“Marion.” With a firm grip to her and a slight jolt, the Captain vied for her attention. “What is going on? Calm down.”
Marion cried out. A bone chilling scream, followed by sobs.
“Greg, I’ll be back.” The Captain moved to the door.
“Do you want me to go?” Greg asked.
“No. I’ll see what the problem is. In the meantime, notify Berlin and alert them that we may have a situation.”
As the Captain began to leave, Marion dove for him, holding on, begging and sobbing ‘please don’t go back there’ repeatedly.
The Captain pulled her from him, pulled the cabin door closed and walked out.
Marion dropped to the floor.
Greg’s radioing to Berlin was mere background noise as Marion weakly reached up and locked the door.
The cockpit was safe and secure.
No one could get in there. They would be fine until they landed and that would be long.
Something told Marion that the Captain wouldn’t be back.
She was right.
<><><><>
They arrived at a small village just after dawn. Chickens danced about in the orange hue of morning, people moved, but not slowly. They radioed in to let command know their position. Jack’s patrol was on foot, a vehicle would meet them there.
The woods didn’t bring anymore incidents. That was good. Jack believed he did overreact and that, really, there was no way it extended into the village. Another animal could have eaten that goat.
“Spread out, knock on doors,” The platoon sergeant ordered. “Try your best to convey that we are looking for people who are ill.”
Jack nodded his agreement; he was paired off with Spc. Carlson. The village houses lined a dirt road; he and Carlson were instructed to start at the last one.
They had just happened upon the home when the door opened and an old woman, maybe eighty emerged. She dropped her bucket when she saw Jack and Carlson, started rambling fast and insidiously in her native language as she ran to them, grabbing them.
Her face tear streaked her arms dirty.
As Jack tried to speak with her, he noticed her arms. Dirt? Blood. “Ma’am? Slow down. What is wrong?”
The door opened again and another woman emerged. High in the air she held sickle by its broken handle. Middle aged, thin. Her eyes widened, she lowered the sickle and she genuinely looked relieved to see them. She hurried to the old woman, pulling her from Jack.
“Come,” the woman beckoned. “Come.” She waved her arm and led Jack and Carlson around the small house.
The woman stopped and merely extended her arm to what looked like a small chicken shack. “Husband.”
Jack asked. “Your husband is in there?”
She nodded. “Husband” She pointed with the sickle.
Jack glanced at Carlson and both men took a step.
The younger of the women, reached out, stopping Jack.
“What?” Jack asked. “We’re going to go check.”
She pointed to his rifle and reached for it.
Jack moved it from her way.
The woman pointed to the rifle, shook her head, then mimicked raising the gun.
“Um, Sarge,” Carlson said. “I think she’s telling us to raise our weapons.”
“I think you’re right.” Jack lifted his and motioned his head. “Let’s go.”
The shack was only twenty feet away, but it seemed like a mile. Arriving at the door, Jack signaled Carlson to stand back and then Jack sprang open the door.
Nothing.
They looked at each other, then with weapons raised walked in.
It was quiet and dark. Another step then out from no where, with an inhuman growl, rushed a man.
His snarled and raged for Jack and Carlson, snapping to a stop inches before reaching them.
Jack stepped back. The man had been restrained by chains, but he fought and struggled to reach and bite him.
His face, his wounds, his coloring. All the same.
Jack didn’t need to be a doctor to know, this man, in this remote village, was infected.
PART TWO
INTEGRATION
CHAPTER ONE
May 7th
Twenty Thousand Feet above Germany
The radio earpiece slipped from the Co-pilot’s fingers as he fumbled to get it in place. Fingers that trembled and were covered in blood. In fact, there wasn’t a part of Greg Harlow’s body that didn’t shake.
He had never been so scared in all of his life.
The plane was at twenty thousand feet. An altitude that would have to change, because soon he would need to prepare for his descent into Berlin.
But before Greg could land he had to radio in. And before he could do that, he had to get a grip.
Marion wasn’t helping. She was a veteran flight attendant who brought the situation to his and the pilot’s attention. Her hysterical screaming turned into continuous crying. What had happened? An out of the ordinary call from the tower sent Marion to the back of the plane in search of a high profile doctor who wasn’t supposed to be on board.
When she returned from her search, Marion was out of control.
Unable to decipher what had brought the usually calm woman to hysterics, the Captain went to investigate.
Greg didn’t have time to determine why Marion was bodily blocking the cockpit door or acting the way she did. He wanted to radio Berlin about the passenger, but a call from the Captain halted that.
“Greg, we have a situation. You need to . . .”
That was it. The only words the Captain spoke. The call from the rear of the plane ended.
Greg had to find out what was going on.
No sooner had he reached for the cockpit door in an attempt to unlock it, Marion flung herself at him, begging Greg not to go. In his mind, what could possibly be so wrong? Did this passenger get out of control? If this ‘Dr. Hans Riesman’ was violent, then Greg figured he’d be best to go back there. After all, he was a big guy.
After saying, “Good God, woman, what is wrong with you?” he pushed her aside.
The second he opened the cockpit door he heard the yelling, screaming and crying. He honestly debated on whether to turn back around, but Marion slammed the cockpit door.
He had to move ahead.
From the cockpit to the passenger section was short. One or two slow steps into his journey he could see commotion. Just as he reached the passenger area, a woman sprung into his view. Her face was desperate, her voice graveled with fear. “Help me,” she said to him.
Greg didn’t get to register the plea before she was yanked from sight. Blood shot outward describing an arch over the open doorway.
She must have gathered some strength, because her bloodied hand gripped Greg and in one final plea, she cried out for help again.
Greg tried. He did. However, he didn’t realize he engaged in a tug of war. The moment he pulled her, a man with pasty white skin and eyes of death snarled at him, widened his mouth, and lunged his teeth into the woman while pulling her toward himself.
When that happened, the passenger area came into complete focus.
It was deadly pandemonium.
People ran, screamed, and fought. Blood smeared the walls, windows.
They attacked one another. As if his eyes were a camera, they automatically zoomed to the back.
The Captain.
He could still see the tendons from the Captain’s neck dangling like spaghetti in the mouth of a young boy who hovered protectively over the Captain’s dead body, like a lioness devouring her prey.
Twenty seconds. That was all Greg was in that hallway … maybe. But it seemed like forever.
When he whispered out a ‘Dear God’, he was spotted, and three or four of the passengers who had turned into madmen, raged toward him.
Greg turned and bolted.
Locked.
“Marion! Let me in. Please.”
He pounded on the door, all while peering over his s
houlder. “Please.”
They were at the edge of the short hall; they fought against each other to squeeze through.
“Marion! For the love of God!” His hand slammed against the door.
One man emerged victoriously in the struggle to gain access to that hall and to Greg. He was younger, twenty maybe, wearing a New York Islander Hockey Jersey that was soaked with fresh blood. He leapt into the hall, free from the other two, and paused, almost tauntingly before Greg. Arms extended, he opened his mouth rolling his head side to back to side before snapping his view straight at Greg and growling like a demon.
Greg pounded frantically at the door and the young man charged.
Marion opened the door just enough, Greg edged through, locking it just as something ‘slammed’ loudly against it from the other side.
The banging continued, growing louder and with intensity.
Greg didn’t say anything to Marion, he just resumed his seat and grabbed for the radio. Three or four tries later, he succeeded in putting it on and was ready to radio Berlin.
“What are you doing?” Marion asked.
“I’m calling for help and getting permission to land.”
“We’re supposed to be landing already. Just get the normal clearance.”
“Are you joking?” Greg snapped. “You saw what’s happening back there. Dear God, what caused that? ”
“I don’t know, but you can’t tell them.”
“What?” Greg laughed in disbelief. “I have to.”
“No.” Marion beckoned. “If you tell them about this, they’ll never let us land.”
“That’s preposterous.”
“Think about it.” Marion cringed with the bangs and groans outside the cockpit. “We don’t know what caused it. But I know for sure they were looking for that doctor. He had to have something. They know it. They’ll shoot us down. Please, I beg you, don’t tell them very much. Give you and me a chance to live.”
Greg didn’t have much time to make his decision. He had to radio in for clearance and about Dr. Riesman. He took a brief moment to figure out what he was going to do. Then he picked up the radio.
<><><><>
Berlin Brandenburg International Airport had many air traffic controllers on duty that evening. The one in particular, communicating with Flight 76 wasn’t really given any information other than to convey back to authorities the status of the flight, the status of the wayward passenger.
He didn’t have any idea why they wanted to find this doctor. Maybe, he was some sort of guru or medical miracle worker. In any event, the ATC received an update transmission from Flight 76.
Passenger found and moved. The search for the passenger caused some sort of ruckus and the Captain bumped his head, leaving the co-pilot in charge.
The Air Traffic Controller replayed the information. Authorities were called to arrest and detain the few passengers on board who were engaging in a fight, and emergency medical personnel were requested for the Captain.
Berlin officials, irritated, transferred the information regarding the doctor, stating they’d detain him at the airport.
That was all that was needed to be reported to the Americans.
Flight 76 was cleared for landing.
<><><><>
As a doctor, he knew better. Yet, Saul Klein took another dose of Ibuprofen to battle that headache that seemed to be conquering his being.
Without a doubt, it was stress related. Being the director of the Centers for Disease Control had its prestige, but it had its moments, as well. Saul was experiencing one of those moments.
It wasn’t a moment that would easily pass.
En route back to the United States, Saul brought with him what he believed to be the most brutal virus ever to infect a human being. The samples of the contagion lay within the cells of the victims secured in the back of the plane.
Delivered via a rock from the sky that landed near a small village in Peru, the virus infected the villagers then turned them into something unimaginable.
It regenerated their corpses, making them mindless, murderous beings. Contagious beings that spread the incurable mystery virus through the simplest of bites.
It was something that had to be stopped. It spread too fast.
He hoped to get more samples, not just from victims either. Captain Steven Long, a virologist traveling back to the states with Saul, told him he had soil samples from the impact site.
While both Long and Saul agreed that it could be a fatal error to bring the infectious disease to the United States, it was something that had to be done.
Sophisticated lab equipment wasn’t found in a makeshift field unit in the middle of Nowhere Peru.
Saul held on to hopes that a ground zero specimen could lead them to isolating the virus, which in turn, would lead to a cure … hopefully.
A least one thing was removed from his mind, the worrying about Dr. Hans Riesman. The call from Colonel Manning at the Peru site was reassuring. Riesman had been found on the plane and everything was fine.
Saul had visions of Riesman on that plane. He was fearful that Riesman was infected and the ramifications of that infection reared its head on that flight. His horrific daydreams would have been considered nightmares had Saul not been awake when he experienced them.
But the Riesman situation could be put to rest. Saul didn’t have to worry about that.
He would, however, have a firm talk with Riesman once he got him on the phone. Saul planned on slamming him for being so irresponsible. He had his speech ready to deliver.
Little did Saul know that his reading the riot act to Riesman would never happen.
CHAPTER TWO
May 7th
Carancus, Puno, Peru
Something didn’t ring right to him. Colonel Manning had an uneasy feeling in regards to the phone call from Berlin.
Dr. Riesman left without notice, without telling a soul. He took the first flight he could. Something was up. Scared perhaps, but fear wouldn’t send him running like a fugitive trying not to be discovered. Only one thing would: If Dr. Riesman was infected. He indeed would know the outcome of the virus, and that alone would make him want to hide. Yet, Berlin airport stated all was fine and they would detain Dr. Riesman upon landing.
Despite the fact that Colonel Manning was informed of this, a part of him felt truth was being withheld.
For as much as he ran the scenario of an outbreak on a plane through his mind, for as much as he wanted to call Saul again and see if there was a way they could double-check the report . . . he didn’t.
Colonel Manning had other things to contend with. One of those things being the newest orders from health officials and the state department. Clean sweep ground zero and all surrounding areas of the infected; move and detain those not showing any signs of the virus; then pack up and move out. A ‘fire hole’ order was given for a fifteen mile radius. When that was done, not even an insect would be alive to spread the virus.
That was one order, one proverbial button Colonel Manning had no problem endorsing.
The immediate area was clean. The last of the moans stopped. The gunfire went from rapid to slow, sounding more like the end of popping corn than the extermination of over four hundred infected men, women and children.
His last radio call from within the perimeter delivered an ‘all clear’. Colonel Manning and staff began to pack up, but they wouldn’t leave. Not yet. Not until they heard from the Special Force groups that were out in the surrounding villages.
He hadn’t heard from them yet. Colonel Manning hoped that he wouldn’t. No news was good news, and that meant the virus was confined to the perimeter only.
He stared at his phone. It had been twenty minutes since he spoke to Berlin. The plane was set to land and Manning debated on whether or not he should call again. Just as he made the decision to do so, a knock came at his make shift office door.
Clearing his throat, Colonel Manning turned around. “Yes, son.”
He was
a Corpsman with the Marines; he stepped forward and handed a folder to Manning. “We have three more, sedated and prepared for flight to the United States, per Captain Long’s request.”
“Just three. That’s better than we estimated.” Colonel Manning took the folder and looked at it.
“I know they needed more than that, possibly earlier stages, but we were efficient with the extermination.” The Corpsman gave a partial smile, almost arrogant.
“Unlike the movies.”
“I never doubted for a moment that we’d do better in this situation than the movies depicted the military. Wouldn’t make for good fiction if the undead were annihilated before their numbers could grow.”
“True.” Colonel Manning reviewed the contents of the folder. “Pretty minor injuries, I see.”
“Yes,” the Corpsman replied. “Hopefully, with the sedation, we bought our scientists some time to exam them before these victims succumb. But, this is unpredictable. They can turn in an instant. For that, we have an armed soldier watching them during the flight.”
The flight.
Manning’s thoughts, once again, went to the Berlin flight. He would, without a doubt, make another call. Even for his own peace of mind. However, total peace of mind would come when his men had returned from the field and the entire area surrounding Carancus was ‘fire holed’ and cleansed.
Colonel Manning had been on many battlefields in his life time, but this particular one frightened him like no other had ever done.
It was the start of a nightmarish war that he prayed would end just as quickly as it began.
<><><><>
An infantryman for his entire adult life, Sergeant Jack Edwards had known death. He had seen it, touched it and smelled it. But never in his entire life had he encountered such a foul odor as that which came from the mouth of the creature before him.
Its mouth was wide, biting air, snarling with each futile attempt to get Jack and his team member, Specialist Carlson.
The chains that held him strained to the limits with each violent move of the undead man.
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