buzz and Doyle,” Boots joked as they exited the truck.
“What the hell’s going on out there? A bunch of maniacs are running the streets. One of them bit my hand, man,” Walker shouted, holding up his hand to the others as he and Boots approached.
All four uniformed men on the dock drew their weapons, taking aim at Walker. Shotgun gripped his phone with his left hand, near his mouth as though speaking to someone.
“What the...” Walker paused mid step. He began to smile, thinking that they were joking for a second, but the look on their faces told a different story.
“Stay where you are Walker. Boots, have you been bitten?” Randy asked in a cold, flat tone.
“No…I haven't. What’s going on Boss?” Boots stepped out in front of Walker, obstructing their aim.
“Get away from him Boots,” Randy ordered. “We need to get him to quarantine.”
“Boss, he's fine, it's just a scratch, on the hand,” Boots pleaded.
“No, it's a bite. He said it, himself. The bites are how the infection spreads. Boots, move out of the way, this is your last warning,” Randy's forceful voice echoed off the dock.
Taking a heavy sigh, and exchanging a sympathetic look with Walker, Boots reluctantly stepped away.
Walker’s eyes fell to each of his team members, as their doubt in him exuded from their very stances. These men, having known Walker for years, aimed their guns at him as though he were a target. As his eyes fell from face to face, their intense glares sent a clear message to him, that they would shoot him. His mind reeled in shock. How is this happening? They can’t honestly believe that the bite from some lunatic rioter could lead to something that warrants this kind of treatment.
“Look guys, take it easy. Yes, I was bitten, but it’s not that bad. I just can't get it to stop bleeding,” Walker pleaded.
The men stood fast in their positions.
“I’m sure the doc can get me stitched up just fine. Maybe even give me a rabies shot or something,” Walker quipped bearing a weak smile.
His team remained silent with their guns held out toward him. Walker’s flesh felt as if it were on fire. Depleted and unsteady, knowing that he needed a doctor right away, rage surged through his body.
I will get to the doctor, or I’ll make them shoot me.
“Put down the goddamn guns! I am core…one of you!” Walker yelled, stepping forward.
Mara emerged from the dock door, her black pumps clacking on the concrete as she strode near the edge of the dock platform. Surveying the situation, she assessed Walker from a distance. Her kind eyes and warm expression began to ease Walker’s frustration.
“Gentlemen, let’s make Mr. Walker feel a little more comfortable and holster the weapons. How long ago were you bitten?” Her eyes fell to the hand, wrapped in a blood soaked towel.
“Like fifteen minutes ago,” he said, catching his breath.
The men did as they were asked, holstering their weapons, their stances seemed to relax ever so slightly. Their eyes remained fixed on Walker and their hands near their holsters.
“Come on inside, we need to get you to quarantine and treat you,” she announced. Pulling her hands from the pockets of her white lab coat, she waved him over.
“Yeah, okay Mara. You'll fix me up right?” He said moving toward her.
“Mr. Walker, I will do everything in my power to help you,” she said reassuringly.
As they walked down the hallway, Walker and Mara were trailed by Randy, with the rest of the core security team only steps behind.
“Shotgun, what's going on and where are Buzz and Doyle?” Boots whispered impatiently.
“We haven’t heard back from Buzz and Doyle. You saw those...people,” Shotgun shrugged, “The ones that bit Walker, right? They’re infected with a disease, and it's spreading out there like nothing you’d believe. The bites are what spread the infection. Once bitten, you’ll turn into one of those things, and depending on how bad the bite is—it could take hours or minutes. The problem is, they want to bite the uninfected. You wouldn’t believe the scene Randy and I, walked into. Rhino and Junior saw it firsthand too, in their truck. So far, there is no cure or vaccine for this infection.”
“So what’s going to happen to Walker? How is the doc going to treat him?” Boots asked in urgency, seizing Shotgun’s shoulder.
“Shhh! Not so loud. Look, we don't want Walker to flip out. We have to get him to quarantine,” Shotgun whispered, pulling from the hold and advancing down the hall. “The doc is working on some vaccine ideas. She thinks that she might have come up with something that slows the infection, a retro-virus, until she can come up with something to stop it. She’s not sure if there is anything that can be done for the ones who’ve already changed. But maybe she can stop the infection before it turns people into those things, before it turns Walker.”
The men followed Mara down the maintenance hall to a door in the hallway, slightly ajar.
CHAPTER THIRTY
“Okay, Mr. Walker, please step into this room. There is a two way glass all along the far wall, so that we will be able to see each other. There is an intercom on the wall, over there. I want you have a seat and just relax. Give me a few moments to evaluate you before I administer an injection to slow the infection,” Mara said escorting him into the room.
The remainder of the core team continued walking down the hallway toward the elevators. Mara closed the door behind Walker as he entered the room. Striding to a counter on the east wall, she retrieved her instruments from the top drawer. The plain and mostly bare room had been an empty observation room, only moments before. When Shotgun had radioed in from the dock that a member of his team had been bitten, Mara asked her lab techs to bring in an exam table and place a few instruments in the drawers.
Walker sighed exhaustedly, looking around the room. Squinting his eyes in the brightly lit room, he plopped down on the bed, the wax paper beneath him crunching with his every motion.
Sensing his discomfort, Mara remembered that the subjects from her testing and in Edward’s video were sensitive to bright light. The subjects would get highly agitated and try to escape whenever a flashlight was pointed in their eyes.
Mara asked, “Is it too bright in here for you?”
“Yeah, t
he lights are hurting my eyes. Can we cut them off?” He held his head as if he were in pain.
“Sure. Let me take a look at your hand first,” she pulled out a pair of blue latex gloves from a box in the top drawer and slid them on her hands. “Is this your only wound?”
“Yeah, all this, for a bite on the hand. If I could get a hold of that piece of work that did this, he'd be paying for it, big time,” he fumed.
“Take it easy,” she said gently. “I know it’s difficult, but I need you to try to stay calm. The more hyped up you are, the faster your blood pumps and the faster the infection spreads. I am going to unwrap your hand in a moment, so if you are squeamish about the wound you may want to look the other way.”
“Oh, man,” Walker slammed his head back, turning it in the other direction, a look of disgust upon his face.
Mara placed several gauze pads and strips of medical tape on the bed beside Walker. Placing a digital thermometer in his ear, a reading of 104.6 displayed. She smiled at Walker, ejecting and discarding the applicator, before dropping the thermometer back in her pocket. Gently unwrapping the bloody towel around his hand, she recoiled at the sight of the wound beneath. His swollen hand had become a mound of bright-red flesh surrounding the wound with blood surging from the laceration. She held his hand up, toward the glass on the far wall for just a moment. Then she quickly began to cover the wound with the gauze and secured his hand with the medical tape. Walker kept his head turned the other way, so as not to catch a glimpse of any of the blood.
“Give me a few minutes and I will be back in to give you the injection. The dressing should stop the bleeding. I’ll dim the lights to make you more comfortable,” Mara said quickly, disposing of the bloody towel and excess gauze pads in a red bio-hazard container atop the counter. Then pulling off her gloves and depositing them, as she hurried toward the door.