by JE Gurley
Now, her knees did give way, She collapsed on the sofa and wept.
4
July 4, Miami International Airport, Miami, Fl –
Noises filtered in from outside the tent, taunting Kyle for his lack of information. He caught a glimpse of suited military personnel peering in through the door and wondered at their presence. If the military was involved, things were getting serious. Something big was happening and he wanted to be a part of it. Inactivity was not his style. Over the next sixteen hours, twelve more of his fellow inmates disappeared through the rear doors, but the plastic cubicles in the tent remained full, as suited men brought in more patients. The disease was spreading rapidly.
The sounds of people running awoke him from one of his short naps. He came awake fully knowing something was wrong. Armed military personnel stood nervously at both entrances. White-suited CDC people scurried about, moving from cubicle to cubicle while jotting down notes on their clipboards. They released five of his fellow inmates, the only five besides himself who had endured their confinement with no apparent changes. These five raced through the double doors and disappeared. That gave him a rough estimate of the infection rate. Six non-infected out of seventy-five or eighty people was nearly a seventy percent infection rate. When his wardens ignored him and fled behind their freed patients, he began to grow concerned.
“Hey! What about me?” he yelled.
He began to pound uselessly on the plastic walls, but stopped when one of the armed guards shifted position and eyed him suspiciously. As if taking cue from his actions, the remaining inmates erupted into a frenzy of activity, screaming and tearing at the tough plastic walls with teeth and nails. One woman, her eyes focused on him, repeatedly slammed into the walls of her cubicle until her face was a bloody mess. Still, she did not relent. Slowly, her cubicle inched across the asphalt closer to his.
“Let me out of here,” he screamed, but the soldiers ignored him.
One soldier, an officer, stuck his head into the tent and barked out an order. Kyle saw that it was dark outside. The guards abandoned their posts, leaving him alone with a tent full of fungus-infected people. His mind worked furiously. He had no doubts that given time, the infected could free themselves from their cubicles and just as easily get at him. Abandoned, he had no choice but free himself. His mind worked furiously. He had no tools, no weapons. His eyes fell upon the I-Pad. It was his only bit of luck so far. He noted the time and date, eight p.m., July 4 – Independence Day. He had been on ice for seventy-two hours.
“Happy Fourth of July,” he muttered as he smashed the I-Pad with the heel of his foot.
The floor of his chamber was the same material as the walls and ceiling, but a heavy wrought iron metal frame around the perimeter anchored it in place. The welded bar could not be moved, but its rough surface provided the abrasion he needed to sharpen a shard of the I-Pad shell. He worked quickly knowing his life was at stake. It took much longer than he had hoped, but finally he was satisfied with the results. Using his newly sharpened cutting tool, he attacked the heavy plastic by the rear hatch through which he had passed his bodily wastes, deciding that it was less secure than the zippered door. He mused that escaping the same way as his shit was somehow fitting. As he worked, noises grew louder outside the tent. Bursts of gunfire erupted nearby. He redoubled his efforts. Making a tiny slit in the plastic, he wedged his fingers inside and pulled with all his strength until the hole was large enough to reach the outside zipper. He opened the hatch and crawled through to freedom.
He had not worked quickly enough. Undaunted by their injuries, several of his fellow patients had gnawed their way through their cubicle walls. One man, his eyes wild and his face muscles quivering with rage, attacked him. Kyle’s first blow to the man’s stomach, enough to double most men over, didn’t faze him. He lunged at Kyle and wrapped his hands around his throat. Kyle broke the man’s grip and delivered a punch to his throat that sent the man reeling backwards, wheezing through a crushed windpipe. Still, he did not relent. Realizing that he didn’t have time to waste, Kyle kicked the man’s kneecap, shattering it. As he collapsed to the ground, Kyle stepped behind him and jabbed the sliver of sharpened plastic into the back of the man’s skull until he stopped moving. Through the blood and bits of bone, a gelatinous mass emerged, oozing from the man’s skull like a living creature – the fungus that had driven him insane.
Kyle gasped, “My God.”
Just as he raced for the front entrance, another of the crazed fungus head creatures rushed in from outside. Barely breaking his stride, Kyle switched directions and exited through the rear double doors. He couldn’t secure the doors, so he settled on tipping over a heavy metal rack and shoving it in front of the doors. He knew his makeshift barricade wouldn’t hold long. He searched the room for a weapon, but it contained only an autoclave sterilizer, a rack of water pitchers and chamber pots, and a rack of disposable white hazmat suits. He grabbed a metal water pitcher and tested the weight of it in his hand. Only one other door offered escape. As he reached for the handle, the door swung open. He raised the pitcher over his head; then saw that it was Marli Henry.
“Detective Bane. I was coming for you.”
He lowered the pitcher. “It’s about time.” He expended his pent up frustration at her like a weapon. “Your friends left me behind,” he accused.
“I instructed them to.”
“What?”
She eyed the pitcher as he shifted its weight in his hand. Seeing her nervousness, he dropped it to the floor.
“I was coming to get you myself,” she continued. “One of the guards prevented me. When the shooting started, he left.”
“What’s happening?”
She ushered him through the door into an airlock, which she ignored, and into another tent. This smaller tent had windows. It was dark outside. Men and women hurriedly packed laptops and equipment into metal crates. No one looked up as he entered. A change of clothing, his cell phone, wallet, badge, and his gun, were stacked on a table beside a screen partition.
“You may change in there,” she told him as she removed her mask.
“I could use a shower,” he said.
“There’s no time.”
He stepped behind the screen and stripped off the one-piece jumpsuit, gladly dropping it into a garbage can. It had become a second skin and he was glad to shed it. He slipped into his boxers, socks, and a long-sleeved white shirt and examined the brown suit they had provided for him. The suit was several years old and a size too large. He had lost twelve pounds since he had last worn it. He shrugged and put it on. Beggars couldn’t be choosers. It was better than the jumpsuit he had been living in. He slipped into the brown shoes they had provided; glad they had at least color-coordinated his outfit, but he jammed the garish tie someone had chosen into his pocket with the rest of his paraphernalia. Finally, he strapped on his shoulder holster, jammed his Glock G19 in place, and walked out feeling more like his old self. The two pounds of cold steel under his left armpit brought a spring back to his steps.
“What about the two officers I came in with?” he asked as soon as he stepped around the partition.
Marli’s mouth tightened into a grimace. “I’m afraid they were infected.”
He nodded. “Where are they?”
She glanced away. “They died.”
He didn’t bother asking how they died. He remembered how Roger Curry looked. He hoped their deaths had been painless, but he doubted it. He pulled his cell phone from his pocket. “I need to check in with headquarters.”
She stopped him with a hand on his. “They know you’re working with us. I requested your services for the duration.”
He hesitated, not certain if he fully believed her, but placed the cell phone back in his pocket. If they were to work together, there had to be some semblance of trust. “I bet Chief Gilbert was glad to get rid of me.”
She smiled. “He said you were a loaded gun.”
“You smile like that’s a
good thing.”
“The situation has worsened. Eleven cities in the U.S. are under quarantine, but the fungus is quickly spreading. The Miami authorities are overwhelmed. People are going mad and attacking anyone near them. The hospitals are over capacity. You saw what’s happening. We have to relocate.”
So that was the rush.
“I had to kill one man. He wouldn’t stop attacking me.”
“The fungus destroys the mind, turning people into raging beasts. Mobs of the infected are overwhelming the police barricades, killing people and destroying buildings. It’s out of control.”
“The police aren’t equipped to deal with this. I saw military.”
She nodded. “The military is moving into the city as we speak. They are going to place Miami under Martial Law soon. They’re patrolling the streets to assure the populace that they’ll be safe.”
He frowned. “That’s not good enough. They’ll hesitate to shoot unarmed civilians.”
“Would you?”
“After what I’ve seen? If this fungus, this Cordyceps Plague spreads, it’ll wipe out entire cities. We have to stop them. If it means killing the infected before their heads burst open like a ripe melon and spew spores everywhere, then we have to do it. That’s what we’re here for, to protect citizens from threat. This time, it’s a damn mushroom.”
She stared at him as if assessing his mental stability. Finally, she nodded. “You’re right. By the time the military can realize this, it may be too late.”
He headed for the door. “I have to see things for myself. Do you want to come along?”
She glanced at her colleagues. “I should help them evacuate, but yes, I want to come.” She pulled two cloth masks from a box on a table. “We’ll need these. They won’t guarantee we’ll be safe from infection, but it will keep the spores from our lungs. The moisture there provides a perfect medium for their growth.”
He slipped the mask over his mouth and nose feeling somewhat like a masked robber. “Do you have a car?”
“A Land Rover.”
“Give me the keys. I’ll drive.”
She frowned at him. “I drive quite well, Detective.”
“But you don’t know the city. I’ll drive.”
She hesitated. He hoped she wasn’t one of those women who resented men and considered any act of courtesy or chivalry as an affront to their individuality. He wasn’t being chauvinistic; he was being practical. He had taken defensive driving classes, and a little rough and tumble driving might be necessary. To his relief, she handed him the keys without further argument.
“Thanks,” he said.
As they stepped outside, he looked around in amazement. The tent city had grown. Now, six large tents and several trailers aligned in two neat rows separated by a wide boulevard had joined the original tent. Banks of portable LED light towers flooded the area with bright white light. Heavily armed military personnel patrolled the perimeter, but the Humvee parked in the middle of the boulevard with a 50-caliber machine gun mounted on its roof conveyed the true severity of the situation. The military was being deadly serious. The soldier manning the machine gun eyed them with curiosity as they passed near the Humvee, but dismissed them as he recognized Marli’s security badge.
Gunfire erupted nearby. There was no mistaking the crack of an M16 for a Fourth of July firecracker, and the screams certainly were not squeals of delight. Given the situation, he doubted anyone in Miami was celebrating Independence Day this night. He shoved Marli behind him, drew his Glock, and faced the direction from which the shots had come. Marli tried to push past him, but he barred her way with his arm.
“They might need my help,” she protested.
“That’s a battle, not a cry for help. You stay here. Better yet, get in the Land Rover and lock the door.”
“Look, I’m quite capable of …”
“In the vehicle,” he snapped, giving her a light shove. He didn’t have time to be polite. If he was right, she was out of her league.
Just as he spoke, a mob of people dressed in white jumpsuits like the one he had recently worn, raced around the corner of one of the tents. The first thing he noticed about them was the look of intense hatred marring their faces. They resembled a herd of marauding beasts. The second thing he noticed was the blood covering their jumpsuits, their mouth, and their hands. They were mad with infection, and they were intent on killing, had in fact killed already.
“Halt!” the soldier in the Humvee called to the crowd. When no one paid attention to him, he repeated his order.
“Shoot them,” Kyle yelled, but the soldier, unwilling to fire on civilians, hesitated. His eyes widened in fright and his hands trembled on the trigger. His hesitation cost him his life. He began firing just as the first of the no longer human creatures reached the Humvee and leaped onto the hood. The .50 caliber began chattering as it cut the man almost in half, but more of the creatures clambered onto the vehicle and dragged the young soldier screaming down into the interior of the Humvee. A spray of blood splattered the inside of the window as the former humans ripped the soldier apart.
Marli still stood beside the Land Rover, her mouth open and eyes wide with shock. This time, Kyle didn’t bother talking. He grabbed her by the arm and shoved her into the passenger seat of the Land Rover, and then dived over her and into the driver’s seat. By the time he had cranked the vehicle, a dozen people had already reached them. Marli had the presence of mind to shut the door. They surrounded the Land Rover and began beating at the windows and doors with their fists and rocking the vehicle violently. They were no longer human. They were a crazed mob. The fungus had erased all traces of their former humanity. Store clerks, schoolgirls, housewives, insurance salesmen – all were now a horde of marauding beasts intent on murder. Their face bore no traces of former intelligence. They were enraged killing machines. He knew that they could eventually overturn the vehicle. He pressed the accelerator and plowed through them. Two fell beneath the wheels of the Land Rover. He winced as it bounced over their crushed bodies, but didn’t slow down. The others continued their frenzied assault, pounding on the passenger window until it cracked. Before it shattered completely, he pulled ahead of the pack, who continued to race after the vehicle as he sped for the commercial vehicle gate. The creatures disappeared in the darkness.
Noticing the direction they were going Marli protested. “We can’t leave. My people are back there. They’re in danger.”
He ignored her protests. The Land Rover fishtailed as he avoided an abandoned luggage trolley. “We can’t help them.” He released the wheel with one hand long enough to wipe the sweat from his face and noticed that his hand was shaking. “Did you see them? How many infected were you holding?”
She averted her gaze. “Two hundred.”
“Two hundred? My God! That’s a freaking army.”
“They were separated into four tents. The most severe cases were confined within a ten-foot chain link fence.” Seeing his look of disdain, she added, “They were guarded.”
He rolled his eyes.
“We had to observe … We didn’t expect …” She gave up trying to explain and lowered her head into her hands.
To her credit, she didn’t sob, but he knew she needed a healthy jolt of reality. “Pull yourself together, doctor,” he barked at her.
She turned on him with a ferocity almost equaling that of the fungus heads. “Those were my friends back there. If they’re dead, it’s my fault.”
Any sympathy he felt for her plight was mitigated by the dire circumstances they now faced. She saw the plague as a medical emergency. He knew it was an invasion; just like the zombie horror movies that he loved to watch as a child while cowering beneath the sheets with the lights on. His friends, too, were on the front line fighting off the invasion, unaware of the danger they were facing. He envisioned lines of frightened police standing shoulder to shoulder with shields and batons, not standing a chance against the enraged mob.
“This is no time
for accountability or responsibility. I need to get out there with my men and fight this thing my way, but first, I need to get you to a safe place. You have to find a cure for this … this fungus head army.”
She closed her eyes and slumped back in the seat. “We have an office downtown in the government building. That’s where my colleagues will go.” She opened her eyes and looked at him. “Can I use your phone to call Atlanta? I left mine back there.”
He certainly wasn’t going back for it. He fished his phone out of his pocket and handed it to her. She dialed a number and held the phone to her ear. After a few moments, she frowned. “That’s odd. No answer.”
“Maybe it’s busy.”
“No, I didn’t even get a recorded message.”
He turned to stare at her, a cold knot forming in his chest. “That doesn’t sound good.”
She didn’t get a chance to respond. Kyle returned his eyes to the road and immediately slammed on the brakes, almost throwing Marli into the dash. Near the gate, a police car was on fire. Flames poured from the windows and from beneath the hood. Two badly mauled bodies lay nearby. It was difficult to be certain in the flickering light of the flames, but from the remains of their tattered and bloodstained clothing, he assumed they were the car’s former occupants. One officer’s head sat a few feet from his body, as if staring back at his dismembered corpse. Marli averted her eyes from the grotesque scene. No other bodies were present. The officers had not had time to retaliate against their attackers. The chain-link gate dangled from its hinges.