Pandora (Book 5): Behold A Pale Horse

by McCrohan, Richard

  What the stations tried to play down was the fact that our troops were hit by this pandemic the same as the local populations were. That also meant that around one third of or forces came down with Pandora. These troops had been left at the overseas bases along with the small skeleton crews “holding the fort” as it were. This led to infected soldiers having to be killed by their own men in self-defense. The American bases in Asia suffered worse. Like the local populace there, they had incurred a higher rate of fatalities. A large number of said bases had gone dark and ceased communication with its superiors at home.

  But, as of yet, the word zombie had not received official confirmation. Government officials and even newscasters had been loath to use that term. No one wanted to be the first to say that, yes, zombies did indeed exist and, yes, that is exactly what our friends, neighbors and loved ones actually were now. Although that was about to change.

  It was now midafternoon. Except for a short break for lunch, Patrick had been in front of the television all day. His kids and their friends had come and gone as their whims or attention spans dictated. Dwayne and Billy were upstairs combing the Internet for added information. Erica and Greta were on the couch with Patrick. They had just finished texting their friends back and forth. Patrick had the local news station on now.

  “Hey, look,” Erica said, pointing at the screen, “there’s our town. That’s Oakwood.”

  The picture showed a reporter standing in front of a tan brick building. The text on the bottom of the screen said: Oakwood, N.Y. High School. An olive green army truck was parked off to the side. Two Humvees and a police car we grouped together. They noticed that the reporter was standing near the entrance to the school gymnasium. The sound of shouts could be heard off-camera. The reporter put the microphone to his stoic face and began to speak.

  “This is John Gibbons from News 12. I’m standing in front of the Oakwood High School gymnasium with members of the Oakwood police force and 14th National Guard unit. Inside the school gymnasium are the infected family members of Oakwood’s citizens. This building is being used as a containment center for all of the people that were taken during the quarantine proceedings today.”

  The camera swung over to a large crowd that was gathered in front of sawhorses used to block access to the gym. They looked both frightened and angry. The people in the crowd were yelling and shouting at the police and military behind the barricades. Some were waving fists.

  “Where are our relatives?”

  “When can I see my husband?”

  “I demand to see my children, now.”

  The angry crowd was beginning to stir themselves up.

  The camera then focused back onto the reporter. He was standing next to an officer from the National Guard.

  “I’m here with Lieut. Ivan Gutiérrez from the 14th National Guard,” Gibbons said. Turning to him, he said, “Tell us. What is the next step in dealing with the infected victims?”

  “Now that the subjects have been isolated,” the officer said, “we’re going to take a wait-and-see approach with them. As this virus runs its course, we –”

  A loud thunk sounded off-screen and the shouting suddenly increased. The camera was jostled by several people running by. They surged through the soldiers who tried to fend them off with their rifles. The cameramen held his ground and scanned the scene showing the crowd of people rushing forward and toppling the sawhorses.

  The lieutenant was shouting, “Keep them away from the doors.”

  Two men ran up to the double doors to the gym and yanked at the steel bar securing them closed. A cop rushed up and grabbed one of the men by the shoulders and pulled him away, but the other man succeeded in pulling the bar from the double door handles and threw it down.

  Lieut. Gutiérrez saw what was happening. Shouting, “Stop,” he turned and started running for the door, but was knocked to the ground by the crowd.

  Extricating himself from the mad frenzy, the reporter came toward the camera at the same time two more people came up and flung open the double doors to the gym. He motioned for the camera to focus in on him, and when the cameramen put his eye to the lens, a loud growling and moaning emanated from inside the building. Reporter John Gibbons walked toward the door while looking over his shoulder at the camera. He just started to speak when a wave of milky eyed and bloodied zombies poured from the interior of the school building. They quickly fell upon the stunned crowd gathered there. It became a sheer carnage.

  Gibbons turned toward the mass of zombies emerging from inside, and then back to the camera. “Oh, my God,” he shouted, “the people who were held inside have all turned and –”

  That was as far as he got. A man who looked an awful lot like Ray Cortes grabbed John from behind and sank his teeth into the side of his cheek. The camera wavered, and then fell to the ground. For another five seconds all you saw were moving feet until something fell on top of the camera and the picture went black.

  The newsfeed went back to the two newscasters in the studio. The camera panned in to the head anchor, a tall man with gray hair. He appeared to be totally stunned.

  “Uh, that was John…uhm, John Gibbons…” He stammered. He looked at the Teleprompter and then back to the camera. His lips were moving but he made no sound.

  His co-anchor, handsome black man said quickly, “ Tim, our sources here say that there were over two hundred victims being sequestered in that high school gymnasium.” He looked over at his colleague, but the older man just continued to stare at the camera. He looked increasingly panicked.

  The station quickly went to a commercial and instantly Patrick and Erica were being informed of the attributes of a cure for erectile dysfunction.

  “The high school is only about two miles from here,” Patrick noted.

  After five more consecutive commercials it became apparent that there was a problem in the studio. Patrick had just picked up the remote when the picture changed back to the studio again. The gray-haired anchor was gone and a very nervous young woman was in his place. She was attractive with long black hair. The newly elected anchor cleared his throat. He had a fake smile pasted on his face and his tie was slightly askew.

  “I’m, uhm, joined now by my colleague, Cori Rojas.”

  “Hi Jim,” she said. Her eyes kept shifting to the side. There was some background noise and commotion, but it gradually quieted down.

  Dwayne and Billy came into the living room then. Walking over to his father, Dwayne said, “Excuse me, Dad. Billy needs to talk to you.”

  Patrick got up and the three of them walked out the room. They stopped in the hall as Patrick said, “What’s up? What do you need, Billy?”

  “I hate to bother you Mr. S, but I’m going to have to go to my house.”

  “You’re house?” Patrick said. “Why do you need to go there?”

  “Well,” said Billy sheepishly, “I have to go and pick up clothes and stuff. My toothbrush and personal things.”

  “Yeah, Dad,” Dwayne added, “he tried on some of my clothes, but nothing fits him. I’m too tall and thinner, too.”

  “I understand,” Patrick said, thinking. “I don’t think it’s a great idea for you to go.”

  “I don’t have any clothes, Mr. S. The stuff I’m wearing is starting to smell.”

  Patrick put his hands up, “okay, hold on, he said with a smile, “I know you need your things. But it’s too dangerous for you to go. Why don’t I go and get your clothes for you? I can just pick up everything and you can sort out what you want.”

  Billy looked uncomfortable with that. He hesitated and knitted his eyebrows.

  “Billy,” Patrick said, putting his hand on his shoulder, “you know your parents are still there. You won’t be safe.”

  The boy nodded his head as he bit his lip. His eyes filled and he roughly wiped them with the back of his hand.

  “Let me go,” Patrick continued. “I’ll deal with your parents and make sure that everything is safe for you. Then I can call you
over and you could pick out all your things yourself. How about that?”

  Swallowing a lump in his throat, Billy nodded. He didn’t trust himself to speak.

  “Okay, good,” Patrick said. “Let me get ready and I’ll go.” He patted Billy on the shoulder. As he turned to go upstairs, Dwayne came over and put his arm around his friend.

  “Don’t worry,” he said, “my dad will take care of everything.”

  §§ §

  The telephone rang and Jason picked up the receiver.

  “Hello?” he said.

  “Jason, it’s your uncle, Lenny,” the voice on the other end said. “Is your father there?”

  “Yeah, Uncle Lenny, let me get him for you.”

  He called his father and told him that his brother was on the telephone. Carl came up and Jason handed him the receiver.

  “It’s my brother, the doctor,” said Carl with a smile, after taking the phone. “How are you, Lenny?”

  Karl’s brother, Dr. Leonard Rabner, was a cardiologist at Columbia-Presbyterian Hospital in Manhattan. Although they talked often, Carl would normally be a little surprised to be hearing from him in the middle of the day. He was usually very busy during the day with surgeries and seeing patients. But this was Sunday.

  Knowing that his wife, Fran, had come down with the Pandora virus last month, he asked Lenny, “How is Fran doing?”

  “I don’t know,” admitted Lenny.

  “You don’t know?” Carl asked.

  “I’ve been here since yesterday morning,” said Lenny.

  “You’re still in the hospital?” Carl said surprised.

  “Yes,” said Lenny, “I came in to do an emergency bypass early yesterday morning and I never left. Fran called me Saturday afternoon and said she was going to the clinic near home. I had planned to leave after surgery, but the ER became a madhouse. It seems everyone who entered the hospital was infected. There’s a large homeless shelter across the street on 186th Street and they sent all of their people here.”

  “Oh my God,” Carl exclaimed.

  Lenny continued, “We were completely inundated with patients dying, then reanimating again. The police and guards were overwhelmed. We were supposed to get a small National Guard contingent, but they became stuck in gridlock. The streets are a mess.”

  “But, how about you?” Carl said. “Are you all right?”

  “Yes,” said Lenny. “But, we’re stuck in the hospital. The ER and lower floors are full of the infected. Several people here have tried to run out, but they were killed. I’m with a large number of doctors and medical staff down by the Harkness Pavilion. It is a little clearer down here. The several policemen here with us have called and are trying to set up a rescue effort for us.”

  “What are you going to do? How will that work?”

  “They’re going to take us to one of the quarantine areas set up in Manhattan. From there…I don’t know. You know that the governor of New Jersey barricaded the bridges and tunnels going there?”

  “What?” exclaimed Carl.

  “Yeah, I know,” spat Lenny disgustedly. “So listen, Carl. I don’t know what is going to happen to me here. I tried to reach Fran, but to no avail. I haven’t had time to charge my cell phone and I don’t know if I’ll even be able to. Just take care of yourself and your family, Carl. These infected are very dangerous. I know some people are calling them zombies and, truthfully, I’m almost inclined to agree. But stay away from them. One bite, no matter how small, will infect you, too. Stay inside and don’t go out.”

  “Surely the authorities will be able to do something soon,” Carl said hopefully.

  Lenny snorted disdainfully, “I really don’t see how, Carl. You should see it here. It’s like the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse descended upon New York City. I have to go now. We hear them coming up the staircase. I’ll try to call yo –” the phone went dead.

  “Lenny, Lenny!” cried Carl. He sat down heavily on the chair against the wall. Putting his head in his hands, he couldn’t believe how fast things were spinning out of control.

  Stay inside and don’t go out.

  His brother’s words rang in his head. Standing, he walked to the large living room window and looked out. The leaves in the trees on his property were in bloom. The grass was green and birds were singing. Everything looked completely normal. Just another beautiful Sunday afternoon.

  § § §

  Patrick stood in front of his closet. Reaching in, he pulled out an old leather jacket. The leather was thick and he hadn’t worn in years. Putting it on, it felt like armor. Hopefully they can’t bite through this, he thought. Closing the door, he went to his highboy bureau. Opening the top drawer, he pulled out a box from the back. Dialing the numerical lock with his thumb, he opened it up. Inside, cushioned in navy felt, sat his Sig Sauer MK-25. He picked up the handgun and walked over to the bed. Underneath, he had put all his ammunition and the new Taurus Revolver he received. He sat on the edge of the bed while he loaded his Sig with 9 mm bullets. Then standing, he put it in his jacket’s deep pocket and went downstairs.

  Billy came up to him and handed him a key. “Here, Mr. S,” he said, “this is to get into the house. It works in the front and back doors.”

  “Thanks, Billy,” Patrick said. “I’ll come out wave when it’s safe to come in.”

  He looked at his young neighbor and saw the trepidation written on his face. He couldn’t even begin to imagine what the poor young man must be feeling right now. Patting him on the shoulder, he gave him a small smile and said, “It’s going to be all right.”

  Patrick then opened the front door and looked out. The street looked empty. He walked down the stairs and marched across the street to the Dwyer house. He was heading to the front door, but stopped and veered to the side of the house. He was at the side window and looked around. Patrick was looking for something to stand on so he could look inside the window. Finding nothing, he continued on to the back of the house. Patrick silently mounted the stairs of the small back porch and opened the screen door. He cupped his hands around his eyes and peered through the glass into the kitchen. Steve Dwyer was one of the few people on the street not to have installed a large wooden deck and sliding glass doors on the back of his house.

  There was no one in the kitchen. Patrick tried the door. Turning the handle and as gently as he could, he found it locked. Taking the key out of his pocket he inserted it and turned it with a soft click. Patrick found that he had been holding his breath the whole time. He slowly let the air out and steadied his breathing. When he was ready, he reached into his pocket and took out the handgun. Then reaching down with his left hand, he very slowly turned the knob. Pushing the door open with care, he took a step into the sunny, yellow and green kitchen. With each careful step inside, his eyes quickly darted around the room. He slowly made his way to the doorway into the dining room. Peeking in, he found it to be also empty.

  He slipped into the room and sidled along the wall till he reached the entrance into the living room. Being in this house many times before, he knew that the stairs to the second floor would be on his right and the front door to the left. Hugging the wall, he slowly peered out. Patrick saw the way to the stairs were clear; but as he poked his head out more, he saw Billy’s parents standing there. They fortunately had their backs to him. Steve and Stephanie were standing still, each one moaning softly through open mouths. Occasionally they would sway or shuffle their feet.

  Patrick wondered if he could just tiptoe behind them and make it up the stairs. He really didn’t want to shoot them. No, he thought, that will never work. Billy has to be able to come inside. He shouldn’t have to see his folks like this. And I don’t want to shoot them in front of him.

  Patrick stepped carefully into the living room, still undetected. He raised his arm and pointed the gun at the back of Steve’s head. He paused there, unable to pull the trigger. This is murder, he thought. His hand started to shake while his arm remained extended. Patrick’s vision blurred as
his eyes filled with tears.

  Seconds slowly crept by. Right as Patrick was about to lower his weapon, Steve unexpectedly turned his head. Both men’s eyes opened in mutual surprise. For a brief second they both stood there as time seemed to slow and stop. Then Steve’s lips parted as he bared his teeth. He almost seemed to be smiling. Leaning his head in, Steve gave a low growl. Black blood seeped from between his bared teeth as his lips stretched impossibly wide. Without even realizing he did it, Patrick pulled the trigger. The bullet hit Steve in the side of his head, blowing out a chunk of scalp and knocking him down.

  The back spray splattered his wife who had now turned to Patrick also. She was dressed in a pink nightie that showed off her pale, dark veined skin. She opened her mouth and growled at Patrick. Stephanie reached her hands out and rushed at him. He fired again, but the shot missed and hit the big screen TV mounted behind her on the wall.