Authors: J. G. Hicks Jr,Scarlett Algee
Omega Pathogen: Despair
Book III of Omega Pathogen Series
Published by J.G. Hicks, Jr.
Copyright 2015 J.G. Hicks, Jr.
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This is work of fiction. While some locations are actual places, this is intended only to lend an authentic theme. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is with their permission or purely coincidental.
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Thank you to my wonderful family. Thank you all for your love and support, your critiques, and your suggestions. Thank you to everyone that has purchased this eBook and others in the series,
Omega Pathogen: The Beginning and Omega Pathogen: Mayhem.
Veronica Smith, Fleur Wilkinsin, and Cathy Cauthan Northup
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Scarlett R. Algee for your editing
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Last Chapter of Omega Pathogen: Mayhem
Arzu drove them to the University of Florida at Shands Hospital. They drove around the exterior as much as possible but only two and half of the four sides could be viewed completely from the safety of the MRAP.
West of the hospital, Luther and the other three lay prone on a two-story building watching with binoculars as the MRAP. It was clear to them that the occupants of the large armored vehicle were interested in the something inside. Unlike Luther, his brother, and the two others, Jim and his family and friends didn’t want the pharmaceuticals inside for their pleasure.
The MRAP came to a halt. Jim ducked back inside the turret and checked on John’s condition. Kathy and their mom Judith had been monitoring John’s vitals. John’s blood pressure had dropped lower than normal again and his pulse had increased again.
The others asked about increasing the IV flow rate to help with his blood pressure but Jim pointed out that they’ll be diluting his blood and decreasing its ability to appropriately oxygenate his organs. “We need blood or blood substitute. Or he’s going . . . his condition is going to continue to deteriorate,” Jim said.
“John is O negative, he can only receive blood form someone that’s O negative. That’s none of us. The IV fluids aren’t going to solve the problem,”
The noon sky is still clear, but more importantly it’s still bright. It’s as good a time as any to tell everyone what he’s planning and why. They aren’t pleased. “No fucking way are you going by yourself! You big stupid donkey ass!” Arzu is the first to give her opinion. Next is Judith. Her vote is also negative but her expression of it is nowhere as colorful. “I think it’s suicidal, Jimmy,” Judith says and leaves it at that. Jeremy and Chris plead to go with their father. Berk and Kayra speak up and tell their dad, “listen to Mom and don’t go.”
Jim knows John will die if he doesn’t risk it. He still may anyway. But he’s not going to do nothing. He’s also not letting anyone else take the risk of going in with him.
Ignoring further protests, Jim began to ready his gear and mentally prepare. Chris and Jeremy accompany Jim to the emergency room entrance. Several ambulances and police and sheriff’s vehicles were parked at varying angles near the doors. Some of the ambulances doors were open with dead crews and patients still inside.
The doors of the ER were closed. Infected that had been lying and milling about inside take notice of the men and began to charge at them only to smash into the thick glass doors. After checking several vehicles they found the keys in the ignition of a sheriff’s Tahoe. Jeremy positioned the vehicle so the headlights aimed at the door. He turned on the headlights high beams as well as the spotlights on the light bar.
The infected retreat far enough back to allow Jim and his sons to pry open the doors. Jim took down any of the SCAR virus carriers that braved the lights; Chris and Jeremy worked at widening the opening in the sliding doors. Jeremy and Chris then brought their rifles to bear in the fray. Adding rounds from their AR-15s to clear the ER area of the infected that approached and those that they could see that lurked in the shadows.
Finally, with no more movement seen inside, and a quick hug to each, Jim said, “I’ll see ya’ later, boys,” and made his way inside the ER. Jim finished off wounded infected as he moves along in the glare of the Tahoe lights. Bodies of those that were long-dead and recently killed littered the floor. Both fresh, slippery recently-spilled and old dried blackish-colored blood coated the floor.
The stink in the ER was overpowering. The iron-copper smell of blood mixed with loosed bowels and bladder, and the sickly-sweat smell of rot. Jim failed to keep from dry heaving and then added to contents of his stomach to the biological detritus on the floor.
Jim continued through the ER and reached the far side. From left to right was a hallway leading further into the hospital, into dark areas with numerous hiding spaces for infected. Next was an open doorway leading into the billing area. He observed three corpses on the floor, as he began to turn his attention elsewhere, six infected hurtled the countertop toward him. He fired fifteen rounds from his AR-15 to end the threat.
The third area from the left was the nurses’ triage station. The door was closed. The fourth and last from left to right was another closed doorway that led into the ER waiting room. He left the latter two doors closed and headed to the far left hallway. Again, he headed into a large dark building. This one the largest so far. This time alone.
Jeremy and Chris reluctantly, and with heavy hearts stayed behind at the doors for several agonizingly long moments after their father went out of sight before they returned to the MRAP. Like they had when he worked for those years in Iraq, they wondered if they might have seen their father for the last time.
It took hours to get up to the blood bank area of the hospital. Due to the mixture of light coming in through windows and shadows black and large enough to hide several infected, Jim alternated using the NVGs and his rifle-mounted flashlight.
Jim brought along forty AR-15 magazines this time. He had placed the magazines in packs attached to his load-baring vest and backpack. He had over a thousand rounds of 5.56mm. He kept wondering if he actually had enough.
Pausing behind a corner leading away from the stairwell, Jim took a few pulls off his CamelBak hydration system and eyed the corridor left to right. Jim used the elevator shaft to ascend to the floors. This tactic had been a safer but more taxing on his body while climbing with the extra equipment he carried.
Regaining a normal respiration rate, Jim rose from a knee and headed in a crouched-walk to the halfway point of his objective. At the closed door of the blood bank and lab he paused to listen against the door. Jim took a moment to listen more before he tried the knob. Just as he placed his hand on the doorknob he heard a crunching sound beyond the door.
“Fuck it,” Jim mumbled to himself and grasped the doorknob with more force and turned it. Locked. He retrieved the lock-pick gun and quietly went to work the door lock. The entire time he could hear the unnerving sound of crunching. Just as he gives the knob another twist to check if he’s unlocked it, Jim hears the sound that could only be a canned drink being popped open.
The doorknob moved in his hand indicating he’d defeated the lock. Jim stowed his lock-pick gun and slid his AR-15 to his left out of the way, un-holstered his suppressed Glock. With a complete twist of the knob to release the catch, Jim quickly forced the door inward with his Glock following his eyes.
“Who the hell are you?” asked a man sitting on the floor between a snack-food and a soda machine. The Mountain Dew still held in his hand close to his mouth. Jim closed the door and kept the man in view as he relocked the door. With the pistol in-hand, but not aimed directly at the man Jim asked, “who the hell are you?”
“I asked first,” the man said with a grin. “I’m the one with the pistol,” Jim replies. “If you’re going to be a dick-head about it, damn . . .” the man said as he stood up and transferred the Mountain Dew from his right hand to his left. “I’m Royce. Royce Barber. I used to work here as a medical technician until the world went to shit.”
Royce was around five-eleven. He had hair similar to Jim’s; it had previously been cropped short but was in the process of growing out in all directions. His unshaven face seemed friendly and honest. Understandably, the man was in desperate need of a shower and his formally green scrubs burned.
Feeling more at ease with the man Jim took the offered handshake. “I’m Jim Matthews. You’ve been surviving here on the snack and soda machines?” Jim points with his head behind Royce. “Yeah, I have. Can you get me the hell out of here?” Royce asked coming directly to the point.
Jim ignored that question and posed his own, the one he came here for, “is the blood here any good?” Royce looked at him with a puzzled expression and answered, “it’s all ruined. No power.” Then Royce asked, “why?”
Jim explained his brother’s situation briefly. “I’m O negative,” Royce said. “Just get me the fuck out of here and you can have as much blood as I can spare.”
Jim looked to the window and could see the sun wasn’t far from setting. This side of the building didn’t give him a view of the MRAP. They had to get outside needed to be before the infected ventured out for the night. Looking out the window Jim was glad to see that it was straight down with no other roofs blocking the way.
Jim explained his exit plan to Royce, who suddenly seemed less enthusiastic about leaving. Jim learned why after some prodding. “I’m scared of heights. Okay,” Royce said and sat in a nearby chair with his face a shade more pale. Royce saw the obvious and agreed to make his departure by the window. It was that or stay.