The Tide (Tide Series Book 1)

by Melchiorri, Anthony J

  Kara glanced outside. “What’s wrong with these people?” she asked aloud. The report on the radio seemed unreal when she looked out over their backyard. A squirrel clung to the birdfeeder, scooping sunflower seeds into its mouth. Wind rustled the trees atop the berm along the rear border of their yard. The sunset gave the whole scene a serene, warm glow.

  Her mother groaned from the living room, and the sound reminded her just how real this all was. Kara filled a glass with water and grabbed the radio then hurried into the living room. She held the cup to her mother’s lips as the broadcast droned on, reporting city after city and country after country declaring a state of emergency.

  Kara dabbed her mother’s forehead with the cloth. The bandages along Bethany’s cheeks had become yellowed with the oozing infection. Kara removed the dressings to replace them. Then she squinted at her mother’s wound. Grainy yellow tissue seemed to be forming where she’d expected to see dark-red scabs.

  Weird, she thought, peering closer at the wound. Nothing in Bio I had prepared her for this.

  A deep rumble shook the house. A pair of glass figurines toppled from the fireplace’s mantel and shattered. Another blast growled in the distance. Maggie yelped, and Kara grabbed the shotgun near the hall. She dashed to the front hall and peered out the window. A third low blast, weaker than the first two, echoed over the street. This time it didn’t shake the house.

  Kara trudged into the dining room and stared toward the far end of the cul-de-sac. It seemed the blasts had originated from that direction, past the line of houses and trees. Her heart pounded as she saw the Weavers’ house on the other side of the street. Sadie must be in there, safe with their neighbors.

  Muddled, confused voices blasted from the radio Kara had left in the living room. Then the loud thwack of helicopter blades filled the air—but they weren’t coming over the radio. A squadron of choppers thumped overhead.

  Fort Detrick, Kara thought. The United States Army Medical Command was mere miles from where they lived. She recalled her father telling her it was where the United States had once developed biological weapons before turning its focus on defense. She wondered if they were mobilizing to quell the crazy people responsible for all the cannibalistic violence. Still, that didn’t explain the explosions she’d just heard.

  As if responding to Kara’s thoughts, the radio announcer’s voice grabbed her attention once more. “A military convoy we believe was headed to Fort Detrick has been halted by wreckage along the highway. Our eye-in-the-sky reports an overwhelming number of the crazies pouring over the vehicles and attacking soldiers manning the Humvees and transport trucks. Two of the trucks and a jeep, now on fire, were apparently involved in an accident. If Fort Detrick is mustering the troops, is it possible we’re in the midst of biological warfare? Have terrorists launched a coordinated attack on United States? If so, we’re still unaware of any groups stepping forward to take responsibility.”

  The announcer’s voice sped up. “Everyone in the immediate vicinity of Frederick is advised to take caution. The enraged are now pouring out of one of the trucks.” He sounded frantic now. “Soldiers are shooting people, even civilians near the scene of the accident. It’s a bloodbath!”

  The crack of gunfire echoed in the distance, emphasizing the veracity of the reporter’s claims.

  Kara hugged the shotgun close to her body and leaned back from the windows. She closed her eyes tight, praying Sadie was safe and her mother would recover and the world would go back to normal.

  “The enraged are spreading. Please, everyone who can hear this, stay indoors.”

  There was no doubt in Kara’s mind that the scene the announcer had described was near their house. I-70 and I-270 intersected close to their neighborhood. Any military convoys coming from the Baltimore or Washington metropolitan areas toward Fort Detrick would’ve come blazing past.

  Amid the distant gunfire, another noise caught her attention. A chorus of guttural howls filled the air. Maggie went wild, barking and running toward the front door.

  Kara peered through the front window again. A group had convened near the burned-out wreckage near the cul-de-sac’s entrance. They crouched over the corpse of the man by the car. At first, she thought they were examining him, trying to see if he was still alive. Then one heavy man stood, bloody entrails hanging from his mouth. Crimson liquid dripped from his lips over the front of his T-shirt.

  Kara’s heart hammered when she realized they weren’t trying to help the man. They were eating him.

  Another man in a tattered suit sprinted toward the group. He pushed a woman out of his way and bent toward the corpse. The woman shoved him back, clearing room for herself as they feasted on the remains. Shock prevented Kara from moving. She let out a whimper as they tore into the corpse.

  Maggie’s whining broke Kara from her trance, and she snapped into motion to silence the dog.

  “Quiet, Maggie!”

  The group dispersed. As they parted, they revealed the remains of the corpse. Nothing but bits of cracked white bone lay in the grass, covered in long shadows cast by the setting sun. Kara backed away from the window. Then the man in the ragged suit turned toward her house. His gaze caught hers. Maggie, too, saw the man and started barking furiously again.

  “Maggie!” Kara clamped her hands around the dog’s muzzle and ducked beneath the window.

  But it was too late. The ragged-suit man let out a bellow, and Kara peeked up enough to see him sprinting down the asphalt. The others whipped around and dashed with him.

  Kara shrieked and ran to the living room. “We need to go upstairs! Come on, Mom!”

  Her mother groaned and struggled to sit up. Kara set the shotgun down as the dog whined. She hoisted Bethany’s arm over her shoulder. An ear-shattering chorus of yells and howls echoed outside. Adrenaline surged through Kara as she pushed up the stairs. Bethany, barely conscious, trundled along with her, lightening Kara’s load slightly. They made it to the second floor and down the hall, where Kara lowered Bethany to the floor in the master bedroom. A loud pounding sounded from below.

  She dashed back downstairs and grabbed the shotgun. Maggie ran in circles near the front door, barking. “Come on, girl. Let’s go!”

  Maggie snarled and barked, her eyes fixed on the front door. The pounding continued as if the things were hitting the front door with a battering ram.

  “Maggie!”

  The dog whipped her head around and padded toward Kara. She turned and gave a final bark at the door.

  Glass crashed inside the house, and a thud sounded nearby. Kara recalled the broken bay window where the woman earlier had shattered the glass. She heard something flop into the dining room at the front of the house. Maggie cocked her head and then ran toward the noise.

  “No, girl!” Kara ran after the retriever. Her feet slipped on the hardwood floor of the front hall. She smacked a hand against the wall to steady herself. Maggie whined, frozen at the end of the corridor.

  A shape stood from the floor of the dining room near broken shards of glass. The man snarled, his eyes locked on Kara’s.

  Maggie’s fur trembled as she growled back. Seeming to sense the man’s intent, Maggie charged as he ran toward Kara.

  “No!” Kara shouldered the shotgun, aimed it at the blur of scarlet-stained flesh and fabric barreling toward her, and fired.

  -20-

  Dom watched Lauren bandage the arms of the IBSL mechanic. His deep-brown eyes stared ahead vacantly, and he muttered something Dom couldn’t quite make out.

  “What the hell is he babbling on about?” Miguel asked as Peter checked him over for any cuts or scrapes.

  “I don’t know,” Lauren said. “This is the first time he’s talked all day. He’s been out of it for the better part of his stay with us.”

  Dom listened to the mechanic for another moment. His speech’s cadence and sounds reminded him of words he’d overhead on a mission he’d completed not too long ago in Iran. “Sounds like Farsi to me.”
<
br />   “Glenn knows Farsi, doesn’t he?” Peter asked.

  Dom nodded. “He does.” Since Green Berets were required to learn a second language, Glenn had chosen Arabic. He’d already come into the program with fluency in Spanish, and acquiring a third language turned him into a voracious polyglot. Dom also knew he’d picked up at least conversational abilities in Cantonese, Japanese, German, French...and Farsi. The man was a natural when it came to the spoken word. Dom punched the comm button. “Thomas, can you grab Glenn? Tell him we need his language skills.”

  Flashing a thumbs-up from the non-isolation side of the medical bay, Thomas strode out into the corridor.

  The rig mechanic started to shake and leaned forward. Dom pressed against the man’s shoulders and prayed the Oni Agent hadn’t already taken hold of him. They needed answers, and he’d already learned enough to know Skulls weren’t interested in conversation.

  Lauren hooked an IV line to the back of the mechanic’s hand and taped it into place. She prepped a solution for the line but didn’t administer it yet.

  “Sedatives?” Dom asked.

  Lauren nodded. “Just in case.”

  “Smart,” he said, glancing at Scott’s sleeping form. “You can administer this if he acts up, right?”

  “Right,” Lauren said. She joined Peter in examining Miguel.

  Dom’s heart stopped as he watched them look his friend over, inch by inch.

  “I don’t see anything,” Peter said.

  “You positive?” Dom asked.

  “No breaks in the skin whatsoever.”

  “Course not,” Miguel said. “I’m practically invincible.” He cocked his head at his prosthetic arm. “Except for that, I guess. But seriously, I’m fine.”

  Peter stepped back, his suit rustling. “Hell, I believe him.”

  “Don’t keep it to yourself,” Dom said. “How exactly do you two think this shit spreads?”

  “We think it’s possible, maybe even probable, that transmission of this so-called Oni Agent is through direct exposure,” Lauren said. “It could be the agent is passed through open wounds and blood contact.”

  “So you don’t think it’s airborne?” Dom asked. “Makes sense. I mean, Miguel would’ve breathed in the Oni Agent when his suit was compromised, but he hasn’t shown a single symptom, right?”

  Miguel hopped off the examination table and held out his prosthetic. “The Skull only got my fake here.” He pointed to a couple dull scratches. “Obviously, he didn’t break any skin.”

  “Okay, so if that’s true,” Dom said, glancing between Lauren and Peter, “you’ve solved half the equation. The Oni Agent appears to spread through open wounds. But where the hell is it coming from? Saliva? Blood?”

  “Maybe.” Lauren shook her head, which made her suit shake clumsily. “But I don’t think those are the main vectors. Peter and I thought about how you all described Scott’s attack. The Skull clawed at him, right?”

  “Right,” Dom said and then eyed Scott’s hands. “It’s something in the nails.” He walked over to Scott and lifted his hand slightly to get a better look.

  “Careful,” Lauren said. “Don’t cut your suit or yourself on those.”

  Dom nodded before continuing, “It can’t just be in the nails. All those bony mutations in the Skulls have something to do with it, don’t they?”

  “We can show you some images later, but the same stuff growing out of his nails is growing in his wounds,” Peter said.

  “Of course. His torso.” Dom lowered Scott’s hand and stepped away. “Right where he first made contact with the Oni Agent.”

  “Exactly,” Lauren said. “We haven’t identified what exactly is causing these strange calcifications, but it appears to be the vector for spreading the Agent.”

  “And we think it might even be alive,” Peter said. He explained their coral reef analogy and how polyps formed the rocky structures to protect the tiny organisms. “We think applying antibiotics slows down whatever it is living in the calcified bone-like tissues that eventually leads to turning people into full-blown Skulls.”

  “Antibiotics don’t kill it, though?” Dom asked. Before Lauren spoke, he already knew the answer to this perverse bioweapon wouldn’t be so easy. But he couldn’t help hoping they had something in their arsenal to stop it.

  “No,” Lauren replied. “Antibiotics don’t completely eliminate whatever it is. It might be like a hardy strain of bacteria. While initially antibiotics will slow the progress of the strain, over time, it may develop antibiotic resistance. Whatever the coral-like things are, they’re pretty damn resilient.”

  “Not the news I wanted to hear.” Dom found the coral-like explanation and antibiotic resistance strange, but it more or less made sense. And it wasn’t any stranger than the Skulls. “So let’s entertain the idea that these bony formations we saw on the Skulls are formed by this sub-microscopic Oni Agent—that the same stuff growing on Scott’s fingernails and wounds would start to grow everywhere until he looked like a Skull. That explains how it might spread. But why is it driving people mad? Why did it make Scott try to kill every living person he saw?”

  “No idea yet,” Lauren said. “But we’re working on it.”

  “So without a cure, you think we can at least delay the progress with antibiotics in Scott and”—he motioned to the mechanic—“our guest?”

  “I hope so. If we can’t stop it, we’ll have to keep them sedated or put them in a medically induced coma to prevent them from hurting themselves or others.”

  “And do I have to live in here with them?” Miguel asked.

  “Once we’re positive this isn’t airborne, we’ll let you out,” Peter said.

  “Sooner the better,” Miguel muttered.

  “Anything else you can tell me about the Oni Agent?” Dom asked.

  “I don’t know if I’ve got much more to offer, but”—Lauren’s gaze fell—“there’s something I want to show you.” She walked to the morgue drawer in the room. The space served as a storage facility for bodies that posed a biohazard threat.

  They’d never needed to use it before. Dom winced as Lauren pulled it open now. A black bag. Dom knew who was in it: Brett Fielding.

  Lauren began to unzip it. “Since Brett was dead on arrival, we never administered antibiotics to slow the Oni Agent.”

  “And the Agent apparently had no problem with him being dead,” Peter added coldly.

  When Lauren finished unzipping the bag, her brow was wrinkled and her face pale. The professional façade she normally wore was cracking. She stepped back and let Miguel and Dom see Brett’s body.

  Skeletal claws protruded from his fingers. A cage of yellow bone made it appear as if his ribs had grown outside his chest. His shoulder blades had burst from his pale skin and spread like demonic wings. The man was once healthy, vibrant, and muscular. Now what remained of his skin hung around his malformed skeleton with no more shape than a plastic bag.

  “His muscles have atrophied at an alarming rate,” Lauren said. “Despite his death, we think the Oni Agent was”—she corrected herself—“is still scavenging his body for proteins and minerals to continue forming this exoskeleton to protect itself.”

  Dom’s stomach twisted as he stared at Brett’s emaciated and malformed corpse. Guilt welled up with the disgust.

  Thomas’s voice came over the intercom, dispelling Dom’s gloomy thoughts. “Doctors, Captain, Glenn’s ready to have a chat with our friend.”

  Glenn waved through the window.

  “Get your ass suited up and in here,” Dom said back over the intercom. He walked away from Brett’s remains and over to Scott’s side. He placed a gloved hand on the Hunter’s shoulder. “The mechanic better have some answers, because we’re in way over our fucking heads here, Lauren.”

  Lauren’s expression turned dour. “You’ll get no disagreement from me, Captain.”

  -21-

  The flash from Kara’s shotgun illuminated the suited man’s chest as it broke apar
t in a spray of flesh and bone. Blood spattered across a painting of a serene stream in the middle of a mountainous forest—artwork Kara’s mother had created was now decorated with chunks of gore.

  “Maggie!” Kara called. She could hardly hear past the ringing from the blast.

  Tail between her legs and ears flat against her skull, Maggie ran to Kara. She grabbed the dog’s collar and dragged her up the stairs as fast as she could. With her hearing temporarily lost, she couldn’t tell if more of the crazies followed, and she didn’t bother to look back.

  Her heart thudded against her ribcage. She barged into the master bedroom. Her mother lay in the bed, a twisted expression of worry and pain across her face. Kara pushed Maggie farther from the door. She locked it then pulled the nearby dresser toward it. Adrenaline and fear throbbed in her veins as she heaved the heavy oak dresser. An ornamental jewelry box fell and spilled pearls, necklaces, and a tangle of earrings, but Kara ignored the mess. Once she positioned the dresser against the door, she moved to a second dresser, lower and wider than the first. She ran behind it and lowered herself like a defensive lineman. She pressed her hands against the lip of the dresser and shoved. Her legs burned with the effort, but her ears began to recover. The first sounds greeting her were her own grunts and belabored breaths as she struggled to move the furniture. When the second dresser thudded against the first, she dropped to the carpet, breathing heavily.

  The door suddenly rattled. More pounding and scraping joined in the cacophony. While most of the door was reinforced by the dresser, there was a foot-and-a-half gap at the top. The wood there splintered. A hand burst through, clenching and unclenching.

  Another hand thrust through.

  Maggie growled, the hair on her haunches standing up. She prowled to the edge of the dressers. Kara didn’t intend to let the retriever try to defend her again. She climbed over the first dresser and aimed the barrel of the shotgun into the gap where the crazies splintered the wood.