Origins of the Outbreak (9 page)

The Happy Wife, 11:41 a.m.

Fuck it, he's not coming back
, she told herself and took another swallow from her wine glass.  Sarah glared at her wedding picture on the mantle above the gas fireplace.  Where had it all gone wrong?

Ten years ago, she and Darren had been so happy.  They'd met on a business trip in Toledo and discovered that they only lived a few miles apart in Columbus.  They'd dated, gotten married after a short engagement and been a power couple in pharmaceutical sales in Ohio, neither having time for children.

Then, two years ago Darren was transferred to Temple fucking Texas and she decided to quit her job and move down to this hell-hole with him.  They decided that she wouldn't work and that it was time to start a family
.
Well, that certainly didn't fucking work with that asshole shooting blanks.

After months of trying to get pregnant with no results, she tried to go back into the workforce, but she was repeatedly denied at interviews because, “
Texas pharmaceutical sales are no place for a pretty little lady like you.” 
Fucking misogynistic backwards dickheads
.

That's when their perfect marriage had started to fall apart.  Sarah took to drinking a Bloody Mary every morning to take the edge off and then she would switch to chilled white wine throughout the day.  Darren had thought it was funny the first few times when he came home to a drunk housewife, but it quickly became apparent that she had a problem and they fought about her drinking.  Then the fighting would turn to her husband's inability to knock her up and the fact that he was the one who forced them to move to Texas.

This morning had started like every morning.  She had a drink and made the bastard some toast.  They had a huge fight about the cleanliness of the house.  His point was that since she was at home all day, the place should be spotless.  Her counterpoint was that he was a dickless fucking piece of shit.  She thought she'd won the argument, but as he slammed the front door he yelled that he wanted a divorce.

I can't even begin to say how fucked up that shit is
, she told herself.  It was his fault that they were in Texas.  His fault that she wasn't pregnant
.
His fault that she couldn't get a job
.
His fault that she started drinking too much
.
How in the hell am I supposed to survive
?

Sarah raised the glass to her mouth once more and misjudged the angle
,
clinkin
g
the edge against her top teeth.  “Fuck.”  The glass was empty.  She staggered back to the kitchen to pull her bottle from the refrigerator.

She unscrewed the cap and began pouring another glass.  Movement in her front yard caught her attention and she saw that big sexy construction worker from next door walking across her lawn. 
What's his name?  Matthew?  No, somethin
g
lik
e
that though.

Suddenly a terrible idea came to her.  If she could get pregnant, then all of their problems would be solved.  She would stop drinking and that fucker Darren would feel like a man again if he thought that he'd finally impregnated her.  Maybe that could save her happy little marriage.

The neighbor's feature
s
wer
e
similar to her husband's – minus the bulging muscles and full head of hair.  She finished pouring the wine and set the bottle down on the counter. 
Should I
?
sh
e
asked herself and took a large sip of wine.

She thought about the last ten years.  Only the las
t
couple – since they came to Texas and decided to have a baby  wer
e
bad.  They were happy before that.  Hell, if it didn't work, there was nothing lost; Darren had already said that he wanted a divorce.

But if it did work
…
If letting that dude fuck her got her pregnant, maybe it could save her marriage.  She was ovulating and they'd had sex just last night in another effort to have children, so maybe a good humping by the neighbor would do the job.  She took another swig from her glass and sat it down drunkenly on the counter.

“I'm
gonna do this,” she told the reflection of herself in the microwave's glass door.  “I'm gonna do this for my family.  This will work and Darren will love me again.”

She unbuttoned the top two buttons of her shirt and walked to the door.  On the way there, she saw herself in the powder room mirror and couldn't help but turn and inspect her appearance.  Sh
e
musse
d
her hair and then thought better of it, combing her fingers back through the tangles that she’d just created.  Sarah hesitated for a second and then stuck her hands behind her back to unhook her bra.  She shrugged one shoulder out and then the other.  Her perky breasts pressed against the thin material of her shirt.

“If that Matt guy doesn't want this, then he's crazy,” she told herself. 
Damn
,
gott
a
quit talking t
o
yourself, girl.

She pinched her nipples lightly to make them strain against the material and stepped out of the bathroom towards the door.

She rested her hand languidly against the doorjamb and unlocked it.  The hulking beast of a man was standing at the end of her driveway looking down the street.

“Hey, Matt,” she called in her best husky voice. 
Wait, that's not right
.
“Mateo
!
Hey neighbor.”

First his head turned and then he slowly twisted all the way around.  He was a little dirty from his job
–
jus
t
wai
t
'til I get done with him!

“Hey, I've got a problem here and I need your help to fix it.” 
Honesty never hurt anyone.

He lumbered slowly towards her.  She couldn't help but look him over and wonder what he had in store for her as her eyes rested on his crotch.  When he got closer, Sarah noticed a line of glistening wetness along his thigh.

“Hey, you're bleeding.  Are you okay?”

Mateo groaned and lunged forward.  Even in her drunken state, she realized that something was terribly wrong and tried to slam the door on her neighbor.

He was too fast – and too heavy – for her to get the door closed completely and he shoved hard against it, sending her stumbling backwards into the coat rack.  The antique piece of furniture that her grandfather had carved from a single piece of wood fell across the foyer and knocked her sideways.

The construction worker rushed forward in his haste to get to her and tripped over the coat rack.  Sarah screamed as his face slammed into the floor inches from hers.  She kicked backwards to get away from him and he looked up at her.  The poor bastard's front teeth fell out with tin
y
plink
s
against the tile.

She had a momentary thought that he wa
s
drunke
r
than she was and then she ran towards the bedroom.  Behind her, she heard the air escape his lungs in a grunt as the giant stood up to chase after her.

Sarah slammed
the bedroom door shut and locked it.  Mateo pushed through the flimsy double doors with ease.  The little handle lock didn't hold them together and she cursed the current trend of having double doors instead of one solid bedroom door.

She jerked the lampshade off the nightstand and threw it at the madman.  It bounced off of him ineffectively.  She s
creamed as he started towards her side of the bed and tried to scramble over the top to the opposite side.

He caught her foot and yanked her back towards him.  The creature took her on the bed like she'd wanted him to
– but the intensity of his desire was nothing like she could have ever imagined.

The Field Reporter
, 12:05 p.m.

“Okay, Carson.  We're being broadcast nationally!  You're live in 3… 2… 1,” the producer pointed to him and gave the reporter a thumbs up.

He affected his grimmest look and glared into the camera lens.  “This is Carson
Maldanado with your KXAN news and I'm live from downtown Belton, Texas.  This small town outside of one of the United States' largest military installations looks more like a war zone than a small college town.

“
The devastation that you can see behind me is just one of many places here that resemble a disaster area.  We haven’t been able to speak with the local law enforcement yet, but we do know that the National Guard has been mobilized and is on their way as we speak. What we do know is that something is causing citizens of this iconic Texas town to attack one another. We’ve been told that people get sick and then bite others, spreading whatever this mysterious illness is.

“So far all efforts to treat the victims have proven ineffective and several medical professionals have been injured trying to aid the sick.”

“
Have you personally seen any of thes
e
infecte
d
people, Carson?
” the anchor asked from th
e
national broadcasting center in New York.

“No, Ed; we haven't seen anyone, but there's plenty of evidence in the town tha
t
somethin
g
has happened.  As I'm sure you can see behind me, park benches are overturned, windows are smashed, fires burn unchecked.  The one police officer that we were able to speak to ordered us to leave town immediately.”

“
Did you leave, Carson?
”

“No we didn't, Ed.  Something about this situation screams government
cover-up and we're going to get to the bottom of it for our viewers.”

“
You mentioned that the National Guard has been mobilized; where did that information come from.
”

“Our producer
Ray has contacts in the governor's office that passed along that information.  Whatever is happening here certainly has those in the state capitol scared.”

“
Is there any indication that this may have originated at Fort Hood – some government experiment gone wrong?
”

“The few residents that we've seen have surmised as much, Ed.  We were
able to talk to one woman who –”

“Carson, look behind you.  Several people just came around the corner,” producer Ray said as he pointed behind the reporter.

He turned and saw the group of about ten people walking slowly towards him.  “Ed, it looks like a group of residents have finally decided to come out and talk to us.  Hold on a second while our producer goes over and finds out if anyone will agree to be interviewed.”

Carson nodded to Ray, who jogged towards the crowd.  “Looks like fortune may be smiling on us, Ed.  We hadn't been able to find very many people to talk to about this incident and now we have several people coming forward to discuss the events here in Belton.”

“
That's certainly good news, Carson.  Can you describe to us what you're seeing?  Are the residents scared?
”

“Yes they are.  We think
–” 
A
piercing shriek cut him off.

The reporter turned in time to see Ray fall and several of the townsfolk collapse down on top of him.

“Oh my God!
”
Carson yelled.  “They're infected!  Billy, let's get out of here!”

Billy, the cameraman, looked around his camera and zoomed in to capture the producer's body being torn apart.  “What about Ray?”

“Fuck him, he's dead!  Let's go!”

“
Carson?  Carson, what's happening?  Can you hear me?
”

In New York, the live feed showed the camera jostling and then the audio of the van door could be heard as it opened and then slammed shut again.  The cameraman set the camera down in the back and it pointed towards the rear of the news van.

Heads appeared in the small windows in the back doors and thuds echoed through the studio as the camera captured the sounds of hands beating against the side of the van.  Carson could be heard screaming for Billy to drive.  The camera bumped hard a couple of times as the van ran over objects in their path.

Viewers could hear tires screeching and then the camera was thrown violently sideways.  It tumbled onto the side of the van and broken glass filled the foreground close to the lens.  Then static filled the network screens, but Carson and Billy’s screams could be heard for several more minutes.

The Hippie, 12:52 p.m.

“Aww yeah
!
This is just like The Walking Dead on TV, man!”

“Shut the fuck up and finish unpacking those boxes.”

“Way harsh, Mr. T.  What did I do to you?”

The old man's lips thinned. “I'm sorry, Brandon,” he said. “You're right.  I shouldn't have said that to you.”

“Rock on, man
.
I get it,” Brandon replied with his characteristic goofy smile.  “It's a stressful time in the CenTex.”

“You bet your butt it is, young man.  And we need to keep those shelves stocked until we run out of food.  Once that
happens, you're free to go do… whatever it is that you do.”

“Hey, by the way, my mom called.  Can I set aside a box of food to take home?  She has the twins and is afraid to leave the house.”

“Of course, Brandon
.
Set whatever you need aside and mark your box.  I'll just deduct the total from your paycheck.”

“Oh…
bummer
.
I thought maybe you'd let me have some stuff for free since I was the only employee that bothered to show up today besides Julie at the register.”

The owner of Thomas' Organics and Mideast Kabobs grimaced as he hefted a box of organic oranges onto the pallet jack.  “It's not like
I don't appreciate it, Brandon – I do.  More than you could possibly imagine.  But I've got a business to run and the way things are looking, this whole area is gonna go under.  I've got to sell all this food and then get out of here while I still can.”

Brandon's face fell and he asked, “Do you really think it's that bad, Mr. Thomas?  I was joking about the zombie apocalypse, that's some real scary shit. 
Y'know?”

“Yeah
.
I know, son.  If this is really as bad as everyone's saying, we'll need to try and make it to the interstate and head north as soon as we can.”

“We're over ten miles from Belton.  You really think
it’s gonna make it this far?  I heard that the National Guard was on the way to put up roadblocks and stuff.”

“They are, but think about it
– hey, keep working!  Think about it, Brandon.  All that open country, there's no way the Army can completely circle the town.  Something is gonna get through and then all hell is gonna break loose somewhere else.  There's nothing that can be done to stop this once it starts spreading.”

The boy set his box of canned all-natural, dolphin-free, no nitrate tuna into the cart he used to stock the shelves and said, “Um, maybe I should knock off early today,
Mr. T.  What you said makes a lot of sense.  My mom is at home alone with my brothers – she probably needs me there with her.”

Mr. Thomas set his box down in exasperation and snarled, “You listen here, you little wannabe hippy.  You're
gonna do your job and help me get this place emptied of food.”

Brandon looked at him in horror.  Mr. Thomas had never talked to him like that before and it was totally against the man's character.  “Uh, are you okay?  That's not a very nice thing to say to your best employee.”

Once again, the owner relaxed.  “Dammit, Brandon
.
I'm stressed the heck out.  I'm sorry.  Come on, help me out for another hour or so and I'll pay you cash…  Plus, you can take that box of groceries home for free.”

The teen's face brightened and he said, “Sure thing, Mr. Thomas!  I know you're stressed.  We'll get this job done and everything will be alright.”

“Thank you. I appreciate it, son,” Mr. Thomas replied.

After a few minutes of working in silence, Brandon cleared
his throat and said, “Hey, um…  I'm really craving some nicotine, is it cool if I take a break?”

The older man regarded him for a moment.  “Don't you smoke one of those electronic cigarette things?”

“Yeah, check it out,” Brandon replied with a flourish that brought his psychedelic-patterned metal e-cig from his pocket.  “She's so sweet, and I have a special blueberry-mocha flavor cartridge loaded up.  I haven't tried it yet, but my guy at the shop says it's to die for.”

Mr. Thomas
harumpfed, “Maybe the wrong choice of words, son
.
Look, just light it up in here and keep working.”

“Are you for reals Mr. T.?  That's totally cool.”

The stor
e
owner cracked ope
n
a bottle of Kombucha and said, “Didn't know the old man could party, huh?”

Before long the aromas of artificial blueberries and chocolate filled the small stock room while they finished their task.  Brandon pushed his heavily-laden cart out through the
thick plastic sheeting and entered a world of chaos.

People were shoving one another and running through the store with carts loaded down with foodstuffs.  He hadn't even made it all the way out of the dividers before a lady began taking things from his stock cart.  The whole scene was crazy and wasn't anywhere near the way that the customers of Thomas' Organics and Mideast Kabobs normally acted.

“Whoa, whoa!” he shouted as someone tried to grab the entire cart from him.

“I'll pay for it.  It's already loaded, so you just saved me a whole bunch of time, give it here,” a tall guy who normally ordered a lamb, hummus and feta
shawarma from the kabob counter said.

“Don't you even
wanna know what's in here, dude?”

“Don't care, its food,” he replied and jerked the cart away from the boy.

“Okay, hey Mr. T., you need help over there in the produce?” he yelled across the store.

The old man was in the middle of a tongue-lashing from some lady who was shaking a bag full of apples in his face.  He looked over to Brandon and walked away from her.  The woman stared in anger for a moment and then began throwing fruit into her cart.

“It's a madhouse, Brandon.  I don't think Julie is going to be able to keep up,” he said as he pointed towards the poor girl at the store’s one open register.

“You have insurance, right Mr. Thomas?”

“Yeah, why?”

“'Cause I just saw two carts of food go through the door without paying!”

“Goddammit!” the owner shouted and ran towards the front of the store.  Brandon ran after him and burst through the sliding doors into the parking lot.

If he'd been surprised by what he saw inside, the parking lot was another matter altogether.  Cars were parked wherever the driver had decided to get out, most of the time they were nowhere near a parking spot.  Several fender-benders had people shouting and cursing at each other and he was pretty sure that over in the far end of the parking lot someone was in the process of getting jumped for their groceries.

“Mr. T.!  Hey, come back, we can't do anything about it!  It's not safe out here, man.”

The owner ignored him and grabbed the arm of the man who'd stolen one of the carts of food.  Brandon couldn't tell what either of them said, but he watched in horror as th
e
custome
r
punched Mr. Thomas in the face.  The old man crumpled like a rag doll and the man hurried off to his car.

“Oh, shit!” Brandon said and ran to aid the owner.

“Are you okay?” he asked when he got to Mr. Thomas.  The older man sat on his rear in the middle of the parking lot holding a hand over his left eye.

“Yeah, I guess we need to close up shop and get everyone home,” he conceded.

“Good idea, Mr. T.,” the youth agreed.

Brandon knelt down to help him up and the old man's eyes w
ent wide.  “Look out!” he shouted.

Brandon started to turn around when pain exploded in his shoulder and he was knocked to the ground.  “
Ow! What the hell?”

A growl in his ear made him turn his head and the creature bit into his cheek.  Brandon screamed in pain and was dimly aware of Mr. Thomas looming over him.

The old man kicked out hard into the side of the creature and sent it sprawling.  Despite his age, he bent down and quickly pulled Brandon to his feet and they rushed inside the store.

Brandon ignored the pain and the blood and helped Mr. Thomas pull down the metal cage over the doors.  They'd barely gotten it locked
in place when the zombie slammed into the gate, rattling the entire contraption.

“That'll keep that fucker out!” Mr. Thomas said.  “Now
,
let’
s
see to your face.  Julie, go get some bandages from the health section.”

Brandon turned towards the man who'd been his boss, and even his friend, for the past two years and promptly fell over.  He began to twitch violently and Mr. Thomas thought that he was having a seizure.  He grabbed the broom sitting beside the door and tried to cram it between the boy's jaws to keep him from biting through his tongue.

The remaining customers watched in horror as Brandon stopped moving.  Mr. Thomas put two fingers on his neck beside his Adam’s apple.  “He’s…  He’s dead!”

Several customers gasped and one woman screamed.  All of them stepped back and left the poor kid lying in front of the doors.  Within minutes, he came back and attacked Mr. Thomas and everyone who was trapped
inside the market behind the gate with him.