The APOCs Virus (29 page)

"Now, just hold on a dadgum minute.  You come in pointing a gun in my face, calling me an Apoc, and now you're saying I've got to get this—"  Henry put both hands under the roll of his belly and hefted it a few times, "through that window—HA!  Why don't ya just go ahead and shoot me now," Henry said defiantly.

"OK, it's your choice," Bill said cocking the hammer on the big pistol.

"You really would shoot me, wouldn't ya?"

"Yes sir."

"Feel bad about it later?"

"Nope."

"I'll go out the window."

"Thought you'd see things logically."

Using two hands, Henry slid the window down, climbed on a sofa and went out feet first.  Bill watched the front of the bus and winced every time a blow struck the window glass.

"How 'bout a hand?"  Henry asked.

Bill grasped both of Henry's hands and lowered him out the window.  Once on the ground Henry said, "Thanks for the hand.  You coming?"

"Yeah, as soon as I—" Bill was interrupted by the sound of breaking glass.  "Go on, get out of here."  Bill could see an arm reach in and remove the knife.  "Gramps, just one question."

Henry was at the concrete embankment.  He turned and stuck his craggy chin in the air, "What's that?"

"Did you set it?"  Bill yelled as the first of the gang of Apocs entered the bus.  

Henry didn’t get a chance to answer.  The Apocs entered and Bill didn’t resist as wave after wave of Apocs entered the bus and had him by the arms and neck.  He thought he saw the old man's head nod once for yes as he heard Nattie Pigott's voice declare: "THAT'S NOT HIM!"

"What should we do with him?”  A guard with a Middle Eastern accent asked.  "You want I should hit him again?"

"No, it doesn't seem to do any good."  Nattie moved the Arab out of the way and put her face inches away from Bill's. With one finger she lifted his swollen face and said to his puffed-up eyes; "You're one tough cookie, I’ll give you that much.  Done a pretty good job of shutting your mind off to me too.  Abaddon always admired that ability of mine."  She licked her lips at the thought.

An Apoc on either side held Bill up by his arms near the elbows.  He looked as if he was going to pass out.

"One last time.  Where did the old man go that was on this bus and what are you doing here?  Are you a cop?"

Bill remained silent; a steady stream of blood flowed from the corner of his mouth.

"Should we kill him?" the man holding one arm asked.  It was evident Bill was not going to give her the information.

"No, I've got a better idea . . ..  Let's give deaf-mute here something guaranteed to loosen those lips."

Opening her mouth wide; she lowered herself to his neck.  Nattie could almost hear their two hearts beating as one as she pressed her lips to Bill’s warm skin.  Her breath came in short, labored pants as she ran her tongue along his neck, tasting the salty flesh.

Then she bit down hard!

His blood flowed into her mouth and his thoughts into her brain.  Just little blurbs came to her at first: a muscular blonde-haired man, a police uniform, and an older white-haired man in a navy uniform.  In her mind she could see Henry's face, but nothing more.  Whereas she was drawing from him, viral microbes from her saliva entered his body.

While Nattie was experiencing ecstasy, feeding off Bill's mind and tissues; Bill was experiencing something quite different.

The virus was raging inside his body.  His senses ended at his skin.  Foreign DNA and RNA penetrated each cell membrane, one infecting another.  The MDR-V6 Virus ordered the genetic material to remake itself in the image of a drastically-altered new species.  The process was agonizing; later he would think his bones were dissolving and the blood filling his veins was actually acid—burning and rerouting as it flowed.  His internal organs were also undergoing a state of rapid rebuilding.   

The part of his brain called the thalamus and the whole interthalamic adhesion was experiencing the biggest change of all.  Known as the central processing plant for sensory impulses, it doubled then nearly tripled in size.  The descending fibers from the thalamus that communicates with the cerebral cortex transformed from the size of the thinnest silk thread to the diameter of a shoelace; expediting the processing of sensory information tenfold.

In the deepest recesses of his mind he knew that the woman was looking into his memories like they were pages of an open book.  There was little he could do to mask or slow this vile rape.  The most basic of human functions—just living and breathing were nearly all he could manage.  Stimulus such as taste, sight, sound and smell were nearly enough to overload his mind.

He was vaguely aware when the woman released her bite on his neck, the few questions that were asked afterwards, and then of movement.  He was more aware of the bombardment of sounds in his ears, odors in his nostrils, the hardening of his skin, and human heartbeats in the distance.  His eyes were shut and his feet dragged on the pavement of the parking lot.  He was off to see the wizard.

As Bill first opened his eyes, it was only for a quick glimpse.  He stood on the edge of a large gathering of people.  The handholds on his arms had slackened, but nonetheless, were still there.  The sights and sounds of the humans in the Reverend Ira's congregation almost more than he could stand.  An emptiness in his stomach was turning into a desperate hunger. It was on a level beyond that of normal cravings, it was an all-consuming need for blood.  A buzzing similar to that of the buzzing heard when he used to be close to an Apoc was now present in his entire soul.  This clamor came from the humans and the sweet intoxicating sounds of their heartbeats.

He struggled internally to regain control over his thought processes.  He was constantly distracted from the thoughts of feeding by a larger beacon, that of the man standing and speaking behind the microphone, his sworn enemy, Abaddon.

"You heard it from his own lips, ladies and gentlemen," Abaddon said pointing to the Reverend Ira, yet focusing on the cameras.  "I'm sure nearly all of you have witnessed the cruel, inhuman behavior that members of my faction have committed on your television screens. Ask yourself where have most of these images come?  Let me help you out a little bit here—while I am not standing here denying the fact that some of those things have taken place—most of the infamous images were staged by the Reverend Ira Swanson.  Why?  Another easy question.  Where was the Glorified Church of God before the outbreak of the MDR-V6 Virus?  I'll tell you where . . . in bankruptcy, that's where."

"Do not listen to the words of the demon!  He's merely trying to seduce you with his lies!  He
is
the Son of Perdition."

"Lies?  You said lies, Reverend Ira?"  Abaddon asked turning toward him.  "It's not me lying this time."  He turned again to face the cameras.  "We were invited to this gathering tonight not by the members of the band 'Devil's Reich’.  There has never been contact from any band member or any of their representatives and an Apoc before today.  These were lies started and perpetuated by the church.  We merely acquiesced because Ira provided us with something we desperately needed—exposure."

"But what about the phone conversation between Steve Getz and the good Reverend?"  a reporter wearing a GCG button asked.

"Ah, the phone call," Abaddon said smiling.  He was hoping someone was going to ask this question.  "Why not ask him yourself?"

Abaddon nodded and a group of Apocs to his left parted and out stepped Steve Getz.  He walked next to Abaddon and up to the microphones.

In a high-pitched, near-whine he said in his distinctive British accent, "They're lies I tell ya, mates.  I've only spoken with Swanson once since the congressional-thing-a-ma-bob.  It was three days ago when I told him not to connect the band in any way to the Apocs.  This is ridiculous, simply ridiculous.  We're a band for christ’s-sake.  We're in the business of making music.  Christ, we'll leave the religious mumbo-jumbo to you pious types."

"Then how do you explain the telephone interview?" a reporter called out.

"Oh bloody hell man, surely you're familiar with editing.  And let me tell you, all of you," he was speaking directly into the camera, "this interview and this man," he was pointing at Ira, "are all bullshit."

He threw the crowd and camera the finger and retreated in the direction he came from and left the audience and reporters in a state of bedlam.

"I have one more convincing piece of evidence against the Reverend Ira Swanson, then we'll turn to more important matters," Abaddon said as he retook center stage.  "And it concerns a now infamous scene in which a man torn over the loss of his wife and family is fighting with a Apoc.  I'm sure you are all familiar with the piece I’m talking about—Swanson has broadcast it widely.  I'm here to say that it was all done as a publicity stunt.  The first—I might add—joint venture between the GCG and the Apocs.  Here as more proof are the featured characters in that piece."

From the same direction that Steve Getz had appeared a man, a woman, two children and the Apoc attacker all appeared.  All looked fine and were waving and smiling to the crowd.

"I guess you don't have much to say for yourself do you Mr. High and Mighty?" Abaddon asked.

The Reverend Ira—all the fight appeared to have been beat out of him—simply hung his head and wept.

Nattie appeared and beckoned Abaddon to her.  She whispered something in his ear and then he returned triumphantly to the podium.  

"I have just received unbelievable news.  We now have a spokesman who has been charading as a Norfolk police officer who is actually a member of the United States Naval Investigative Service; better known as the NIS.  He reports directly to the Secretary of Defense—his uncle I might add—and he is here to tell us an interesting divulgence on the origins of the MDR-V6 Virus."

Summoning all the powers of control he could muster, Abaddon called forth Bill.  He was directing him like a puppet.

"Could you please state your name and your job?"  Abaddon demanded.

"My name—ah—is—Lieutenant William C. McCullough of the Norfolk Police Department."  Bill struggled in vain not to speak.

"But you also work somewhere else, right."

"I—ah—wo—work for the NIS, part of the Naval Security and Investigative Command.  I was recruited by my Uncle Admiral Prescott and report directly to him.”  The words seemed to drain the last shreds of vitality from his ravaged body.

"And working so close with the Secretary of Defense what have you discovered about the Apoc disease?"

"I don't know all the details, just that it was developed by a scientist working for the Center for Biological Warfare, a Dr. Wojick.  It was supposed to be a cure for HIV, then Cancer, but something went awry.  The virus was first spread through the Navy and that's why I was called in to help with the case."

Smilingly buoyantly, Abaddon said, “Well there you have it.  And you blamed us for the destruction that has taken place—HA!"

"I blame you!"  a man whose face resembled a scab more than anything human stepped from the crowd of Apocs.  He was holding a gun that took all the strength his emaciated body could muster.  He was wearing dirty slacks and a gray sweatshirt that didn't quite cover his burnt-scarred arms.  The gun was pointed at Abaddon.

"And who—I guess 'what' would be a better word—are you?" he still smiled his greasy smile.

I knew you wouldn't remember, you bastard!  You left me for dead after murdering and raping my sister.  My name is Jimmy Barnes, and you ripped my sister Holly’s head off.  She was all I had in the world.  You nearly murdered me.  You told your men to burn my body.  It was only through my determination to give you what you deserve that I drug myself off that burning rubbish pile.  People might have looked to you as a savior, but instead they'll look at you as a martyr."

The crack of the gun went off as the flash of lightning filled the darkening sky.

Abaddon shoved Bill into the path of the bullet and his right shoulder began to ooze a yellowish-red blood mixture.  He was whirled around and fell into Abaddon.

A dark wet stain formed on the front of Reverend Ira Swanson's pants.

The scene that followed was pure chaos

Apocs attacked members of the congregation, members of the congregation attacked Apocs and it seemed everyone was attacking the news people.  The unknowing concertgoers were caught in the crossfire.

Captain Murphy of the Hampton Police ordered the attack.

"But who do we attack?" a policeman yelled over the pandemonium.

"The Apocs!”  Captain Murphy screamed as he drew his weapon and fired into the crowd.

The problem was no one could tell who was who.

"Just who do you think you are?  We had a deal!  Let me go!"  Ira screamed.

Abaddon had crawled out from under Bill and now had a hold of the Reverend's lapels.  "I've heard of 'holy shit', but never 'holy piss'.  It looks like you had a little accident, Your Excellency.”  Abaddon laughed his vile breath into the Reverend's face.

The sounds of howls and shrieks filled the night air.

"Don't let them get me.  Please Abaddon!  I'll give you anything!"

"Anything?"

"Oh yes, anything!"  Tears commingled with the rain and ran down the Reverend's chubby face.

"Will you give me God's blessing?"

"Oh yes, anything!  Just don't let them get me!"  His cry turn into a wail.

"But, dear Reverend," Abaddon said with a smile, "I don't think God’s blessing was ever yours to give."

"SAVE ME FROM THEM  . . . PLEASE!"

"I'll save you from them Reverend Ira  . . . " Abaddon's teeth seemed to grow before Ira's eyes, "by making you one of them!" 

And he bit down hard.

CHAPTER 31

THAR SHE BLOWS

"Just remember," Captain George Murphy said to his men, "this is pretty much a free for all.  Once a person gets tangled up with one of these Apocs, they'll probably end up being one.  So that means if anyone, and I do mean anyone—even a police officer—makes an aggressive move toward you consider them changed."