Of Sudden Origin - Part 4 The Crucible

by Harwood, C. Chase

  While stuffing their mouths with a hot meal at the base’s mess, they poured over their maps again.

  Kelly pointed to a line, “So what about this fire break south of the lake?”

  “The fire would have stopped anyone from going that way.”

  “Yeah, but the rain.”

  “But why go south?”

  “Look, if you follow it west it takes you over toward Stratton and the 27 north, but they would have had to climb these mountains to get there. Go the other way, it ends up at this place, Moscow. They could take the 201 from there.”

  “We’ve been all over the 27 and the 201.”

  “Maybe they’re holed up. Still south of the lake.”

  “Well, Stratton is a no go. If they went that way, we know they’re dead.” Sam yawned and stretched her limbs. “I guess we could check out Moscow. Maybe they made it there and then got trapped. All I know is that if I don’t get some sleep I’m liable to fly us into a hillside tomorrow.”

  “I know what you mean. I think my elbows are permanently locked from holding up binoculars.”

  They finished their meal, headed back to their bird and stretched out on camp pads in back, falling asleep in minutes.

  The assault on the cafeteria was immediate and intense. The moment that Aaron and Steven had the doors tied shut they were forcefully rattled and yanked from the other side. At the same time a barrage of rocks smashed through the windows, billowing the roller shades and careening off the furniture. Tran, Nikki and Decker took up a defensive position behind the built-in steam table. Everyone else moved into the windowless kitchen where the only other entrance was a large steel delivery door in the back.

  To everyone’s dismay, Jon had fallen into a coma. His body lay still, his breath shallow, an IV still hanging from his arm. Christy nodded toward Jon, steeling herself against the racket outside, “Sort of wish I could trade places with him.”

  Steven drew his sword and walked to the cafeteria door.

  “Daddy, no! Don’t go!” cried Amanda.

  “I can better protect you with this out there, Darling.”

  Steven stepped out into the cacophony while Teddy drew his own sword and threw a comforting arm over his sister. The children made eye contact with Aaron, who was trembling with fear next to the walk-in refrigerator, dialing up the temperature. “Don’t want to freeze to death if we have to duck in here.”

  Susan and Christy looked at each other, trying to get psyched up. Susan said, “This is nuts.” They drew their swords and stepped out into the lunchroom.

  Nikki turned her head at the new people coming from the kitchen and yelled, “Get back in there! If we have to run through that door, you’ll just get in the way.” She turned around again as Tran fired at a Fiend that had launched itself half way through a window. Tran’s shot missed it by three feet, blowing out another window instead. Nikki dropped the thing with a headshot, leaving it hanging on the sill.

  She turned back to Steven as he herded the others back through the door, “Unhook that big industrial stove. Shove it near the door. We’ll block it with that.”

  Decker fired at another Fiend smashing its way through. Then suddenly the entire wall of windows was under assault. The blinds were being ripped down, human bodies poured through as the safety glass harmlessly crumbled into pebble sized pieces. The tumbled furniture was an obstacle, but barely.

  Nikki dropped one attacker after another while Tran and Decker did their best to do the same. The strength of the assault was astounding. Clearly these creatures were hungry beyond their last shred of self-preservation. Nikki slapped in her last clip of ammo; thirty more rounds. Decker took the top off a female’s head with the last round from Jon’s pistol, then pulled his sword. Tran used up the pilot’s second clip and pulled his sword as well.

  Nikki aimed at a female then held up. The creature was pregnant; probably eight or more months. Her stomach was positively huge. She fell through the window onto the tangled furniture and then looked up with pure menace in her eyes. She shoved a chair out of her way and pushed forward through the tumbled furniture, a line of drool pouring from the corner of her mouth.

  A large cleaver slipped between the tied up double doors. The Fiends on the other side were using it as a saw against the rope.

  “That’s it,” said Nikki. “Into the kitchen.” Thank God it was a one-way door and not the double-hinged kind. She locked it with its flimsy latch, only to find Steven and Aaron still unhooking the gas line from the big industrial stove. Why didn’t I think to have it ready to go?

  “No time!” cried Decker, grabbing the end of a steel prep station and dragging it toward the door. A Fiend pressed its face against the porthole window. Christy, Susan and Tran jumped in with Decker, jamming the table up against the rattling slab of wood. Then the porthole was smashed out with a fist-sized stone. A Fiend stuck its face in the hole with a laugh and got a mouthful of Tran’s blade for its effort. More Fiends replaced their wounded comrade, avoiding Tran’s jabs, while bashing themselves against the door and hitting it with rocks, clubs, a fire extinguisher.

  As Jon remained comatose, blissfully unaware, Steven finally got the gas line free. While Susan and Decker continued to hold the table, everyone else, including the kids, started shoving the stove. The steel feet on the heavy machine scraped across the ceramic tiles in loud screeching protests.

  When they were close, they flipped the table against the door, effectively creating another door made of steel, and then pushed the stove against that. The pounding on the other side was only slightly muffled as they paused and stepped back to take a breath.

  Finally, Susan said, “Let’s push whatever else we can against it too.”

  Two hours passed as the infected kept up a steady beat on the door; the sound driving the healthy to the edge of madness. They had all found a place to sit or curl up, trapped with their own nightmarish thoughts. Steven, with the help of Christy, did what he could to comfort his children.

  Aaron abruptly stood and started furiously pacing the room. He squeezed his fists and let out huge sighs as he brushed past people without a thought for their personal space.

  Finally, Susan said, “Enough! Aaron, sit down.”

  “Can’t.”

  “You can and you will.”

  “Nope. Sorry. It’s this or I go mad and run out that back door.”

  “You try and open that door and Nikki has permission to shoot you.”

  “Yeah? Well, fuck you too, Susan! I’ve had enough of your bossy bullshit.”

  “I am you’re boss. And you’ll not speak to me that way!”

  “Guys, guys,” Tran admonished.

  Decker said, “There you go again, Susan.”

  Susan stood and silenced Decker with a look that said shut it or die then turned to Aaron. “Mr. Burnbaum! I repeat. You will not speak to me in that tone. Is that clear?”

  Aaron stopped pacing and stepped right up to her. “Eat me, you fucking narcissistic, brown-nosing, job-suck-up, research-hack, work-thief, especially Robert’s, as well as anybody else’s good ideas, cunt.”

  With the exception of the pounding outside, the room went silent. Aaron resumed his pacing, but more quietly.

  Tran finally said, “I don’t think you steal my work, Susan.”

  Susan ignored this, gathered herself and said, “Guess what, Aaron? You’re fired.”

  Aaron chuckled at this and then started laughing out loud. “That’s ripe. That’s fucking perfect, Susan. Susan Chancellor, big shot at the CDC. You delusional whore! In case you didn’t notice, I don’t give a fuck about a job right now. I want to go outside and run my ass off all the way Canada, but I’ve got enough wits left to know that that’s insane. So again, fuck you!”

  Everyone remained respectfully quiet, which was surreal, given the horror trying to break through the door. Finally Aaron said, “How come I’m fired for yelling at you when Decker does it all the time?”
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  “Because, Decker has been calling me a commie brown-noser ever since I inherited his annoyingly conservative but brilliant ass from the last administration. You, on the other hand, are supposedly my personal assistant… And bottom line, nobody calls me a cunt.”

  Aaron looked at the floor. “That was probably going too far.”

  “Far enough that you’re still fired.”

  Suddenly, Jon’s eyes flashed open and he stared around the room, seemingly without comprehension.

  “Shit!” said Decker, who saw him first and stepped back brandishing his sword. Nikki slapped a hand on his wrist to prevent him from thoughtlessly slashing.

  They all looked at Jon, who blinked and swirled his tongue around thickly inside his mouth. His turned his head to the group and his eyes focused. “Is somebody trying to get in?”

  Nikki cracked a smile and fell on her knees next to him, pulling him into a hug.

  Jon continued, “What the hell’s going on?”

  “Welcome to the last refuge,” said Nikki, kissing his cheeks. “I’m so glad you’re alive.” She turned to the others. “Can we untie him?”

  Decker said, “If he’s not trying to kill us now, he will if we don’t.”

  Nikki started unbinding his arms. “We’re surrounded. We’ve sealed ourselves as best we can in the kitchen. I’ve got three rounds left for the SCAR. We’re out of ammo for the pistols.”

  “Sounds familiar.”

  She said, “Ben’s dead.”

  He slowly sat up. “Hmm. Sorry to hear that.”

  Aaron added, “I’ve turned up the temperature for the coolant in the walk–in refrigerator. If it comes to it, we can seal ourselves in there.”

  Jon nodded slowly, thinking about that. “We’re sort of like a Russian doll. We keep squeezing into tighter and tighter spaces.” He licked his teeth and made a face. “I’d kill for a toothbrush.”

  This got some smiles and he let Nikki steady him. He rubbed his wrists where the bindings had been. “I’m kinda thirsty.”

  Christy handed him a glass of water while Decker slipped on a pair of latex gloves to remove the IV.

  Jon frowned at the tap water, but drank it anyway. He looked back at Aaron, “Seriously though, Aaron. I don’t think the air supply in the walk-in would keep us alive for very long. Better to keep the food fresh. We may need it if we have to wait this out for a stretch.”

  “I hadn’t thought of that,” said Susan. “Aaron, turn it back down.”

  Aaron scowled, but did as he was told.

  Susan continued, “Its good to have you back, Mr. Washington. I’m afraid we can’t be certain that you aren’t somehow still contagious so I suggest we all keep up proper precautions. Nikki, I suppose you’re excepted.”

  Christy refilled Jon’s glass again and he drank the water slowly while nodding at the door, “Annoying, huh?”

  “Tell us about it,” said Teddy.

  Everyone cracked another smile, but it was quickly buried again under the continued assault. The door was solid oak and built to code with a three-hour burn time, but it was still only made of wood. The refugees couldn’t see it, but the Fiends were gradually demolishing the barrier. Ever so slowly a pile of splinters and shards was building on the floor of the other side.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Heavies

  Storm and McNeil way overslept. They’d driven themselves to exhaustion with their hunt. The racket that was the comings and goings of a busy airfield didn’t stir either one of them. When they finally woke, it was only because an airman banged on the helicopter door, yelling that they needed the space for other aircraft.

  The two women noted each other’s greasy hair and rank smelling clothes and decided that the folks they were looking for had it far worse. They would forgo a shower, but talked the airman into letting them grab some quick grub.

  As they stepped out into the soft morning light, the full buzz of this sector’s air campaign came to life. The small commuter airport was maxed out with helicopters and cargo planes as well as a handful of F-35B jump jets.

  As the two women made their way to the mess tent, they noted the combat support hospital and cringed at its ominous presence. In addition to mending wounded soldiers with accident-related battlefield injuries, combat support hospitals had been converted to a dual role, one that no American hospital had ever filled before: The mobile lifesaving post was also a de facto euthanasia station. A soldier or civilian who had been bitten or had in some other way become infected, was brought to the hospital to receive a more humanitarian ending than would otherwise be possible.

  In the beginning, when the outbreak had already reached epidemic proportions, the authorities had simply locked up the victims. Upon fully succumbing to the disease, the infected continued to be fed like livestock. It was thought that if a cure could be found, that the victims would one day be repatriated to society. As light-weight criminals, and then even more scurrilous types were cleared out of prisons to make room for the ever growing numbers of diseased, the nation’s scientists finally weighed in, explaining that the damage was irreversible and the practice, pointless. After the fierce debate that ensued in Congress, and also the media, the prisons were gassed and euthanasia stations were created instead. Narcotics, barbiturates, and anesthetic gases were deemed too complicated to administer for the mass killing of so very many. What was needed was a quick, mechanical, coup de grace that was relatively clean. After some trial and error, it was decided that it could be best achieved by “helping” the patient lay face down on what was more or less a massage table, and utilizing a captive bolt (also known as a cattle stunner). A pistol variant, originally used by veterinarians in the field, was found to be most effective. A retractable steel bolt was fired into the base of the neck, destroying the spinal connection and thereby creating near instant and certainly painless death. Naturally, the reactions the victims had to this ending, varied widely. Most people recognized that they were doomed and did ‘go gentle into that good night’. There were, however, those who weren’t so eager to cooperate. For them, the Heavy Squad was created. Typically made up of a team of nine soldiers, preferably heavily built, they wore a variation of a shark suit under hockey pads and a full riot helmet with gas mask. It was the Heavies job to haul the poor struggling bastards into the Heavy Room where force was applied and the result was just the same.

  There was a crematorium attached to each euthanasia station (thankfully far from the mess tent) and with remorseless consistency, it burned the dead, day and night. For those who worked around these facilities, the sheer volume of rendered, sweet-smelling, human meat could only be scrubbed from the senses through consistent familiarity or menthol cream smeared under the nose. The smoke would drift up in thick gray volumes, and on a cloudless day it could blot out the cheeriness of the sun for miles. To bring some comfort to these circumstances the hospital set up loudspeakers throughout the enterprise. It was somebody’s clever idea to play the Going Home score from the soundtrack of the 1973 dystopian film, Soylent Green. Beethoven and Tchaikovsky played in an endless loop, the soaring strings blending with the smoke, dulling the senses. With these rudimentary techniques, it was hoped that taste, smell and hearing, for those who labored in such places, would become numb to the constant parade of death.

  Needless to say, the battlefield tactics of the infected, as simple as they were, often left even the most resolute combat unit paralyzed with fear. With the knowledge that a light wound involving an exchange of fluids or even a close inhalation of breath meant sure death, combat effectiveness was often driven to near zero.

  It was Storm and McNeil’s bad luck that they walked to the mess tent as a load of “wounded” was being “escorted” to the euthanasia station. One soldier with two fingers chewed off and a catastrophic bite in his left calf, nevertheless fought with the strength of a badger as the Heavies steered him to the Heavy Room. The man screamed out, “No! I won’t let you! Just let me
go! I’d rather become one of them!”

  The more docile wounded who were shuffling toward the Ending Room looked on in horror at this display. One broke loose and started running only to meet up with the electric fence that funneled everyone toward the tent. The jolt was enough to knock the man unconscious and his body spasmed on the ground for a moment before two more Heavies lifted him up and carried him off to the Heavy Room.

  Sam said, “You know what? I’m not so hungry after all. What do you say we grab some instant coffee and a snack bar and get up in the air?”

  “I’m not sure I could even get that down, after seeing that. Promise if I get infected you’ll just shoot me in the head right there and then.”