by Ison, S. A.
Hours passed and still no lights and no release. The noise was nearly deafening. Robinson though he too was going insane, and felt the voice in his chest begin to rise. It took hard determination to keep it tamped down and silent.
As more hours ticked by, the prisoners became quiet. Some calling for food, others complaining about thirst. Robinson’s stomach began to growl, and he had to take one hell of a piss. He felt his way along the walls and doors until he found the food cart. Blindly, his hand came across a bologna sandwich and he took it. Slowly he chewed the dry bread and cold cut. He walked farther up the corridor and unzipped his pants. There wasn’t much help for it, so he relieved himself.
His senses picked up on the smells around him. The toilets weren’t working, and he could smell shit wafting from the cells. Working his way back in the other direction, Robinson found the door and slid back down. His brain was numb. He’d lost track of time, and fear was pushing everything else out. He couldn’t make out the time on his watch; it didn’t have an illuminating dial. He took off his shoe and banged on the door once more. A moment later, a return rap came, then all was quiet.
The hours crept by, and the prisoners’ cries became more plaintive, calling for food and help. Through the haze of lunacy, some of the prisoners were becoming aware that their world had suddenly shifted. Their calls became more coherent and frantic, and for some their medication was wearing off. Robinson walked along, and for the loudest ones he pushed the food through the slot blindly. They quieted down.
Officer Robinson felt disembodied as he drifted up and down the corridor, hour after hour. He didn’t know if one day had passed or many, as he kept falling asleep then waking and falling back asleep. As time passed, fewer and fewer of the prisoners demanded food. The smell in the long hallway was pungent and rank. Robinson couldn’t distinguish between the smells; they were all noise and assaulted his senses. His MP3 had long since died, and there was nothing to do but wait, and wait.
He tried once more with his shoe to the door, but this time there was no response. He tried again, harder. Still nothing. For the first time, Matt Robinson began to cry. He lay curled on the floor, his sobs mingling with the prisoners’. He couldn’t accept what his mind already knew. He would die within days, no more fluids, no more food, and no more light. He would die alone with these mad men. He would also die insane.
Knoxville, Tennessee
Dr. Robby Chandelle looked down into the open chest cavity. His patient lay on the operating table in Surgical Suite 3, with the anesthesiologist monitoring the stats. The surgical nurse, Donna Mims, held a clamp, waiting for Dr. Chandelle to call for it. It was a by-pass, not too complicated.
Around the surgical team, machines hummed along, lights casting bright white illumination over the sterile field. The hospital was overwhelmed with the virus patients, and a part of the hospital had been sectioned off, so other patients with normal illnesses and problems could be seen safely.
There were many doctors, nurses, and staff missing from work, either sick or dead. Surgeries were now critical only, and elective surgeries had been canceled. Screening for scheduled surgeries was stringent, ensuring EVD1-0 victims weren’t operated on.
A clicking sound started up, and then total darkness swamped the surgical theater. The staff froze for a split second, then all hell broke loose. Nurses scrambled in either total darkness or near total darkness. Dr. Chandelle voice was strident, and began to fill with panic. Trays were knocked over, sterile instruments skittering to the floor.
“What the hell is going on?” he roared. “Where are the god damn generators? Why aren’t they turning on?”
Beyond the theater, they could hear people yelling and running around. “Mims, go see what the hell is going on, and tell them this man is dead if they don’t get those god damn generators online,” Chandelle barked.
Donna ran blindly out of the suite, and ran straight into a nurse from another surgical suite. “What the hell is going on?” she cried.
“I don’t know. We have a woman who is cut open for a cesarean, and we haven’t even gotten the baby out yet,” the woman said, her voice filled with frustration and fear.
Down the hall, they could hear a male voice yelling about a computer; something was wrong with the computers. Something about a computer virus, and it took down all the computers and knocked out the power.
Both women looked at each other, stunned. No computers? Weren’t the generators operated via the computers? Wasn’t this a state-of-the-art hospital? Weren’t there failsafes? Dawning horror bloomed over their faces. With no computers, there was no way to turn on the generators. What had happened to the electricity? What had knocked out all the power?
What the hell were they going to do about their patients? Banging from the elevators echoed through passageways, and visitors rushed to the nurse’s desk, their loved one’s equipment gone fatally quiet. All around Donna, the world was going mad, and fear pearled itself around her heart. If they didn’t get the power back on soon, a lot of people were going to die.
Bridgman, Michigan
Stephen, Alisa, and Mike sat on the couch in the cottage, thirty feet from the shore of the lake. The trio had been at the cottage almost two weeks now. The men had made forays into the surrounding area daily, getting supplies, but it was becoming more dangerous to go out. In the heavily populated areas, buildings had been cordoned off with police tape; bodies were taken there. The smell of rot and something more sinister—fear and violence—permeated the air.
Stephen was sipping a beer as he lounged beside Alisa. He and Mike had just returned from one of their forays. “It is crazy out there, babe. There isn’t any place to put the bodies, so many have been dropping like flies. It was so surreal. People are saying that the morgue and hospitals can’t handle the volume.” He took another sip. “The stink is so bad, I mean, it’s like nothing I’ve ever smelled.” He would never tell her about her brother’s apartment.
“We could hear the flies, babe, I mean, really hear them, there were so many. We could hear it in the car, with the windows rolled up. We could smell the outside, even with the air con on.”
Alisa’s face blanched. She’d asked him about going back to Chicago. He’d had to tell her no. He knew she saw the horror of it all on their faces. He couldn’t hide what was out there. She needed to know. When the wind blew, the stench of death reached miles outside the city limits. He and Mike had never made it to Chicago: the roads were bumper to bumper, and he’d been afraid to get stuck there.
“People on the streets look crazy, bundled and swaddled with masks, gloves, and weapons. Some were carrying shovels to keep others away. We drove around looking for stores, but all of them were closed or looted. We tried going farther out, but it’s the same there,” Mike added, his voice shaking.
“On our way home, we saw a car with bodies in it. The car was filled with flies.” Stephen swallowed hard, feeling his gorge rise. He took another drink of his beer. “We got stopped twice, by some dudes with bats. They wanted Mike’s car. I aimed my gun at them and they backed off. We got the hell out of there. Some streets were blocked off, and we got lost a couple times.”
“Jesus, that sounds so crazy and scary,” Alisa breathed. Her face was stiff with fear, her lips trembling as though she were about to cry. Stephen felt like crying too.
“Babe, me and Mike think we shouldn’t leave again. The guard at the gate pointed a gun at us. He was acting all scared and shit, and asked if we were sick. I thought he was going to shoot us if we didn’t tell him what he wanted to hear.”
“I almost shat myself,” Mike said, taking a long drink of his beer.
“Should we watch the news?” Alisa asked.
“Yeah, sounds like a good idea.” Stephen reached for the remote.
Mike got up from his chair and came to the couch to join Stephen and Alisa. Stephen drew Alisa’s body close to him, his arm encircling her expanding waist.
The news was getting worse; the FAA
had announced that they were shutting down all airports in eight hours. Worldwide, countries were shutting down all air travel and closing borders. Busses and trains had already stopped running. People were in a panic, becoming unpredictable and violent. People were told to stay in their homes.
Alisa rubbed her belly absently, and Stephen put his hand over hers. He’d become very protective of her. He’d ruthlessly shoved her back into the car and told Mike to get them out of there when he’d come down from Zack’s apartment, because he didn’t want her anywhere near that mess. It had nearly been two weeks, yet to Stephen, it seemed like a lifetime, and only yesterday. He didn’t regret his actions then either. They were far better off away from there.
The news was talking about the numbers of the dead. It was in the millions in the U.S. alone, and perhaps billions for North America. Experts thought it could reach near four billion worldwide. He heard Alisa crying softly, and pulled her closer. He changed the channel, and saw more of the same. Stephen turned the volume up.
“The WHO is calling this EVD1-0 virus a global killer. The virus is running rampant, mutating faster with each successive infection. Scientists are working to find a cure, but have so far been unsuccessful. Martial law is being called for in country after country.
Mike held his beer, his hands shaking. Alisa cried harder, burying her head in Stephen’s shoulder. He could only hope he and Mike had stockpiled enough for them to survive. Things didn’t look good out there, and the news around the world was just as bad. What exactly was a global killer?
They hadn’t told Alisa about the man they’d seen beaten to death for his car and supplies. Both he and Mike had been stunned as five men pulled the struggling motorist out of his window and kicked him to death, stomping on his head until it was a pulpy mess. It was too dangerous out there, and hearing this news, he thought perhaps he and Mike should take precautions to secure the cottage.
Stephen was glad they had picked up the extra ammo, and with the extra handgun, he felt they could safely guard their home. It was going to get far worse before it ever got better. The cottage was secluded, thankfully, with several acres of tree and brush surrounding it. There were plenty of other houses around, though many were uninhabited.
Alisa lifted her head from Stephen’s shoulder.
“Shit,” Stephen breathed softly.
Across the TV screen, a worm with a grinning skull and crossbones in its eyes ate after the words, “Welcome to the Stone Age.” When the worm reached the end of the screen, all the power went out. Alisa emitted a scream that bounced off the walls of the cottage.
Sullivan’s Island, South Carolina
Randal was driving home; he’d been at his secret inlet crabbing again, over at the far end of Isle of Palms. He had a tidy haul today. He could already taste the crabs. The fire pit in the back yard would cradle the cast iron kettle when he put his water and crabs on for a boil.
He pulled into the gas station by the inlet; he wanted to fill up and pick up some ice. The bridge that joined Isle of Palms to Sullivan’s Island had several people fishing on it. It was a beautiful day. Thoughts of the Ebola virus weren’t putting a damper on the hardcore fishermen like himself.
He picked up a bottle of Pepsi and pulled his truck off to the side after getting his gas. Walking onto the bridge, he joined an old man who had several poles against the side of the bridge.
“How’s fishing?” Randal asked, taking a drink of the soda.
“Pretty good. Got a small shark, and you know that is some good eatin’.” The old man laughed.
Randal looked down into the cooler, which had water and ice in it, and saw the small shark along with a couple other fish.
“Sure is a nice day,” he said.
“Yeah. You wouldn’t know the world was going to hell,” the old man replied.
“That virus sure is something. I hope your family’s okay,” Randal agreed, taking another sip.
Both men turned their heads at the raised voices coming from the gas station. A man was raising his arms, gesticulating at the pump. The clerk came out and was shaking his head, his arms up in a helpless gesture.
“Must have lost power,” the old man observed.
“They should have a generator out back. The kid mustn’t have figured it out yet,” Randal muttered.
A woman screamed, and everyone looked at her. A hand on her mouth, she was looking at and pointing toward the sky. Everyone followed her gaze, and gasps escaped their throats. Randal watched in horror as four airliners in the distance began to fall from the sky. They had either been coming or going from the Charleston airport.
“Mother of God!” he breathed
“My God, what is happening?” the old man next to him whispered.
All four planes disappeared below the distant horizon, and a second later, plumes of black smoke appeared. Randal’s eyes searched the sky. He spotted two more planes far in the distance over the Atlantic. They too were spiraling down. He pulled his phone out to call Pearl, but when he looked at his phone, he saw a crazy worm eating across the screen of his smart phone, and the words “Welcome to the Stone Age” leading it. Then his phone went blank, though he still had battery life in it.
“What in the hell?” Randal showed the old man his phone. The old timer pulled out his own phone, and both men watched as the same thing happened to his phone.
“Something is seriously wrong. First the power out at the gas station, those planes coming down, and now this thing with the phones,” the old man said, fear lacing his voice.
“I agree. You might want to head home and check on things,” Randal suggested. Gathering up his poles, Randal helped the older man with the cooler, loading them up into the old sedan. Randal then jumped into his truck and headed home, breaking a few speed limits on his way.
He was a block and a half away from the house when he saw a few of his neighbors out in their yards with their phones or tablets, talking to each other. One man, Clive, hailed Randal over and asked if he knew what was going on.
“Everyone has lost power on the street, and when some of us tried to call the power company, our phones had this little worm thing eat through and knock the phones out. Our land lines don’t work either.”
“I don’t know, but I just saw six airliners drop out of the sky about the same time the inlet gas station lost power. And then my phone did the same thing,” Randal said
“Oh shit. It sounds like some kind of computer virus or terrorist attack. Maybe it knocked out the power grid, and those planes all have onboard computers,” Clive said, his voice filled with shock.
“I’d better get home. Pearl will be worried,” Randal said and pulled away.
He got home, cursing under his breath. He didn’t know what was going on, but it wasn’t good and he was afraid that it wasn’t something that could be fixed any time soon. He tried to calm himself down, taking deep breaths, and went to the back of the truck and pulled out the basket of crabs. He climbed the stairs into the house.
He found Pearl on the land line, clicking the receiver up and down. She looked up when he walked in. “The power’s out, and the phone is dead.”
“Yeah, I was just coming in, and saw everyone else out in the road. Did anything happen before the power went out, honey?” Randal asked, his voice abnormally calm. He saw alarm light her face, his attempt at calm failing miserably.
“Why? What’s the matter?” Her voice rose in suspicion.
“I’m not sure, but my phone had a worm go across it, and then the phone went blank. The power at the inlet gas station went out, and then six planes fell from the sky.
“Oh my God, those poor people! What does that mean, Randy? Are we under attack?” A hint of fear tinged her voice.
“I don’t know, but I don’t think it is good.” He handed her the crabs, and went into the bedroom. He went to the closet, and from up on the top shelf, he pulled a box down. Inside was the small handgun, a Smith and Wesson .38 special. He checked the safety, and put
it in his pocket. People got stupid fast in a crisis.
Los Angeles, California
Larry was sitting at his computer looking at porn; Jake had recently turned him onto this new website. It was a mix of sexy anime girls and real girls who looked like anime. It was pretty kinky stuff. He’d called in sick today, though he wasn’t. He’d seen a lot of people go missing at work, and he suspected the virus was making its rounds. He had already said his good-byes to Karen. They had spent a few days together, then she and her cousin planned to head back to North Carolina. He was glad she’d left; it was getting really crazy around town.
He, however, was becoming increasingly fearful. He stayed home, and only went out when Jake stopped by. He didn’t want to go out alone. He’d seen people beaten for their groceries. Stores around his neighborhood were looted and set afire. And people in HAZMAT suits were roaming around everywhere. It made for an unsettling sight.
The air had a smell of death and rot in it. He never went out of the house without a bandana on now. He’d nearly puked a few times, the smell so strong. He could hear the flies banging against his window even now. It made the hair rise on his arm. He’d been out that morning, and the fat and bloated bodies of the flies had bounded off his body. It had sent shivers down him, and he’d swatted them away with no relief. To know they had touched the dead weirded him out in so many ways.
He moved the scented candle closer; the stench had even permeated his apartment. He couldn’t get away from the smell of death and corruption. He also smelled fires; he wasn’t sure if they were burning bodies or if something had caught fire and they couldn’t put it out. Either way, he wanted nothing to do with it.
There were ambulances screaming by his place at all hours of the day and night now. People were acting crazy, and it was some scary shit out there. He’d ridden his bike two days ago, and the streets where clogged with people trying to leave. They’d had fear in their eyes, and masks on their faces. A lot of the homeless were gone too; he suspected they’d died pretty fast. More and more reports were flashing across his computer screen about the deadly virus and its path across the country and the world.