The Pandemic Sequence (Book 1): The Tilian Virus

by Calen, Tom

  Paul ducked into the room, pausing for permission to intrude. With chin on hand, Mike signaled consent with the raise of his eyebrow and a deep inhalation.

  “You okay?” Paul asked as he crossed the room and occupied the chair to Mike’s left.

  “You should have known him when he was my student. That kid was so determined to make something of his life. Even when the virus hit, he still kept everyone going,” Mike said, his hand gently scratching the side of his face. “I wanted to save him from this. I should have pulled the trigger a second sooner, but I was weak. I was weak and now they’re both gone.”

  “It wasn’t weakness, Mike. And you can’t keep blaming yourself for that. Someone you knew for years was changing in front of you. You were in shock,” Paul said, trying to ease his friend’s guilt.

  “That shot, yeah. But, I knew that letting her live would destroy him,” Mike continued, his voice soft and confessional. “I knew it when he pleaded with me for her life...I knew he was just as lost to us as she was then. That was the shot I needed to have taken.”

  “No one would have taken that shot, Mike. I was there, remember? I could have pulled the trigger, too. It’s one thing to kill someone that’s transitioning, but no one can blame you, or me, for not killing someone that’s still healthy.”

  Mike shook his head as he spoke, “Don’t you see, though? It will happen again. What we set in motion by letting her live, letting her be chained in a tent while we wait for a cure that may never come, it’s all going to happen again. Someone will get bit, and someone’s going to plead for mercy for their loved one. What happens when this camp is filled with infected chained in tents?”

  “That’s not going to happen. That’s why we’re going to Cuba, Mike.”

  Mike laughed. “Cuba. Yeah, and what do you think is going to happen when we reach the coast and they see us bringing an infected along for the trip? Any place that has cleared itself of the virus has certainly had to have been more decisive than we’ve been. Once they see we have an infected with us, they’re either going to refuse us passage or simply shoot us down where we stand.”

  As Paul began to understand Mike’s reluctance to place all his faith in the supposed salvation of the southern island, the conversation drifted into a silence that stretched on into the night.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The infected coalesced from both directions as Mike Allard and the small group huddled with him continued empting round after round into the seething mass. His supply of ammunition was dwindling quickly, yet the numbers of infected seemed to multiply with alarming alacrity. The hall before him offered no opportunity for escape. Unable to turn around, Mike forced his memory to recall the large entry room, scanning the mental images for some means of egress. His mind’s eye passed quickly over the main doors, the thick glass windows, and the other doors of the room that led off to various hallways. Mike knew those exits were now impassable, having seen hordes of infected stumble through them moments earlier. His eyes drifted above him as an unlikely chance began to take shape in his mind.

  “Erik,” Mike shouted over the loud din. The second-year senior, with shotgun blasting, stood with his back to Mike.

  “Take down the ceiling above me!” Mike instructed, hoping the young man could hear him. In response, drywall and insulation rained down on Mike’s body. Two subsequent shots of Erik’s firearm had created a gaping hole in the ceiling above Mike, exposing the second floor.

  Understanding Mike’s intentions, Derrick quickly boosted Jenni—with Gazelle tucked under her arm—into the darkness above them. Her hands grasped onto the metal support beams that framed the building. One by one, those around him were pulled up by outstretched arms, leaving just Mike and Erik losing ground as they tried to hold back the infected pressing down upon them. The congestion of dead bodies had slowed the advance of the infected as they scrambled over the fallen. Those behind, however, faced no such barrier.

  “Go!” Mike ordered as he turned to hold back the infected in the entry room so Erik could escape. Once the young man reached the safety of the second floor, Mike stood ready to face the mortality that loomed darkly before him. Any attempt to climb up would allow the infected to charge unhindered, their predatory hands surely strong enough to pull him back down. The decreasing weight of his weapons indicated that the last remaining bullets were soon to be fired.

  “Mr. A,” Erik shouted down above him. “The fire extinguisher!”

  With a split-second glance to his right, Mike saw the debris-covered red canister that was hooked to the wall. Instincts beyond comprehension directed him to grab the extinguisher and hurl it forward at the infected who stood just a few feet from him. Hoping his aim would prove true, he directed both weapons downward and fired into the canister. The resulting explosion sent a thick cloud of white powder in all directions.

  Holstering his firearms, Mike used the brief moment of blind confusion to jump towards the jagged opening ripped in the ceiling. He could feel hands clasp around his wrists and forearms as his body was dragged through the hole.

  Without pause, he struggled to his feet and led the others through the moonlit hallway towards the emergency exit door and the staircase beyond. As they raced upwards, Mike could hear the grotesque raging growls of infected following several floors below. Reaching the top floor, he threw his weight against the metal door.

  The unsullied evening air was a welcome relief from the scent of gunpowder and decay that hovered thickly within the building. Thinking quickly, Derrick slammed the door shut behind them and tried to find some way of locking it closed. Erik pulled a large metal cover off a ventilation unit and jammed it under the door handle. While it would not hold indefinitely, the hastily rigged blockade would allow the survivors a head start once the infected broke through.

  Mike’s eyes strained in the dim light as he searched the rooftop. At the far end of the roof he could see the steel bars of a fire escape. Leading the others to it, he looked down the side of the building and was relieved to find no infected at the ladder’s base. Derrick, followed by Jenni, began the steep descent as Mike waited warily, eyes locked on the door as it was pounded relentlessly from within. As the last to start down, he kept one gun in his left hand, using his right to support his passage down. When he reached the halfway point, he could hear the door give way to the escalating pressure of the infected. Feet finally meeting the ground, Mike brought a finger to his lips to caution silence. Their shadowed forms moved through the night towards another building in the distance. Mike hoped that this building was far enough from the main hall and the infected that now filled it.

  Moments later, the still-stunned escapees found themselves in what was clearly a small barracks. The one-story building was compromised of a sleeping area with a dozen or so cots, a bathroom with multiple showers and stalls, and an undersized living area furnished with two couches and a television. Mike quickly set about making sure all exits were secure. The barracks lacked many windows, which he counted as a blessing given the number of infected on the base. Once several large trunks had barricaded the front and rear entrance, he turned to assess what remained of the party that had originally sought refuge that afternoon.

  Of the twenty-two that had reached the base, only nine now remained, himself included. Mike found the familiar faces of Jenni, Derrick, Michelle, and Erik. Sarah Weyland sat on one of the cots as she clung to her son Andrew tightly. Blaine Grimson and Josh Sorenson occupied two other cots, the latter shivering with fear. So few, Mike thought to himself. Anger grew within him as all the efforts he had expended to keep his students safe had been erased so violently and so quickly. We left one hell only to be stranded in another. Reaching the military base had been the full extent of his planning. Desperation and disappointment placed their icy grip upon him as his mind searched fruitlessly for the answer to the screaming question, What now?

  The faces of those around him were paralyzed with fear as tears tracked their faces, the horror of what had
occurred filling them with defeat. Mike could not find the words to console or encourage. His own heart hung heavy with the same emotions. No longer able to lead with strength and conviction, he simply took his place among the weary, sitting with them in silence as the dark of the night passed into the waking of the dawn.

  * * *

  The nine refugees, as Mike had begun to think of them, had found no sleep since the attack. They kept their movements infrequent, fearing the slightest chance to alert the infected to their presence. When the faint slashes of light cut into the room from behind the barricaded window and doors, he knew it was time for action, but, try as he had during the last few hours, he could see no viable plan. The prolonged silence served as evidence that none of those present knew what to do next and were unwilling to put voice to such a dire predicament.

  “Yeah, so we’re pretty much screwed, right?” Erik intoned. In the two years Mike had known him, the teen had never been one to follow the social norms of any situation. In the classroom, he had often delivered scolding looks towards Erik when he made such remarks. This new world however, had already broken previously held standards, and Mike found himself amused by the youth’s impudence. The comment, perhaps inappropriate, had served well in opening the discussion as to what their next steps should be.

  Wherever they headed, it was clear that they would need to retrieve at least one of the vehicles since travel on foot would be highly dangerous. How exactly they would manage that endeavor was tabled for later discussion. As for the destination, the small group seemed to agree that the less populated their goal the better. Surprisingly, it was the twelve year old boy who provided them with the solution.

  “When we went camping last summer, remember that cabin we saw on the cliff?” Andrew asked his mother. “Why don’t we go there?”

  Mike looked to the boy’s mother for further explanation. She informed the group that the family had indeed gone camping the previous summer. On a wilderness hike, they happened across a small stone house tucked into the side of a cliff wall. The steps carved into the hard rock leading to the structure were weather-worn. Sarah’s husband dared the journey in order to photograph the unusual home.

  “It was clearly abandoned,” she said, concluding the now-painful memory.

  “Which campground?” Derrick asked. Though Mike was unfamiliar with the location, Derrick recognized it immediately.

  “From here, it’s probably like thirty-five to forty minutes southeast,” he told Mike. “I’ve gone there a lot with my parents.”

  Mike realized that he still had not told Derrick of the discovery in his family’s garage. It will have to wait, he told himself.

  “Well, if we’re agreed then it sounds like that’s where we are going,” Mike looked to the others as he spoke. With affirmative responses all around he, joined by Derrick and Erik, set out to retrieve the vehicles from the front of the main building. Having proceeded with the necessary stealth, they were surprised to find the journey mercifully free of any infected, and the vehicles remained untouched where they had left them the previous day.

  Mike was grateful for the tinted windows of the building as they concealed the carnage of the night’s attack. After removing the weapons and the few supplies from Sean Reno’s SUV and leaving it behind, Derrick and Mike drove the other vehicles the short distance back to the barracks where the others waited anxiously.

  He was surprised that no attempt had been made to follow them, wondering where the endless number of infected that had ravenously assaulted the survivors were hiding themselves. So much was unknown about the behaviors of the infected, and he worried that his lack of knowledge would have further deadly outcomes. In the four days since the outbreak, so much had changed, yet so little had been learned.

  Michelle, Erik, and Sarah and her son joined Mike in the small SUV, while the others piled into the minivan. Derrick, the only one with sure knowledge of the directions, took the lead position as the two vehicles exited the military base. Mike had been tempted to search the complex for food and water, but without knowing the location of the infected, he did not want to risk such a search. Whatever we have with us will have to do for now, he concluded.

  Though Derrick had estimated a forty minute drive, the blocked roads forced them to make several detours along the way. During the journey they were chased several times by the infected, but they posed no serious threat to the fast moving vehicles. Gazelle dozed lazily in Michelle’s lap, oblivious to the world beyond the car doors. Mike wished his eyes could also have escaped the sick scene of infected feeding on the corpses that lined the roads. He envied the small dog her peaceful slumber.

  Three hours passed before they arrived at the small painted sign announcing the entrance to Willow Falls Campground. Maneuvering the vehicles onto the dirt road, they proceeded deeper into the camp. Still closed for the off-season, there were relatively no signs of life, healthy or otherwise. Mike moved the SUV ahead of the minivan as Andrew began directing the route to the best of his memory. In short order, the curving road soon proved too narrow for automobiles. As the passengers disembarked, Mike asked the boy if he knew how to lead them to the stone house.

  “Yeah, if we take this path there’s a cutoff that goes into the woods and then you just have to hike up to the cliff,” the young boy asserted with confidence.

  “You’re sure?” Mike asked.

  “Of course I am sure,” the boy replied with the typical disgust of a preteen being doubted by an adult.

  In the end, though, the boy was not that sure as the party of nine had to double back the way they had come several times before finally discovering the stone steps that led up to the home. Mike was still impressed with the boy’s recollection, and could not bring himself to recriminate the youth over wrong directions. Without him, he thought, we’d probably still be sitting in the barracks deciding where to go.

  As Sarah had remembered, the stone steps had seen much better days. It was little wonder that only her husband had risked the climb to reach the house. With each precarious step, the refugees slowly made the accent up the cliff’s face until finally reaching the stone structure. Like the steps leading to it, the house had been the victim of passing years and many storms. The small window frames stood vacant, the glass long ago shattered and littering the interior. A thin, wooden door swung on rusted hinges that creaked loudly as the company passed through, the sound causing them to cringe.

  Once inside, Mike was amazed to find a cavernous living area that opened into four other rooms. Whoever had designed the home had cut directly into the stone to form the interior. The process resulted in the exterior hiding the true size of what laid within. Three of the adjacent rooms had clearly served as sleeping quarters and were sparsely furnished with worn, wooden dressers and metal bed-frames. The fourth room off of the main area consisted of an old-fashioned desk and several sturdy looking-chairs. Returning to the large front room, he placed his pack down on the long table, encircled by six chairs.

  Noting the faucet-less sink and woodstove in the left-hand corner, Sarah confirmed that in addition to lacking power, the home also had no running water. Erik, returning from his exploration of the area behind the house, announced that an outhouse existed down a steep, stone path.

  “Well, guys, it’s not the best, but it is safe,” Mike tried to reassure the doubting faces before him. Their responding expression clearly showed his words had fallen on deaf ears.

  Trying to support his efforts, Sarah announced with forced cheer, “Come on Andrew, there’s a broom in one of the bedrooms. Let’s clear out the leaves and broken glass.” The boy dutifully followed his mother while Mike gave the six teenagers a withering look intended to spur them into action.

  Jenni, quickly comprehending the unspoken directions, began to collect some of the larger branches that had made their way through the open door. As she did, Erik inspected the front door, looking for ways to secure it shut. Soon, the others set about doing various tasks to improve the
ir new—and Mike hoped—temporary home.

  Satisfied with their contributions to the marginal renovation, he began to explore the area behind the home with Gazelle gleefully padding alongside him. There was indeed a dilapidated outhouse at the bottom of a dozen barely serviceable steps. That’s going to be tricky, Mike mused. Easing his way down, with his back pressed tightly against the hard rock of the cliff, he followed the narrow stairwell to the outhouse. While he struggled with his footing and refused to look down, Gazelle bounded gracefully down the steps.

  “Show off,” Mike mumbled. Realizing he had been holding his breath during the descent, he exhaled with relief as he reached the final step. The outhouse fit with the rest of the rundown nature of their new refuge. A large pipe ran from the seat of the toilet out over the cliff to dispatch any human waste. Though he found the concept interesting, he knew he certainly would not want to be walking a hundred feet below when someone needed to relieve themselves. After the inspection of the outdated bathroom, Mike began to search the rest of the ledge. Passing a stone fire pit, he followed a small path that led around a sharp curve in the rock wall. The short twenty-foot span ended abruptly into a small clearing that, like the back rooms of the house, had been cut into the stone. No escape, Mike thought, but we could hold off the infected for days on those two stone staircases.

  Man and dog made their way back into the house and he was surprised with how much had been accomplished in making the space even remotely livable. The floor had been swept clean of all debris, the chairs flanked the table neatly, and the front door was shut firmly thanks to a large plank of wood resting in two brackets bolted onto the door frame. After expressing his shock and admiration for their fast work, Mike joined his students as they hiked back to the vehicles to collect all the weapons and supplies.