Quarantine: A Pandora Novel

by McCrohan, Richard

  “The street is basically clear,” he stated.

  “Basically?” Amy queried with chagrin.

  Rick waved his hand dismissively. “Yeah, yeah. It’s clear, it’s clear.” He looked and saw the office desk. It was old, wooden model that was not too wide. Its surface was worn and gouged with many years of use. He went over and with the sudden sweep of his arm, cleared the desktop of all of its papers and material. He lifted one end and muttered, “Nice and heavy.”

  Amy was staring at him, first in wonder, then in wry amusement. “You picked a lousy time to go furniture shopping.”

  Ignoring the jibe, he said, “Help me tilt this sucker over.”

  They both succeeded in upending the weighty desk and turning it upside down.

  “Now push,” was all he said, but she got the message.

  Grunting with effort, they were both able to push the desk to the head of the stairs. Luckily, the desk was narrow but long and just squeezed through the doorway. With one final push, Rick sent the wooden desk sliding down the staircase. This was an old building with tall ceilings so the stairway was long. The desk careened down on its top and smashed into the severed ghoul at the bottom. The momentum sent the desk all the way down to the floor, where it lay at an angle for a few seconds. Then with a wet crack, the table settled level on the floor. At the top of the stairs, both people winced at the sound; not wanting to imagine what the cracking noise was.

  And

  Not hearing anything more, Rick and Amy descended the stairs and gingerly avoided the desk. Upon coming to the shattered windows, they carefully looked out and then climbed over the sill. Seeing an opportunity they ran across the street.

  Making their way to the corner they had to duck behind several vehicles as several zombie stragglers awkwardly trotted by. Amy grabbed Rick’s arm as they reached the corner. Rick looked across the street and saw what he believed was their destination. He looked closer, then turned and looked at her. Seeing her distraught expression, he knew that indeed it was.

  The front door was wide open and hanging loosely in the frame. A swarthy man lay on his face in front of the door. Several pieces of fresh produce lay crushed around his body. From the amount of blood around him, Rick knew he was dead. Two separate blood trails ran from the body and down to the curb to pool in the gutter. From what they could see at that angle, the store looked trashed

  “Let’s go take a look,” Rick said hopefully.

  Amy crouched there looking downtrodden, but shrugged her shoulders sullenly. They both hurried across the street. Stepping over the body lying across the threshold, the two potential looters entered the vandalized greengrocer. Although the store had been picked over, it was apparent that the sudden increase of undead had kept most of the looters away. The gruesome remains of the last thief lay in mute testimony to the fate of any who would try to tempt the undead.

  Determinedly walking farther inside, Amy pulled out her tote bag and started loading cans and bags into the sack. The first thing that she grabbed was a large can of coffee. Rick made his way to the back of the store where he spied an inviting ice cream bin. He figured he would have some before somebody else did. Yanking open the freezer door, he picked out a Good Humor bar. Standing there, he ripped off the wrapper and shoved the nutty bar into his mouth, then bit off a large chunk. Chewing happily, Rick turned holding the bar. As he did, he came face to face with an undead Asian woman on the other side of the glass freezer door. Her medium length black hair was matted with blood. A large piece of her scalp had been ripped out and the dried blood soaked the side of her blouse. Blood crusted her mouth and chin. They stared at each other through the fogging glass for what seemed to Rick an eternity.

  Then, her milky glazed eyes narrowed and she growled low in her throat. In an instant, the zombie hurled herself against the door. The unexpected collision knocked Rick back into the freezer. His feet slid out from underneath him as the shelves collapsed under his weight. Ice cream and desserts went tumbling from the shelves on top of him. Rick found himself sitting on the floor holding the door open from the bottom portion of the glass panel. The Asian woman was pressing herself up against the glass and pushing with all her might as she tried to reach him. Rick couldn’t get up from the floor, as the spilled contents of ice cream made the floor too slippery to get any traction on. He kept trying to get his legs underneath him but his feet continued to slip on the slick surface.

  Suddenly, with a loud crack, the glass freezer door shattered, raining down upon Rick’s head. The zombie toppled over backwards, her head bouncing off of the floor on impact. Shaking pieces of glass from his hair, Rick looked up and saw Amy standing in the aisle with her gun pointed out in front of her. Smoke trailed from the barrel. Looking down, he saw that the zombie had the front of her forehead missing. Then, looking down at himself, he saw with mounting horror that he was wearing it.

  He looked back up at Amy but neither of them could find their voice. It was as if a fog had settled over them. Numbly, Rick carefully pushed himself up using the freezer door frame for balance. Amy had lowered her weapon and was staring at the fallen zombie.

  “I… I’ve never shot anyone before,” she stammered.

  Rick walked up to her. Putting his hand on her shoulder, he said, “I imagine not. Are you okay?”

  Nodding her head she answered, “Yeah. Yeah, I think I’m all right.”

  The corners of his mouth turned up in a brief smile and he said, “I think we should finish up in here, and then get back to the apartment.”

  Still nodding, she mumbled, “Good idea.” Amy vacantly picked up the half-filled tote bag and continued to stuff it with food. Rick looked down at the zombie, then back at the freezer. I think it’ll be a while before I enjoy ice cream again, he thought.

  Finishing their erstwhile shopping spree, the two exhausted foragers left and continued down the block, vigilantly on the lookout for any of the undead. As they walked, Rick heard the crack of a rifle and thought he heard a ricochet off the pavement. They both froze in place unsure of where it was coming from. Another shot sounded and a bullet hole appeared in the trunk of a Honda immediately in front of Rick. As they both dove for cover behind the car, a voice called out from a third-floor window across the street.

  “Get out!” a woman’s voice yelled. “You’re going to lead them here. Get out.”

  Amy peered over the trunk and saw a woman sitting in an open windowsill and holding a rifle. She saw Amy’s head and fired again. This shot clanged off a garbage can next to the stoop ten feet away.

  “I see you,” she screamed even louder. Amy ducked back down.

  “She’s going to draw any zombies over here with all of that yelling and firing,” Amy said angrily.

  “I know,” Rick agreed. They began to edge along the car, then quickly ran to the next one parked at the curb. Another shot shattered the windshield of the car they had just left.

  Rick turned to Amy and said, “Either she didn’t see us run or she can’t shoot for shit. Either way, let’s get out of here before--”

  Just then the moan and snarl of the zombie came from down the street.

  “Too late,” he said. They hurriedly ran to the next car. Fortunately a Rent-a-Truck was double parked alongside and blocked the crazy woman’s line of sight. Amy stood up and could see a lone zombie making his way down the middle of the street. He was walking through the cars in the road and focusing on the woman in the window. He growled even louder now.

  “Oh my God,” the woman screamed, “See! See! You led them here to me. You are evil.” She fired again, this time at the approaching creature. Rick heard the crump sound of a bullet striking a car body. Amy and Rick now ran the rest of the way down the block unconcerned about getting shot at now that she had another target. As they turned the corner, they could hear more shots and then the added moans of more zombies entering the street.

  Cautiously making their way back to Amy’s apartment, they noticed that the heavy machine gun and
rifle fire had died off to a great extent. They could still hear shooting but at a more sporadic level. The drone of the thousands of zombies was still a pulsating wave of noise, though. They were almost home when they heard the unmistakable sound of helicopters flying toward the southern end of Manhattan.

  At last they crept up the front stoop of Amy’s building. There was a very large crowd of zombies at the end of the street in front of them, but they seemed to be focused on whatever was east of them. Running through the heavy front door and locking it behind them, the two tired scavengers entered Amy’s abode.

  12

  The two Humvees next to the school buses started up with a roar. Of the ten soldiers that turned around and retreated back to the Humvees, only seven made it inside the vehicles. The one sergeant with them had a large piece torn out of his right arm. Two zombies had grabbed him, pulled him off of the vehicle and chewed off most of his bicep. Austin managed to shoot the two attackers in the head. He grabbed the noncom and shoved him up the side and into the door while covering their escape. Jeff had wrapped a tourniquet around the limb near his shoulder, but the screaming man was gushing blood like a fountain.

  Of the three that didn’t make it into the vehicles, two were taken down on the way there and the third was hit by friendly fire from one of the numerous firefights that had broken out throughout Duffy Square

  As the undead clambered over and on top of the two vehicles, the first one bucked forward then took off. The soldier driving turned the wheel and the vehicle made a circle and raced back toward the river. The second Humvee followed right behind. In the first armored vehicle was Austin, Jeff, the wounded sergeant and a soldier driving that Austin didn’t recognize. The second held two soldiers and Jermaine.

  Austin squeezed through the top hatch and climbed up to man the .50 caliber machine gun mounted on top. The speeding vehicle was tearing through the zombie horde tossing mangled ghouls side and underneath the churning wheels. The constant speedbump-like effect of running over multiple bodies was tossing Austin around the hatch like a doll. He was hanging onto the .50 caliber and trying to keep it sighted on the undead, but the persistent bouncing and fish tailing was making it all but impossible. Looking back, Austin saw Jermaine pop up in the open hatch of the second vehicle. He, too, was hanging on for dear life and having as a difficult time as Austin. When his vehicle jumped a curb, Austin saw him almost get thrown from his perch. The two Chinooks were gone, but the Pave Hawks continued to rain fired down on the undead swarming Times Square. The birds had to swing down closer to the ground so they could discern their targets better. It didn’t help matters that a number of undead were now dressed in police uniforms and Army fatigues.

  As the two Humvees veered away and headed back, one of the helicopters swung around near the two buses to follow and give support. The Pave Hawk turned, heading in very low. As it skimmed over the buses, a few of the zombies that had managed to climb on top threw themselves up at the passing aircraft. Three ghouls had grabbed onto the runners and their added weight pulled the aircraft off at an angle. As the startled pilot tried to right the aircraft, the spinning rotor blades clipped a streetlamp. The blades severed the pole and broke off. Sharp pieces of shrapnel sheared through flesh and bone of anyone near as they tore through the air. The aircraft itself turned on its side and hit the ground. Its mangled nose bounced off the pavement and hit again, tumbling in a fiery, metal cylinder down the crowded street. Automobiles were cast aside like toys as the furiously burning aircraft bounced and rolled down the avenue. Finally the entire Pave Hawk exploded in a mass of burning metal, setting the surrounding vehicles on fire. Hundreds of undead staggered about, clothes and hair aflame.

  Beads of perspiration ran down the face of Officer Donna Masters as she crouched down low in the basement stairwell. The terrified cop was outside of the brownstone on West 48th Street. She quickly ripped off her uniform blouse, making sure she kept her badge and name tag. Her shirt was completely soaked with the blood and gore of the zombies she had fought her way through. Casting it aside, she pulled on a zip up running jacket that she had snagged from a broken window she ran passed on her flight from Duffy Square.

  Donna had initially left the Humvee on arriving and teamed up with three other police officers she knew from her precinct. Sticking together in fraternal camaraderie, they joined the rush to the helicopters along with the other soldiers and officers. After the first Chinook left, they found themselves separated from the main group. The four cops decided to try and make it back to the quarantine center instead of remaining in the frenetic killing ground the pickup zone had become. As the four police officers ran from the Square to escape the gathering undead, they found themselves dangerously close to being overwhelmed. Shooting, bludgeoning and fighting their way across Times Square, they found that one by one their numbers dwindled. First it was Patrolman Eddie Czerneski who was jumped by two zombies as he stopped to reload. Then Jamie Rodriguez was taken down by a group of ghouls as he dodged past a parked postal truck. Sgt. Dave Cohen attempted to free him, but after receiving numerous bite marks, gave up and trailed Donna down 7th Avenue. Pain and blood loss slowed him down until, unable to continue on, he stopped and turned. Pointing his weapon ahead of him he simply took down as many creatures as he could until he too was surrounded and overcome by the snarling wave of undead.

  Now, breathing heavily, Donna pulled the newly acquired jacket around her. It was at least a size too small and as she looked down numbly at her bare forearms sticking out of the sleeves, she could see the bloody bite marks evident on her arms. Donna leaned back against the concrete and stone wall letting her head rest upon the cool surface. She knew she couldn’t stay here forever. As multiple zombies staggered up and down the street, Donna leaned out and looked toward the front door at the top of the brownstone stairs. The basement door she stood next to had been gated shut. She knew her only prayer was to obtain entrance to the apartment units inside the building. Seeing the front door slightly ajar, her heart soared in hope. Just then, as loud growling erupted from the street above, she knew she had been spotted.

  Running pell-mell up the basement stairs, Donna grabbed the newel on the concrete wall and spun herself around. Dashing across, she flew up the stone stairs of the brownstone and ran headlong through the open door. Immediately behind her, the newly alerted zombies converged on her fleeting form and followed her into the building, snarling and grasping the air in anticipation. Running past the first two closed apartment doors, Donna threw herself into the staircase leading to the upper floors. Madly rushing up the stairs, gasping and sobbing with dread, Donna ran past the second floor and stumbled wildly up to the third and last four.

  Realizing that she was out of options, Officer Masters ran down the hall to the last door. Trying it, she found it locked. Turning, she was about to check on the other doors when the first of the pursuing undead crested the stairs and turned into the hall after her.

  Stopping short with a brief gasp, the desperate cop turned yet again and ran back to the last door. She threw her shoulder against the wood, but only succeeded in splintering the flimsy wooden panels. Her second attempt ended with the wooden inserts cracked and knocked out, but the door still remained locked. Looking over her shoulder, she saw the lead vanguard of hungry zombies moving much too quickly down the hall. With gray arms reaching, they were almost upon her. With one last, desperate heave, she threw her whole body against the unyielding door. With a splintering crack, the door flew open and banged against the far wall of the apartment.

  Mere inches ahead of the grasping, dead hands, Donna Masters spun around and slammed the door shut. But her forceful battering on the portal had weakened the entire door and locking mechanism. She threw her weight against it again, this time not to open it, but to keep it securely closed.

  As the hall filled with zombies, snarling, growling and clawing manically at the damaged ingress to their prey, the pressure against the cheap, flimsy wood began to take its toll. Don
na dug her heels into the carpet while the tears stream down her flushed cheeks. Pallid, moldering arms and hands broke through the thin, decorative panels in the door. They grabbed at her body and pulled hungrily at her clothes. Feeling her strength ebbing, Donna reached down to her hip and drew her service pistol from its holster. The door behind her continued to bounce and bend with the continued pounding’s of the zombies behind it.

  The fearsome hammering and mounting snarls of the maddened undead seemed to dissipate. An odd peace and tranquility fell over the fading officer. Her fate now sealed, she almost had to smile at the peaceful freedom she felt. The splintering wood flying from the door, the grasping, tearing hands that were ripping at her all went unfelt. Purposefully, Donna pressed the muzzle of her gun under her wet, tear stained chin and paused for a brief second of cosmic clarity.

  Then, she pulled the trigger.

  The lead Humvee careened down 7th Avenue and turned onto 42nd Street bouncing over the curb and sending a trashcan flying through a store window. The second vehicle was following close behind. As they dodged around the abandoned autos heading for 12th Avenue and the river, a green Buick came screeching up the ramp from an indoor parking garage and flew out the exit ramp onto the road. The speeding car rammed into the rear panel of the lead Humvee and spun around in the street. As the Buick turned 180° around, the second Humvee struck the out-of-control automobile broadside. This completely caved in the passenger side of the green sedan.

  Austin and the others were thrown to the side by the initial impact. The rear right tire blew and the vehicle slid to a halt. Opening the doors, the soldiers jumped out as the driver covered their six. Austin and Jeff ran back to the two wrecked vehicles.

  Opening the green Buick’s door, Jeff checked on the unconscious driver. The airbags had deployed and from the blood and condition of the driver’s nose it was apparent that it was broken. Looking down and seeing bent and mangled eyeglass frames in his lap he knew how that had happened. Reaching to undo his seatbelt, Jeff saw a white bone sticking through his pant leg. Bending over to ascertain the extent of damage, the injured driver suddenly wakened and screamed into Jeff’s ear. Jumping back in pain as he held his ear, the soldier grunted through clenched teeth, “Jesus! Thanks for nothing.”