The Infected Dead (Book 7): Scream For Now

by Howard, Bob

  “Did you see that?” asked Denise.

  “The way Dr. Williams dumped us back at the processing tents, I’m not so sure it was a good idea to pretend to be friends of hers.”

  “I didn’t say we were friends of hers. I just said we came in with her.”

  Phillip regarded Denise with his ‘don’t give me that’ look. She tried to act innocent, but they both knew she had at least led the woman to think they had friends in high places. They picked up their pace and caught up with the woman at an elevator.

  The woman continued talking as if they had been by her side all along.

  “You were very lucky to get in when you did. The order to draw down had just gone out.”

  “Draw down?”

  Phillip didn’t want to sound like they didn’t know anything at all, but he felt like they had to know what was happening, or they just might get into trouble.

  “Yes, you know, become inconspicuous…invisible if possible. Within an hour there won’t be a trace left of us out there. If anyone else shows up, the Yorktown will be closed up like a big oyster. No lights, no noise, and no way in.”

  “How long will we stay like that?” asked Denise.

  “That’s above my pay grade. We have everything we need, but the best part is that we aren’t out there. You’re lucky you made it inside when you did.”

  Now that they had gotten the woman to talk, Denise took the risk of asking her another question.

  “What happened to the people who were behind us in line?”

  “Oh, they’re okay, but they’ll have it a little harder than you. They’ll get to do a bit of hard work to earn their keep.”

  The elevator door opened, and they followed her inside. She could have been taking them to a jail cell or worse, but it didn’t seem like it. Besides, if they refused to follow, it appeared that they wouldn’t be asked to do anything. It was more likely that they would be forced to.

  When the door opened they were in a narrow corridor that was in a completely renovated part of the ship. The cabin doors were more like the doors on hotel rooms than a World War II warship. They followed her down the corridor until she stopped in front of one and produced a magnetic keycard. She slid it into the lock and pushed the door open for them. She stepped politely out of the way and handed the key to Phillip.

  “You should find everything you need in your room. Be sure to check the schedule for galley hours so you can get something to eat. I’ll be sure to let Dr. Williams know which room you’re in.”

  They wished they could have told the woman not to bother with her last promise, but that would have been worse than hoping she would forget. They surveyed the small room, and despite the feeling of uncertainty, they could have been in a worse place. There was a double bed and nightstand with one chair in the corner. The bathroom was just big enough for one person, but a toilet, sink, and a shower were more than they had the night before.

  “How did we go from a beautiful hotel room with a view to this in such a short time?” asked Phillip.

  It was obviously a rhetorical question because either of them could have asked it. Denise turned on the water at the sink as if she didn’t really expect it to work.

  She said, “Somehow I don’t think this cabin or this part of the Yorktown is mentioned in the tourist brochures.”

  “What’s that mean?”

  “It’s something secret. I mean, who knew that there would be a zombie outbreak, and the Yorktown would be used as a zombie shelter?”

  Something about saying it out loud gave it confirmation. It was really happening, and no matter what you called it, people were behaving exactly the way they did in zombie movies. People had died right in front of them. They had gotten back up, and they had bitten the nearest person they could.

  “Zombies?” asked Phillip.

  Denise raised an eyebrow at Phillip and said, “If it looks like a duck and quacks like a duck.”

  “It’s probably a duck,” Phillip finished for her. “What do you think we should do?”

  “Fit in the best we can. Let’s start with that galley schedule.”

  The schedule was posted on the back of the cabin door, and they saw there was a meal service in progress. Directions to the galley were on a crude map below the schedule. Aside from that there wasn’t much information, and they both were in need of food, so they decided to give it a try.

  They followed the directions until they came to a large dining room with a serving line along one wall. It had the appearance of a real ship’s galley, complete with benches and tables that were bolted to the floor. They followed the lead of a few others who looked as lost as they felt, and they got in line for their food. They pulled trays from a large stack and Phillip handed Denise a set of silverware rolled up in a napkin.

  “Cabin number.”

  The uniformed man behind the counter didn’t even look up from his clipboard.

  Denise felt like she was going to panic, but Phillip answered evenly.

  “F-22.”

  The man made a note without changing his bored expression.

  “When did you get the cabin number?”

  Phillip flipped the keycard up between two fingers, and she saw the big cabin number on it.

  “You could’ve saved me from a heart attack back there.”

  “I didn’t know they were going to ask for it. It’s just lucky that I saw the number when ‘Ms. Personality’ gave it to me.”

  They were handed plates of food, and they looked around for a place to sit, hoping they would find a spot relatively free of other people. They settled for a table with a few people who were sitting at the other end. They also appeared to be keeping to themselves, content to eat in silence.

  The Corrigans unrolled their forks and eyed the food. There was no shortage of starches on the plate, and there was some kind of meat patty covered in lumpy gravy. Despite the appearance of the food, it satisfied their hunger.

  “Right about now is when the waiter attacks the customers,” said Denise.

  “What waiter?” asked Phillip.

  They both laughed despite their circumstances which drew stares from the people at the end of the table. They weren’t quite angry, but the message was clear.

  It was plain to see that there wasn’t anything they could learn by hanging around the galley, so they decided to eat their meals and get back to the cabin as soon as possible. The only thing they managed to pick up were some hushed whispers behind them between a couple of men in uniform.

  It seemed that the matronly lady was right about draw down. They heard one of the men say it was going to be a boring month, and he was glad he had plenty of books to read. The other one grumbled that he didn’t know why they had to close the place up for a month. He quit grumbling when the first man asked him if he would like a transfer to the State Ports. He could shoot the infected if he was bored, or he could shoot the workers that wouldn’t listen.

  They realized someone else at their table was looking at them, so they stopped talking. Phillip didn’t want people to think they were hanging around too long, so he ate quickly and hinted to Denise to do the same.

  Back in their cabin, they had a moment of panic because they realized everyone else had some sort of role to play, and their presence was somewhat of an accident. They didn’t feel like they were supposed to be there, and it wouldn’t be long before someone found out.

  They had a sleepless night despite the comfortable bed. It was just way too quiet, and it had a feel to it like someone would be kicking in their cabin door at any moment. It wasn’t kicked in, but the knock arrived early.

  Phillip checked his watch and saw it was only six o’clock, so he knew it wasn’t a breakfast reminder. He opened the door and found a well groomed man in his thirties with a big smile on his face. Something about him almost screamed politics. Phillip felt like the man was looking for campaign contributions.

  “Ted Atwater, at your service.”

  The man held out his han
d in such a cheerful manner that Phillip had to shake it.

  “And you are Phillip Corrigan?”

  The man advanced toward Phillip, still gripping his hand, so Phillip had to back up into the room.

  “Mr. Corrigan, I understand that you came here to the Yorktown with our own Dr. Williams. I wanted to personally welcome you and assure you that your stay will be comfortable. I only ask that you limit your movements throughout the ship to the galley and your room for the first month. We’ll make you aware when it’s time for you to move more freely.”

  Denise stepped up behind Phillip and leaned around him to speak before Phillip had the chance. She knew her husband well enough to know that he wasn’t buying the Mr. Nice Guy routine from this man, whoever he was.

  “Mr. Atwater, that’s very nice of you, and it’s certainly not a problem. We appreciate the hospitality. If there’s anything we can do to repay you, please let us know. Oh, and if it’s not a big problem, could we possibly have some books and maybe a deck of cards?”

  A month was a long time to be stuck inside with nowhere to go but the galley. Denise didn’t know what they had done to deserve a room inside this operation, but the other cabins had to be occupied by people who at least had something to do.

  “Of course, Mrs. Corrigan. That wouldn’t be a problem at all.”

  Just as quickly as he had taken Phillip’s hand he switched to hers.

  “I’ll have someone drop them by within the hour. Just let me know if you need anything else.”

  Mr. Atwater was already out the door before Denise could stop him, so she had to catch up with him in the corridor.

  “How will I do that Mr. Atwater? How will I contact you?”

  She could tell he was used to being put on the spot because he recovered nicely.

  “That won’t be necessary, Mrs. Corrigan. It’s my job to ensure your needs are met, so I’ll be checking in with you daily.”

  ******

  On the way back to the stateroom occupied by Marshall Sayer, Ted marveled at how different the Yorktown had become under his supervision. In one hour the place had gone from being a beehive of activity to being as quiet as a tomb.

  The fences outside were gone, as were the guard posts that separated the red, orange, and green zones. All personnel had been brought inside, and the ship had been sealed. The only unfortunate situation had been the families. Some had arrived with injured family members, mostly with bites. The contagion had a one hundred percent mortality rate, so they couldn’t afford to bring them inside. Ted had his usual flash of brilliance and gave orders for those families to be taken to the World War II destroyer that was docked at the stern of the aircraft carrier. He hastily had his medical staff set up a hospital ward, and after a second flash of brilliance he settled the issue of staffing the hospital.

  As a condition of admittance, the families would have to care for the wounded. Atwater selected a few of the husbands, wives, and parents who had an authoritative bearing and put them in charge. He had them dressed in white hospital coats and even hung stethoscopes around their necks. In no time they were acting like they had played doctors and nurses on TV. It also became so crowded that arrivals accepted the newly appointed hospital staff without question. Atwater gave the order for them to begin disposing of new bite victims at the processing tents.

  At first they were discreet about it. Adults not accompanied by family members were easily escorted away because there was no one to protest or question what was going to happen with them. Once they were quarantined, it was easy to give them a sedative strong enough to put them to sleep. They were taken away and injected with a combination of adenosine and lidocaine. None of them felt pain, but none of them woke up.

  Their mistake became obvious within a half hour when the first to be euthanized sat up under their sheets and put their feet on the floor of the makeshift morgue. Guards carrying another body into the tent were met by a dozen of the infected that hadn’t suffered bodily damage, and they were capable of overwhelming a few armed men.

  Chaos spilled over into the processing area as the guards tried to regroup, and eventually someone opened fire. It probably saved lives. Once it was discovered that head trauma was the only way to prevent the dead from reanimating, the people placed in quarantine were sedated and then executed by a sharp knife pushed into the soft spot on the back of the head. No one wanted the job, but then again, no one wanted to have it done to them.

  Families were the real problem. Separating them was guaranteed to cause a disturbance, and at first they were immediately sent to the hospital on the destroyer, but after the first wave of arrivals, more families arrived together than before. The decision was made to dispose of entire families if the bite victims were hard to separate from their relatives. The decision wasn’t well received by the people working in the processing tents, and there were signs that discipline was about to dissolve.

  Atwater was able to rationalize the choice. There was no way they could provide for everyone who came to their gates. They had supplies, but not enough for the kind of crowd that was coming their way. They were never intended to be a shelter for the general public. He knew that the operation would be forced to take in some refugees, but they didn’t have an open door policy. The problem was that he could rationalize the choice all he wanted, and it wasn’t going to change what was happening at the gates. His job was to keep problems from reaching Marshall Sayer, so he decided it was time to begin phase two even if it was ahead of schedule.

  The tower of the Yorktown gave Atwater a good view of the surrounding terrain. The Green Zone was a stark contrast to the Red Zone. In one, guards smoked cigarettes. In the other, sharpshooters were trying hard to keep the horde out of the Orange Zone. Every shot dropped another, but there was an endless supply. They were stumbling down the main road from the entrance to Patriots Point, but they were emerging from the trees and even from the marshes. The sun was on its way down, and the long shadows across the infected made it appear to be more of them than there were, but Atwater couldn’t afford to be wrong about when to start phase two. He gave the order and sat back to watch.

  Everything came to a stop down at the processing tents, and the sharpshooters withdrew from the fence along the border to the Orange Zone. The last he saw of them was as they disappeared into the passenger seats of the personnel carriers. The guards at the tents reversed the crowds of people that had gotten into the long lines. There were bound to be some complaints, but those people who had seen what was happening in the Red Zone were glad to get back into the vehicles.

  The vehicles that hadn’t even unloaded their refugees turned right where they were and became the front of the convoy. Their drivers had a good view of what was approaching and were ready to go before they were ordered to move. If they did, they ran the risk of getting swamped by the growing horde. The success of a convoy of small vehicles would lie in their ability to stay together, but for added insurance, Atwater ordered a Stryker to escort the smaller personnel carriers. The oversized tires on the Strykers would make a path on the road by crushing the infected. It would make for a bumpy ride in the personnel carriers, but they weren’t likely to be stopped.

  It was amazing to see how quickly the tents were abandoned. Before the convoy was completely in motion the doctors and nurses were already at the ramp of the Yorktown inside the Green Zone. Before the last vehicle in the convoy accelerated to stay on the tail of the personnel carrier ahead of it, the ramp was withdrawn, and the Yorktown was sealed.

  As the taillights of the long convoy disappeared beyond the entrance to Patriots Point, Ted Atwater leaned as far as he could from the window of the tower. He viewed everything laid out in front of him as if it was his domain. The three zones that would very shortly become one and the abandoned processing tents that stood just inside the open gates. There was no need to close them, and he had no intention of locking himself inside until he got to see what the horde would do. It was spreading out below, but it would conv
erge on the gates. With nothing to stop them, they would march forward until they reached the ships.

  Most of them would probably walk into the water of the Cooper River, but enough of them would discover that the destroyer was also occupied. No one would warn them to pull their ramp in, and they wouldn’t know to do so until at least a few of the infected made it on board. Then again, the patients on the destroyer would start dying, and when they did, the living would be trying to get off the ship. Atwater hoped to see how that worked out.

  The flaps of the tents swayed in the breeze and got the attention of the infected that swarmed into the Orange Zone. They went inside the tents as if they would find someone who had been left behind, and Atwater watched the tents sag as the infected walked into the cloth walls. They also must have walked into the poles because the roofs collapsed quickly. The infected outside were momentarily drawn to the lumps that struggled to stand under the heavy tents. They couldn’t tell if there were living people under the material, and they were at least momentarily delayed from entering the Green Zone.

  The horde pushed forward, and a steady stream formed on the road that crossed the wide pier along the starboard side of the carrier. Atwater was delighted to see how many walked right to the edge and dropped over. The splashes sounded far away, but they were straight below his window. Some had their heads raised as if they could see him, and it was possible that they could. That was fine with him as long as they kept coming.

  That reminded him. Not all of them were coming straight toward the carrier because no one had told the people in the destroyer hospital to stay quiet. Sound carried at night, and as the darkness fell on Patriots Point the lights and sounds coming from the Navy destroyer were like an open invitation to the infected.

  The sun set on the Charleston side of the Yorktown, and the shadow of the great ship crossed over the pier. There were less splashes from below, and Atwater knew why. There were hundreds of infected now, and they were following the dead up front. They saw the lights and heard the shouts from people inside as they dealt with a bite victim. The conscripted medical staff was disorganized, and more than one had quit, but they would find it wasn’t a job they could just walk away from.