Origins of the Outbreak (6 page)

The Pub Manager, 3:10 a.m.

Never gets any easier
, Sean thought.  He’d been a manager at Flannigan’s for almost ten years and thought that he’d seen just about everything.  But the kids these days were absolutely out of control.  Like that dickhead, Jake; he’d been coming to the bar for a year and each and every weekend he had to kick him out.

The owner refused to let Sean ban him from the bar since he was the steadiest regular that Flannigan’s had, but was it worth it?  The guy was a royal pain in the ass and he was fed up with it.  Sean had a cousin who worked on an oil rig off the coast and he’d been seriously considering the offer to go down there. 
Hell, work on the rig for a couple of seasons, save up some cash and then move to Fort Worth and get a regular job.

He grinned as he pressed the start button on the dishwasher.  It would be nice to have some money saved up and not have to worry about making ends meet every paycheck.  He could get an apartment downtown, a girl, maybe even a dog. 
Yes sir, it would be a pretty cushy life.

It wouldn’t take long to close out things here in Belton.  Everything he owned could fit into the back of his Bronco and he only had a two hundred dollar deposit on his place, so it wouldn’t hurt too much to lose it.  That settled it; he made up his mind.  He was sick of dealing with the redneck drunks and college kids.  He’d call his cousin tomorrow and be down in Galveston by the end of next week.

He walked across the bar to the trash can near the back door and tied up the bag inside.  Sean grunted with the effort as he hefted the bag upwards and then carried it through the door into the alley.  The night was quiet, like always, but somewhere in the distance he heard police sirens. 
Wonder if there was an accident out on the highway?  Or maybe some stupid kid wrapped his car around a tree after they left one of the bars in town.

Sean was sure he’d hear about it at the diner tomorrow morning.  He ate at the same diner every morning – he was a regular there, just like Jake was a regular at Flannigan’s.  One of the old men was the former sheriff, so he always had all the juicy stories before they made it to the radio station
–
Belton’s one radio station
, he amended his thoughts.

“Well, I don’t know what the hell is
goin’ on,” he grunted as he lifted the bag into the dumpster and then let it fall with a crash into the empty box.  “But I’m tired.”

He sighed and looked down the alley towards the parking lot before going back inside.  An old black sedan sat in the middle of the lot, near the light.  “
Hmpf,” Sean grunted once more. 
That loser Jake must have finally taken my advice and gotten a cab.

The wind howled strangely and it reminded Sean of a raspy voice calling out in the woods. 
“What the?
”
He rushed back inside and locked the door to the alley quickly.

Sean wasn’t the type to get scared easily, but there seemed to be something strange going on outside.  The cop cars off in the distance and th
e wind got under his skin; he didn’t understand why, but he felt like he needed to get inside.

After a few minutes of intermittently checking out the windows while he mopped, he decided that his nerves were just getting the better of him.  He’d lived in this town his whole life and the most dangerous thing he’d seen so far was when the census man came snooping around asking how many people lived in each house.  Damned federal government was always trying to find ways to make more money off the little man.

He finished up for the night and grabbed his Stetson off the peg behind the bar.  He never wore it while he cleaned, didn’t want to risk it falling into the dirty mop water.  As he placed his hand on the deadbolt he once again felt that something wasn’t right.

The feeling was so strong that he actually unclipped the leather strap across the holster on his hip.  Even though it was a small town, a bartender with a pistol on his belt was a good way to help keep folks in line.  He flipped off the interior lights and took a deep breath to steady himself before opening the door.

When he stepped outside there was a new smell on the air, one he hadn’t noticed before.  It was a tangy, metallic odor, like…  Blood.

His first job had been over at the slaughterhouse so he knew the smell well enough.  It invades your nostrils and imprints itself on your brain.  Once you’ve smelled a lot of blood in a confined space, you never forg
ot the scent. 
That doesn’t make any sense
, he thought. 
Johnson’s shop is all the way across town.

He looked around to determine what the source of the smell could be.  Maybe an animal got hit out on the road and dragged itself up near the doors.  Sean took out the little flashlight on his keychain and shined it into the corner where the base of the stairs met the building. 
Nothing.

He shuffled around to the other side.  “Goddammit!” he muttered softly when he shined the light on this side.  “One more thing I don’t want to deal with at three in the morning.”

A dog, possibly a golden retriever, was pressed against the side of the pub.  He stepped closer so he could see better and stepped right into a massive puddle of blood which set off another gruff string of obscenities from the bar manager.

The dog was torn up.  Patches of skin were missing and he could see the intestines in the poor animal’s stomach.  “What the hell?  That wasn’t a car…
.”

The strange-sounding
wind howled again and cut him off.  Sean didn’t know what was going on, but he was really freaked out now.  The sound didn’t seem natural.  He looked around in a panic, but nothing was around
.
Stop being a pussy and man up
,
he told himself.

He turned back to the dog and watched for a moment to make sure that it was dead.  Once he was satisfied, he grabbed the animal’s tail and dragged it towards the alley where he’d throw it in the dumpster.  The trash truck would come in the morning and get rid of the body, but he still needed to wash the blood from the corner before it dried and became a lot harder to clean up tomorrow.  These long, unpaid extra hours reinforced his decision to quit and go to the Gulf.

Sean lifted the dumpster’s lid and tried to lift the dog with one hand, but it was too heavy.  He set it down and threw the lid all the way open and the slamming of the plastic lid on the back side of the dumpster echoed loudly down the alleyway.  Almost immediately, the wind made that same noise.  He’d have to investigate tomorrow in the light, there must be something sitting in the alley that caused the creepy noise when the wind hit it.

He grunted as he lifted the dog with both hands up
onto the edge of the dumpster and its limp body slid from the lip down into the container. 
Still warm
.
Must have just happened
, he thought as he closed the lid.

He shuffled wearily towards the head of the alley where the hose was.  The wind continued to howl every few seconds and he quickl
y
pulle
d
the garden hose from the mount.  It fell heavily to the ground and he picked up the sprayer to wash away the dog’s blood.

When he turned around, that asshole Jake was standing beside the steps.  He swayed drunkenly but didn’t fall over.  “Bar’s closed
, Jake.  Go home.”

“
Unghh…,” Jake replied.

“Come on, man.  I don’t need this shit, get out of here.”

Jake took a hesitant step towards him and said, “Unghh.”

“Dude, you’re so drunk that you can’t even talk.  I’m
gonna call the cops if you don’t leave.”

Sean shined his light up towards the drunk’s face and staggered backwards.  “What the fuck happened to you, Jake?”

He was covered in blood; absolutely coated in it, like he’d rolled around in the dead dog’s blood or something.  Sean recovered quickly and began to examine him.  Jake was missing an ear and had several large lacerations on his face.  Stupid bastard must have stumbled out into the road and gotten hit by a truck.

“I’m
gonna call you an ambulance, hold on!” Sean said as he rushed towards the pub.  He didn’t own a cell phone, so the bar’s line was the only way that he’d be able to get 9–1–1 on the phone.

The movement seemed to galvanize Jake and he lunged out, catching Sean’s arm and yanking him backwards.

“Hey, man, cut it out!  I’m trying to help you!” he squealed.

“
Unghh,” Jake replied before he pulled Sean’s arm to his mouth and bit down hard enough to break the soft skin at the crook of his elbow.  C
rimson blood erupted around Jake's mouth.

“Jesus Fucking Christ, Jake!
”
Sean yelled and tried to jerk his arm away.

When that didn’t work, he kicked Jake hard in the nuts, but the guy showed no emotion.  “Stop it!” he squealed.

The drunk pulled his head away from Sean’s arm and ripped a strip of flesh away while he still held onto his wrist in a vicelike grip.  He chewed the length of skin and tilted his head thoughtfully, regarding Sean.

“Holy fuck!” the manager whimpered and drew his gun.  It didn’t even faze Jake and Sean knew what he had to do.  The kid was obviously high on bath salts and history had proven that the only way to stop a junkie on that shit was to kill them.

Sean shook his bleeding arm to try and dislodge Jake, but it was no use.  He turned his head and squeezed the trigger.  The gun’s report shattered the night and lit up the area with a bright flash.

Jake dove back in and bit into his bicep.  “What the hell!” he screamed in pain as the teeth began to tear into the muscle.

The pub’s manager didn’t turn his head this time and fired directly into Jake’s chest.  It worked.  The man’s teeth were dislodged and he stumbled backwards half a step.

Sean fired again at Jake’s midsection and was rewarded with another retreat.  He started to congratulate himself, but his vision got blurry around the edges.  He lifted his arm in front of his face to see the damage in the poor light.  Veins and arteries were severed across the inside of his elbow and bright red blood spurted into the night.

“Oh fuck.  Oh fuck, what the fuck,” he moaned and got weak in the knees.  His impaired vision darkened further and his right leg gave out on him completely.

Sean collapsed and watched Jake advance towards him in horror.  He weakly raised the pistol and emptied the magazine into the man.  Each round smashed into him and tiny red spots blossomed where the bullets hit, but they no longer bothered him li
ke the first two had.  The illness had fully taken hold of him now.

Jake lunged across the short distance and grabbed both sides of Sean’s head.  His eyes crossed as he helplessly followed the drunk's mouth towards his nose.  The bar manager screamed as he was devoured and the residents who were still awake in Belton closed and locked their windows against the night.

The next morning, the owner of Flannigan’s would spend hours trying to reach Sean in a useless effort to determine why the pub had been left unlocked overnight.

DAY TWO

The Baker, 4:30 a.m.

The oven’s timer went off and Robin pressed the button to silence it then peered through the window to judge her work.  The bagels were the perfect golden brown and it was time to take them out.

She unlocked the door and opened it.  She’d learned in the past to wait a few seconds to let the heated air in the walk-in oven escape.  While she waited she slipped on the large oven mitts and walked inside.  She grasped the rolling baking rack firmly and pulled hard to get it started.  Once the hooks on the top of the rack got past the notch on the rotating bar that was suspended from the ceiling, then it would roll gently down the ramp.

The rack came out of the oven and she rolled it to the side.  Then she turned to another rack of bagels and removed the plastic bag over the top which helped the yeast in the bagels rise.  She shoved that rack inside the oven and closed the door, setting the timer for thirteen minutes before she went back to setting frozen pastries on trays that slid into a baking rack.  Once the pastries were warmed to room temperature under the plastic bag, they’d be ready to go into the oven.

Robin had worked at the bagel and pastry shop for more than two years.  She started right after she graduated high school and her father told her that he couldn’t afford to send her to college, even though she’d been accepted to the University of Texas in Austin.  She grew up in a well-off cattle family, but years of droughts and bad farming decisions had pretty much bankrupted her parents, but the federal government didn’t see it that way.  When she applied for student loans, her family’s gross income was too high to qualify for anything.  They didn’t even bother to ask where the “income” went – it all went towards the farm – they just disqualified her outright.

So she did what any proud Texan would do, she rolled up her sleeves and got to work.  In the two years, she’d saved enough money to pay for the first three years in one of the smaller UT-affiliated schools, but only enough for the first year at the main UT campus.  When Robin saw the price difference and thought about how hard she’d worked – both at this job and as a waitress during lunch at the diner – she couldn’t justify going to the larger school.  In the end, she’d have her degree and most people wouldn’t care where it came from.

She thought about her list of chores to do this morning once her shift ended at the bakery, but before it started at the diner.  She needed to go to the bank and deposit her check and she had to go pay her water bill.  Otherwise, she had the remaining four hours between shifts all to herself.  She sidestepped over to check the cinnamon rolls that she'd pulled out of the oven fifteen minutes ago.  She always gave them an initial spatula of cream cheese icing right when they came out of the oven – that allowed the gooey consistency that the customers had come to expect – but once they cooled she used a thicker traditional icing to make the raised lines of sugary goodness that the bakery was famous for.

By the time she was done with the cinnamon rolls, the alarm was once again going off for the new batch of bagels to come out of the oven.  A noise at the front door startled her and she whipped her head around to see
Babbette tapping on the window.  Robin smiled at her and walked around the counter.

Babbette
was the morning setup employee for the bakery.  She'd spend about an hour or so placing all the pastries, bread and bagels that Robin had baked overnight into the bakery cases.  The baker unlocked the glass door to let her in.  “Good morning
,
Babbette.”

“Hey,” the older woman replied.  “I don't know what's good about it.”

“What do you mean?  The weather's nice and mild, the birds are singing-”

“The cops are keeping me up,”
Babbette interrupted her.

“Oh, I'm sorry to hear that. 
Sucks.
Why were the cops out?”

“I don't know.  They were running all over town last night.  We tried to see if the radio would say anything, but they only played music.  I'm just tired and cranky,” she smiled slightly, which was about all Robin had ever been able to get her to do.  “You're right; it is a pretty morning out.”

Robin made sure to lock the door behind Babbetteand rushed back to the oven.  She needed to get another rack in before she got behind.  Delays in the shop had a way of building up and before you knew it, the store would be open withou
t
all of th
e
products available.

She pulled the finished rack out and slid another onto the bar in its place.  After she set the timer she grabbed her clipboard and walked towards the front door.  “Hey, since it's such a nice morning, I'm
gonnago sit outside to go over my inventory sheet,” Robin told the woman behind the counter.  “I should be back in time, but if I'm not, jus
t
ta
p
on the window and let me know that the timer is going off on the bagels.”

“Okay,”
Babbettereplied.  She'd already begun to place the products in the display cases and was in her zone.  Robin knew that the woman like
d
her
,
she just had a limited time to do her pre-opening work and wasn't much of a talker.

She unlocked the front door and walked outside.  I
t
wa
s
a beautiful morning.  The sun was still a couple of hours off from rising and it wasn't supposed to be nearly as hot today as it had been so far this early in the summer.  The bakery had a few sets of cafe tables out front and Robin could see her paperwork by the light coming from inside the building.  She gratefully sat down to begin double-checking her product inventory sheet.  Before any item was baked, she had to prep it and mark off on the sheet that it was either thawing or in the proofer, which was a low-heat, high humidity machine that gradually warmed the dough and allowed the yeast to activate.  Then, after every item was baked she had to verify that it was accounted for and that she hadn't missed anything.  This was her most important check before she cleaned up and went home for the day; if she missed something, then the bakery would be out of product until it could be prepped and baked by the morning manager when he got there.  Plus, it made her look bad and her Daddy hadn’t raised her to accept that.

Robin was about halfway through her inventory when a noise in the darkness made her look up.  It sounded like a flip flop, but she couldn't be sure
.
Nah
, she thought
,
way too early for anyone to be out, probably just hearing things
.
She went back to her clipboard to count the trays of bagels that she'd baked.

The sof
t
flip-fla
p
sound came again, but from much closer this time.  She peered out into the dark parking lot and tried to see what the source of the noise was, but it was hopeless because the owner of the bakery refused to pay to have the parking lot illuminated overnight, so it was pitch black.  Robin couldn't see anything in the darkness and lowered her head to work on the morning paperwork once more.

Suddenly,
the bakery's patio area erupted in a storm of movement and sound.  Tables fell over, chairs were pushed out of the way and she scrambled towards the door.  Whatever the hell was happening wasn't her concern until she could get inside.

She almost made it, but a chair slid across her path and she fell over it.  Robin felt rough hands grab onto her and in the dim light coming through the bakery's windows she saw a fat guy holding onto her ankle.  She screamed for help, but the building's windows were soundproofed and
Babbette didn't hear.

Robin's screams for help quickly turn
ed to screams of pain and panic as Rick gorged himself on the skin from her legs.  She kicked ineffectually against him, but it was too late, the process had already started.

Rick's saliva worked its way into her bloodstream and the changes began much more rapidly on the cellular level than they had for the first several victims.  With every degree of separation from the original
disease in Steven's blood, the illness evolved into a more efficient killing machine.