BITTEN Omnibus Edition (Books 1-3): The Resurrection Virus Saga

by Tristan Vick

  “They seem at least a couple hours old, sir. Should I leave her on this side of the fence?”

  Greer thought about it for a minute. Typically, the virus spreads almost instantaneously. Usually ten to twenty minutes after infection the person turns. This was the first time he’d heard of a case of someone lasting several hours. But, then again, the bite marks may not be from an infected person. But still, it piqued his curiosity. Enough to warrant further investigation. “That won’t be necessary. 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 display that was seamlessly integrated into his desk and brought up a carousel of icons before him. Scrolling through several of the icons, he finally selected a Red Cross shield and 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 main 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. Hemingway, this is General Greer.”

  Patricia Hemingway 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, doctor. You have two wounded headed your way.”

  “Any signs of infection?”

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

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

  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 ashtray, Greer began puffing on it, slowly breathing it back to life he gave it an orange glowing pulse.

  Rachael Ramirez awoke to find herself naked and strapped to what seemed to be a surgical table. 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 was tied down so tight that she couldn’t move an inch of her body. It was uncomfortable as hell, but at least she could turn her head.

  Blinking her eyes to try and fix her blurry vision, she noticed the room was completely empty except for the intravenous saline infusion being dripped into her arm and the mirror reflecting the image of her naked body back to her. Blue dotted pencil lines circling her bite marks where Hector had sunk his teeth into her, but aside from the drip and the weird penciling around her bite wounds, it didn’t appear that she’d been molested or anything.

  Unexpectedly, a voice came on the intercom. “I’m glad you’re finally awake. I have so many questions to ask you.”

  Rachael assumed it was someone on the other side of the looking glass, probably military personnel, 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 you to answer a few questions for me.”

  “What kind of questions?” Rachael demanded. She shifted in discomfort, pissed off at how she was being treated. She stared at her naked reflection, waiting impatiently 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 attacked 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, who came down to be briefed on the situation and now sat 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 that have exceeded two 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?”

  “Let me just put it this way: It’s not 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 within the population to resist almost any viral strain.” Hemingway pushed her eyeglasses, which always had a bad habit of slipping down, up the narrow bridge of her nose, and continued, “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 said, as he peered out of the two-way mirror at the gorgeous Latina woman strapped to the table, “Is she contagious?”

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

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

  “I will,” answered Hemingway, gently touching his hand in return. About ten years back they had been an item, but only for a short couple of months. Still, she was fond of him and she was certain he was still fond of her too.

  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 wound of some kind. A laceration, for example. 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.

  “Your inference is correct, Ms. Ramirez.”

  “Which one?”

  “All of them. As you well know, the virus most easily propagates through something as simple as a bite, a highly efficient delivery mechanism whereby it can quickly infect its host. The body fights back, naturally, but the ensuing fever destroys the enzymes that keep the body at normal stasis. Once the body burns itself out combating the infection, it quickly dies. Usually between twenty minutes to two hours after infection. Delirium is often a common side-effect from the intense fever. This renders the brain quite useless, so when the body reanimates, it is stuck in a primal state of instinct only. The strongest of human instincts are the need to procreate and eat.”

  “What are you getting at, doctor?” Rachael demanded. “Are you saying people are turning into walking corpses?”

  There was a long pause. “Precisely.”

  “And you suspect I’m going to turn as well?”

  “If what you say is true, and you were bitten over eight hours ago, at this stage I think it’s safe to say your condition is innocuous. If you’re mistaken as to the exact length of time, 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?”

  “Extermination.”

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

  “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 barked angrily over the blaring alarm, “Report!”

  First Sergeant Valentine was already at a console, bringing up a schematic that she swiped onto 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 in to three flickering orange areas, called hot-spots, which showed breaks in the green fence, and said, “My God…there are multiple breaches in the perimeter.”

  “When did this happen?” Greer demanded.

  She gave him a look that said she had no readily available answers. Valentine frowned and chewed her bottom lip as she nervously watched the orange flashing icons. It couldn’t have been more than twenty-minutes ago, but still. It was an all-out cluster-fuck; probably due to their hasty command set-up. “It’s uncertain at this time, sir, but I’ll do everything in my power to find out. What are your orders, sir?”

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

  “Yes, sir.” Valentine grabbed a head set with a mic and hit a button on the computer panel. Her voice came onto the speaker system for the entire base and she broke the bad news. “This is First Sergeant 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 not a drill. Threat level is Orange.”

  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 practically from sun up to sun down. There was no way all of his men could have missed a gaping breach in the fence, let alone three of them. No, it was impossible. Rather, he had the gut feeling that this had to be something else.

  Slowly, Greer reached inside his breast pocket and pulled out a cigar tin. Plucking out a plump cigar, he rolled it under his nose as he took in the scent of tobacco. But before he could pause long enough to enjoy it, five more orange marks suddenly lit up on the screen. Then several more. All of them blinked furiously. This time a new alarm sounded. It was much more aggravating than the first one. All Greer wanted was for the damn noise to be over with. “Will somebody shut off that goddamned racket!”

  Valentine hit the kill-switch on the alarms and then shot the general with a worried look. “Full perimeter breach, sir. The fence is down.”

  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 First Sergeant 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 moving mass of corpses claw their way onto the next, like waves of insects being folded under one another, uncaring that they were crushing their own underfoot, 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 snapped and smashed into the ground with a static pop, followed by a large crackle and a spray of dust infused with sparks. This blew the base’s breaker, and the fence went completely dead.

  Inside the dark control room, an orange- and blue-tipped flame appeared as Greer lit 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 and, oblivious to the pain that would cripple a normal human being, they continued to push forward, relentless in their undertaking.

  Out in the open, automatic gunfire rang out as the soldiers shared nervous glances. The wall of undead tightened in on them, and then, somewhere nearby, a grenade went off. Piles of bodies flew into the air and pieces of severed limbs exploded in every direction. But still, the march of the undead continued to press forward. More grenades went 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 dead bodies just got back up again and rejoined the horde, leaving their severed and smoldering limbs behind as they relentlessly pushed forward.

  More marines arrived in time only to repeat the same old song and dance—guns, fire, grenades, explosions, fire, screams of good men falling to the ravenous horde of undead, and the burning stench of flesh. Like a plague of locusts, they ate anything and everything that stood in their way.

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

  First Sergeant Valentine stood up from her console and turned toward General Greer and shot him a reticent look. “Sir?

  “You heard me,” he growled. “Evacuate the base and call in the cavalry.”

  “Sir, yes Sir.” Valentine replied, dutifully. She hastened to carry out her orders, but felt a sudden wave of anxiety come over her. Valentine looked down at her hand and noticed it shaking. Clutching it with her other hand, she took a deep breath and tried to calm her nerves. “God-fucking-damn it Becky,” she whispered to herself, “just keep your fucking shit together.”

  Calling in the cavalry was code for initiating the final quarantine safety protocols. This would include bombing the outskirts of the city to create a barren border so the military could set up and even wider perimeter, which would act as a buffer zone to effectively pinpoint and neutralize any threat of contagion. It was also known by the moniker “The Ring of Fire.”

  Subsequently, the Chemical and Biological Incident Response Force battalion of the U.S. Marines would be deployed and would work in conjunction with the U.S. Army National Guard. They would be the ones to go in and clean up the “infestation.”

  Newcastle City was as good as lost, and Greer knew that it would be his head they put on a spike for this. But he’d handle that when the time came. Right now he had more pressing concerns to deal with.

  Taking a long drag on his cigar, General Greer turned back toward the monitors and watched as the monsters overtook the base’s perimeter. It was only a matter of time before they’d be pounding down his front door.

  19

  Caged

  Alyssa regained consciousness in the brig of some sort of military base. She rose up and looked around the Spartan room. Nothing special, just your standard prison cell. But what did stand out was the b
iometric scanner that took both a fingerprint and an eyeball scan just to unlock the glass sliding door. The same glass door that she was stuck behind.

  Bugger, she thought to herself. There was no way in hell she was going to get out other than to have someone come and bust her out. How ironic, she thought. Now I’m the animal trapped in the kennel.

  After several minutes a soldier wearing green camo and a matching cap came into the room, opened her cell, and brought her some food. He sat down the aluminum tray at the end of her cot, then turned, shut the cell, and left without saying a single word. Not exactly the friendliest of bedside manners, she thought to herself.

  Everything sat neatly on the aluminum tray. There was a bowl of potato soup, a bread roll, and half a cob of boiled corn, and it all came with a small carton of milk, the kind she remembered getting as a schoolgirl. There was even a slice of butter wrapped in foil. Alyssa ate her dinner greedily, and guzzled straight out of the milk carton, ignoring the straw it came with. Milk dripped down her chin as she took large thirsty gulps.

  Sometime after her meal the guard returned and took her tray. She called out and asked how long they’d be keeping her locked in this cage, but it was like talking to a brick wall. He obviously was under orders not to fraternize with the prisoners. Instead he just took her tray and left the room.

  The real question weighing on her mind was why she was being held at all. She hadn’t done anything remotely wrong. She wasn’t infected either. Could they be keeping her here for her own safety? Had something happened to Rachael?

  A couple more hours passed. Alyssa sat in the cell, bored out of her mind. They had even confiscated her diary, so there was no good way to kill time. Kicking off her shoes, she plopped down onto the small fold-down cot. She sat cross-legged and decided to practice her yoga meditation. For some strange reason her mind shifted to the random thought of her uncle Kip. She couldn’t figure out why her uncle Kip had always kept getting thrown back into jail. There was absolutely nothing to do behind bars except rot and slowly go insane. But before she could ponder the deeper meaning behind uncle Kip’s recidivism, the base’s alarm went off.