Land of the Dead (Book 1): Infected

by Campbell, Cian

  “What do they want?”

  “This one is asking me to open up my door.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “I’m going to drive.” With that, Dillon put a little pressure on the gas and started to push his way through the crowd at about five or six miles per hour. Some of the youths scrambled, the kid with the hatchet smacked it against the bullet proof window of the rear driver side, creating a small spider web in the glass. One kid rolled a bit over the hood.

  Dillon pressed the petal a bit harder, and the vehicle moved up to about ten miles per hour. The rest of the kids scattered as one through a Molotov cocktail. This one was glass, and broke on the front windshield. Dillon kept driving, turning the windshield wipers on to keep the flame down as they proceeded through the circle and picked up speed on the way to the safety of the 611 complex. He honked twice and the local guard opened the gate and let him through without a search. Outside, he could hear the police firing at least one AK-47, hopefully in the air. Dillon was happy to see the gardener, and drove right up to him. The gardener took the hint and sprayed the vehicle with a nearby hose, putting out what was left of the fire on his hood. Dillon took a deep breath before pulling the key out of the ignition. He looked over at Doc, who was near panic.

  “Well, here we are, safe and sound. Let’s get started on the inoculations, shall we?” Dillon knew that the surefire cure for panic was doing something, anything, that you knew how to do well. It gave you a sense of control over the situation.

  “Wow.” was Doc’s only response.

  “Yeah, let’s get those vaccines out and then I’ll go door to door with you and use it as an excuse to make sure everyone has bottled water and MREs.”

  MREs, or Meals, Ready to Eat, were the standard fare of a soldier or marine out in the field. They were 2400 calories of mediocrity in a plastic wrapper, though there were some gems to be found, like skittles and fruit cobbler. Every Embassy employee was provided with one week per family member and was directed to keep a stock of bottled water on hand. With as bad as the local drinking water was, the bottled water was never a problem.

  Doc managed to vaccinate the first floor in a little over an hour, with the second floor taking even less time. Dillon would chat up the nervous foreign service officers and answer what questions he could about the security situation and the evacuation procedures. The biggest complaint he received was that they weren’t going to be able to take more than one bag each on the transport.

  “Who’s next?”

  “Johnson Family, unit 302.”

  “Johnson from political or Johnson from consular?”

  “Political. Johnson from consular lives in Zamalek.”

  “Yeah, that’s right.”

  Johnson from political was a grumpy loner, a fifty-five year old divorcee with estranged kids that seemed retired in place. Dillon didn’t like the man very much, but had interaction with him so infrequently that it hardly mattered.

  Doc knocked on the door. There was no response.

  “Is he up at the Embassy?” asked Doc.

  “No. Bryce would have known about it if he was.”

  “Can you unlock it for me?”

  “Sure, we can do a quick health and welfare inspection to make sure he’s alright.”

  It took a second to find the right key. As Dillon opened the door, they were both assaulted by the overwhelming aroma of death.

  “Damn, this isn’t good.” said Doc, who rushed through the door.

  A second later something lunged at Doc from around the kitchen island of the small apartment. Everything seemed to slow down for Dillon, as it often did in these kind of situations. He saw Doc starting to turn as the creature, it HAD to be Johnson, lunged at him. Dillon stepped forward and pushed Johnson, altering his trajectory and sending him into the wall in front of Doc.

  “Get behind me.” Dillon screamed as he tried to step between Doc and the obviously infected Mr. Johnson. Doc seemed to need no further encouragement, and he raced out of the door as Johnson quickly rose to his feet. He looked very sick, and he looked very angry as he growled and lunged for Dillon. Dillon managed to get his forearm up under Johnson’s neck as he snapped his teeth at him and grabbed at his arms, then he performed a textbook hip throw and sent Mr. Johnson spilling over the back of the couch and into the coffee table with the sound of at least one snapping bone.

  “Jesus. He came right at me, Doc. Doc?”

  Johnson was already getting up, despite the odds. It was crazy. He had obviously broken a couple of ribs and it looked like his left arm as well. He quickly gained his feet like he wasn’t even injured. Dillon stepped back as he pulled his USP and leveled it at Johnson.

  “Stop.”

  Johnson didn’t. As Johnson scrambled to get over the couch Dillon backed up to the wall. He had nowhere to go. Johnson lunged and Dillon fired twice, striking Johnson in the sternum twice. Johnson bowled into him, pressing him against the wall as he slumped to Dillon’s feet. Dillon quickly stepped out and to the right, keeping his weapon aimed at Johnson.

  Johnson didn’t stir.

  Dillon holstered his pistol, then ran his hands through his hair. Oh fuck, the thought, I just killed this guy. Then, he bent down to check Johnson for a pulse.

  “Don’t touch him.” Doc said, “He’s infected. Let’s get out of here, we’ll shut the door and I’ll post a note on it putting it under quarantine. You need to get out of those clothes and get in a shower immediately.”

  At that moment, Dillon wanted to do exactly as Doc advised. This was Doc’s realm of expertise. The small crowd forming outside told him that it wasn’t going to be that easy.

  Dillon had killed before, at distance and up close. It was part of being an operator with an operational detachment. He had never, however, killed someone he knew. He had never expected to have to take out a man whose only crime was being infected. It was a bit of a shock, to be sure. Dillon saw the crowd forming and took a few deep breaths.

  “Everyone, I need to know if anyone here has not been seen outside of their apartment for the last few days. They may be sick, and if they are sick, they are violent. There is no cure. We need to avoid opening their doors under all circumstances. Mr. Johnson was infected, and he attacked me. I had to….I had to kill him.”

  There was a murmur from the crowd and someone started bawling. It was Jane Talbot, Greg Talbot’s wife. Talbot was the Defense Attache, a Captain in the Army with an infantry background and a ranger tab on his uniform. Talbot was currently comforting his wife, but looking at Dillon as if to say – do you need me to help.

  “Talbot, I need to get a shower. I can do that in one of the empty units. Can you get everyone back inside and call every single remaining unit in this apartment complex? If they don’t answer, we don’t go in and we put a note on the door that says quarantine. Can you do that?”

  “Sure, Mr. Shay.”

  “Call me Dillon.”

  “Sure, Dillon. Okay everyone, let’s get back to our apartments. Shirley, you’re a floor warden, right? Bring the emergency contact list to my apartment. That will be our command post. Dillon, unit 304 is empty right now, Paul Bigsby is on vacation. Use his shower.”

  Dillon headed for unit 304 knowing that Talbot would put things into good order.

  Dillon took a very long, very hot shower. Afterward, he scrounged through the dressers and closet for something to wear. Paul Bigsby wasn’t coming back for this stuff, to be sure. Dillon also found that Paul wasn’t exactly his size. In the end, Dillon settled for a pair of very loose jeans and an extra-large safari-style shirt. Doc was waiting for him in the living room.

  “You done already, Doc?”

  “Yes. Captain Talbot did a great job of organizing everything. I called ahead and asked Hannah to do the same thing at the 505 complex. They should be ready for us by the time we get there. I didn’t tell her what happened, by the way. I thought you would want to tell her yourself.”

  “I will, once we g
et back to the 505.” Dillon pulled his magazine from his pistol and inserted a full one, just to be sure. “Okay, let me call Bryce and explain what happened. I’ll be out in a minute.”

  Bryce was not surprised.

  “Dillon, this sort of thing is happening all over the U.S. The government and the military are overwhelmed. They’re talking about safe zones and quarantining entire cities, though they don’t seem to have the manpower to enforce it. From what I’m reading on my classified email, they’re moving people to the big shelters, and using what islands they can to shelter as much of the uninfected population as they think the islands will hold. It’s bad. Shit, I had to kill one of the guards that showed up sick and attacked two others. By the time I took him down, the other two were infected, so I had to lock them out of the Embassy.”

  “It spread that fast?”

  “It spread very fast once they were bitten. Dillon, were you bitten?”

  Dillon had checked himself over at least three times for cuts, scratches and bites. He had been lucky.

  “No. No bites or scratches, and Hannah gave me the vaccine yesterday.”

  “About the vaccine…Dillon…it seems that the vaccine causes rapid onset of the virus in a small percentage of the population.”

  “What percentage and how rapid?”

  “The email said a couple of hours, four at the top end. Roughly two or three percent. Dillon, be careful.”

  “I will be. Shit. Bryce, I have to go.”

  “Keep your head down.”

  “You too.”

  Dillon caught up to Doc down by the vehicle and opened his trunk. There, in the lock box, was an M-4 with a holographic site. He grabbed the weapon, and his six spare magazines,. “Doc, we need to give this to Talbot.”

  “Is there a threat against the compound?”

  “There might be a threat INSIDE the compound.”

  “We didn’t have any more reported cases.”

  “Bryce told me that there’s an email on the classified system that said that two or three percent of people receiving the vaccine catch the virus within four hours.”

  “Shit.”

  “Yeah, that’s what I said.”

  With that said, Dillon moved as fast as he could to the parking lot and headed back upstairs to Talbot’s apartment.

  Talbot was sitting at the kitchen table with his cell phone in hand. “The cellular network is down.”

  “Could be a system failure, or the government might have shut them all down to curb the organization of protesters.” They had done that during the last revolutions, too.

  “I assume the M-4 is for me.”

  “Yes, it certainly is. Have everyone stay in their apartments for the next…four hours. Does that sound right, Doc?”

  “Let’s assume six hours to be safe.”

  “What if people try to leave?”

  “Keep your rifle handy and tell them it’s dangerous outside. If that doesn’t work, tell them that I’ve authorized you to shoot them if they don’t immediately go back in their apartment.”

  “Shit, really?”

  “I know. I just found out from Bryce that three percent of people receiving the vaccination get the virus within four hours.”

  “What if I get the virus?”

  “Well, you’ll be the only one outside of your apartment for the next six hours, so Jane will be safe.”

  “And if someone gets sick in one of the other units? What about their family?”

  “Shit, Talbot, I don’t know. This is the best we can do right now, okay? Just do it.”

  Talbot looked a little angry at Dillon’s outburst, but he was a Captain, and as used to following orders as he was accustomed to giving them. “Okay. It makes sense. After six hours I’ll knock on the door and talk to Jane to make sure we’re both okay. Then, I’ll initiate the phone tree again and clear everyone. If anyone is sick, I’ll print a quarantine sign and tape it to their door.”

  “Alright. And Talbot, I’m sorry about this. I know it sucks to be put in this situation, but we’re in it now and we have to do what we can to make sure as many people survive as possible.”

  “Triage, pure and simple.” said Doc.

  “Yeah, triage.” Talbot said, as if repeating it back would make him believe it.

  Dillon and Doc hopped into the Suburban. Dillon looked at the gas gauge, and was happy that he had filled the tank earlier in the week. Gas was subsidized by the government, and typically cost about sixty cents a gallon. Even with the world in a panic, Dillon had filled the tank for less than thirty dollars.

  It was only about two blocks to the 505 Complex. It was a surreal trip. There were people running around in the street, some youth seemed to be throwing rocks to break windows and taunting or mugging any locals that passed by. One checkpoint, thankfully down a side street, was having an armed standoff between locals and police. They arrived soon enough, though there were no police outside and no guard opened the door in response to their repeated honking of the Suburban’s horn. In the end, Dillon called Rick, who lived on the first floor, and Rick ran out to unlatch the gate and roll it open, shutting it behind them.

  “Well, looks like the guard skipped.” Rick said, huffing a little.

  “Really, Rick? What gave you that idea.” Dillon said with a smile.

  “Are we still doing lunch, asshole?” said Rick, joking.

  “Yeah, Doc, why don’t you come get a bite to eat as well. I’m sure Hannah cooked enough, and my apartment is going to be the command post for the 505 anyway.”

  “Okay….just let me grab my bag and the cooler.”

  “Rick, do you know how to handle a firearm?”

  “A bit. I come from a family of cops and firefighters, right?”

  “Good, I’ll need to give you one when we get upstairs.”

  “Okay. Can’t wait. I’m starving.”

  Rick pushed the elevator button. All hell broke loose.

  Osman, the gardener, was in the elevator with one of the guards. Was it Muhammad, or Mohamed, or Mahmud? It didn’t matter. Osman was infected, and had savaged and infected the guard. There was blood everywhere, and the guard was sitting in the corner where he had been attacked. Osman was standing over him until the door opened. Only now he was turning his gaze towards Rick with a growl. Dillon wasn’t taking any chances.

  He drew and fired three rounds in the time it took Rick to backpedal a few steps. All three rounds impacted in the upper torso of the guard, most likely destroying the heart and lungs. The guard slumped in an instant, which further slowed Osman’s attempt to stand.

  Osman had bites on his forearm, shoulder, and cheek. It looked like his pinkie finger had been bitten off as well. As Osman rose, Dillon aimed his shot and squeezed the trigger. The nine millimeter hollow point bullet entered Osman’s skull directly under the right eye and instantly mushroomed, creating a whole in the back of the skull that was at least three inches in circumference. Osman’s knees gave way as the base of his spine was severed, falling in a heap.

  “Fuck! What the fuck!”

  Dillon stepped back from the elevator and scanned left, right and behind, ignoring Rick’s shocked string of profanity long enough to make damned sure there weren’t more coming. A few seconds later, he lowered his weapon to the “low ready,” still ready to fight if need be.

  “Osman was infected. He must have chased the guard into the elevator and attacked him before he could press a floor button. Good thing, too, or these guys would have been loose on another floor. As it turned out, they were trapped in the elevator.”

  “It’s like they didn’t remember how to operate the elevator. I mean, they didn’t even know how to push a button. And did you see how they were just…there? The gardener was still sitting right where he had been infected, and the other one was standing over him. I think they might enter some form of stasis, like hibernation, if they don’t have any stimuli to react to.” said Doc, obviously more comfortable dealing with this as a scientific exerci
se.

  “Yeah,” said Rick, “but…fuck!”

  “Fuck is right, Rick. This is why you’re going to need a gun. Well, it’s one of the reasons. Grab the keys off of the guard’s belt so I can lock this elevator down.”

  Despite his shock, or perhaps because of it, Rick was able to step into the bloody elevator and gingerly take the key chain off of the guard’s belt.

  “Good. Now I need you to wait until the door closes and then you can insert the key and turn it clockwise.”

  “I’ve locked and unlocked elevators before, Dillon. I was a firefighter, remember?”

  Dillon chuckled to himself. “Yeah, you’ve got this.”

  Dillon pushed the elevator button again once the first elevator was locked. Then, he stepped back and held his weapon at the ready in case the second elevator held more surprises for them. Doc and Rick instinctively stepped away and to the rear of Dillon. The elevator seemed to take forever to make it from the fourth floor to the ground, and the ding that heralded its arrival made Dillon jump a little. The elevator, however, was empty. Slowly, they moved into the elevator and pushed the button for the third floor. Dillon cleared the space immediately outside of the elevator once they reached the third floor. Then he stepped to the door and quickly cleared left and right before stepping out to clear the long hallway in both directions.

  “Clear.” Dillon immediately shifted to the low ready and began moving carefully towards his apartment door.

  “Um, okay.” Doc said, strolling out of the elevator without a care in the world. Dillon could only sigh at his friend’s complete lack of training or perspective.

  Dillon paused at the door and realized someone had to take up over watch, so he pivoted and directed his weapon away from the door, scanning for more infected. Doc knocked on the door.

  “Hannah, it’s Doc. Can you let me in?”