by Alan, TS
“You’re delusional, that’s all. Being confined too long in a stressful situation can bring about elevated blood pressure, arrhythmia, and episodic hallucinations… You’re not listening, are you? You’re wasting valuable time.” He was about to speak. “Tsst!” I warned. “I don’t have time to dick around. Just listen.”
He was silent.
“Thank you. The facility had a biological mishap. There was a transmute and at least one virus we know of got into the air filtration system. Your lockdown was basically useless. The virus is still active—Tsst,” I pre-empted, as he opened his mouth. “What did I just tell you?” He shut his face.
“I got lots of suck-ass news for ya and only one item of good. Unfortunately, you’re probably infected. No worries, there’s a counter agent. That’s the good news. The rest of the news is this: It looks like everyone on the base has been killed, and the world has been overrun by the walking dead. I’m one of five survivors, including the doctor. We ran into him in one of the underground subway maintenance tunnels. The doc was trying to take a powder. We persuaded him otherwise. Okay, you can talk.”
He said, “I knew whatever they were doing was going to bite them in the ass one day!”
I was apprehensive to believe him. Hell, I was downright distrustful and skeptical. “Damn, that was too easy. So much so, that I don’t believe you.”
“Son, if you’ve seen the shit I’ve seen down here these past eight years, you’d believe anything was possible. Who, or what, were you looking for in my kitchen?”
“Your kitchen?”
“Yes. I’m the Senior Army Chef for the complex.”
“You’re the cook?”
“No, son. I’m the chef. And no more jokes about cartoons. Like I haven’t ever heard the salty chocolate balls joke a million times before,” he stated frankly.
Except it was true; he was a dead ringer for Chef, right down to the protruding belly and facial hair, although his stomach wasn’t as large as Jerome McElroy’s and the facial hair appeared to be a heavy day’s growth not a full on beard.
I finally responded to his question in regard to what I was searching for in his kitchen. “Food.”
“Food? That’s it?”
“Consider me the Recon Team.”
“You managed to breach our security protocols for food?”
“Not exactly. I have Dick’s special ‘get out of jail free card’, which lets you back in.”
“Son, what the hell are you talking about?”
“Damn, are you that culturally bereft that you’ve never played Monopoly? I have Doctor France’s access card which let him escape through a secret exit.”
“He was always a shifty little weasel. Figures he’d bail the minute the shit hit the fan. Where is the little weasel?”
“Under armed guard and hoping I don’t return.”
“Can I get up now?”
“Sure, if you promise to play nice.”
“Fine,” he responded, and then stood and asked, “So, what’s this transmute thing?”
“A grayish creature with nasty teeth, big black eyes, and razor-like talons.”
The master sergeant looked at me, as if I were describing myself.
“Do I look gray?” I asked. “If I were a transmute you’d be dead all ready.”
He was still skeptical.
“I’ll explain my condition later,” I assured him. “It’s all part of the virus that got out.”
“What exactly were they doing down here?”
I was surprised that he was totally clueless, so I asked, “You mean you’ve been here eight years and you don’t know what they were doing?”
“Son, all I know is what I was told—they were doing experimental research, trying to develop vaccines for autoimmune disorders and the Avian Flu. I knew it was a cover story, but it was all need-to-know. And I didn’t want to know.”
“Then why the hell are you here?”
“Two ex-wives and two alimonies. Took this job because it compensated me above my pay grade.”
“Whatever you were getting paid, it wasn’t enough. They were developing biological weapons, one of which bit them in the ass big time. Plus it causes some humans to mutate. The little weasel calls them transmutes. I’d really like to round up some food for my friends. They’ve been waiting nearly two hours. They probably think I’m dead. And you need to be given the antidote. You have any steaks?”
“Steaks? You want me to cook?”
“No. Just need them raw. I have a hungry canine waiting for me who deserves a reward.”
“You brought a dog?”
“Yep.”
“Don’t that beat all.”
Though he seemed genuine in collaborating with me, I still was a bit leery. I let him lead the way. After we packed some boxes of food and eating accouterments and seeing that he had not tried to make a play to overpower me, I gave him the Colt M4 carbine. I warned him, not about trying to overpower me, but about what he was going to encounter on his way out of the facility.
“This transmute thing did all of this?” he asked.
“Don’t be too judgmental,” I replied. “You don’t know the truth. Those creatures were, are, human, just altered. They are intelligent and have an acute sense of self-preservation. They knew they were about to be terminated. Wouldn’t you kill to survive?”
Kermit said nothing.
I added, “I’ll fill you in on the whole thing later. The exit is here.”
V
Reunion
As the door opened into the tunnel, I found Marisol with her Smith & Wesson in hand, pointing it in my direction.
“Whoa, Marisol! It’s me, J.D.,” I assured her as I set down the box of food I had been carrying.
She lowered the gun, threw her arms around my body, and hugged me tight. She reached up and kissed me on the cheek, which took me by surprise and made me feel a bit uncomfortable. She didn’t notice I was damp.
“Joe said you were dead, but I told him you’d be back.” She turned to Joe, “See!”
Joe responded with, “Who the hell is that?”
I responded with, “Someone to aggravate you. Everyone, this is Army Master Sergeant Brown. Found him… taking refuge in a walk-in refrigerator. I think you’re familiar with the sergeant, Dick.”
The doctor mumbled, not being too pleased on their reunion. I realized that the master sergeant had been in the cooler for over twenty-four hours. That would be impossible.
“Hold it,” I said, then addressed the master sergeant. “How long were you in that cooler?”
“I don’t know. Since about 0200 or 0300 hours. Why?”
“Cause I just realized you’d only have enough air in there for two, three hours, maybe. How come you’re not dead? Or undead?”
“Undead?” he asked, puzzled.
“Yeah, that’s another part of France’s little world inhalator… So… Air?”
“Every few hours I’d open the door just a crack to let some in.”
I was puzzled. “You should have been infected long ago and turned into the living dead. How is that not possible?” I turned to the doctor, “Dick?”
“You are asking me to draw conclusions again without any previous observations of the phenomena.”
“God damnit! This isn’t rocket surgery! A guess will do, if that’s not too overly taxing on your inflated ego.”
“Das Ich is for those who have an over inflated sense of self-worth but lack the intelligence quotient to support their claim. I on the other hand, know that I have superior synthesis of information, intellectual functioning, and memory. I am a Mensa International member.”
I tried to annoy him into an answer. “So am I, and I have a gift certificate to prove it. You have no clue, do you?”
“If this is an attempt to goad me into making an assumption without—”
Kermit snapped, “Just answer the man’s question, doc. Or I’ll motivate you the old fashion way.” There was irritation in his tone a
nd facial expression. Apparently the doctor had pissed him off. I was really beginning to like this guy.
“So be it,” France unhappily responded. “Since I am being forced to speculate, there should be no reason why he is not infected. The risk of infection, for a normal airborne pathogen, depends on various factors including dose of particle inhalation and the ability of that particular cotangent to cause infection. But this is a highly contagious pathogen. A dose of one particle means infection.”
“There you go again, Dick,” I said, in my usual irritated tone. “You didn’t answer the question, did you?”
“Very well. Hypothetically, the mean temperature of the refrigerator may have damaged the virus. He could be asymptomatic at this time. Or the spread of the infection had been retarded or dormant due to the cooling and slowing of his blood in the colder temperature. Does that satisfy your curiosity?”
“Maybe he’s got delta-32,” Marisol said.
“What is delta-32?” Kermit asked.
“There’s a special mutated gene in certain people of European decent, mainly the English and the Irish,” I explained. “It can either prevent you from contracting the disease or make it less severe if infection occurs. It’s also the same gene that causes some people to mutate into transmutes.”
“Then I have this delta thing!” Kermit declared. “I had a raging fever and a crazy thirst. Felt as though death was strangling me. I must have passed out, ’cause I woke up on the floor dehydrated as hell, but my fever had passed.”
“That would not be possible. People of African descent do not have it,” France adamantly stated.
“But I’m Irish,” he countered.
“What?!” France surprisingly exclaimed.
“Not entirely Irish. My great, great, great Grandfather was a wealthy Irish slave owner, who liked to… let’s say… fertilize his female property. I have descendants in Ireland.”
I almost burst out in laughter. Master Sergeant Brown was closer to the cartoon than he wanted to admit or knew. The fictional Chef’s parents came from Scotland, and when I chuckled he turned on me.
“Is that funny to you, slavery?”
“Ah, no. I’m sorry. My mind was elsewhere and had nothing to do with your explanation.” Though, in a roundabout way it did.
“Still not possible,” France said, ignoring the obvious.
“Yet the evidence spoke for himself,” I countered, and then moved onto, “We’ve brought some food for everyone. That’s the good news. The bad is you’ll need to stay here for a while longer.”
“Why?” Julie asked. “I want to go in and use the bathroom.”
“I’m sorry, Julie. I need to clear more of the complex. Just find a dark spot and go.”
“I’ll go back in with you, son,” Kermit declared. “I’m combat trained and damn good with a carbine.”
“So will I,” David said, volunteering.
“I appreciate the offer, both of you. But there’s a reason why it’s safer if I do it alone. David can fill you in on that, Sarge.” I turned to Joe and the doctor. “David will tell him,” I warned, then turned back to Kermit and said, “He’ll tell you how we got here and what happened to me. He’ll tell you the truth.”
I knelt down next to Max who had been patiently sitting before my feet.
“Gute Hund, Max. Gute Hund. I have a special treat for you.” I roughed up his fur a bit. “Marisol. Here,” I said, as I pulled two of the three steaks out of the box. “Please take them and cut them up for Max. There’s a knife in the box. Tell him Nimm futter when you’re ready. Just like I wrote down.”
I picked up the other one, plated it and held it in my hand. “Time for me to go. Not sure when I’ll be back.”
“Going to make steak tartar?” the master sergeant asked.
“Ah, no. Long story. Keep your eye on the little weasel for me.” I handed David the doc’s swipe card.
He gave me an odd look.
I slid the Special Ops soldier’s card through the reader; no code was necessary. “If I’m not back in four hours, I won’t be back. You decide if you want to follow.”
David tipped the card to me in acknowledgement.
I said my parting words with sincerity and with the knowledge that I may not return, and slipped through the doorway as it began to close.
The smell of iron from the pooled blood was strong. The scent of ammonia clung heavy in the air, too. Death was everywhere and I couldn’t avoid stepping in it.
I headed back to Luci. I had been gone nearly an hour and needed to check her condition if she allowed me. She was wounded and didn’t have the strength to put up a fight. Like any sick and frightened animal, she could be docile due to her condition, but violent when her power and stamina returned. I could be in a fight for survival, but I hoped not.
I was near the intersection when I slipped and fell on my buttocks. The hard thump hurt my coccyx and I probably did something bad to the sacrum. I was definitely going to feel it later. I managed to keep the steak on the plate, but it cost me a sprained wrist. However, on the upside, there was a 9mm submachine gun next to where I had fallen. I slung it over my shoulder.
There I was again, filthy. It seemed I had a propensity for bodily fluids finding their way onto my clothing. My pants were soaked in it. This wasn’t going to come off with a few antibacterial wipes, which I was out of anyway. I would need a change of clothes and a thorough scrubbing.
I walked to the door. I had left it ajar because I didn’t want her to feel trapped again. I peered into the room through the slight opening of the doorway. She was awake and watching me. My clothing was saturated in blood. I pulled the pistol from my pants and set it on the floor with the submachine gun. I removed my sneakers and crimson stained pants. The less blood on me the better, since I was unsure how she would react to the smell. I picked up the pistol and held it behind me in my right hand. I peered in slowly and cautiously, pushing on the door. She still was focused on me. I entered the room and partly closed the door behind me. I moved toward the dresser opposite the bed. She made no attempt to rise, no menacing motion at all, just a slight stirring of the sheets. I set the pistol on the dresser and moved toward the bed, Luci still watching. It appeared that I fascinated her. Perhaps it was because I showed her kindness and tenderness, or maybe it was because I was partially like her.
I squatted next to the bed and drew back the covers exposing her wound and breasts. When I reached out to check the bloodied bandage she grabbed my hand and placed it on her left breast.
I drew my hand away from the softness and fullness of her bosom. “Luci,” I said calmly. “Please, let me see.” I tried once more, but again she positioned my hand on her breast. I calmly pulled away.
“Okay, Luci. Never mind. I’ll check later.” I pulled the sheets up and covered her.
I set the plate down next to her. She didn’t grab for the meat; she just looked at it.
The blood that stained my skin was sticky. I needed a shower. I needed to feel clean.
I stepped out of the shower and toweled off. It was good to feel fresh again. Oddly, I no longer suffered the pain from my earlier injuries. I flexed my wrist. It felt as though I had never hurt it. I realized that my bite wound was no longer painful. . I removed the wet, bloodstained gauze bandage to discover my wound was nearly healed—not completely, but the deep puncture marks were just a bright pink impression of teeth.
I wrapped the towel around my waist and took another to rub my hair dry. Though I had left the door halfway open, I couldn’t see the bed from where the shower was located. As my head was shrouded in the fresh-scented towel, my hands briskly rubbed my scalp. I heard a noise from the bedroom and became alarmed. I hoped she hadn’t tried to get up and fallen.
“Luci,” I said, as I exited the bathroom.
She was not in the bed.
I caught her out of the corner of my eye too late. Before I was able to react, she ripped the towel from my waist and threw me onto the bed. She sat on
top of me, sitting just above my pelvic region, pinning my shoulders down with great strength, though her grip was weaker on her injured side.
She started to vocalize and gyrate her pelvis back and forth. Harm wasn’t her intention. She was trying to mount me. Once I felt her moistness rubbing against my flaccidness, I became excited and quickly erect. Suddenly a deep, overpowering instinct began to overtake my human side. It was the instinct to procreate.
I reversed the pin and I was sitting on her. I tried to fight my desire, both the human and animal parts, but lust took over. I began kissing and licking her neck and breasts. I squeezed the fullness of each breast taking time to suckle each protruding nipple, licking and gently biting. I continued down her stomach, stopping only an instant to lick her navel on my way to her inner thighs.
I could smell her musk; it filled my senses and drove my behavior. I gently probed her womanhood with my tongue and she quivered. Touching her clitoris, she gyrated her pelvis and quivered more intensely. I could no longer control the animal force that drove me. I wanted to be inside her. I needed to be inside her. I moved up and penetrated her, not gently but forcefully. My enlarged manhood moved deeply into her with ease. Luci clutched her arms under my shoulders and slightly dug her talons into my back, and began to vocalize, “Tu whoo.” The sensation of her piercing hooked claws was painful and exciting. I propelled in and out of her harder and harder with each thrust, exciting myself while building to a heightened climax. I drove one last time into her; my testicles felt like they were on fire. My engorged penis throbbed intensely as I ejaculated. Her vagina contracted as I came, instinctively holding in my seed. My semen still flowed, pumping out of me. I wasn’t sure if it was because of my mutation or because I hadn’t been with a woman in nearly a year. The pleasure was overwhelming.
I lay on top of her, my face next to hers. She released her arms. I could feel little trickles of blood rolling down my back. I could also feel my erection inside her. I had not become flaccid. I was as hard as I was when I penetrated her. I could feel Luci moving her hips. She wasn’t satisfied; she wanted more. We proceeded to copulate again.