End Days Super Boxset (81 page)

She was growing weary of his pessimism but remained focused. “They won't know we're reporters. We tell them that we're not feeling well. We tell them that we're sick and afraid. I want everyone to make their best sick faces. From here on out, we're going undercover.”

John and Phil went silent.

“We find our way in there and capture whatever we see.”

“You do realize we could get in a lot of trouble for doing that? The network would never air it.” Even Phil had his objections.

“I'll tell them that you just puked an hour ago, and that we're all concerned that we may have something,” Laura said, pointing to Phil.

“Hey, why do I have to be the guy who puked?”

“It'll never work,” John said.

Laura stopped and looked at them with disappointment. “Are you guys here to help me or be a pain in my ass? Because I'll do this alone if I have to.”

Phil and John looked at each other again. It was clear that something had to be done, and even with the risk, there was indeed a story to be told. They reluctantly nodded as Phil fished the mini-cameras from his bag.

Laura's camera looked as if it were just another button on her jacket. Phil's camera was pinned on his shirt near his chest, while John's camera was mounted near the collar of his dress shirt. Each device seemed to have enough juice for an hour or two, so the team proceeded toward the hospital entrance, having splashed water on their faces to look sweaty.

The first guard in Laura's path was wearing a military-issued M40 protective mask. He looked like private security and wore a dark blue jumpsuit with the generic badge of some company over his chest. Laura's camera panned down to his pistol belt where he was armed. He immediately asked what their business was on the premises as other masked security guards circled around them.

Laura tried to keep her cool, even though she could feel the collective nervousness of her news team. “My friends and I are concerned after feeling ill. My personal physician, Dr. Henson, is expecting us.”

The main guard approached closer. The others held firmly onto their semi-automatic rifles. “Are you saying that you're sick? Ma'am, this hospital is undergoing quarantine operations right now, and we're under strict instructions not to let anyone in or out.”

“By who?” Laura asked outright.

The guard’s face turned sour. “Whatcha mean, by who? The people who run the show, that's who.”

“The CDC?” she asked.

Suddenly, a shorter, stockier guard stepped forward, talking through his mask. “Ma'am, if you're feeling sick, the best thing to do is call the CDC and remain in your home until further notice.”

“But we're already here. Please, Dr. Hansen is my personal physician. I have an appointment.”

The stocky guard looked her up and down then glanced at John and Phil. “And your friends? They have appointments as well?”

“We're all a little under the weather, and with all the stuff in the news, it makes us worried.”

The two main guards looked at each other for signals. They weren't dressed in full protective gear, but they were wearing gloves and boots. John and Phil moved around to get shots of all the guards and police cars in the front lot. It was too much to get the entire picture in one frame, and they couldn't actually see what they were filming.

“What's your name?” the tall guard asked.

“Laura Walsh.” She hoped they wouldn't recognize her. In actuality, she wasn't that well-known yet and had little to worry about.

“Wait here, Ms. Walsh,” the stocky guard said as they took a cautious step away from the undercover group, with sudden concern over the virus they might be carrying.

Laura could hear them talking among themselves, while she flashed reassuring looks at Phil and John, who seemed patently uncomfortable. She tried her best to hear the guards but could only make out a few sentences.

“Well, they're already here. Best to get them inside with the others.”

“Hold on,” the stocky guard said, pulling out a walkie-talkie. He pressed the button on its side and spoke into the receiver. “We got some patient out here of a Doctor Hansen who says that she's sick.” After some chatter over the radio, the guard approached her, keeping a careful distance.

“What symptoms have you been showing?”

Laura looked at her group, hesitant, then back to the guard. “Um, high temperature, fever.”

He looked back at her skeptically. “Any muscle pains or vomiting?”

“My friend Phil vomited earlier,” she said.

All the guards collectively took a further step back.

“Okay, okay, go in there. Dr. Hansen or a medical representative will meet up with you shortly.”

The guards parted and opened a path for Laura and her crew to enter the hospital. “Thank you,” she said.

They walked through the double doors and entered the lobby. There were lines of patients in the hallway that led to different hospital rooms. There were elderly people, adult men and women, stoic-faced yet projecting fear. A multitude of hospital personnel dressed in full biohazard gear moved around with purpose.

The first floor had been altered to resemble a mass in-processing station for the sick. Many of the attendants wore HAZMAT suits with “CDC” printed on the back. Other personnel wore standard protective gear, complete with N95 respirators. It was hard to tell how many local, state, or federal agencies had converged on the hospital.

Instructions were blaring over the intercoms, telling patients where to stand and what examination procedures to follow. The place was moving like a slow assembly line. All patients were wearing simple respiratory masks over their faces, and Laura and her team were immediately handed some masks, given clipboards, and told to get in line near an armed military guard wearing a gas mask.

“I don't like this,” John said. “I don't like this one bit.”

“Me either,” Phil added.

“We're going to be okay,” Laura said. “Trust me.”

The constant coughing of people waiting in the halls was unsettling. It was now completely dark outside, and the moon glistened in the night sky.

Laura's heart raced with anticipation, knowing that they were getting actual footage of official quarantine procedures. She shuddered to think that it was all related to Ebola. How could such a thing be possible? Who was in charge? And where was Dr. Hansen? Just as soon as the questions came to her, a man in white coveralls, a mask, and a face-shield came jogging over to their position at the end of one of the lines.

“Laura!” his muffled voice said.

Startled, she jumped and then looked over at him, curious.

“It's me, Dr. Hansen,” he said.

“Dr. Hansen, hello!” She extended her hand, but he backed away.

“What are you doing here?” he asked. “I just received the page.”

“Why haven't you been answering your phone?”

Dr. Hansen kept his distance. She could see only his eyes. “You shouldn't have come here. This is not the place to be unless you're sick. Why did you tell the guards outside that you were sick?”

“Because I came here to speak to you. To find out what's going on.”

“I can't discuss that,” he said in a decisive tone.

John and Phil looked at each other with concern from behind their respiratory masks.

“You told me on the phone—”

Dr. Hansen cut her off. “That was then. Now it's a completely different story. It's a clusterfuck here, and I'll be lucky if I can get home to my family in the next week or two. You have no idea what we're dealing with. There's twenty different agencies here all trying to take control of this thing.”

“Where is Sergeant Shields?” Laura asked.

Dr. Hansen stopped and looked at her with a ghostly expression in his eyes.

“Where is he?” she demanded. “What the hell have they done to this hospital? How many people do they have in quarantine?” she continued.

“Shields is dead,” Dr. Hansen said. “He didn't make it.”

Laura went silent in shock.

“This Ebola strain is like nothing we've seen yet in thirty years. Antibiotics aren't working, and our serums are having little effect. We're trying our best to contain the damn thing, but it's like it's fighting us. Laura, listen to me. They're not going to let you leave. You need to go through the process now like everyone else. You and your friends might still have a chance of getting out of here.”

Laura had trouble understanding the words coming out of his mouth. Her eyes glazed over as if she were turning into a porcelain doll.

“Laura, are you listening to me?” Dr. Hansen continued.

She took a careful step back and looked at her news team. “Run!” she shouted, sprinting back to the front entrance. John and Phil stood frozen and were slow to react. One of the armed guards immediately took notice and held up his rife, aiming right for Laura's back as she fled.

In the chaos, she saw her only chance to escape. She stayed low and ran for the secondary exit, abandoned in the commotion by its guards. Her feet raced against the tile as the door got closer with each frenzied step.

“Stop!” the guard’s muffled voice shouted.

John looked over at the guard and lunged at him, grabbing the rifle just as he fired. The shots incited more panic as the people screamed and hit the ground to take cover. The shots hit the glass of the front double doors, narrowly missing Laura. The guard jerked his rifle out of John's grip and knocked him to the ground.

John and Phil looked at each other and then made the decision to run, while the masked guard fumbled with his weapon.

They sprinted off to the exit, where glass was hanging down in large shards. The shocked and concerned bystanders in the lobby watched as the two men tried to escape, but were helpless to do anything about it. The guard held his rifle up and again yelled for them to stop. He fired two shots, one of them hitting John directly in the back, dropping him instantly. Onlookers, horrified, cried out. The other shot missed Phil as he ran outside, only to be tackled by a guard and thrown to the ground. Dr. Hansen stood backed up against the wall, shocked, as a SWAT team swarmed the lobby.

“Please remain calm!” one of them shouted to the crowd. John's lifeless, blood-soaked body lay motionless on the glass-covered floor near the exit. “There is no reason to be upset,” the officer continued.

The SWAT team ran to John and quickly threw a sheet over him as the other guards brought Phil back in, struggling to break away. A HAZMAT team seemingly came out of nowhere, lifted John onto a gurney, and wheeled him away. With the lobby in pure pandemonium, the SWAT team then rushed outside to follow Laura.

She ran like never before, sheer panic and terror pushing her adrenaline to uncharted levels. Suddenly a light was shining in her direction. Guards had spotted her and were hot on her trail. She raced across the parking lot, knowing that the van was locked and she didn't have the key. She continued past the bushes and into the nearest road leading away from the hospital.

The officers were close but not close enough to prevent her from flagging down vehicles as they passed her by. Finally, a small truck stopped, and she ran to the driver’s side window. The driver, an elderly man with a ball cap, glasses, and wearing suspenders rolled down his windows.

“What can I do for you?” he asked.

From the parking lot, the police were closing in on foot. Dizzy and out of breath, Laura could hardly speak. She examined the kindly-looking man. He reminded her of her grandfather.

“I need ride,” she said.

“You in some kind of trouble?” he said, noticing the horde of police running toward them.

“Please! Just get me out of here.”

The man nodded, and Laura ran to other side and jumped in.

“Go fast. Hurry!” she said.

The man grew nervous but floored the truck anyway, past the hospital and her pursuers. The security guards at the door called for backup on their radios. It was a red alert, an egregious breach of security, and the department would spare no effort at finding her.

Inside the lobby, the mediating officer continued. “Ladies and gentlemen, we do apologize for this unpleasant incident. Please understand that we're here for your protection and that of others.”

The guard who had shot John stood aside, not saying a word. He knew he would have to answer for what he had done the moment his supervisor had put his hand on his shoulder. They made him relinquish his weapon and then led him away to face the worst reprimand of his life, not just for shooting an unarmed man, but also for letting the woman get away.

The crowd was still tense and afraid as the guard continued to try to calm them. Phil was taken immediately upstairs to a quarantine room that operated as a holding cell. They pushed him inside and closed and locked the door. There was a single chair up against the wall of the otherwise empty and sterile room.

Phil clutched his chest and felt the camera. Such a device could make him a marked man. He looked around the room, trying to understand how he had come to be there, and exactly what had just happened. It seemed unreal. John was dead, and Laura was gone. Now it was just him in a tiny room with no answers and little to hold onto but fear.