by James Somers
Donning the suit, he makes his way to the labs double door entrance. He keys his pass code and the first door unlocks, allowing him inside a small chamber. Here he waits for the first door to close automatically. The seal hisses, as it expands in the doorframe.
Bishop keys in the his secondary code to be used only on this door. It unlocks, and he opens it to enter into the lab environment again. He hears the negative airflow, as he walks through.
The door closes behind him automatically, as Bishop makes his way to an air line. Hooking the line into his suit, he walks tethered to his computer monitor. He now hears the voice of Angela Sayers, as he comes into view of the webcam.
“Mr. Bishop,” she says, “I’ve been trying to get your attention for the better part of an hour.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he says. “Sorry, ma’am. We’ve had a bit of a problem. The main power is out right now.”
“My team, Mr. Bishop. Have they arrived?”
Bishop sighs. “They did arrive,” he says. “However, they killed the two other scientists who were with me earlier.”
“I don’t understand.”
“My colleagues ran out of the lab, just as the main power went out,” Bishop says. “I believe your men must have mistaken them for some of the infected roaming the corridors.”
“I see,” Angela says. “I’m sorry, that’s very unfortunate. Where are Agent Divine and his team now?”
“They’re dead, ma’am,” Bishop reports nervously. “The creatures killed them soon after the gunfire began.”
This news brings a weary expression to Sayers. “I see,” she says.
“Ma’am,” Bishop says, “I’m all alone in here. The creatures are everywhere. The entire compliment of employees must be turned now.”
“Hold tight, Mr. Bishop,” Sayers says. “I have a plan to get you out of there. I’m going to require your full cooperation. I’ll need all information pertaining to this virus and Patient Zero. In addition, I want every bit of footage from the lab that shows the Russian agent’s movements. Do you understand?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Bishop replies. “I’ll compile the files for you and have them waiting, but when will you arrive?”
“I’m putting together a team,” Sayers says. “When we are ready, we will come to get you.”
“Begging your pardon, ma’am,” Bishop says, his eyes looking out the windows, seeing shadows beyond in the dark corridors, faces smashing into the soundproof glass. “Your first team was slaughtered by the creatures here. There must be nearly one hundred of them.”
“Believe me, Bishop,” Sayers assures him, “I understand the numbers we’re dealing with. As I said, I’m putting a special team together. In the meantime, you must remain in the lab. You must remain suited and connected to your air line.”
“Ma’am?”
“Are you familiar with sarin gas, Mr. Bishop?”
“Of course,” he replies. “But the method of delivery leaves me wondering.”
“The Tombs was constructed so that we could remotely cleanse the lab, if such an emergency occurred to warrant the need.”
“I’m familiar with the air fuel method in place as a failsafe, in case we have a deadly contagion leak threatening the city.”
Sayers smiles. “Well, what you do not know is we also have a way to fill the entire laboratory complex with sarin gas. I understand its ineffectiveness against your viruses and such, but it will kill people expertly. And these things running rampant in London are still human.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Bishop replies. “Excuse me, but did you say, these things are running rampant throughout London?”
Sayers gives him a dark look. “I’m afraid isolation in your lab has left you without news of our situation. Apparently, one of the original victims from the St. Mary’s attack was not recovered. They slipped through the cracks somehow, and now an epidemic has resulted, Mr. Bishop. You might find yourself safer locked away in your lab.”
Bishop swallows hard against the lump in his throat.
“Nevertheless, I need you on my team. You’re the only one I have left alive who knows anything about the virus we’re dealing with.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Bishop says. “I’ll get busy with the data we’ll need while I wait.”
“Very good, Mr. Bishop,” Sayers says. “Hold tight and keep your suit on.”
Sayers issues a command that Bishop can no longer hear through his monitor. Within seconds, jet nozzles come down from the ceiling of the lab. Just another item that Bishop never really considered, supposing they must be a part of the fire suppression system. Evidently not.
Gas begins to spray from the jets at high velocity. The gas is invisible, but Bishop hears the pressure at the nozzles. He imagines deadly sarin gas filling the room around him. Without his biological safety suit, he would already be dead.
Bishop’s eyes gloss over his monitor, roaming through file listings and video feeds accessed from the mainframe. He begins to pull files names and load them into a portable database—a 32 gigabyte jump drive that should hold what they will need. He lets the computer do its work, as he stands.
He looks out the lab windows toward the corridors branching out beyond. In the darkness, beyond the glass that is much tougher than merely bulletproof, Bishop watches as figures swirl and dance, shadows in motion. However, he knows this is only an illusion. Beyond the lab, bathed in deadly sarin gas, all of his former colleagues working in the Tombs—transformed into hideous, bloodthirsty monsters during the past few hours—are dying.
Weapon of Mass Destruction
Hu Takashi no longer knows what name he was given upon his birth. He does not remember the aspirations he held only days earlier. Hu is a predator seeking prey. He is a father of many children by the burning that churns in his veins.
He does not acknowledge day or night. At times his body requires rest, but not often. Always there is heat and pain coursing through him, calling him to taste the flesh that comes before him.
At times, Hu not only tastes them, he also consumes them. His body grows stronger, his mind sharper for the hunt. Mostly, he tastes, sampling them, leaving them with the gift that has changed him. He leaves them to blossom as children in this great and growing family.
The smell of moisture in the air draws him. His body thirsts at times for water. However, he sees instead another prey, a tasty thing. Hu springs upon it, but it tries to hide from him.
Hu grows enraged, shrieking in his anger, his fists flailing against the hard thing that keeps him from tasting his prey. His face is pressed against the cold and hard thing, yet he can still see the object of his desire. He is only enraged more. In his frustration to have his desire fulfilled, Hu smashes his face into the barrier over and over until it gives way.
Maggie Townsend screams in terror as the man beast runs down the hill after her. She tries to get to her car. London is no longer safe, and reports already claim these zombies, as some are calling them, have reached beyond the perimeter the military has set up to keep them reined in.
The car door is unlocked. Maggie wrenches it open and jumps inside, slamming the door closed again and locking it. She fumbles with her keys.
The nightmarish man leaps upon her car, jumping up and down, flailing his fists against the windshield in his desire to get to her and attack. She can tell very little about him—only that he is covered in layers of blood, some fresh and some old.
His dark hair is matted with filth. His face is lacerated, bearing so many cuts that his features are almost indistinguishable. Some of his teeth are missing, but that doesn’t stop him trying to bite at her.
Maggie screams and cries and prays. The keys just won’t go into the ignition. She fumbles and shakes and then finally manages to insert the right one. Maggie cranks the ignition, as the man climbs down to the door, pulling on the handle.
It doesn’t budge, and he grows even more enraged. His head smashes the widow repeatedly. Maggie throws the shifter into first. His forehea
d shatters the glass with the next blow. Maggie screams, flailing her arms, trying to beat him about the head.
Her foot slams on the gas and the man is knocked down by the window frame. Maggie doesn’t stop, she just drives as fast as she can. She still screams almost a mile away from where she left the zombie.
Blood pours down from cuts upon her arms and hands. She tried to beat his face, to get him to leave her alone. She cut and bruised her knuckles punching him in the mouth. His teeth lacerated her hands.
Maggie has to get out of London, out of England. She can’t handle this. She drives and drives. Her family lives abroad in America, but air traffic is suspended. However, ferries still depart Dover across the channel.
Her friend Katie lives in France. She’ll go there for awhile. She may never go back to England, not after all that has happened. Katie already told her to get out while she can.
“Come over on the ferries before they shut them down also,” Katie said hours before.
Maggie drives and drives. She is still crying when she reaches Dover. She isn’t the only one trying to get out of England. There are more people than she can count.
Cars are not allowed. Only people now because there are so many. Maggie leaves her car, taking the bag she packed after speaking with Katie.
She walks toward the harbor and the ferry docks. In time, after much waiting, she pays her fare and is allowed onboard. There are so many people leaving England now. Maggie is just glad to be one of them.
Watcher in the Night
You really come to appreciate life when you wake up each day and something hasn’t gnawed off part of your leg—Jonathan Parks
The orange jumper lies upon the floor in the young men’s clothing section of the department store. I now wear a comfortable pair of jeans and a dark blue, thermal, long sleeve shirt. I find a comfortable leather jacket also with an attached hood that he leaves down.
I locate a black toboggan and a pair of weight lifting gloves with the tips missing. This way, I can still use my trigger finger, while trying to protect my hands from bites. Even though I was bitten already, I have no desire to push his luck where these creatures are concerned.
Night is fully come, and I cruise the isles looking for supplies. My shopping cart is nearly full with sodas, bottled waters, and foods I can enjoy over the next few days without having to cook. I also have a stockpile of beef jerky I can take with me when I leaves.
I plan to remain here for the night and probably even tomorrow, but I can’t stay in the department store forever. Besides, I’ll probably be discovered by zombies and have to move fast at some point anyway. All I knows is I’ll have to be ready to move fast.
I find my way to the camping supply isle, locating glow sticks for emergencies and a couple of heavy duty metal flashlights. I place these in my bag with my extra ammo clips. Also, I locate a display case full of knives.
I selects some of the largest to take with me. I undo my leather belt and thread the knife sheaths on before putting it back into the loops of my jeans. I have a total of four blades now big enough to hack a man’s hand off, though that’s not exactly the idea. I just assume the bigger the better.
Adding to my cache of sharp things, I spot a hatchet and commandeer it. A machete, advertised as being already sharpened, is also added. However, I end up back in the clothing section to get another leather belt for these items, so I can strap them over my shoulder opposite my submachine gun.
The weapons add a lot of weight, but I can handle it. At a time like this, I’m glad for the unnatural strength I possess. Sometimes you don’t have to understand a thing to be glad for it, I think.
With my buggy in tow, I head back to my new nest in the manager’s office. I spotted it by the one way glass panes situated on a second story block at the front of the store. I make my way to the stair leading up to the office and begin my climb.
The weight of my weapons pull me down, but I feel better having them. When I reach the top, I find the door unlocked. I step inside and find the room spacious with a desk near the broad windows to overlook the store. At least, if something does get in, I can see it out there roaming around.
I make several trips from my shopping cart to the office. Fortunately, the manager kept a refrigerator in his office, and the space has its own bathroom. No shower, but I didn’t expect one anyway.
I load my drinks inside the refrigerator, leaving a few waters in my knapsack in case I’m forced to run. Then I go back for some cold items like ice cream and chilled peeled shrimp containers that are pre-cooked and ready to eat. These I enjoy, while perusing the news on the office computer.
As mentioned by the Russian agent, Nesky, London, and all England with her, is in turmoil tonight. Hideous fiends prowl neighborhoods throughout the city, seeking victims. Those who are left alive, are transformed—sometimes within an hour of the attacks.
I can hardly believe what has happened. It’s utterly overwhelming, and I have no idea what to do. After all, I’m only fifteen going on sixteen. I never expected to witness the end of the world. I certainly never thought I would be the cause of it.
A man—a watcher—stands in the parking lot of a department superstore in Lambeth, London, England. He no longer wears his finely crafted suit and tie. He no longer wears polished shoes, or his bowler hat. These items are impractical now in London.
He does, however, still carry his ebony walking stick with a silver lion’s head knob. This item is quite important and rare. It is always practical to have.
The man wears more ordinary clothing, suited for comfort and everyday use. He has an overcoat resembling a duster though it is not one. His dark and graying hair is adorned with a fedora that is nicely worn in.
He watches the department store. More precisely, the man keeps his eye on the young man inside. He is important, not only to the man but to the world now.
Noises filter to him from the surrounding city and the air above. Helicopters travel the skies, patrolling and shooting at the dangerous creatures that have risen recently. Unfortunately, these efforts are very weak in their effectiveness. The battle here is already lost. Some people just don’t realize it, yet. However, they will.
A group of three creatures notices the watcher where he waits in the parking lot some distance away from the half-lit building. They know the shape of prey, and they see the glinting of the street lamps from the silver lion’s head. The movement, as he turns his head to them, excites their hunger.
The group of infected zombies charges the watcher. They move unnaturally fast. The man has seen these attributes before in others. Still, he does not scream, or panic. He does not run away.
When the creatures finally reach him, the watcher is gone. Only a trailing swathe of mist remains, evaporating in the air to signal his passing. The creatures appear confused, but the burning desire to feed and spread their disease won’t let them linger long. They move on, hungrily, as though the man was never there at all.
CRISIS: CRISIS SEQUENCE BOOK TWO
COMING SUMMER 2014
RAGE: CRISIS SEQUENCE AUDIOBOOK
COMING TO AUDIBLE / AMAZON / ITUNES
Table of Contents
AUDIO BOOKS BY JAMES SOMERS ON AUDIBLE
MORE TITLES ON THE WAY
Prologue: A Watcher in the Night
Death on Two Legs
From Russia with Love
Riding the Tubes
Essence of Folly
Agony and Awakening
Flight of the Valkyrie
Action and Consequence
Natural History
An Inconvenient Truth
Waking to Terror
Jurassic Park
Combing the Ruins
Particular Peculiarities
Nightmares and Dreamscapes
Friend or Foe
Penchant for Pain
Patient Zero
Checkout Time
Lab Rats from a Sinking Ship
By Light of Day
/> Welcome to the Jungle
Tomb Raiders
Weapon of Mass Destruction
Watcher in the Night