Hour 23

by Robert Barnard

  “Him…I’m not so sure,” Dr. Merrill said. “On paper he seems clear. But we can’t know for sure. Run all the tests and keep him locked up for the next few hours. From what I understand, the crime scene was gruesome. It would be a miracle if he’s clean.”

  “Okay then,” Litchfield said. He waved a hand to the team behind him. “Give them the works.”

  Several nurses hopped onto the ambulance. “Each of you lie down, we’ve got it from here,” one announced. She pulled a clear plastic mouthpiece over the front of Min’s face.

  “What’s this about?” Min gasped.

  “Just relax,” the nurse said.

  Min tried to pull the mask from his face, but was too weak. His arms had already turned to rubber. Tingly waves rolled from his shoulders to his fingertips.

  Jim also attempted to protest, but the mask pulled over his face was pumping a steady flow of gas. He felt his hands go limp. His stretcher hit the pavement with a reverberating clank. Puffy, silvery clouds drifted above his face. He focused what remaining energy he had into shifting his head right, so that he could see his partner. Min was already being rushed off far ahead. His head returned to its natural resting position, and again he stared up into the sky. The sun was a dimly lit bulb hidden behind layers of murky clouds. Gradually, darkness crept in; just out of sight at first, until the sky above flickered and faded into black.

  Jim woke up to the steady hum and beep of a machine beside his head. He blinked a few times, desperate to focus on his fuzzy surroundings. Then, he tried to move his arms and legs. Nothing.

  Jim balled his hands into fists, let out a grunt, and again tried to pull up his arms. It was useless—both arms and legs were snugly strapped to the metal railings of his gurney.

  Free to move his head, he carefully studied the room around him. It wasn’t like any other time he had been in a hospital room. The walls were draped with thin, translucent sheets of plastic. In the outside hall, indiscernible bright lights and shadows moved back and forth; Jim was unable to see clearly through the layers of plastic. In the center of his room was a single fluorescent light shining down on him. There was no one else nearby.

  Jim took deep, steady breaths. A lifelong claustrophobe, he was quite displeased with his current situation. Pushing his head up, he could see a single tube snaking its way from a saline bag draped above him and into a vein in his left wrist. His uniform was gone, replaced by a paper nightgown that left him feeling chilled.

  The officer jerked in his confines once or twice before growing irritated. “Nurse!” The word came out hoarse and quiet. “Nurse!” He tried calling out over and over again. With each yell the word left his mouth stronger than the time before.

  After a moment, he heard a zipper from the front of the room open and close. A figure approached, outfitted head-to-toe in a yellow hazmat suit. To Jim, it felt like being in outer space; he was isolated in a strange, softly lit room, with what looked like an astronaut approaching him.

  “Hey there,” a small face said with a smile, the globe around it cartoonishly oversized in comparison to the head it covered.

  “Who are you?” Jim said hoarsely.

  “I’m Nurse Young, but you can call me Sherri.”

  “Sherri?”

  The face nodded under her giant hazmat helmet.

  “What the fuck is going on?” Jim asked bluntly.

  Sherri smiled. “You just came to, huh?”

  Jim’s bewildered face was enough of an answer.

  “Hang tight. I’ll have the doctor visit you.”

  Sherri disappeared to the back of the room, unzipped the tent-like flaps once more, and left. Not long after, another yellow space ranger appeared in the door way and approached Jim’s bedside.

  “Officer, how are you feeling?” the doctor asked, his voice somewhat muted by his suit. Still, it was vaguely recognizable.

  “And who the hell are you?” Jim asked.

  The figure went to pat his face before his hand whacked into Plexiglas. He had forgotten that he was wearing a hazmat helmet.

  “Forgive me, when we met earlier I had a paper face mask on. It’s me, Dr. Merrill. I suppose I have a different mask on now, but that’s the nature of the beast today.”

  Jim rolled his eyes. “I’m fine. What am I doing here?”

  “Please. Allow me to ask a few questions first, yes?”

  “I’m sick of your damn questions. Unstrap me.”

  Dr. Merrill prodded the inside of his cheek with his tongue. “Officer, please. Can you tell me your name?”

  “Jim. Whiteman.”

  “And how many fingers am I holding up?” The Doctor extended three yellow, gloved fingers.

  “Three. How many am I holding up?” Jim said.

  The doctor glanced down at Jim’s strapped wrist making an obscene gesture.

  Jim said, “Enough of the bullshit then?”

  Dr. Merrill pulled a wheeled office chair from a dark corner of the room and took a seat beside Jim’s gurney.

  “Where’s my partner?”

  “Your partner is doing just…fine. He’s one door down.”

  “I wanna’ see him.” Jim was trying to pound with his fist, but it was hopeless, his hand was strapped in too tight.

  “I understand your frustration officer, I do. But this is a very sensitive situation you’re involved in. I can’t have him come in here right now.”

  “Why not?” Jim said. Every muscle in his face tensed.

  “Please, officer, I’m unable to discuss my patient’s condition with you. What’s important is that by all accounts, you seem to be completely healthy.”

  “Then why am I strapped down like some animal?” Jim said.

  “It’s important that we keep you under close evaluation for the next few hours. We’re still waiting on several blood tests. Please, don’t be angry. This is a cause for celebration.” The doctor looked funny, sitting in his chair with his legs crossed in the obnoxious hazmat suit, speaking as if it was a normal visit with a patient.

  “I have to call my family…I have to let them know I’m all right. Where’s my phone?” Jim said.

  “Your belongings are in a separate wing of the hospital. They will be examined and then they will be put through a decontamination process. If needed.”

  “So is there anything that I can do while I’m stuck here?”

  Dr. Merrill narrowed his eyes. “You can rest. I’m sorry to say, but I spoke to your supervising sergeant earlier. Ingram, yes?”

  Jim nodded.

  “You’ve been mandated for the next shift.”

  “Are you fucking kidding me?” Jim said, before laughing sarcastically. “Did he mention that I was already finishing a sixteen hour shift before getting trapped here with you clowns? Where is that bastard?”

  “Your sergeant told me to tell you that he’ll swing by later to check on you. This is why it is extremely important that you rest as much as you can. I’m afraid that you will have a very busy day ahead of you.” Dr. Merrill’s voice turned grave and concerned.

  Jim said, “Please just tell me what’s going on.”

  Dr. Merrill stood up, wheeled his chair back to the corner of the room he got it from. “I didn’t want to explain this before we put you under; we really needed you to remain calm and cooperative. So, forgive my fairytale earlier about adrenaline. What you and your partner saw this morning, officer. It wasn’t a singular event. There is a virus spreading, and it’s spreading fast. We’re trying our best to understand it. It seems to have originated in New York. There have been a growing number of reports in Suffolk, Nassau, Queens. It’s came as far up north as Rockland, and now it’s here. In our own backyard. It’s causing ordinary folks to become violent and dangerous. Brutish. Cruel. Cannibalistic, even. And, it has an extremely high mortality rate.”

  Jim stared long and deep at the doctor and felt a ringing begin to resonate in his ears. “How high of a mortality rate?” he said.

  “Well.” The doctor rak
ed his mind. Throughout the morning he had answered that question countless times, but each time the answer never stopped sounding any less horrific or unbelievable. “One hundred.”

  Jim cocked his head.

  “One hundred percent mortality rate.”

  Jim tried to kick through his leg straps. The restraints clanged against the railing on the gurney. “I want to see my partner. I want to see him right now.”

  Dr. Merrill paced towards the zippered door at the front of the room. Before he left, he turned to Jim one last time. “Please, officer. Like I said. Get some rest, we’re going to need you at your best once you’re out of here.”

  The doctor stepped out of the plastic, becoming just another strange shadow in the hall outside.

  FIVE

  Chloe was the first thing Nolan saw when he opened his eyes. She was curled up and tucked into his chest, trembling, her head pressed firmly into his shoulder.

  At first, all Nolan could hear was the sound of his own heartbeat. Thum thum, thum thum, thum thum. Gradually, the heavy beating faded into a dull drumbeat, and as it did it was replaced by a high pitched tone that rang sharp and loud inside his skull. When the ringing finally subsided, all he could hear were screams.

  Nolan mumbled, “Chloe.” He shook the quivering mess before him by the shoulders. “Chloe, are you all right?”

  The cloud of stringy blonde hair in his face lifted until Chloe and he were practically nose-to-nose. Her hair was tangled and wild. Her bottom lip bled lightly from biting it too hard during the collision. Nolan examined Chloe’s face and trembling body carefully; other than the bleeding lip, she looked okay.

  Chloe took a deep breath. “I’m fine. I’m fine.” She studied Nolan’s face, noticing a small, bruised welt on his forehead.

  “I’m fine, too,” Nolan said.

  Students were filing out the back of the bus one after the other. One would jump from the rear exit ledge, hit the pavement and run, and then another would follow suit.

  The front end of the vehicle was hazy with smoke that had seeped in from the smoldering engine. When Nolan leaned forward he could see short bursts of orange flames. They nipped and crackled just beyond the shattered windshield.

  Ned was pinned between the steering wheel and the driver’s seat; the steering wheel had impaled him during the collision. Despite the cavernous hole in his chest, Ned writhed and howled. His arms flailed around in all directions, a radio handset still firmly in his clutch. By all accounts and observations that Nolan could make, Ned should have been dead: there were shards of windshield protruding from bleeding wounds in his face, a steering wheel that had pushed clean through his upper body, and his organs were strewn about the dashboard in front of him. And yet there Ned sat, convulsing; his face twisted in anguish while he chomped aimlessly at the air around him.

  Nolan’s fingers turned icy and he began to feel nauseous. Tunnel vision set in. He took three deep breaths and turned back to Chloe; he was certain that if he looked in the direction of Ned any longer he would become sick.

  Nolan held Chloe’s face and said, “We’re going to get off the bus now, okay?” Chloe looked too frightened to move. “Don’t look at anything.”

  An agonizing yell burst from the front of the bus.

  “What was that?” Chloe said. Her eyes were wet with tears.

  Nolan looked up and over the seat in front of him. Britney Miller had pinned David Kline, the source of the howl, against a window. Frantically, she tore at his shoulder with her teeth. Where Britney’s right arm should have been was nothing but a grisly, mangled stump.

  “It’s nothing,” Nolan said, after taking a gulp of air. “It’s nothing, but just—don’t look.”

  Chloe was shuddering.

  “Let’s go, you first. Stand up.” Nolan stood, helped Chloe to her feet, and kept her turned around towards the back of the bus as best he could. Most of the other students had already fled.

  Chloe jumped out of the back of the bus first. Her feet landed on the pavement with a soft thud. Nolan followed close behind.

  Free of the bus, Nolan saw his gym teacher, Coach Hysom, fast approaching the wrecked vehicle. A crowd of teachers and faculty had formed in front of the school, and the sound of sirens grew louder in the distance.

  “How many are in there?” Coach Hysom said, while he helped Nolan and Chloe away from the bus.

  “A few,” Nolan replied. “You have to stay away from them.”

  Coach Hysom gave Nolan a puzzled look.

  “I don’t—I don’t know how to explain it,” Nolan said. His face drooped with confusion. “They’re not themselves. They’re angry.”

  “All right. Both of you get inside.” Coach Hysom pointed to the front entrance of the high school and pulled himself aboard the bus through the rear emergency exit. Nolan walked Chloe towards the crowd of faculty waiting in front of the school.

  The cabin of the bus had filled with thick, dark layers of smoke. Coach had to pull the front of his polo shirt over his mouth to keep from inhaling it. The thought to wait for the sirens fast approaching in the distance never crossed his mind; in no time the bus would be swallowed by flames, and it was up to him to make sure any one left aboard made it out safely before help arrived.

  Through the smoke and shadows Coach could make out three figures near the front of the bus. He took each step carefully, holding the top of each seat for balance as he passed them. The smoke stung his eyes, making him squint.

  “Come on, follow me out the back,” Coach said. His bulky, rectangular glasses slid down his nose from the sweat forming on his face.

  None of the shadowy figures responded.

  “Come on,” he said, placing his hand on the shoulder of a figure. Quickly the figure turned and lunged at him through the haze, knocking him onto the floor. The figure fell with him, clawing and scratching as the two tumbled downward. Their faces practically touching, Coach could distinguish through the haze that the student who toppled into him was David Kline. David’s eyes darted around in their sockets, his mouth drooled, and there was an eerie wildness to his movements.

  “Get off me, David,” Coach grunted. He pushed upwards on the stocky boy. David ignored Coach’s plea and continued to moan and swing his arms, scratching Coach’s face with considerable force. Coach recoiled, holding a hand over his cheek where David had struck him. While holding his face, he could see a second figure materialize behind them in the smoke.

  It was Britney Miller, and she seemed almost overjoyed by David and Coach’s encounter. With her one remaining arm she alternated between slapping the seat beside her and tearing out clumps of her own hair, grinning and hopping in place as she did so.

  Coach panicked and kicked David off of him. The boy bowled backwards and knocked Britney down as he stumbled. There was a loud crack from the front of the bus, where the heat of the flames had become so intense it started to splinter the remaining pieces of windshield.

  With a grunt Coach jumped to his feet and dashed out the back of the bus. After landing on the ground, he turned behind him to watch as his attackers lurched closer and closer.

  Taking a deep breath of fresh air, Coach glanced to his left and to his right. Nolan, Chloe, and the rest of the students on the bus had been escorted inside.

  “I’m sorry,” Coach mouthed to Britney and David. He slammed the emergency exit door shut, locking them inside. He took a step back from the vehicle. Inside, the figures hissed from behind the rear window. They beat their heads wildly against the glass.

  In a matter of moments a blaze had enveloped the vehicle, swallowing it whole and without mercy. Britney caught fire first. With an expression of pure terror and rage on her face, she tore at her mouth, ripping pieces of her lip off. Not once did she break eye contact with Coach through the rear window. David dropped beside her, and for a moment Coach could hear him rattling the latch to the emergency exit door.

  The rattling stopped as flames engulfed nearly every inch of the bus. One by one
, the tires of the bus hissed and popped. Plumes of ashy smoke rose into the air.

  Coach Hysom dropped to the curb, exhausted, and watched the smoldering wreckage burn.

  “Forgive me.”

  He pulled the front of his polo shirt up to wipe the dirt and sweat from his face. When the cloth dropped back down, Coach noticed a splat of blood smeared across it.

  “My face,” he said, running his fingers over the swollen gash on his cheek.

  A caravan of emergency vehicles converged around the bus. Firemen quickly ran a hose into a nearby hydrant, then started to blast the bus with a powerful spray of water. A helicopter whirled directly overhead. Two figures in yellow hazmat suits leapt out of a boxy, black van and approached Coach Hysom where he sat.

  Nolan watched Coach from the tall, glass doors of Henderson High’s front entrance. The figures in yellow dragged his gym teacher from the curb and into the dark van they had emerged from. As soon as the doors shut, the black van sped off.

  “Why is this happening?” he asked.

  Chloe stood behind her friend, her hands on her hips. “I don’t know.”

  Principal Chaplik started to pace back and forth breathlessly behind Nolan and Chloe. The pudgy man loosened his tie and walked between the two high schoolers as an officer outside approached the front doors.

  “You two get to the nurse’s office,” Chaplik said.

  “Yeah, we’re fine, thanks for asking,” Chloe said.

  Nolan ignored his chubby principal and continued to look on despondently at the scene unfolding before them. “Where are they taking him?”

  “Hey,” Chaplik said, annoyed at having to repeat himself. “I want everyone that was on that bus in the nurse’s office. Now.”

  Chaplik opened the door for the fast approaching officer and let him inside. Chloe recognized him immediately.

  “Mr. Blankenship?” she asked.

  “Chloe,” the officer said, walking through the front doors. “How are you?”

  “I’m really not okay, but I’m okay. I’m not hurt, I mean. I just want to know—where’s my dad?”

  “In town, dealing with something. It’s, uh…it’s been a busy day, kid.”