It took less than a minute to get the two wounded policemen into the ambulance, one of them screaming his protests about how the manager had attacked him as soon as he entered the bathroom.
“I swear, he just jumped out and bit my arm!” But the medics were working feverishly on the wounds, too busy to worry about what he was saying. The door slammed shut and the ambulance left, sirens blaring. It was a short ride to the Hospital University of Pennsylvania and the ambulance was going as quickly as possible. They were almost there when the cops went into seizure.
When the outbreak reached Grand Central station in NYC, the chaos was much more widespread. At a little after 17:15, EMTs got a call about a man on the main concourse who appeared to be in a spasm as if having an epileptic fit. When they arrived they found a man half-crazed, chasing after several people, many with bite marks and blood everywhere. Another man was in a state of seizure. There were several pops and thuds as the crazed man was shot - yet the man did not fall.
He did however charge at the cops who had shot him, and was quickly joined by the other man getting up from the seizure. There were several more gun shots, but the EMTs were no longer paying attention, as they were already moving those who had been bitten - which seemed to be a lot - out to a casualty collection point. Then there was a third case. People ran to help as a fourth and a fifth person fell to the ground. Then the screams started; screams that froze most everyone in their tracks and thoughts.
"What the f….” one EMT started, but his patient tore out his voice box with his teeth before the sentence was finished.
The police received several calls to lockdown Grand Central, and as a practiced drill, progress was quick, but over 30,000 people were locked inside.
“What the hell is that screaming?” asked one of the young cops, dressed head to toe in riot gear. Two hours later, he would be bellowing the same noise.
The news was about to break with the leading story of a major disturbance at Grand Central station and riots in Providence and Philadelphia, but the news of a plane crashing into downtown Chicago trumped all of that. Little did the reporters know that all the stories were related.
The fact that the pilot had requested an emergency landing due to a patient in seizure a few moments earlier went unnoticed. If the black box had ever been located, they would have heard the weight of panicking passengers breaking down the door and, even greater panic as the crush forced the pilots away from their controls and the plane fell into a nose dive. However, all that information would remain unknown as the news channels died along with countless agencies of the government.
The first case to reach the west coast did so quietly, early in the day in the form of twenty-three infected passengers arriving in San Francisco on the 11:35 flight out of Atlanta, Georgia. The infection was carried onto the flight by the same women who had had the misfortune of accepting a domed coffee cup lid from a police officer in Providence. She had gone directly to Logan Airport, where she caught the 6:10 flight to Atlanta. When the plane arrived, she was not feeling well. She decided to drive directly to her hotel, the Grand Hyatt near Union Square.
After checking in and taking a long shower, it was a little after 4 pm local time and 7 pm back home. She was tired, and decided on an early diner and chose to walk down to Union Square to check out some of the restaurants and stores that surrounded the tranquil greenery. It was in this park that her seizure occurred.
It had taken just over thirty-seven hours, from a dog bite off of the coast of New England to reach the west coast.
CDC Cap had not slept well since the bombing of Plumb Island. He kept reading through a list of the names lost in the “gas explosion” on the island, and saw a cover story full of holes. An explosion of any magnitude left survivors. Even if it was only one survivor, there was always at least that one. But all of those dead, all of whom had families, would raise questions.
CDC Cap knew enough to know that a scapegoat would be needed, and he had the feeling he was the sacrificial goat in this story. He slid back from his computer screen and decided that there was little he could do, and if he were to be the scapegoat, maybe he deserved it. Over one hundred people where dead at his recommendation.
One-hundred and seven souls, he thought. CDC Cap had lost one single relative in his life, his grandfather. His grandfather left the house at seven o’clock every morning during his retirement. He drove to the Vincentown Diner in NJ from his home in Mount Holly every morning for pancakes, a side of sausage, and one poached egg. His grandfather had always said that he wanted a big breakfast early in the morning and a good, long nap in the afternoon, and that is what he had done. Every day, regardless of weather or season, he would have breakfast at the Vincentown Diner. It was only a short nine-minute drive. Which was just enough for 'Pop-Pop' to work up an appetite and a thirst for his three cups of coffee.
So many times had Pop-Pop made this journey back and forth. It just so happened that on one particular morning, for reasons that no one ever could explain, his car moved into on-coming traffic and he was killed in an instant; one man gone so suddenly. He swore he would remember that feeling one-hundred and seven times every day as his own penance for recommending that so many lives be eliminated. He was somewhere in the mid-fifties of his penance when he got up and walked to the coffee maker in the office cafeteria.
With his cup full of the life-giving liquid, and sweetened with one packet of sugar, he looked at the clock as he sipped. It was 8:32 pm Eastern Time. He decided that he would work for another hour and twenty-eight minutes and head home at 10 pm - and as if to taunt him, an alarm started flashing on his computer.
The screen flashed red as if to draw his attention dramatically to the screen, as if the words “Emergency Attention Required” were not enough. As he hit view, the message appeared on his screen:
Unknown Infection Algorithm Matches Detected:
Prov. RI HRI:
Symptoms:
Bite-mark, open wound, redness and swelling at wound site.
Followed by spasms
Report: 7:47 EST
AEMC: Phila., PA
Symptoms:
Bite-mark, open wound, redness and swelling at wound site.
Followed by spasms
Report: 16:32 PST
UCSF: San Fran. CA
Symptoms:
Bite-mark, open wound, redness and swelling at wound site.
Followed by spasms
Report: 17:03 EST
AEMC: Phila, PA
Symptoms:
Bite-mark, open wound, redness and swelling at wound site.
Followed by spasms
Report: 16:32 EST
The reports went on, all with the same symptoms, all with the same affects in fourteen different locations; Rhode Island, New York, Pennsylvania, Georgia, Florida, Iowa, California and more. As CDC Cap was reading, three more cases popped up. What troubled CDC Cap the most was much more of a concern. All of the symptoms matched two other cases; the cases on Plumb Island.
He picked up the telephone and dialed the first number. The hospital in Rhode Island was busy, so he dialed Temple in Philadelphia. Also busy. After trying a third hospital he muttered “Fuck!” under his breath, printed the file and went into the adjacent office. No one was there. The CDC always had a shift.
As he walked through, everyone was crowded around a TV set panel on the wall. Every TV showed a scene of carnage. He figured that there must be a riot somewhere; he never had much time for the news unless it concerned work, but when he looked at the TV wall he noticed that the signs were all different; Providence, Rhode Island, Philadelphia, Grand Central station, NYC, San Francisco, Los Angeles.
He quickly looked down at his list. Every city showed a riot. He quickly went into the TV room and asked what was happening.
“I dunno!” replied the pretty woman whose name he could never remember "…seems like the whole country has gone insane.” And then CDC Cap heard it. Somewhere over the noise he heard it.
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“He bit me!'”
“What screen was that?” he yelled, but no one answered. “I said what screen was that, goddamn it!” louder this time.
“What screen, man?” replied someone in a disinterested grumble.
“Oh Jesus Christ!" He jumped onto the nearest desk and yelled. “Hey, dumb fucks! We got seventeen cities with riots. Those same seventeen cities are on this list asking about a disease of unknown origin, and someone on there just said "He bit me!” Now unless there is a major fucking coincidence, we need to start looking into this.” Everyone stared at him in disbelief for a moment until he added, “Now, people!”
Terminal
San Diego, California
The last Tran scripted call on that day was very short, but it was enough for people to realize that the last day had ended.
11:59 PST
Police radio message.
“Zombies!”
Dispatch “Unknown station, repeat your last message."
"Undead! I repeat they are zombies: the undead. I shot him nine times and he still bit me!”
“Sir, may I remind you that it is against the law to make prank calls on a Police radio channel.”
“I am not fuc….{Screaming} Z……ED.”
Z-Day
A minute later the clock in CDC Caps office moved its minute hand to the first digit past the number Twelve. It was a new day.
Epilogue
Joshua Hewitt was feeling pleased with himself. Not only had he used a fake ID on his spring break to get into what was the best night out in Columbus, but he had found himself a hot girl too. This was not any ordinary hot girl either, this was a hot girl dressed to kill in a scarlet dress and black stockings that seemed to match perfectly with her raven hair and blood red lipstick. Her eyes had seemed to hold him hypnotically as they had sex the first time. He was no match for her experience, of that he was sure, but she had coaxed and guided him on reaching a perfect shared orgasm.
Now he lay on the bed looking at the smooth tanned skin of her naked body as she looked out the window of their motel room. The moon was full and each shimmering bead of sweat on her body glowed in an aura of beauty from her perfect athletic body, only one scar on her hip showed any sign of imperfection.
“What’s that scar?” he asked, still out of breath from the sex.
“I was shot” she said and turned to smile a perfect smile at him.
“: Seriously?” he asked, shocked by her frankness.
“Yes, when I was a child, but do not concern yourself with it.” Her voice flowed softly, a little more than a whisper that felt like silk against his ears with every word.
“I’m sorry.” He said, but really was not sure why, her tone simply dictated that he should apologize and he did. He was in a daydream almost when a police siren scratched through the night out on Fishinger Road, moving in the direction of the river.
“Another cop” she smiled, her voice still as mesmerizing, he fought to place her accent. It certainly wasn’t from America, but he did not care, he simply wanted to listen. “They are probably looking for the raven head last seen leading a sixteen year old boy on a fake ID for a good fucking.”
She laughed to herself and he was suddenly aware that he was blushing. And he tried not to look at her as she climbed back onto the bed and straddled him.
“Don’t be shy,” she smiled, “you aren’t my first student” She reached for him and stroked him softly; he immediately felt a hardness returning to him.
“I didn’t know you knew” he said, breathing sharply as her nails traced his penis’ contours. Her nails stimulating every nerve as she stroked him to readiness.
“Always on the lookout for a boy or girl wanting to learn” she said smiling, and her words automatically finished the task her fingers had started. He moaned softly in chorus to her sigh as she guided him inside her, the slow movements like a calm ocean tide against him.
“I believe it is a lesson you will enjoy and remember for the rest of your life” she said, moving a little faster. Her movements were obviously all for her own benefit as she clasped her thighs tight to him and used her fingers to stimulate herself. “You will remember because I am he best.”
Joshua was lost in her sense of wonderment as she rode him. Her eyes were closed and she was taking all the pleasure for herself. He felt a thrill too, but she showed no interest in him as she rolled against his sex with her fingers moving faster as she moaned in pleasure.
“The soldiers knew I was the best when I was thirteen years old.” She took a deep sigh as she seemed to pull him into her deeper. He felt a little pain as she pressed onto him, but he was unsure if that was normal or not. “They fucked me so many times, they hurt me, and when they were done they threw me aside and left me there.” She was lost in her own world now and she leaned forward, her face close to his.
“They came back for 7 days and eight nights. Every time they tried to take something from me, but I knew I would have the last word.” She laughed as she moved up and down on him, every movement longer and deeper, yet she managed to hold him inside.
“I learned to take pleasure from it, learned to make it so good for them that they would not kill me.”
“Why?” he asked timidly, disturbed by her macabre confession.
“Because then they wouldn’t expect this.” With a movement so quick he never even saw her slice the blade across his throat.
She clasped her mouth over his and rode him faster and harder than before. He was drowning on his own blood, but with a strength he did not know she possessed she held him down.
Blood filled her mouth also as her sick kiss prevented any chance of a scream. Her orgasm came as his life departed, and a minute later as her pleasure subsided she lay by his side and enjoyed the warmth of his blood on her body.
“Thank you.” She smiled and traced a red heart on his chest, a cupid’s arrow piercing it.
She lay there for some time, until the moon passed out of the frame of the window, and then sat up quickly, kissing the dead boy on the lips once more.
“I gotta run.” She laughed and headed for the shower.
Twenty minutes later she was dressed in her black jeans and biker boots. Her tight body hugging shirt showed all of her perfectly shaped torso and she looked at herself in the mirror. She felt excellent; as there was little better than a fresh kill to make her feel so alive.
“Oh!” she exclaimed, almost forgot.” She went to the closet and pulled the body of a middle aged woman from there. She had obviously had a good figure in life, and although not as toned as the woman who now lifted her onto the bed, she was close enough that she was able to take some clothes.
“Now,” she said looking at the two bodies as she wrapped their arms in a post-mortem embrace. “You both know not to pick up girls in bars, we learned a lot today.”
She went to the chair and picked up the black leather jacket that Joshua had been wearing.
“Thanks for the jacket”, she said with a smile, “it’s worth killing for.” With a little laugh to herself she was gone. A new dawn was coming, and that meant a new town was needed.
Part Two
ZED DAWN
Prologue : Zed Dawn
He felt only one sensation now: pain.
The bonds that held him to the post were tied in such a fashion that his wrists supported his body weight. His wrists were bound with plastic ties and raised behind his back, leaving his torso in a forward leaning position. His breathing was labored as he tried not to suffocate, his modern day version of a crucifixion was cruel enough to cause immense pain, but slow enough that he would not die. Every few hours his captors would come and raise him to a standing position and allow him to breathe more easily.
The plastic ties cut into his wrists so tightly that he could barely feel his fingers when he was in the kneeling forward position, but as they stood him up, the blood would rush into his fingers with a burning sensation that felt like his hands had been placed into
a cauldron of hot coals. The blood around the bonds had congealed and torn apart so many times from the friction that he could almost hear the rubbing against bone. The person who had tied him to this post was obviously an expert of his craft, because the pressure was never against his radial arteries.
Sometimes they would hold him in a seated position, so that the weight of his body would be held by his shoulders and thighs pressing against the post.
Every time they slipped forward one of his unseen captors would kick them from under him, the pain of his shoulders on the point of dislocation was so intense he would pass out, only to be awakened one more time with the foul stinking water poured over his head. Then the beatings would come.
He was sure he had at least two fractured ribs by now. His breathing was hard and he constantly felt as if the wind had been kicked out of him. His ears seemed to ring constantly and a mix of blood and fluid seeped out.
The taste of blood was constantly in his mouth from a cut lip and a fractured tooth. Every time he took a deep breath the cool air would awaken the nerves and send a shooting pain into the ears. When the cool air was not tormenting him, the coppery taste that filled his mouth and the vile tasting half clotted filth in his mouth that he was forced to swallow brought on a wave of nausea that left him fighting not to throw up on himself.
The nausea and gagging were the worst, because they would force him to take deep breaths, the filled lungs would shift the cracked ribs enough to make him scream out in agony, and the cycle of pain would continue. There was no where he could move without some kind of pain.
The only time he saw his captors was when they removed the sandbag from his head. They brought him water after two days in a small bowl that was placed on a table for him to lap at as if he were an animal. He drank from it greedily at first, but then his hooded guard had urinated in it, and left it sitting there. After two more days he had still not received a fresh bowl, and so he was forced to lap at it once more, and he heard the guards laugh as he drank and fought off more nausea.
Zombie Outbreak Z1O5 (Book 2): Zed Dawn Page 4