Bitten

by Tristan Vick

  “Okay, that’s officially disturbing,” Alyssa added.

  Shifting into reverse, with tires smoking, she powered the vehicle backward. The rear bumper smashed into Principal Sanders’ head with brutal force and the left rear tire rolled right over his skull. From within the car they heard the crunching noise of his skull shattering into pulp beneath the weight of the bulky vehicle. Flooring it, Rachael spun the tires, and buried the remains of Principal Sanders in her dust.

  Wipers turned up to full, Rachael used the remainder of her wiper fluid to carve out a clear spot from the red blanket of blood that coated her windshield.

  10

  Collision Course

  Flicking on the high beams, Rachael tore down the long dark road. It wasn’t long before they saw the lights demarcating the perimeter of the quarantine zone. A large scale electric fence spanned in either direction and surrounded, what appeared to be, the entire city. She wondered how the military had pulled that off so fast.

  Off in the distance were spot lights prowling the area in front of the main gate. Suddenly one of the beams locked onto them. The hot flash of white light blinded Rachael's eyes.

  Reflexively, she put her hand up in front of her face and tried to squint past the light. Just as her eyes started to readjust, Rachael saw the flash of muzzle shots go off as a warning for them to slow down. But it was too late for that. Rachael hadn’t caught it in time.

  The Audi sped over the spike strip, and with a deafening pop, all four of the car’s tires blew out and sent the car into a sideways nose dive. Rachael overcorrected and the SUV skidded sideways, their momentum working violently against them.

  Without warning the Audi flipped up and car caught air. For a moment it seemed to hang in the air before it came crashing down onto its hood. The windshield instantaneously shattered upon impact and glass flew everywhere, scratching up both Alyssa and Rachael's faces and getting stuck in their hair.

  With a bang, the airbags deployed, and both women slammed into them as the vehicle smashed down on its engine block. The torque from the vehicle’s sharp downward momentum pushed against the resistance of the roll beam and sent the vehicle into a freewheeling spin.

  The SUV rolled three times, tossing its occupants around like rag-dolls, and skidded upside down on its crumpled roof. Sparks flying, the SUV scraped along the pavement until it finally came to a screeching halt meters away from the entrance of the main gate.

  Dangling upside down in the turned over vehicle, Alyssa tried to focus on Rachael, but her vision blurred in and out as she fought to stay conscious. A large piece of metal wreckage had torn off in the violent somersault and pierced Rachael’s abdomen. The scrap metal went in one side and out the other.

  Alyssa reached over to try and touch Rachael’s neck, wanting urgently to check for a pulse. But she was stopped short by the horrible throbbing pain in her own head. She tried to fight it back, but the pain only intensified until she couldn't take it any longer. Suddenly, everything went black.

  12

  Overrun

  GENERAL GREER PUT OUT HIS cigar in a glass ashtray on his desk and ignored the wispy trails of smoke that rose in front of his face. It was the night shift and only a skeleton crew manned the command room, monitoring the screens which showed live feeds of the entire perimeter. Now that the president had declared quarantine of all infected zones, nobody came in or out without the general’s explicit consent.

  Anyone who approached the perimeter with the signs of infection was serendipitously ordered to turn immediately around and go back the way they came. Usually they didn’t comply. But the threat was real, and so he sent them back, dead or alive. Usually dead. Except for today, that is. Today General Greer faced a thorny predicament.

  Moments earlier, some lunatic made a mad beeline straight toward the perimeter and wrecked their car. Yet due to the sensitive nature of having to maintain a stable perimeter, Greer decided to put out the goddamn fire before it could escalate into a catastrophe. After all, the SUV crashed close enough to the main gate that if the fuel tank exploded it could blow a hole in his whole operation, and the general was not about to let himself go down in history as the guy who blotched the most important quarantine in the history of the human race.

  Greer flipped a button on his desk. The entire glass surface was, in fact, a touch panel computer. Sliding a blue eagle icon to the front of his desk, it flew off and instantly appeared on the larger command monitor at the front, which was the size of a cinema movie screen. The larger panel brought up a live video feed of the flaming wreckage outside the front gate while a series of smaller video panels got bumped to the side.

  Each video stream broadcast various security feeds from around the base. Greer could see everything from the internal corridors of the base, to the lab technicians working on blood samples, to the guards doing their patrols on along the fence line. Greer had eyes on it all. Nothing went on under his nose without his express knowledge.

  Greer pressed a green flashing icon on the glass surface of his desk’s touch panel screen which brought up the sound to the main monitor. The button chirped and Greer spoke up, “Sergeant Noble, give me your status report.”

  Standing next to the battered remains of the Audi Q7, Noble touched the intercom on his ear, which looked like a headset for a wireless cell phone, and answered, “We pulled out two female survivors from the wreckage.

  “What are their conditions?”

  “Both are badly wounded.”

  “Do they appear to be infected?” asked the general gruffly.

  “One appears to have suffered a series of extreme bite marks. The other one has bandages around her right leg around what appears to be a knife wound. How do you want me to proceed, sir?”

  Leaning back in his chair, the general put his chin on his interlocked fingers and thought for a moment. “Have them sent to the infirmary. Make sure you take all the necessary precautions.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  General Greer swiped his hand across the touch-sensitive panel that was seamlessly integrated into his desk, and a scrolling rotation of icons passed before him. Pressing down on a Red Cross shield, he flicked it with a finger so it slid across his desk to the edge of the screen and then leapt up onto the main monitor on the wall.

  A beautiful brunette wearing dark rimmed glasses and a white lab coat suddenly appeared on the screen. She held the latest generation iPad in her hands and seemed to be studying a high definition FMRI scan of a patient’s head.

  “Dr. Patricia Hemingway, this is General Greer.”

  Patricia looked up from what she was doing and turned to look into a camera mounted on the ceiling just over her shoulder. “Good evening general. To what do I owe the pleasure of this late night call?”

  “Sorry but I don’t have time for idle chit-chat right now. You have two wounded headed your way.”

  “Any signs of infection?”

  “It’s uncertain at this time. Just be ready.”

  Scrambling to get herself all set, the good doctor replied, “Yes, sir. Right away, sir.”

  With that the general double tapped his desktop and the doctor’s screen flicked off. Picking back up the barely usable stub of his cigar still smoldering in the ash tray, Greer began puffing on it, slowly breathing it back to life.

  Rachael Ramirez awoke to find herself strapped to what seemed to be a surgical table. She was tied down so tight that she couldn’t move her body. At least she could turn her head, she thought, and let ought a sigh as she tried to focus her blurry eyes. The room was completely empty except for the intravenous saline infusion being dripped into her arm and the two-way mirror reflecting the image of her naked body back to her.

  Large restraining straps held Rachael flat against the table and were placed in just the right fashion so that they strategically covered her private bits. She noticed little blue marks all over her skin and worried about what they might mean. Still, she thought, it was hard to imagine a more humiliating si
tuation than this.

  Unexpectedly, a voice came on the intercom. “I’m glad you’re awake.”

  Rachael assumed it was someone on the other side of the looking glass, so she tilted her chin it its direction. “Who are you? “What is this place? Where am I?”

  “This is Dr. Patricia Hemingway. I’m afraid I have a bit of bad news. Unfortunately, you’ve been quarantined. I’ll do my best to answer all of your questions, but first I am going to have to ask you to answer a few questions for me.”

  “What kind of questions?” Rachael demanded to know. She shifted in discomfort, pissed off at how she was being treated, as she stared at her naked reflection waiting for the voice to respond.

  “Your wounds, they’re human bite marks, are they not? How long has it been since you were bitten?”

  “I… I don’t remember.”

  “Try to think. The more precise you can be the better.”

  Staring at her reflection in the mirror, Rachael mapped out the lacerations on her arms, her shoulders, her neck, and the scratches everywhere in between, even across her abdomen. Each blemish was a painful reminder of where her son, Hector, had bitten her. She closed her eyes and held back the tears.

  “I know this must be a terrible inconvenience for you, but we need to know exactly when you were bitten.”

  “Yesterday afternoon, I think.”

  “Can you be more specific?”

  “A little over ten or twelve hours ago,” Rachael replied.

  Doctor Hemingway flicked off the intercom and looked over at General Greer sitting next to her with an unlit cigar balancing on his bottom lip. “Is there any truth to what she’s saying?”

  “She sounds earnest, but at ten to twelve hours after infection she should have turned by now. I haven’t heard of any cases which have exceeded six hours after infection.”

  “What does this mean doctor? Will she turn or won’t she?”

  “I’ll know more when I get the blood work back.”

  Turning in his seat Greer eyed the doctor suspiciously. “Is there any possibility that she could be immune to the virus?”

  “It’s not totally inconceivable. One in three hundred people have the unusual variant of the CCR5 cell-surface receptor protein that makes them naturally immune to HIV. Knowing the various genetic differences that exist in the human genome, I would assume this limited immunity exists with almost any viral strain. Albeit extremely rare, it’s not entirely out of the realm of possibility that there are those among us who exhibit a natural immunity to this deadly contagion as well.”

  “The question is,” General Greer asked, as he peered out of the glass at the gorgeous Latino woman strapped to the table, “Is she one of them?”

  “Like I said,” Hemingway replied, “I’ll definitely know more when the results come back.”

  Standing up Greer turned as if he were about to leave, but before he did, he put his hand on Hemingway’s shoulder and said, “Keep me posted.”

  “I will,” answered Hemingway. As the general left the room chewing on his raw cigar, Hemingway flicked back on the intercom. “Infection occurs via the blood—either through a bite or a severe wound of some kind. If you’ve been infected you will soon experience a severe fever. The fever will induce enzyme failure followed by certain death. But this is only the beginning. This new contagion is unlike anything we have ever encountered before.”

  “By we do you mean the CDC? The military? Who are you people?” Rachael asked. She waited a few moments for a reply before the voice started back up, completely ignoring her questions.

  “As you well know, the virus propagates through a simple bite whereby it can infect its host and then quickly reproduces. The body fights back, naturally, but the ensuing fever destroys the enzymes which keep the body at normal stasis. Once the body burns itself out combating the infection, it quickly dies. Usually within two hours or three hours. Insanity is often a common side-effect.” After a brief pause the voice continued, “Without the immune system in the way the infection spreads with impunity until it takes over completely. Beautifully efficient yet highly deadly. Subsequently, the rapid rate of infectivity turns the infected into what is commonly referred to as a Biter, a Walker, or a Dead Head. A few other less inventive names have been given as well for what are basically walking corpses, or, the living dead.”

  “What are you getting at, doctor?” Rachael demanded to know. “Are you saying I’m going to turn into one of those things?”

  “If what you say is true, and you were bitten over eight hours ago, I think you’re safe. If you’re mistaken, then I’m afraid your future looks rather bleak.”

  “So what if I am infected? What then?”

  “You have a couple of options.”

  “What kind of options?”

  “Termination.”

  Rachael scoffed. “What’s the other option then?”

  “Termination.”

  Rachael laughed out loud. “Isn’t that basically the same alternative?”

  “You can choose to be terminated prior to succumbing to the virus, or you can wait until you turn, only then we will have no choice but to terminate you using lethal force.”

  Rachael turned her head away from the mirror. Hopefully she wouldn’t have to give an answer anytime soon. Looking back at the mirror Rachael asked, “Where's the woman who came with me?”

  The voice replied in clinical fashion, “Don’t worry. She’s safe within the compound.”

  Marching into the command room, General Greer angrily barked, “Report!”

  Major Valentine was already at a consul bringing up a schematic which she put up on the main display. It showed a computer generated image of the city and the perimeter wrapping around it, delineated by the green glowing fence. Valentine zoomed into three flickering orange areas, which showed breaks in the green fence, and informed, “My God … there are multiple breaches in the perimeter.”

  “Why didn’t we see any of this before?”

  She gave him a look which said she had no answers for who or what was to blame for the oversight. Valentine frowned and chewed her bottom lip as she nervously watched the orange flashing icons.

  “What are your orders sir?”

  “I want you to send three teams to lock down the goddamned perimeter and close up those gaps. And turn off that infernal alarm while you’re at it!”

  “Yes, sir.” The major reached over and grabbed a head set with a mic and hit a button on the computer panel. As she spoke her voice came onto the speaker system for the entire base. “This is Major Valentine. This is a level orange threat. Squads seven, eight, and nine assemble and report for duty. Squads seven, eight, and nine, I repeat, this is a level orange threat.”

  The general slammed his fist down on the command table. The frustration of this slip-up cut through his thinly stretched nerves like a raging hot bayonet. Something was off about all this. Patrols walked that fence day and night. There was no way all of his men could have missed a breach in the fence let alone three of them.

  Slowly, Greer reached inside his breast pocket and pulled out a cigar tin. Plucking out a plump cigar, he rolled under his nose as he took in the scent of tobacco. Just then, five more orange marks lit up on the screen. Then several more. All of them blinking furiously. This time a new alarm sounded.

  Valentine shot the general with a worried look. “Full perimeter breach, sir.”

  Greer mulled over the information then said, “Cancel my previous orders and initiate failsafe protocols.”

  “Yes, sir,” Valentine said, stress induced sweat streamed down both sides of her face. She flicked on the intercom.

  “This is Major Valentine, the perimeter has been breached, we’re under attack. All units mobilize. This is not a drill. I repeat, we’re under attack. This is not a drill.” Her voice echoed from the delay of the base’s outer speaker system and gave her warning an ethereal quality.

  “Bring up the visuals,” Greer said with a wag of his finger
. Multiple panels lit up and filled the main monitor. Every single one of them depicted a mass horde of undead walkers storming the fence. Greer put the unlit cigar in his mouth and watched the nightmare unfold.

  “There must be hundreds of them,” Valentine gasped in horror as she watched a sea of bodies claw their way onto the next, unaware they were crushing their own under foot, until they formed a squirming wall of undead.

  Like a slow rolling wave, one after another they toppled over the electrified fence, which sparked and hissed in defiance. Overpowered by the undead, suddenly a portion of the fence, unable to take the pressure, snapped and smashed into the ground with a static pop followed by a large crackle and a spray of sparks. This blew the base’s breaker and the fence went dead.

  Inside the dark control room, an orange and blue-tipped flame flicked on as Greer lit up his cigar. He looked up at the monitors flickering back to life as the backup generators turned on. It was just in time to see the first team engage the zombie horde. Gunfire mowed down several waves of bodies, but it did little good. Most of the monsters simply got back up, oblivious to the pain, and they just kept on pushing forward.

  Out in the open, automatic gunfire rang out as the soldiers shared nervous glances as they felt the wall of undead tighten in on them. A grenade went off and a pile of bodies flew into the air and pieces blew out every which way. But still, the march of the undead continued to press forward. More grenades started going off as soldiers resorted to more drastic measures and more powerful ammunition. But even the added firepower didn’t do much to deter the stampede of the mindless monsters. The bodies just got back up again, leaving their severed limbs behind as they relentlessly pushed on.

  More soldiers arrived only to repeat the same old tune—guns, fire, grenades, explosions, screams of good men falling to the ravenous horde of undead. Like a plague of locusts, they ate anything that stood in their way.

  “This is a goddamn fucking nightmare,” said Greer puffing angrily on his cigar. “Issue the order for evacuation.”