Plague Town Read online

  There was a commotion at the far end of the room, lots of shouting and guys brandishing guns. Most of the hazmat brigade were down there, along with Gabriel. Like me, he wasn’t wearing protective gear.

  I briefly wondered why, but then the woman in the cot nearest me started convulsing. Dark blood poured from her mouth and nose in scary quantities. Her eyes snapped open and for an instant we locked gazes. The whites of her eyes looked like bloody egg yolks; sickly yellow streaked with red veins. Thick red tears oozed out from under her lashes and trickled down her face. She opened her mouth and croaked out something.

  I think it was “Help me.”

  Then a fresh flow of blood caused the words to rattle and distort in her throat.

  “I... I’m sorry...”

  I backed away from her, wanting only to escape from the horror of the moment. My legs hit cold metal and I nearly toppled back onto another cot, this one holding a skinny African-American kid covered in red-soaked sheets. His eyes and mouth gaped open, blood oozing thickly from the corners. I would have thought he was dead, except for the occasional tremor wracking his body.

  Pressing a hand to my mouth to force back the bile rising in my throat, I stumbled to the middle of the room, trying not to look any more as my ears filled with the grotesque sounds of throats closing up, then vomiting out foul-smelling liquids.

  Why isn’t anyone doing something for these people?

  Someone at the far end of the room growled, and it was a guttural, feral sound. My attention snapped back there in time to see one of the hazmat guys raise his gun, tugging back on a lever that made a nasty ch-chak, like the noise a shotgun makes in the movies when they rack a shell into it.

  “Hold your fire.” Gabriel barked the order in a tone that cut through the chaos. “Don’t shoot it. We need to contain as many of these specimens as possible.”

  Specimens?

  “Use the poles. Just keep away from its teeth.”

  I slowly approached the cluster of soldiers and medics, and saw that one of the creatures was loose. He... it was wearing one of the collars. The soldiers had poles, about six feet in length with spring-loaded clasps on the ends. No one noticed me as two or three of them tried to hook their clasps into one of the metal rings on the collar. The thing’s head was snapping from side to side, but I could see that he had once been a good-looking guy in his twenties. He wore the torn, bloody remnants of jeans and a white cotton, button-down shirt.

  Wounds were visible through the shredded fabric, deep gouges in gangrenous sallow-green flesh.

  “Matt...?”

  My voice came out as barely a croak.

  Matt’s head stopped moving as if my voice triggered an off switch. Everyone froze around him, seeming afraid that they would set him off again. Then he slowly turned to the side to stare at me with milky white pupils, the whites themselves yellowed and bloodshot.

  One hand stretched out toward me and for a heartbeat I thought he recognized me. Then a feral snarl distorted his features and he... it lunged for me, mindless hunger the only thing evident in those dead eyes as it plowed unheedingly through the soldiers who stood between us.

  A bolt of paralyzing grief hit me, so strong and painful that it felt as if someone plunged a knife into my chest. I just stood there as my now undead boyfriend knocked soldiers aside in a driving hunger for my flesh that had nothing to do with sex.

  Zombie Matt’s fingers actually grazed my shoulders when one of the pole clasps suddenly snagged the collar around its neck, stopping it in its tracks. I looked up to see Gabriel holding the other end of the pole, muscles tensing as he fought to pull Matt away from me. Everyone else scattered as it bucked and lunged, hands grasping and slipping off hazmat suits, guttural moans and growls spilling out of its mouth along with that rank black fluid.

  “Some help here!” Sweat poured off Gabriel’s brow.

  Without thinking, I grabbed up one of the poles dropped by the soldiers and shoved the business end up against the ring on the other side of Matt’s collar. The clasp opened and shut with a snap. The resulting jerk on my arms and shoulders nearly made me pass out. All that kept me upright was the knowledge that if I fainted, I would probably die.

  Gabriel shot me an unreadable look.

  “Someone grab that pole—now!” he barked.

  Thankfully, someone grabbed the pole from my hands. Someone else caught me as I started a slow collapse to the floor.

  This is getting monotonous, I thought as everything faded to black.

  The last thing Annie wanted to do was open the store. Her throat felt like raw meat, what with all the coughing, and she could buy stock in Kleenex. But with Lily currently unreachable and her mom out of town, someone had to keep things running.

  At least she had a job, Annie told herself as she went through the morning routine. And when she didn’t feel like hammered shit, it was a job she loved, with a great boss and a sweetheart of a co-worker.

  Maybe Lily had lost her cell phone, Annie mused as she counted out the bank for the register. It wasn’t like her to ignore calls, especially when the store was involved. She sneezed for the umpteenth time in two days, getting her sleeve up just in time to prevent her from spraying the contents of the register. She was blowing her nose when the first screams ripped through the air outside.

  Annie froze in front of the register. Then the unmistakable shriek of a child came from the courtyard out front, unlocking her paralysis. Grabbing the shop key, she dashed to the front door, jammed the key in the lock, and turned the tumblers.

  Out in the courtyard a little boy in dinosaur-print pajamas cowered on the lawn as two men and a woman converged on him, all three looking—and smelling—like they’d spent the night in a dumpster.

  Annie didn’t stop to think. She threw herself through the door, yelling in outrage as she ran toward the little boy.

  “What are you people doing? Get away from him!”

  The woman ignored her, reaching for the child, who cringed away in terror.

  “Mommy, no, please!”

  The two men turned toward Annie, who stopped short in disbelief and dawning horror as she saw their faces for the first time. Black fluid dripped from their ears, noses, and mouths, their eyes were a combination of sickly yellow whites and milky corneas. One had a chunk of flesh missing from his cheek; the other looked like he’d gone a round with a grizzly, and lost.

  Both moaned and lurched in her direction. She stumbled back a step, looking over at the child, who was now screaming steadily as the woman grabbed hold of him despite his efforts to scramble away.

  “Mommy, nooo! Mommeeee!” His shrieks rose in pitch and intensity as the woman bit into his arm.

  Annie took a step toward him, the desire to save him warring with the gut-wrenching fear that was flooding through her. When one of the things drew close enough to brush her with its bloodied fingertips, she ran back to the door of the shop, the boy’s screams stabbing into her heart.

  Clutching the handle, she turned it. It stopped halfway, locked from the inside. And the key was hanging from the lock on the other side of the door.

  She spun around as hands reached for her, holding her, tearing at her. Teeth sunk into her neck as she was borne to the ground under the weight of reeking bodies. Something tore into her stomach, but soon the unbearable pain faded into blackness.

  I woke up—again—in my little sterile room. To my surprise, Gabriel sat in the chair next to the bed. His eyes were shut and I thought he was asleep. He looked haggard, as exhausted as I felt.

  Although...

  Honestly, I didn’t feel nearly as shitty as I should have. I ached a little, sure, but the fever? Gone. The bite wounds itched, and that was irritating, but shouldn’t they have hurt a lot more?

  I poked at the fresh bandage covering the bite on my forearm, resulting in about as much pain as if I’d bruised it sometime in the last couple of days.

  This isn’t right.

  I began to think about what ha
d happened before my blackout.

  Matt.

  I didn’t want to go there. So to distract myself, I unhooked the little butterfly clasp holding the bandage in place and slowly unwound what seemed like a large intestine’s length of gauze. I winced and closed my eyes as I revealed the arm itself, prepared for a gaping, ragged hole where the zombie’s teeth had ripped away the flesh.

  Giving in to the inevitable, I opened my eyes, and to my surprise the wound wasn’t that bad. I could see tooth marks, sure, but I’d expected a major loss of flesh, and it just wasn’t there.

  “You feeling okay?”

  I jerked, and Gabriel sat up, eyes open, bloodshot yet still startlingly blue.

  “Yeah...” I sat up without any residual light-headedness. “I feel pretty good, actually. I don’t get it.”

  Looking uncomfortable, Gabriel got to his feet.

  “Professor Fraser will be here in a minute,” he muttered. He opened the door and started to leave.

  “Wait.” I regretted it as soon as I said it.

  He stopped in the doorway.

  “What?”

  “What—” I choked, afraid of the question I was about to ask. “What happened to Matt?”

  He hesitated. His uncertainty was freaking me out, to the point that I actually missed the egotistical posturing.

  “Professor Fraser will explain,” he said. He turned to leave again, then paused and looked back at me.

  “I’m really sorry about your boyfriend, Ashley.”

  The door shut behind him.

  I drank some more ginger ale from the tray on my bedside stand, then lay back. About five minutes later the door opened and Simone entered, bearing a tray which she put on the bed stand. She sat down next to me and gave me an encouraging smile.

  “Are you hungry, Ashley?”

  I shook my head.

  “Not really.” I smelled chicken broth and my stomach growled. Okay, I lied. But I didn’t want to be hungry. Matt was dead. Or should be dead. And somehow the fact that my body still wanted food seemed like a betrayal.

  Simone reached out and brushed a lock of hair back from my forehead. The simple kindness of the gesture brought tears to my eyes.

  “I know you’re hurting... both physically and emotionally.” She leaned back. “No one should have to go through what you’ve experienced in the last twenty-four hours. But you should try and eat something. You need to get your strength back. And you did lose some blood, you know.”

  “I want to call my parents,” I said, trying hard not to cry. Suddenly I wanted to hear my mom’s voice so badly it hurt. Some things didn’t change with age.

  “I’m sorry, Ashley, but that’s just not possible.” Simone looked sympathetic, but didn’t give any ground. “Outside communications have been heavily restricted. We have a center handling all calls in and out of the quarantine zone.”

  “Quarantine zone?” My voice took on a new urgency. “Let me talk to my parents! I need to know if they’re okay!”

  “Where do they live?” she asked.

  “Lake County.”

  A reassuring look settled on her face.

  “So far the infection has been contained in Redwood County,” she said. “They should be safe.”

  “But what if they contact this call center?” I pressed. “How will they know I’m okay?”

  “They’ll be told that you’re recovering from a relapse of the flu, but need to remain in quarantine for a while longer. And that you’re getting the best possible care.” Simone patted my shoulder. “They’ll still worry, of course, but not too badly.”

  I shut my eyes and heaved a reluctant sigh of relief.

  Maybe I’ll eat a little something after all.

  Opening my eyes again, I looked at her.

  “How did this happen?” I asked. “For that matter, what the hell happened?”

  She shook her head.

  “I don’t know. We don’t know.”

  “Who’s ‘we’?”

  “Ah.” Simone picked up the tray and set it carefully across my stomach. “Eat something, and I’ll tell you what I can.”

  Chicken noodle soup, saltines, and more ginger ale. A very familiar menu, and definitely comfort food. Right now I needed all the comfort I could get. So I crumbled crackers into the soup, picked up the spoon, and ate while Simone talked.

  “This isn’t the first time an outbreak of this sort has occurred.” She settled into professorial mode, lacking only her lectern and laser pointer. “Throughout history,” she continued, “there have been outbreaks of the reanimated dead, also referred to as zombies, the walking dead, the living dead, and by numerous other colloquial and hyperbolic descriptions. It really all depends on the time period, locale, and average I.Q. of the local populace. ‘Walking death’ has been a popular term for the condition, though.”

  A part of me couldn’t believe what I was hearing. I wanted to scream, What kind of idiot do you take me for? Then again, I’d had chunks of flesh ripped out of my arm and had come face to face with my undeniably zombified boyfriend.

  So I just let her continue.

  “It’s been difficult to isolate the root cause,” she admitted. “It acts like a virus, spread via contact with the bodily fluids of an infected person. But as to how it originated? No idea. The religious implications alone are staggering.” Simone paused, but then shook her head.

  “Some of the outbreaks have been minor, quite easily contained. In those cases, patient zero was easily located and—”

  “Patient zero?”

  “The index case. The first patient whose discovery indicates the existence of an outbreak.”

  “Outbreak.” I nodded. “Like in the movie, the guy who let the monkey go, he’d be patient zero, right?”

  “Erm...” She struggled with that for a moment. Then, “Ah, yes. At least for the mutated Ebola virus they—” Simone stopped and looked at me askance. “That was a terrible movie, you know.”

  “It had Dustin Hoffman,” I said in defense. I liked Outbreak.

  Simone just looked at me.

  “Don’t judge me,” I muttered, and drank some more ginger ale.

  Redwood Bear Market and Gas was typical of the rest stops found off the little highway that cut through the forest a few miles west of Redwood Grove. Folksy billboard with a friendly anthropomorphized bear, carvings and furniture made of redwood burls lining the porch around the store, signs advertising espresso.

  “It looks deserted.”

  Sgt. Willard Gentry glanced over at the speaker, PFC Knowles, the newest—and Gentry’s least favorite—addition to their squadron. Knowles was far too cocky for such a skinny little shithead with breath like the back end of a buzzard, even if he did have what it took to make it through the demanding Zed Tactical Force selection process.

  Their commander, Lt. Kaplan held up a hand.

  “Get the wax out of your ears, private. All of you, listen.”

  All eight men in the squad obeyed their leader’s command, freezing in place, ears cocked toward the building.

  Gentry’s scrotum tightened as if squeezed by an icy fist as the first moans reached his ears, the sound muffled by wood and glass, but still ball-shriveling no matter how many times he’d heard it before. It was even worse for the three men new to the ZTF.

  Knowles looked like he was going to puke.

  “This building has been compromised,” Kaplan snapped. “Gentry, Jenkins, Knowles, stack on Private Atherton. The remaining—” He stopped as a wet cough rattled in his throat. He’d been fighting a bug for a few days, and it sounded like the flu was winning. This Walker’s shit was nasty.

  As if on cue Pvt. Atherton doubled over with a racking cough of his own.

  Looks like the flu shots they gave us weren’t worth shit.

  Lt. Kaplan coughed one more time, spat a wad of phlegm onto the ground and finished.

  “The remaining Alpha team secure the grounds and keep an eye out for hostiles exiting the building or
approaching from the woods.” As the four soldiers lined up against the wall by the door, Kaplan added, “Remember, use speed, surprise and violence of action.”

  Atherton kicked the door in. Gentry heard something fall as he dashed inside and peeled to the left while Jenkins went right. Knowles jinked off to the left a step or two away from the doorway and Atherton followed, still coughing.

  Gentry trained his M-4 on a male zombie that had been knocked down during their entrance, and yelled.

  “Zed identified!”

  “Fire!”

  “On the way!” Gentry put several shots into the zom’s head, then scanned for the next target. Half a dozen zombies lurched through the aisles of tourist souvenirs.

  “Jesus...” Knowles swallowed several times, probably trying not to lose his lunch. Gentry knew how he felt; he’d been there himself on his first mission.

  Shots rang out as the four men took out the enemy. The percussion of gunfire mixed with Atherton’s coughing.

  Gentry tapped him on the shoulder

  “You okay, man?”

  “Fine. Just need me some cough syrup or something.”

  Gentry caught a glimpse of very dark blood as Atherton wiped his mouth with the back of one hand. That did not look good. But before he could pursue the matter, fire lit up the back of his calf as something tore through his pants and into the flesh beneath.

  “Motherfucker!”

  Gentry looked down to see what was once a little boy in diapers and a Sponge Bob T-shirt chewing on his right leg. The sergeant immediately raised the stock of his M-4 and smashed it into the zombie toddler’s skull. Once, twice, three times, until it fell to the ground, a mouthful of flesh and camo fabric clenched between its teeth.

  “Motherfucker.” Gentry whispered it this time. He knew what a bite meant.

  No time to feel sorry for himself, though. More zeds were pouring out from the back of the shop, at least ten of them. He heard Knowles scream as he was borne to the ground, caught by surprise. Atherton moved in to help, but was incapacitated by another coughing fit. Three zombies swarmed him before he could recover.