“It’s as if they knew we were coming here,” she stammered.
“It’s okay. We’ll kill those ones by the car quick. As soon as they’re down, run for the Jeep. I’ll take the three on the far side and you take the two closest to us.” He gave her a small smirk. How is he smiling at a time like this? What could possess someone to show such indifference under stress?
“Try not to hit the car.” he said with a nod, resting the stock of the carbine on his shoulder. His eyebrows crinkled as he aimed in.
She nodded and set her mouth flat. Then her nerves kicked in, immediately making her palms sweaty, and the shotgun feel heavy in her arms. A butterfly explosion went off in her stomach instead of the gun. She could see the two infected, but they appeared fuzzy now. Hazy outlines of people she was about to shoot.
“Off your mark,” he said, taking a knee. “You two get ready to run. As soon as we shoot, more are going to come fast.” He spoke in a harsh whisper eyes on his sights.
Gwen brought the shotgun up, firmly fixing the butt of the gun to the front of her shoulder muscle. She allowed her armpit to support the bottom of the stock, just as Mark had taught her. Lining up the small shotgun sight bead on the infected closest to her, she took a deep breath.
The infected looked like a regular woman wearing jeans and a sweatshirt; probably a stay-at-home mom with a husband, kids, a dog and a house. Aside from the huge gaping hole in her neck, which had started to turn black with corruption, she could have been normal. Gore stained her sweatshirt and she exhibited the classic dead white eyes.
Gwen hesitated for a moment, trying to zero in on the woman’s head. Her hands shook violently. She couldn’t seem to line up the bead to the woman’s forehead. The gun wavered back and forth in a small sideways figure eight. What’s wrong with me? The lady turned, seeing her. She shuffled toward Gwen. Shit.
“Gwen, shoot. Now,” Mark whispered.
His prompt snapped her back into survival mode and she unloaded a slug toward the woman.
“Direct hit,” she said. The woman’s head rocketed backward as the slug removed the majority of her head. The infected faced them, alerted to their presence. Ugly faces growled in the prospect of killing the newcomers. Echoes from Mark’s staccato gun shots kicked off followed by barks from her shotgun. She hadn’t even realized she was running until she stood near the car door.
Gwen yanked the door open and Lindsay crawled into the back as if she had been cattle prodded. Mark leaned over the hood of the car watching the edge of the townhouses as Gwen thrust the keys into the Jeep’s ignition. Pop, pop, pop, his rifle sounded off. Bodies toppled over brains ejected from their skulls.
The key turned, but the engine lay dormant. Are you kidding me? Gwen panicked. She kept turning the key over and over, the engine clicking each time. Lindsay rapidly talked over her shoulder like a rabbit on crack, pointing at the dashboard.
Mark’s voice echoed from the outside. “Get this thing going.”
Stop yelling at me. I’m trying.
She turned the key again. Click. Click. She sat baffled, staring at the ignition as she tried to figure out why the car wouldn’t start. Battery? Starter? She had done the entire rudimentary process like she had done thousands of times before. Take key. Place key in ignition vertically. Turn key. Then the car starts. But it’s not working.
She looked up. A wall of infected bodies rounded the corner of the townhouses, moving through the abandoned vehicles that blocked the road. Mark leaned over the hood of the Jeep. Using it to stabilize his rifle, he blasted away at the closest infected. His rifle fired rapidly as he transitioned targets, but not fast enough. Bodies fell without getting up again, but more were making their way to the stalled car. He shouted, his face snarling in anger as he ripped off more shots.
Oh shit, oh shit, ran through her mind. She didn’t realize that the car had finally started until she felt Mark shaking her shoulders.
“Drive, drive,” he screamed into her ear.
A body slammed onto the hood, crawling onto the windshield with its teeth bared. She threw the Jeep into reverse while Mark leaned out the window with his sidearm popping away. The body slid off the hood of the Jeep.
Making a U-turn, she floored it over the median onto Route 50 launching everyone momentarily into the air. She straightened it out avoiding debris.
No one said a word for fifteen minutes. Mark reloaded his weapons with fresh mags while Ahmed supplied him with more ammo for his exhausted ones. He clinked brass on brass as he loaded his magazines. She turned on the radio, hoping for something to break the tension, but all they heard was the incessant repetition of emergency broadcasts.
JOSEPH
Mount Eden Underground Bunker, VA
An email sat open on Joseph’s screen. His wait was over. He gobbled up the words on the page like a starving man at a feast.
Joseph,
It’s good to hear you’re safe. My family and I are up in Wisconsin at our family cabin. Nearest town is Oshkosh. Rusty well water and an outhouse, but it’s away from the cities. We have zero cell phone reception and spotty internet access, glad I had that installed a few years ago, but I know that I made the right decision to leave Chicago. Military quarantine, hospitals being overrun, the deaths of thousands. My home hospital, Chicago Sacred Heart looks like Kamdesh…all but destroyed.
Chicago looked worse than war zone as the military tried to quarantine the city, not letting anyone leave. Joseph was relieved Anderson had taken the initiative to escape. Things were quickly going from bad to worse there. But that wasn’t the part Joseph was interested in. He read on.
On August 27th I treated a Mr. Thompson, who was exhibiting unusual symptoms. He had been hospitalized at Chicago Sacred Heart while he passed through O’Hare from Washington-McCone. He had a fever, rash covering his torso, severe diarrhea, insomnia and a swelling of lymph nodes. He had been pulled off a plane after collapsing on the jet bridge.
Soon after he was hospitalized, he had his first violent outburst that we witnessed. One of our RNs was bitten during this episode. She was later hospitalized with similar symptoms. I do not know her current status. After we restrained the patient, he became relatively lucid again, saying that he didn’t recall his previous behavior. We notified the police and held him for treatment overnight. The RN declined to press charges.
At this point, I remembered you were in the DRC studying the Monkeypox virus. This case sounded right up your alley, although I don’t think in the end that it was Monkeypox. He responded well to a strong anti-viral medicinal cocktail, and he had no more violent outbursts under our care.
We released him to his family the next day. With more space, I would have kept him longer for observation, but you know how it is.
You’re lucky I can still log in to the hospital database from my computer. You know this is confidential information and that I am violating HIPAA, but if it helps I am sure it is justified. His address is:
1523 Shuttlecock Ln.,
Grand Haven, MI 49563.
Stay safe,
Dr. Ian Anderson
The first email hadn’t been a hoax. Dr. Anderson had treated a patient with Monkeypox-like symptoms almost two weeks before the outbreak Joseph had investigated in the DRC.
One sentence stuck out in Joseph’s mind: “With treatment, the patient had gotten significantly better and had been sent home.”
Sent home? That definitely wasn’t consistent with his current understanding of the disease. But maybe if the virus was weak enough, or in its newly crossed-over mutation from animal infection to human form, the host could have remained alive or the virus could have remained in a dormant state. It was possible with an anti-viral treatment. This Mr. Thompson might be the only thing standing between the United States and total infection if it wasn’t already too late.
He hammered out a quick thank you and printed out the email containing Mr. Thompson’s address. Now all he needed to do was get somebody to take him there befor
e it was too late.
Joseph didn’t even bother presenting his newfound discovery to Dr. Williams. He already knew the doctor would scoff at the notion that there was a patient zero in the United States.
He beelined for the congressional quarters in the underground facility. A few armed soldiers sprinted past him toward the elevator exit. Joseph ignored them intent on his mission. He pushed through large glass doors to the congressional wing. A sign on the wall read congressional sleeping quarters and he went that way. He stepped into a nicer version of his dormitories with individualized sections. On his tiptoes, he tried to find Representative Baker. Everyone seemed to be going somewhere or in the process of leaving. He found the representative hunched over his personal bunk packing his bags.
“Steve, I was wondering if I could talk to you for a minute,” Joseph asked, feeling uneasy as the man haphazardly shoved clothes in a bag.
Rep. Baker gave him a shifty look and continued to stuff a pair of khaki pants into a suitcase. He sharpened up with a politician’s smile. “Sure thing, Joseph. Have you come up with anything yet on the research front?” he said, continuing to focus on his packing.
“Well, I came across some important information. And Dr. Williams has been less than helpful in ensuring that it’s used properly.”
He turned away from his task, giving him a practiced look of thoughtfulness. “What have you got there?”
He reached up and took the paper from Joseph’s hand, skimming the document. “Well, well, yes, hmm, I see. I think what you have here is important, and I’d like to take this to the Special Committee on Virus Eradication for you.”
This is not the time for a committee. This is the time for action.
“Sir, with all due respect, action needs to be taken now. We don’t have time for a discussion on this matter. If this truly is patient zero - the first human infected as the disease passed from animal to human - we must find him.” The representative eyed him, visibly gulping.
Joseph had his attention. It was now or never. “This may be our only chance to find a vaccine to fight this disease. We need to send in the Army or somebody to pick this guy up alive so we can get the purest form of the antibodies.”
Representative Baker stared up at him, taking account of Joseph’s serious demeanor. He rubbed his smooth jaw and said: “I’m sorry, Joseph. It’s not really my decision, and our resources are stretched too thin to go around chasing one guy who may not be patient zero. Have you watched the news lately?”
Joseph shook his head. Admittedly, he hadn’t been watching any of the less than comforting news reports. He had fallen in line with the rest of the research scientists who played to Dr. Williams’ every whim.
A solemnness fell over the Congressman. “We’re in full retreat. We’ve completely lost LA, Seattle and San Diego, on top of the cities on the East Coast. The Pentagon will fall any day now and Chicago is all but overrun. The military’s on the brink. We couldn’t even get our troops back from overseas fast enough. Most of our forces got bogged down fighting overwhelming populations of the infected before they knew what they were dealing with. Hell, CENTCOM and AFRICOM are eradicated, and that’s where most of our deployed active duty troops were. Sure, pockets held out here and there, but no help is coming. It’s too late. I’d suggest you hide here and hope that no dead find their way into this facility. Either that or make your way to the West.”
Joseph knew the situation would get bad, but this exceeded his predictions. How could this have happened so fast? Would mankind disappear into the annals of history without a gasp or a sputter?
“This makes this patient all the more important, then,” Joseph said, forcing the paper back into the Congressman’s hands.
Rep. Baker read the email thoughtfully. His brown eyes met Joseph’s. He sniffed heavily through his nose. “The President’s aide is a friend of mine. We went to law school together. I’ll forward this to him and he’ll make sure the President sees it. Maybe we can get a team in there to pick this guy up. It’s the best I can do,” he said with a weary smile.
Joseph relaxed. “Thank you. If this pans out, you might get to be President one day, provided we aren’t dead already,” he said halfheartedly.
The Congressman flashed a white smile. “I’ll expect your vote and some campaign contributions when the time comes.”
Fat chance.
GWEN
Mount Eden Emergency Operations Facility, VA
At midday, Gwen and her small group reached the Mount Eden Emergency Operations Facility. By this time, Gwen had the emergency broadcast seared into her brain: “This is an emergency broadcast for the National Capital Region. This is not a test. Authorities request that you stay inside your homes. Help is on the way. Please avoid contact with the sick persons. This is not a test.”
Gwen and her friends had done the exact opposite, and this was the only reason they were still alive. That and Mark. Mark had slain more than fifty of the infected by the time they reached the facility. She marveled at his explosive violence, and was a little terrified that he could just destroy them with such indifference.
Mark was reluctant to give up his weaponry when they arrived, but he was too tired to put up much of a fight. They surrendered their weapons to the soldiers at the gate and were promptly escorted to a medical tent for quarantine.
A military doctor wearing a HAZMAT suit inspected all of them under the watchful eye of a soldier, also in a HAZMAT suit while pointing a M4 at their heads. After a thorough probing, the doctor had deemed them ‘not infected,’ and they were allowed to join the rest of the civilians who had made the pilgrimage to Mount Eden.
“Lavatories are over there. Civilian camp is there. Stay away from those buildings there,” a soldier muffled, with a mask-covered face.
They stumbled into the refugee camp in a daze. People were scattered haphazardly around and they eyed the newcomers with apathy. Mark found them an open spot in a long disorganized row of tents.
“We’re lucky we brought our own tent,” Gwen said.
The alternative was a massive tent that housed the destitute, which already appeared to be filled to maximum capacity.
Gwen helped Mark set up their two-person tent. He cursed as he tried to line up a tent pole with the other side of the tent. She left him to his own cursing as an old couple waved at Gwen.
“Look, hun, more newbies,” the old woman said.
The white haired couple camping next to them acted as though they were on vacation. They had every piece of gear imaginable: radios, lawn chairs, hats, pots and utility belts among many other items.
Gwen looked at her meager setup with a little bit of apprehension.
“I’ll trade ya’ some water purifying tablets for some AA batteries,” the old woman said with a toothy smile.
“Let me see if we have any,” Gwen said, rummaging in her pack.
“Harold just can’t live without his disc players,” the old woman said. An old man, presumably Harold sat with his headphones on in a lawn chair, white hair peaking out from underneath his wide brimmed safari hat.
Gwen dug through her bag and found a pair of batteries. She handed them over to the woman, who placed a small bottle of tablets into her hand.
The elderly woman smiled at Gwen. “Hear anything about the District?”
“I don’t know. I was in D.C. over a week ago and haven’t been back since. We just came in from Fairfax. It wasn’t in very good shape. Lots of people there are infected,” Gwen said somberly.
The white-haired woman nodded. “That’s what we heard, too. Heard the Army’s been takin’ a beating out there. D.C.’s lost. But I hear the Pentagon’s still holding out. There are hordes of them pounding on the outside of it, but our boys won’t let them in. God bless our troops,” she stared off into the distance.
Gwen wondered if she was all right. She looked over her shoulder and there was nothing of note to draw her gaze.
“My grandson’s a Marine. He’s over in Afgh
anistan right now. Should be back any day,” she said with a sad smile. “We are so proud.”
Gwen smiled back. “I’m glad to hear he’s safe.” She feared he wasn’t coming back.
Later that night, as they lay down in their new tent home, Mark told Gwen that he had spoken to some of the Army paratroopers stationed at Mount Eden, who had confirmed the old woman’s story about the Pentagon.
“Generals, officers, grunts, contractors and staff have fought the good fight, but a single breach could end the most sophisticated professional armed forces headquarters in history. It hasn’t fallen yet. Its survival hangs on the back of determined Americans,” Mark said with a little pride.
“It’s like the Alamo,” Gwen said.
Mark frowned a bit. “Baby, everyone died at the Alamo,” he said.
She felt little foolish. “Sorry, I was trying to be optimistic, you know, Remember the Alamo,” she said softly.
He stripped off his shirt. Deep creases outlined his six-pack. It was well defined. Too well defined. He looked thin. An unhealthy thin.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“Nothing. Lynn in the tent over there said the infected are moving even further west. There have been sightings in West Virginia and Pennsylvania.”
“Doesn’t surprise me,” he said, resting his pistol nearby his head.
“They gave that back? I thought there were no guns in the civilian facility.”
“Well, not exactly, but being a former Division agent does hold some clout.” He gave her a mischievous grin.
What she really wanted to say was: “How are we going to make it? How can we live like this?”
Mark pulled her in close, wrapping a muscled arm around her. “Everything’s going to be fine. We have to take this one day at a time. Do you hear me? One manageable task at a time. Eventually this will end.”
End Time Page 32