by Evans, Mike
5:00 PM
The two doctors, McBelle and Jacobs, walked down the halls of the Center for Disease and Control. The checklist had become a mundane task but a process that still needed to be done on a daily basis. McBelle brushed her long brunette hair from her face. “Do you think they will ever cure the disease, Jacobs?”
Jacobs walked to the edge of the foot-thick glass containment cell; there was a row of fifty of them. Jacobs tapped on the divider. The Turned, who had been swaying in place waiting for a meal, twisted its neck in an impossible way and stared at young Doctor Jacobs with dead eyes, ready to decimate the man. It launched itself at the divider, alternating between its face and fists, smashing at it with everything that it had. The government had gone overkill on the cells. The video footage they had gathered over the previous months was more than enough to verify the fact that these monsters were more than sick individuals; they were hell’s fire running through the street.
The Turned was relentless in its pursuit to get the flesh it could smell through the glass. Jacobs pushed his glasses up on his nose, writing notes. “God, those things creep me out. They need to either cure them or kill them. I think they’re getting worse, actually.”
“How could those things get worse, Jacobs? Five months ago when they started turning the death row convicts, they wanted to rip your face off. Now five months later, they still want to rip you limb from limb.”
Jacobs, the ever smartass doctor, smiled and walked up next to the glass, tapping on it. The rage that the Turned had was never ending; its hot breath fogged up its side of the divider. It licked at the window with a blackened tongue. Jacobs pointed. “Their tongues, they are completely disgusting. But they haven’t eaten in months and look at him; they are still full of rage.”
McBelle stared down the row. The one before them had infuriated the rest of the patients. The pounding was consistent, and they could feel the vibrations from the group’s fight to free themselves and eat them. McBelle shuddered and said, “Let’s get back to the top level. This place creeps me out; there is no escape if they get loose.”
“If they get loose, I think Washington is screwed, not just the facility. We need to go upstairs anyway and check in with Erickson. He said something about trying a new vaccine. There was a general who was very impatient about the fact that there were little to no results. You know how the military is; they want it all, and they want it now. It’s now our fault that they can’t keep the Turned from breaking through their barriers. I mean, Christ, they have goddamn machine guns.”
“Do you really blame the general for being in a hurry? There is little they can do against those things. There is little chance of stopping them with bullets. They just keep coming and their soldiers aren’t trained well enough to be able to stay calm with those things charging at them. The only thing that seems to help is having armed citizens. They all have guns and they are keeping the Turned at bay, but they’re quickly losing. The countries who have firearm bans are much worse off than America.”
“Canada isn’t helping us at all. They’ve got very few people left; there aren’t any reports coming back at this point. They are more of a liability at this point. Mexico’s army is doing okay, but only because they put up the fence on the border.”
“How ironic is that? Really, now they are trying to keep us out.”
Jacobs said, “Yeah, but they are doing a hell of a lot better job about it than we did for them for years.”
“Yeah, but when someone actually cares and their lives depend on it, there is a damn good chance that they are going to put a little more effort into it than just a bunch of politicians complaining about such a thing.”
Jacobs looked at his watch. “Shit, we need to get to the testing lab or we are going to get reamed beyond belief.”
The two hurried to the elevators, swiping their badges. The two men guarding the doors with machine guns nodded to them. “Done with the freak show, doctors?”
Jacobs smiled, “No… just heading to the lab; we will be around these things all day long. Never a moment’s rest when you are busy saving the world.”
The guards laughed and one of them said, “Yeah, no rush. They’re just eating America with every minute that passes. You two take your time… maybe stop and get some coffee on the way.”
McBelle ignored them, trying to remain professional. “Don’t you know that we have twenty scientists working day and night, twenty-four hours around the clock, trying to cure these things? There is nothing that we aren’t doing and that we aren’t trying with chemicals to cure them. We are doing everything we can! Sorry you have to sit on your asses, holding guns. I’m sure that is about the most stressful thing in the world for you.”
The two men opened their mouths with smartass comments on their tongues and waited a moment, thinking it over. One held up the rifle saying, “Well, I think I have about thirty cures right here in this gun.”
Neither doctor responded, it was pointless. They were still hopeful that they could be cured. They thought science would cure the Turned, and they thought that they were just days away from a breakthrough. They waited until the doors shut and McBelle extend a firm middle finger toward the guards. “God, I hate those guys; they just want to kill everyone of them. It’d be so much easier if we just had the cure. We could gas all of them and make them change back into human form again.”
“You know how it is, McBelle, you either believe or you don’t. There is very little room left in the middle nowadays.” The doors parted and Jacobs threw her a wink, “Come on, let’s go change history.”
They walked out, nodding to a long line of armed guards going into the main medical lab. Inside the back of the lab were four patients who had been exposed to the gas and were currently past the point of being referred to as humans. They were fighting the restraints with everything they had but were unable to free themselves. They had been trying every type of injection that mankind had to give them, waiting but rewarded with no results.
A four-star general, General Nulty, was there presiding over the testing and research. He was pacing back and forth in the room, screaming in his normal rant but seemed to be worse than usual today. He, like the others who didn’t have a background in the field of science, could not comprehend the fact that it took time to develop drugs. The urgency of the matter made no difference to the amount of time it took to create. It was not a simple process, and they weren’t wasting time; they were trying to make sure a second outbreak did not happen, especially on the East or West Coasts. He stopped screaming at the director in charge of the team of scientists, Dr. Beyleu, and took in the two doctors who had just entered. He looked at his watch, his eyes saying, You are late, damn it. He yelled, “How’s the freak show, doctors?”
McBelle said, “Still freaky, general. Still in their cages and all accounted for. They aren’t any weaker though. It doesn’t seem to matter how long they go without food, they just stay insane with rage and hunger.”
The general nodded; he was fully in charge and had the means to do whatever he wanted to. He said, “Goddamn, it’s a shame we couldn’t get something like this for the boys on the ground. It seems there is something that none of you have done yet; that might be the best thing you could do at this point. You know, since we aren’t getting anywhere yet with what we have been trying to do. It isn’t as if there’s a lack of these freaks down there, right? It’s about time we get our hands a little dirty and maybe you can find something new.”
Dr. Beyleu shook his head, unsure what he was talking about. He hated to ask the man for answers when he was pretty sure there weren’t any. But if it was something that could put them on the right path, something they hadn’t been able to figure out, then he was damned if he was going to pass up on the opportunity to say he didn’t take every chance he could in curing the worst thing to hit the planet.
He rubbed at the bridge of his nose, taking his glasses off for a moment and said, “I’ll bite; what can we do that we haven’t al
ready tried? We have so many separate groups working, it’s only a matter of time until we…”
General Nulty walked to the edge of the room where the Turned patients were confined, being watched carefully by surveillance cameras. Every step towards progress they were attempting to make was being recorded and sent directly to the head of the CDC.
Nulty pulled his sidearm as he walked with purpose across the room to one of the four Turned who had been strapped down to the gurney. It was bound by its arms, waist, and legs with the thickest of leather straps. The general pulled his sidearm, aiming it at one and fired a round, followed by a second into the patient next to it. The other two Turned were screaming; the rage they were sending out was at levels that they had not yet seen. Jacobs pointed it out to Beyleu. “Sir, look at them; they are mad.”
“When aren’t they mad, Jacobs?”
McBelle said, “Yeah, but not like that. They don’t like seeing one of their own harmed. They understand, sir. You know what that means, right?”
“Enlighten me, Dr. McBelle.”
“They think, sir. They don’t just hunt in packs like those we saw on the video footage. They really look like they are thinking. That is bad.”
The doctor nodded, walking past her, looking at the two patients who the general had just taken out. The general stared at him, and when it didn’t come to him instantly, he slammed his hands down on the table next to them, making the instruments that were laid out bounce.
“For being the smartest man in the room, you sure aren’t too goddamn bright when the answers are looking you right in the face, are you? Pick up a scalpel, split this fucker in half, and see what is inside there. Maybe you can find something that we don’t already know about them. We haven’t had an autopsy on one yet, and it’s about time we do.”
Beyleu walked over, keeping his distance from the two still on the Gurneys and motioned for Jacobs and McBelle to join him. They all put on the rubber gloves and started a y-incision down its chest. They split it open; the stench that came up made them gag, coming close to losing what they’d recently eaten. They stared down seeing, that its lungs and intestines had blackened and that the heart was no longer pumping. McBelle gasped, “Oh my god! Do you know what this means?”
Beyleu opened his mouth to say something, but Nulty shot in, unable to stand the wait. “What? What the hell does it mean? God, you scientists take your sweet time. Spit it out!”
McBelle looked up, tears in her eyes slowly coming out. She tried to speak, but her lips only quivered. She pointed to the open incision directly at the heart. “The heart exploded. The drug that we gave them—the X-74—it keeps them alive even with the heart being in this condition. There is no cure, General Nulty. We are trying to cure those that aren’t curable. They can't be saved. We have been wasting our time.”
The general walked around the gurney, staring at the two remaining patients. “So the only thing we can do is kill them. Kill or be killed. The day just became much darker for America and its hope to keep her land safe. We need to make an announcement to the world. We have to let people know that the only hope they have lies within themselves.”
The Turned patient behind him was screaming relentlessly as it fought the restraints, unable to free itself. It stared at its arm for a moment. It held the restraint with one hand and pulled with everything it had. The general jumped when something wet and sticky hit the back of his neck. He put his hand back to wipe at it, looked down, and saw the blood. He started to speak, when he looked up at the shocked faces of the three doctors shaking their heads no and pointing behind him. The Turned was sitting up on the gurney, its arm ripped off brutally by its own strength. It leaned forward, ripping its hand off from its wrist, freeing its upper half completely. Nulty tried to back up, but the Turned reached forward, wrapping its one arm around the general’s neck and leaned in, ripping the flesh from his neck. His green dress uniform became soaked in blood. If the Turned was capable of smiling, it would have. The doctors screamed, running for the door to hit the emergency button. The general fell, twitching and shaking from the blood loss as it pooled around him on the floor.
The End
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Pat’s Story
By Shaun Phelps
“I have been all around my old home town
I have searched everywhere I know
I can't find any trace of my girl in this place
Now there's nothing to do but go”
Pat had just re-started one of his favorite Bluegrass songs, Midnight Train, as he turned the corner to E&T.Something about this song always seemed to soothe his soul, and Pat thanked the Gods for the hundredth time that his 8-Track player still worked.Bluegrass was one of the last untarnished memories Pat could still hold on to.Everything after 1964’s draft had turned the world from bright and full of opportunity to a competition between lifelessness and fear.
He pulled into the employee parking lot and turned off his car with a sigh.Pat was stuck working the weekend shift this beautiful Sunday morning.He usually preferred working morning shifts, and always enjoyed the opportunity to get out of his house; but this Sunday was different: Pat’s granddaughter, Christy, was playing at the volleyball tournament in Ames.The odds were against her, as a part of one of the smaller schools, but Pat hated missing an opportunity to see his granddaughter.She lived just far enough out of town, and was just involved enough in the exciting life of a teenager that she didn’t have much time to share with lonely grandparents.
Pat held down another sigh as he exited his car.Ultimately the chances of him talking to Christy were slim even if he did go.He’d be hidden in the back and he would barely see a glimpse of the game as the greedy hordes of parents snapped shots and vied for their children’s attention—directly behind the greedy hordes of teenagers holding signs and vying for their hopeful date’s attention.At least Pat wouldn’t be stuck at home watching TV show re-runs and eating stale pizza.The world could be worse.
When Pat entered the building he was immediately greeted by Chuck, a slightly older, but better kept, man.He was polite, yet abrupt.
“Hey Pat!Glad the traffic didn’t hold ‘ya!Been a slow night I tell ‘ya!Not a single peep except a couple lab nerds who are more married to their job than their night lives!Well, I’m all clocked out, I’ll see ‘ya in the evening!”Chuck left just as quickly as his deluge of conversation hit.This was nothing new, Chuck liked to spend his spare time at the gym, staying pumped and enjoying any view he could find.The earlier he got there the better chance he had of running into a young pretty girl he could do his pumps around.
Pat clocked in, checked the screens, and made sure the office was in order.Immaculate as ever. For any differences they may have had, Chuck and Pat were both men of order.They shared military experience, though for different reasons, and as a result had found a lot of common ground.Keeping a tidy shift was an easy way for both of them to show their mutual appreciation.
The first few hours passed without much activity.The large collection of screens monitored up and down hallways and labs.There was a little activity in one of the labs, Dr. Fox, he believed, but it was just his obnoxious assistant wandering around.Eventually the assistant settled on a couch and that removed any sort of interesting spying Pat expected to be doing for the shift.
One thing Pat learned early on in the job was that creepy lab assistants, if watched long enough, did some creepy things.No one talked about it.It was sort of a trade secret for security guard entertainment.As long as no one broke any laws it was just a quick chuckle or a slightly painful snort of soda out of the nose.
Pat was just getting relaxed as Dr. Fox entered the building.He had a weary look on his face.Pat had never built muc
h of a rapport with Dr. Fox, unlike Chuck.Dr. Fox was a military man, through and through.Much more a man tailored to Chuck’s taste than Pat’s.Pat and Fox exchanged nods and Pat returned to the monotony of staring at empty hallways.
Pat had just gotten into the rhythm of swiveling his chair to and fro when the phone rang.It was Dr. Fox.
“Is there an emergency?” Pat asked, not used to hearing from anyone on a Sunday, especially from Dr. Fox.
Fox requested emergency services to check on Rogers.Pat remembered watching Rogers lay down and looked at the screen.It was obvious Fox was trying to get a reaction from Rogers and it wasn’t happening.
“Give me just a minute,” Pat said, dialing the in-office health department.
Kiley, a fairly pleasant nurse answered the phone.They exchanged general pleasantries before Kiley accepted Pat’s transfer.
“He’s going to be a real killer,” Pat laughed and enjoyed a quick quip with Kiley before transferring the phone and going back to his swivel chair security patterns.
Pat’s frustrated musings were interrupted by an incoming truck.The truck driver, Ben, was a tolerable waste of space.Ben was a man of excess.He smoked too much, he ate too much, and his breath always seemed to suggest he was in the process of drinking too much as well.Regardless, Ben made for pleasant conversation and that helped break the monotony.
The break didn’t last long and the monotony quickly returned when Ben’s truck was loaded.Pat checked his phone, trying to understand how to flip through the screens on his T9 to see if his granddaughter had text messaged him yet.She had promised she would.At this point Pat wasn’t certain he’d know if she’d text messaged him or not.He held his hopes for a regular phone call.If he didn’t hear something soon he would call her.
For all the frustrations in dealing with modern technology and the flippancy of a teenager, Christy was a shining beacon of hope in Pat’s life.He lived vicariously through her successes, and he hoped very much she was enjoying a winning game right now.