Turning Point (Book 1): A Time To Die

by Wandrey, Mark

  “Oh no,” Lisha moaned. “Please, not again…”

  “I…aghhhh! Raaaahr!” She turned and locked her eyes on Lisha with deadly intensity.

  Having survived this once before, Lisha didn’t hesitate. She threw her plate at the cook’s face as hard as she could. She’d played a lot of Frisbee as a teenager, and had participated in both Frisbee golf and distance competitions. It was one of the few athletic things she did, if you could call it that. The plate flew straight and true, hitting the former cook right between the eyes on the bridge of her nose. The metal rang like a gong and rebounded away, a substantial dent in one edge.

  The woman screamed as blood blossomed from her nose; it sounded more like rage than pain, but Lisha didn’t wait to see what affect her attack had. She turned and rather un-athletically vaulted the sushi bar, scattering food in all directions. “She’s turned!” Lisha screamed.

  “What?” asked a man, his plate full of sushi, one piece halfway to his mouth.

  Lisha turned and pointed at the wild-eyed and bleeding cook. Blood was running down the woman’s face in streams, the bridge of her nose laid open to the bone. Her gaze locked squarely on Lisha. “Like earlier,” Lisha barked. “She’s a…” It came to her suddenly. “She’s a fucking zombie!”

  The room exploded into pandemonium. Some of the people got up and bolted for the exit. Others gawked in various stages of confusion. It was the duck and cover instinct, and Lisha doubted it would help in a zombie attack. The last group were the few who were useful. About four people moved to intercept the now insane cook.

  The man who’d been next to the cook shook his head in surprise as Lisha backpedaled away. He caught a vicious forearm to the face and went sprawling, sushi and all. Another man, part of the reactive group, went after the cook, but had a poorly conceived plan.

  “Calm down,” he said, raising a hand. The girl grabbed the hand, pulled it toward her and bit him. He screamed and tried to pull away. She only bit down harder. As Lisha reached the door, she could hear bones crunching. His screams became visceral. Luckily, one of the other men had scooped up a metal-framed plastic cafeteria chair, and was maneuvering sideways.

  The bitten man punched the cook in the shoulder with his free hand, while jerking his injured hand back. It finally came out of her mouth, minus two fingers. Blood pumped as the man cradled the ravaged stump in numb surprise. The zombie cook spotted Lisha by the door and backhanded the injured man out of her way, then sprinted toward the doctor.

  The man with the chair tried to respond to her sudden burst of speed. He swung the chair at the back of her head with all his might; unfortunately, she’d sped up far faster than he’d expected. Another man had been approaching from the other side to try to grab her. When the woman suddenly sped up, his attempted tackle found only empty space, and a chair to the face. The plastic exploded into fragments, and the steel bars crunched bone. His head rocked from the impact, eyes wide in surprise. His legs gave out, and he folded like a bad poker hand.

  Lisha did all she could think to do; she turned and ran. She was dimly aware of the alarm klaxon blaring, though she couldn’t think why. They only used that during fire drills, right? She sprinted for the next door down the hall. One of the workers’ bunk rooms, she thought. The girl was in hot pursuit, and in better shape. Lisha only managed a half-dozen uncoordinated steps before she felt something grab her hair and yank back with maniacal force.

  “Oooouch!” Lisha cried out as the girl pulled her off her feet and she landed with an “Ooomf!” on her bottom. Her pursuer, caught off guard with how quickly Lisha went down, flew over her shoulder. Teeth snapped bare inches from her ear.

  Lisha hoped her attacker would somehow crash hard enough to hurt herself, but the young woman hit and rolled like a gymnast, coming up in a crouch, a dozen feet away. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” Lisha moaned, and struggled to her feet. She realized the girl would be on her in an instant, giving her no time to turn and run.

  Lisha used the instant to look around for something with which to protect herself. Behind her, people were pouring out of the cafeteria, and running the other way. She looked to her right and saw an old, rusty, metal cabinet with a glass face. Behind the glass marked ‘Break in case of fire’ was an equally rusty fire extinguisher.

  She didn’t hesitate. Lisha threw an elbow into the glass. It crunched under the blow, and she had an icy cold feeling of multiple cuts through her lab coat. Ignoring the pain, she snatched the surprisingly heavy bottle as the cook lunged at her. She didn’t have time to swing, so she brought it up, bottom first, and thrust it out. The bottle connected with the woman’s face with a hollow “clang!” The blow knocked her to the floor, and she knelt there, shaking her head.

  “Hit her again!” a man’s voice yelled behind her.

  Lisha didn’t know who it was, but the advice seemed sound. She took a step forward as the woman looked up at her and growled like a feral dog. Lisha swung the extinguisher as hard as she could against the side of the woman’s head. It connected soundly, slamming her to the side, and her head rebounded from the wall with a sickening, smacking sound. The zombie landed in a heap on the floor, out like a light.

  From down the hall, a pair of men came running up holding shotguns. They raised them and pointed them at her. Lisha squealed and held up her hands. “It’s me, Dr. Breda!”

  “Why do you have blood all over you?” one of them asked. Lisha looked down and saw that blood splattered her hands and white lab coat. It must have come from hitting the woman with the fire extinguisher. She pointed at the unconscious cook, or zombie, or whatever she was.

  “She’s fine,” a man said from behind as he approached. “Did she bite you?”

  What difference does that make? Lisha thought, then took stock of her condition. “No,” she said. Another man arrived and unceremoniously dumped a bottle of water over her head. “What the?!” she spluttered, then he did it again. “Why are you doing that?” she demanded, pushing him back. She considered hitting him with the fire extinguisher she still clutched.

  “There’s zombie blood all over you,” he said and pointed at the unconscious woman. Without prompting, the two men slung their shotguns, donned super thick, plastic gloves leftover from the platform’s days as an oil rig, and produced zip ties. They quickly zip tied the woman’s hands behind her back, did the same with her ankles, and then hooked her ankles and hands together. Creative, she thought.

  “Zombie?” she asked. “Why are you calling them that?”

  “You called her a zombie when she attacked,” the man said and nodded to the two guys who’d finished securing the woman. “Zeke got bit,” he told them, gesturing toward the cafeteria. A medical team was arriving, and Lisha could hear the piteous moaning of the injured from the direction of the cafeteria.

  She realized she hadn’t been thinking of the plague that way, but what else would you call it? The people were obviously out of their minds, attacking normal people, trying to eat them. On the ground a few feet away were a couple of chewed fingers. “Oh, my God.”

  “We’ve been getting ready,” the man said. “We put together a zombie response squad.”

  “Who came up with that idea?”

  “I did,” he admitted. She looked at him. “Robert,” he said and held out a hand, “Robert Boyer. I’m a diesel mechanic and electrical repairman.”

  “This isn’t some zombie apocalypse, Robert,” she said, shaking her head.

  He gave her a rather patronizing look, and she tried to suppress the insult she felt. “With all due respect, Ma’am, I know you’re some kind of doctor, but you obviously don’t know a darn thing about zombie apocalypses.”

  She heard an argument going on in the cafeteria, and she moved to see what was happening. The medics were trying to treat the man who’d been bitten on the hand, but the zombie response team was also trying to zip tie his hands behind his back. “What are you doing?” she yelled from the doorway.

  “He’s been
bitten,” Robert said behind her, “he’s going to turn. We could have cut his arm off, if we’d had time.” He seemed to think for a moment. “Hey Oz, see if we have any machetes for the team?”

  “Sure thing, boss,” one of the men trying to restrain the victim said.

  “Oz? What the hell?” Lisha said, feeling overwhelmed.

  “Oh, his name is Jon Osborne, Osborne, you know, Oz?” the man chuckled at his own wit. “We just call him Oz.”

  “The great and powerful Oz,” his friend reminded him. Lisha glanced again. He didn’t seem terribly great or powerful to her. They all seemed bat-shit crazy.

  “Look, Robert, you are completely overreacting. And where did you get the guns?”

  “We had them stashed away. A bunch of us go duck hunting. Between seasons, we shoot skeet sometimes. The company made us keep them in storage. We couldn’t get to them during the first outbreak. After the Coast Guard showed up, we sneaked down and got our shit together. We’re ready for the fuckers this time, right boys?”

  “Oooh-rah!” they chanted.

  “I’m in a fucking John Wayne movie,” Lisha moaned. “This man needs medical attention,” she told…Oz?

  “He’s just gonna turn and bite someone,” Robert said.

  “Fuckin A,” the last man said.

  Lisha considered disarming them and having the crazy group locked up, but then she reconsidered. Some dark portion of her mind was whispering things she did not want to be fully cognizant of. “Okay, look, go with the medics while they take Zeke up for treatment. They need to get that bleeding under control. We don’t want him infecting everyone, right?” She tried to play to their paranoid urges.

  “We should just dump him overboard to the sharks,” Joseph said.

  “Hey!” the injured man whined.

  One of the medical people was kneeling on the floor examining the unconscious man Robert had pulverized with the chair. Robert took no notice of him.

  “We’re not dumping anyone in the water. Take him to medical along with the…zombie…out in the hall. I want to examine her, and they can treat Zeke and keep him under observation.”

  “For when he turns,” Robert said, and winked at her.

  “Yeah, that’s the ticket,” she said and turned with a sigh. A few feet away lay the sad remains of a huge spread of sushi. She sighed; at least she’d gotten some. The head cook looked a little shell-shocked and was seeing if he could salvage any of the tuna. Lisha walked over to him. “Did you say your assistant had been eating tuna all morning?”

  “Yeah,” he admitted. We still have about fifty pounds of it in storage. She couldn’t keep her hands off it.”

  Lisha nodded. “What about you?”

  “Can’t stand the stuff raw,” he admitted. “I was planning to grill a big steak for myself tonight.”

  “Who else ate some?”

  He tapped his chin and thought. “The guy from stores who caught it, I think. That’s all that I know of.”

  “What’s his name?”

  “Ricardo.”

  Lisha nodded. “Look, I believe that fish is tainted.”

  “What?” the cook demanded.

  “The fish is what did that to your assistant,” she said and hooked a thumb back toward the hallway. “I don’t know how,” she said, more to herself, “but I intend to find out.”

  “That fish was perfectly healthy, I’m the one that dressed it out.”

  “You didn’t cut yourself, did you?”

  He looked down at his hands. “Ma’am, I’ve been handling knives since I was five. I haven’t cut myself in decades.”

  “Good to hear. Please keep it locked up for now,” she said and pointed at the cuts of tuna all over the floor. “I’m going to send a biohazard team down to clean this up.”

  “Biohazard,” he repeated, then looked down at his hands stained with tuna blood. The knife fell from his hand with a clatter. He instantly went to the sink and began washing furiously.

  “On second thought,” she turned to Robert. “Evacuate the entire floor,” she said, “I want it all flushed down with bleach, and checked by the biohazard team.”

  Edith stuck her head into the cafeteria and cried out at the scene of carnage. There was blood and overturned furniture everywhere. Lisha gestured for her to come over. It took almost a full minute as the young woman managed, through careful maneuvering, to avoid stepping in even a drop of blood. “Do you have any of the sample dye wash on you?”

  “As a matter of fact,” the woman said, and pulled out a squeeze bottle.

  Lisha nodded. Many lab techs did that, often going home with their pockets full of slides and other items. It was usually a matter of expediency more so than forgetfulness. She accepted the bottle and walked over to crouch next to a puddle of Zeke’s blood. She uncorked the bottle and sprayed a stream of the yellow dye. It mixed with the blood then turned a bright shade of green.

  “Robert?”

  “Yes, Doctor?”

  “Take your men and go find Ricardo from stores.”

  “I know where he is,” Joseph said, “I work with him. He didn’t come down because he wasn’t feeling well.”

  “Better make it quick,” she said. “Take him to isolation with the others.”

  The men’s eyes grew wide as Oz and Joseph left at a run.

  Lisha turned to the medical people. “If Zeke starts behaving erratically, call Robert right away and clear the room.”

  “Ma’am?” the paramedic asked, confused.

  “Just do it, please.”

  Lisha gave instructions to Edith to get samples of blood from all those involved, even the guy hit with the chair. She used a fork to flip a little cut of tuna onto a serving plate to take down to her lab.

  Before she could test Zeke’s blood, he went crazy in the sick bay and they had to restrain him. The other two men found no trace of Ricardo. Lisha had Zeke and the zombie cook, whose name was Tina, placed in the same room as Grant.

  She was curious what would happen when they met each other. She knocked Grant out with the tranquilizer gun and administered anesthetic shots to the others before putting them all together. Robert and his Zombie Squad were the first non-scientists to see her setup. She’d initially been concerned about their reactions, but they seemed quite pleased and happy.

  “Good to see you’re working on it,” Oz said as they checked the heavy doors, satisfying themselves the defenses were sufficient. She felt less and less like they were acting paranoid. The tuna samples she’d taken had turned the dye green.

  “You operated on that one,” Joseph said, and pointed at Grant. Lying on the floor, his head faced them, and his sutures were clearly visible along the half of his head they had shaved.

  Lisha swallowed before answering. “We needed a sample of his brain.”

  “Not like he was using it anymore,” Oz said and all three men laughed.

  Oh my God, Lisha thought. “How many are in your squad?” she asked Robert as they waited for her patients to wake up.

  “Was six,” he said, “but Zeke was one, so we’re down to five.”

  “Can you recruit a couple more?”

  “I’ll ask around,” he said in a conspiratorial tone.

  “I’m putting you officially in charge of security,” Lisha told him.

  “Zombie Squad is official!” Joseph barked, and they all high-fived.

  “We get a raise?” Oz asked.

  “Not right now,” she said.

  “As long as we get to kill zombies,” Joseph shrugged.

  “You won’t be calling yourself the Zombie Squad,” she warned them.

  “Awww!” they complained.

  “I don’t want to freak everyone out,” she explained.

  “Everyone already knows,” Robert told her.

  “What?”

  “Kind of hard to hide a zombie outbreak,” Robert told her, “especially when 50 people are dead.”

  “I’m not calling them zombies,” she insisted. The
men made rude noises and shrugged. She glared at them. “Just recruit a few more guys. You know, just in case?”

  “Okay,” he said. Inside the cage all three were waking up.

  When they realized they weren’t alone, they instantly began sniffing and growling at each other. “Grar!” one of the men growled. Zeke, she thought, and he snapped at the girl.

  “Rahr!” she roared back.

  After a few seconds, they seemed to acknowledge each other’s condition, then turned hungry eyes on the uninfected people on the other side of the plexiglass. Being unfamiliar with the nature of the barrier, the two new arrivals started pounding on it. All three of the Zombie Squad backed away. Lisha knew the plastic’s capabilities, though, and stood her ground.

  She made some notes in her computer and turned back to Robert. “Find Ricardo,” she said. “That’s your highest priority. Since the contagion is transmitted by bite, we can’t take any chances he’s running around chomping on my staff.”

  “Yes ma’am,” Robert nodded.

  “And when you get a minute, find someone to go fishing. I need a few fish.”

  He looked at her with curiosity. “What kind?”

  “Doesn’t matter. Be sure the fishermen don’t poke themselves with any hooks, and don’t gut the fish. In fact, see if they can catch one alive.” She thought for a second. “Have someone from maintenance go down and scrape some barnacles, too. No, never mind, I’ll do that myself.” Oz took a notepad out and scribbled, his tongue protruding from his lips. “What do you do when you aren’t hunting zombies?” she asked him.

  “Computer engineer.”

  * * * * *

  Chapter 17

  Sunday, April 22, Morning

  Vance cursed at his computer, not for the first time that day. The Internet had been failing and recovering every few hours. Part of the problem was the Sprint AirCard he was using to power the house’s connection. He liked it because the prepper network insisted it was harder to trace. He used a program to mask his ISP too, just in case.