by JE Gurley
“It looks like things are getting pretty hairy,” he commented.
She didn’t reply, but he could tell that she was frightened. He didn’t blame her. A good healthy dose of fear was a good thing to have. It kept you from getting too cocky, something he had been accused of a few times. He drove around the police cruiser and pulled onto Airport Parkway, driving south toward Dolphin Expressway. They met few cars. The army had blocked the roads to prevent the infection from spreading, but they couldn’t stop the wind. To the east and to the south, smoke billowed from nearby neighborhoods. The destruction was spreading rapidly.
They didn’t get far. A line of hastily abandoned automobiles blocked the entrance to the Airport Freeway. Just beyond the cars, an army patrol, eight men with automatic weapons, barred the way. He slowed to a stop and got out of the Land Rover, hands held high in case the men were jumpy.
“Who are you?” one of the soldiers, a corporal, challenged from behind a red and white sawhorse barricade.
“Detective Kyle Bane,” he replied through his mask. He nodded toward Marli in the Land Rover. “She’s with the CDC. We’re on our way to the Stephen P. Clark Government Building. Let us through.”
“I can’t. It’s too dangerous. Mobs east of I-95 are burning buildings and killing people. They dropped us off here to stop people from entering or leaving the city. We have orders to shoot to kill,” he added. His expression of disbelief indicated his confusion. He glanced nervously at his fellow soldiers, and then back at Kyle. “Do you know what the hell’s happening?”
“It’s some kind of infection driving them insane. They’re not people anymore.”
“You mean zombies?” another soldier asked. He was tall and thin with a full black mustache beneath a prominent nose. One of his comrades giggled, but a stern look of disapproval from the corporal silenced him.
“Close enough, soldier,” Kyle replied. “I’ve witnessed what they’re capable of. Don’t freeze up. Shoot to kill.” He surveyed the eight men, too few for the task assigned to them. The military had not yet grasped the severity of the situation. “How did you guys get here?”
The corporal answered. “A truck dropped us off.”
Kyle noticed the young corporal’s nervousness. “What’s your name, Corporal?”
“Ginson, Todd Ginson.”
“Well, Corporal Ginson, my advice is to find one of these vehicles with the keys inside and get the hell out of here, and cover your mouth and nose with anything you can find. It might help.”
Ginson nodded, but said, “We’ve been ordered to secure this exit.”
“Forget your damned orders. If you see a horde of crazed killers coming at you, you run.”
He turned and walked back to the Land Rover. Marli’s eyes followed him all the way back to the vehicle, questioning him through the windshield. He wished he could see her mouth through her facemask, but he suspected that she was not smiling.
Sitting beside her on the driver’s side, he said, “Looks like we’ll have to find another way through.”
5
July 4, Little Havana, Miami, FL –
Kyle drove south through East Little Havana. The city, normally so alive with its open markets, its buildings splashed with colorful mosaic paintings, and crowds of residents strolling the streets or playing games of dominoes in the parks, was eerily silent. They drove in darkness. The power was out in most of the city. He saw furtive movements in the shadows, but didn’t know if they were infected people or simply cautious residents. No one attempted to flag them down. Driving parallel to the Miami River, it soon became apparent that large areas of downtown were ablaze. Even a few boats moored along the Miami River were burning. One thirty-foot sailing sloop’s cabin and triangular sail were in flames as it slowly drifted down river. Rows of ubiquitous palm trees, already desiccated by the summer heat, flamed like tiki torches, raining down showers of sparks onto the roofs of nearby buildings, many catching fire in spite of their tiled roofs. Small brushfires broke out everywhere, spreading south as it was being pushed by a strong breeze.
They crossed the bridge onto Miami Avenue and into the heart of a raging war zone. Here, people raced around in small groups fighting the fires with water hoses and blankets, but it was a losing battle. They fought alone. The fire departments battled the larger blazes downtown, where the money was. A few blocks farther east, they encountered the first mobs of infected people. Scattered units of soldiers trapped in alleys and on roofs of buildings fought off frenzied attacks. Scores of bodies littered the streets and sidewalks. Two women, one with a shoe missing, lay crushed beneath an overturned dumpster. It was impossible to determine which corpses were victims of the plague carriers, and which ones were victims of army gunfire. In death, drenched in blood and gore, each looked alike. One thing he had noted in his career as a cop – victims of violent crime rarely had the serene composure depicted on television.
The mobs were unrelenting in their fury. Five soldiers trapped on the roof of one burning pharmacy continued their fight until the roof collapsed beneath them, sending them plummeting into the heart of the inferno and to their death. Marli threw her hand over her face to block out the horrifying sight, but their deaths drove an icicle into Kyle’s heart. He suspected that very scene was being repeated dozens of times throughout the city. Crazed fungus heads, undaunted by the flames and intent on killing, ran into the building after the soldiers. One of the creatures exited with his clothing and hair on fire, stumbling blindly into others and spreading the flames. The sight of flaming humans did not move Kyle. He hoped they all burned.
Down the block, a second group of soldiers made a last ditch stand from the trailer of a parked flatbed semi. Kyle watched in dismay as the infected swept over them like army ants attacking a jungle insect. When the crowd parted moments later, the flatbed was empty, as if the soldiers had never existed.
He slammed on the brakes. “We can’t get through,” he told Marli.
“We have to,” she insisted.
“The Clark Building is on fire. I can see it from here. Either they’ve evacuated, or they’re dead. It looks as if the entire downtown is overrun with these things.”
He didn’t relish his role as silent witness to the death of Miami. By day, the Downtown Miami skyline is a white seawall separating the blue ocean from the rest of the city. At night, it’s a world-renowned, picture postcard vista of glass towers thrusting into the night sky, a kaleidoscope of color offering refuge from the sweltering summer heat, and respite from the doldrums of the day. No longer. The upper ten floors of 50 Biscayne Tower was ablaze. Flames licked the sides of the building from shattered windows like a fire creature tasting its prey. A cloud of black smoke, pushed by the breeze, trailed away, obscuring other buildings from view. Flames likewise engulfed the Miami Tower, the Marquis, and the Four Seasons, Florida’s tallest structure. He pitied the hapless firefighters attempting to extinguish the raging infernos, while simultaneously under attack by crazed fungus heads. Not even the military could save downtown. He had often dined at Brasileiros, a downtown Brazilian steakhouse, when he could afford it, and at the Hard Rock Cafe when he was cruising for women. He doubted that either structure would survive the blaze.
Beyond the city, a fleet of small boats and yachts illuminated by flames of the dying city, spilled from the marinas into Biscayne Bay, intent on leaving the city in its death throes. Some headed for the imagined safety of Dodge Island or Fischer Island. Others, with no destination in mind, simply headed east into the Atlantic. How many, he wondered, carried the seeds of their destruction with them, mushroom spores lodged in their lungs. How many would spread that disease to new shores?
By now, a few of the rampaging fungus heads had begun to take notice of the Land Rover. Several began moving in their direction.
“We can’t stay here,” he said.
“We have to go back to the airport. I need to collect my team and return to Atlanta.”
He didn’t hold out much hope
that any of her people had survived as he threw the vehicle in gear and made a U-turn in the street, knocking down a trashcan in the process. He retraced his route up NW 17th Avenue to the Expressway. Near the airport, he spotted four of the soldiers they had met earlier, including the corporal, racing madly down the Expressway exit ramp, followed by twice as many of the infected. He noticed that the soldiers had heeded his advice and had covered their face with handkerchiefs or ripped up t-shirts. He slid the Land Rover to a stop directly in their path and threw open the rear door.
“Get in!” he yelled.
Corporal Ginson stopped to fire his rifle at the nearest creature. The short burst from the M16 exploded its chest. It fell headfirst into the loose gravel beside the ramp and skidded almost to his feet. He ignored it as he directed his men into the back of the Land Rover. Kyle didn’t wait for the door to close before speeding away just ahead of the remaining fungus heads. The corporal was out of breath as he spoke, his voice muffled by the handkerchief around his mouth and nose.
“They came out of nowhere and were on top of us before we could fire. Two of my men went searching for a car. They never came back. The others …” He groaned and punched the back of the seat with his fist. “It was awful. Those things ripped them apart.”
“The other squads we saw downtown didn’t fare any better. They’re gone, too.”
“What are those things? They’re like animals.”
“Their minds are gone,” Marli said. Her voice was cold and clinical as she explained. The shock of witnessing the deaths still lingered. “The infection eats away their minds, leaving only certain motor functions intact, and induces a blind killing rage. Each one of them will soon ripen and produce more spores. The infection is spreading like wildfire.” She turned to Kyle. “In a few days, there could be tens of thousands of these things.”
“We can’t deal with this shit,” Ginson cried. “They taught us how to kill the enemy, but we’ve never been in battle, certainly not against an enemy like this, not civilians.”
“You’re not alone, Corporal,” Kyle told him, appreciating the soldier’s frustration. “A lot of people are going to die because we weren’t prepared for a situation like this.” More quietly, he said, “How the hell do you prepare for something like this?”
At that moment, two Blackhawk helicopters zoomed overhead so low that they shook the Land Rover with the backwash of their rotors. The noise was deafening.
“Yeah!” Ginson shouted above the noise. “Somebody’s doing something.”
Kyle watched them for a moment; saw the direction the choppers were flying. “They’re headed to the airport.”
“There’s four more,” Ginson shouted, pointing to the north as more helicopters converged on Miami International.
* * *
Two armored Humvees blocked the airport’s main entrance. A sergeant raised his hand to stop them. The two .50-caliber machine guns leveled in their direction tightened the annoying ache in Kyle’s stomach into a writhing Gordian knot. The cloth masks the soldiers wore over their mouth and nose, indicated that someone knew what was happening.
“No one can enter,” the sergeant, a slightly overweight older man warned. Then he noticed Ginson and his three men in the rear of the Land Rover. “What’s your unit, Corporal?”
Ginson spoke up. “Third Infantry, C Company.”
“Is this all of you?”
“It is now,” Ginson growled. “What the fuck’s going on?”
“Damned if I know.” He gave Kyle and Marli a hard look, studying their faces. From the slight smile creasing his lips, Kyle surmised that the sergeant found Marli’s appearance pleasing. However, he did not share the same of opinion of Kyle. “Who are they?” he posed to Ginson.
“Detective Bane and Doctor Henry,” Ginson replied.
Marli cast the sergeant a broad smile and said, “I’m with the CDC, Sergeant. I was here until the infected patients escaped. We barely escaped with our lives.”
“We took care of them,” the sergeant said with a smirk. “We have a few of your people here, in the terminal. You can go in.” He stared at Kyle for a long moment. Kyle returned the stare. Finally, the sergeant stood aside to allow them to pass.
“Where did you place the infected?” Marli asked him.
“Placed, ma’am? We didn’t place them anywhere. We shot them.”
Marli was aghast. “You killed them all?”
“Damn straight. Those things weren’t human. You should’ve seen what they did to some of my men.”
“But you …”
The sergeant’s expression quickly hardened. Kyle grasped Marli’s arm tightly and shook his head. “Now’s not the time.”
She glared at him but said nothing more.
“Thank you, Sergeant,” he said and put the Land Rover in gear.
While Marli silently fumed, Kyle took in his surroundings. Machine gun emplacements protected the entrances to the parking garages and to the terminal entrances. Soldiers patrolled the area and the roof. Two armored personnel carriers blocked the lower-level entrance. Having seen what the infected were capable of, this time the military was taking no chances. A corporal directed him to park the Land Rover beside a line of several jeeps. As they got out of the vehicle, Corporal Ginson offered Kyle his hand.
“Thanks for saving our bacon back there, Detective. I guess we’ll report in now.” He hesitated. “They might want to hear about what you saw, you know, about our troops downtown.”
Kyle nodded. “I’ll tell them.” He grasped Ginson’s hand tightly and shook it, hoping the corporal and his surviving men got a chance to rest before being flung back at the new enemy.
Entering the Central Terminal was an eerie sensation, quite unlike any previous visits when the terminal was like a small town, alive and noisy. Except for a few guards posted near the entrance and the occasional military personnel flittering about intent on some obscure errand, the place was deserted, silent, a far cry from the usual hubbub of one of the country’s busiest airports.
“It’s like a tomb in here,” he noted aloud, and then winced as he remembered that many of Marli’s colleagues had died there only hours earlier. He glanced at her and saw the pain of sorrow in her furrowed brow. “Sorry.”
She nodded at his apology. A sentry directed them to the Miami Airport Hotel located in Concourse E. The 260-room, eight-story hotel had been evacuated with the airport. The meeting rooms now served as offices for military staff and its kitchens as commissary for personnel. The lobby’s lighted barrel-vaulted glass ceiling with its colorful art deco murals and modern décor, normally conveyed an air of relaxation in an otherwise busy airport. Now, its size merely emphasized the complete absence of milling tourists, and its silence, the severity of the situation. A harried aide directed them to the office of the commander, General R. Lazenby Willows, whose offices had previously served as the manager’s office. They waited outside for fifteen minutes, overhearing the general through the closed door bellowing orders into the telephone. Finally, an aide admitted them.
The general was a tall man, almost 6’4”, with graying brown hair and piercing blue eyes. He was younger than Kyle expected – this side of his mid-fifties. By the dour expression in his eyes, the general resented taking time from his busy schedule to interview civilians. A disposable mask covered his mouth and nose. He wasted no time with formalities, nor did he offer them a seat.
“I was told you had information about the fiasco downtown.”
“Fiasco is the proper word,” Kyle replied. “Those men didn’t have a chance. The fungus heads swept over them like a tide.”
A slight smile cracked on Willows’ face. He quickly suppressed it. “Fungus heads. Apt description.” He glanced at Marli. “You’re the CDC doctor?”
“Yes, sir.”
He nodded. “I’m glad you managed to survive. Your colleagues, the six that are still alive, are upstairs on the third floor.” His eyes narrowed. “How is it that you made it out alive
?”
Kyle braced himself for the expected explosion, but if she resented the general’s slightly veiled accusation that she had abandoned her colleagues, she had the good sense not to show it.
“Detective Bane saved my life. We were on our way to the Clark government building when we encountered your woefully unprepared troops,” she said, throwing the accusation back in his court. She leaned forward and rested her palms on the desk. “General, you have no clue about what we’re facing.”
He cocked his head slightly and raised an eyebrow. “Clueless, am I? Perhaps you’re right. This plague has erupted in ten cities, and I haven’t found anyone capable of delivering a straight answer to me.” He leaned forward until his face was inches from hers. “Just what the fuck is happening to these people?”
He leaned back, relaxed, and motioned to two chairs. They sat.
Marli took a deep breath and began. “A previously unknown species of Orpicordyceps unilateralis has recently come to light in Belize. The CDC became aware of the problem and monitored all flights into the U.S.” She glanced sheepishly at Kyle. “We failed. The source, a Roger Curry, slipped through MIA spreading the infection to everyone he encountered. The first symptoms develop within forty-eight hours. By day three, the infected go mad as the fungus destroys their brain, leaving them with the impulse to kill and destroy. When the fungus fully ripens, the infected seek a high place and become immobile. The growing fungus splits open their skulls and the spores spread on the wind. Unless we locate and confine every infected person, this plague will spread across the country.” She paused. “We have no cure, no vaccine against infection.”
He reached up and fingered his mask. “Do the masks help? They’re a damned nuisance.”