The Darkest Days (Death & Decay Book 0.5) (4 page)

The officers had each spent some time in triage,
helping tend to the wounded, and Wyatt was no exception. The bite
wounds were nasty work. Initially, the veins and arteries around
the wounds turned black. As the hours crept by, the blackness
spread from the initial wound to create a patchwork of dark webbing
across the infected area. Most recently, those with bites had
spiked a fever. The fever was bad. Some had crept as high as one
hundred and seven degrees Fahrenheit.

Those with the highest fevers had become
confused. One couldn’t remember his name. A woman whose husband sat
next to her swore she had never been married. Trevor couldn’t
remember the day he had graduated from the police academy. No
officer ever forgot that.

The whole situation was surreal. It was as if
they had all been thrown into a nightmare. At any moment, Wyatt
expected to wake up. But the nightmare persisted.

With a quick shake of his head, Wyatt stood and
made his way to the holding cells. It had been over an hour since
he had seen Trevor. Perhaps it was time he checked on him
again.

“How’s it going?” Wyatt asked Trevor as he
stepped through the open holding-cell door. Trevor’s brow
furrowed.

“I have never seen the sky so full of grass.”
His words came out slowly, as if he were struggling to form them.
Trevor’s skin was pale and glistening with sweat as he lay on the
concrete bench. The black webbed veins now encompassed his hand and
moved up his arm all the way passed his sleeve.

“What?” Wyatt chuckled. “Are you quoting some
movie? You know I have a terrible time with that stuff.” Trevor had
always been a jokester. There wasn’t an officer in the department
who hadn’t been on the receiving end of his pranks. Whether it was
a crude joke, a silly prank, or a mood-lightening movie reference,
Trevor took every opportunity he could to get a few laughs.

“The dirt sings something horrible.”

This time Wyatt frowned. “Stephen! Stephen get
in here!” Stephen had been the primary caretaker for the injured
for the last few hours. Prior to the academy, a decade ago, he had
been an EMT. Unfortunately for him, this left him the most
qualified to care for the sick.

Heavy footsteps echoed through the short
hallway. “What?” In the few hours since Wyatt had last seen him,
Stephen looked to have aged a decade. Dark circles encompassed his
eyes. His strawberry-blond hair stuck out from his head in small,
oddly angled spikes. The stubble across his chin made him look
exhausted.

“Trevor’s not making any sense.”

Stephen knelt down next to Trevor. “How are you
feeling, Trevor?”

“Bumblebees have carved a hole in my heart and
the leaves can’t fix it.”

Stephen nodded as if this made perfect sense.
“Alright, buddy, just take it easy and try to get some rest.”

With that, he rose and took Wyatt’s elbow.
“Don’t say anything. Just come with me,” Stephen hissed as he
steered them hurriedly through the building. Eventually, they found
themselves in a small office not far from the holding cells.

“Go!” He motioned for Wyatt to enter as he
yanked open the door. The instant the door was closed, Stephen
began to nervously pull at his hair, creating more of the odd
spikes.

“What is happening?” It made Wyatt nervous that
Stephen was unwilling to speak openly.

“Things aren’t good.” The words fell out of his
mouth like a dam that had suddenly burst. “Those people, the people
who were bitten, are getting worse by the minute, and I can’t do
anything to help them. We don’t have anything we need to help them,
and this is way above my pay grade. Those who are the worst off,
like Trevor, are starting to show signs of sever aphasia.”

“Aphasia?” Wyatt interrupted.

“Uh, speech problems. It’s linked to a specific
part of the brain.” Stephen waved the question aside. “Whatever is
happening is following a very specific pattern. First the wound
necrotizes, then fatigue, followed by fever, memory loss, and
aphasia. Every time.”

“What does that mean?”

“Aphasia is usually caused by some kind of
compromise in the brain, like a stroke.” Stephen rubbed his face
exasperatedly. “But a fever always means a virus. A virus could
cause swelling in the brain that could cause the aphasia, but I
don’t know.” Stephen began to ramble. “I don’t know what type of
virus does all this. I don’t know.” Stephen turned to look squarely
at Wyatt. “We need to get them help and we need to get it
fast.”

“How? There is a horde of people outside that
will kill us the second we step out the door.” Wyatt fiddled with
the collar of his shirt.

“Well, we’ve got to do something. If we don’t…”
Stephen paused as he looked back in the direction of the holding
cells. “If we don’t get them help soon they are going to die.”

“We could—” A scream further down the hallway
cut off the thought. With lightning speed, Stephen grabbed for the
doorknob and threw it open. Together, they shoved their way through
the people in the hall as they moved towards the commotion.

“Go close the holding-cell doors,” Wyatt shouted
to Stephen over the cacophony. “Make sure Trevor and the others are
safe.” After a pause, Stephen turned to head in the opposite
direction.

As he neared the center of the chaos, Wyatt had
to push past people running from the commotion. Wyatt’s heart raced
as he approached the end of the corridor. He drew his weapon as he
rounded the bend in the hall. It ended abruptly in a barricaded
door, but the bend created a small alcove that provided a small
measure of privacy in the cramped hall.

The small section of hallway had descended into
pandemonium. The panicked bodies obscured his view, making it
difficult to pinpoint the actual cause of the uproar. As more
people quickly fled, he finally saw a scuffle taking place in the
corner by his desk.

“She is just a child!” a woman shrieked. In her
arms, she held a little bundle that violently thrashed and growled.
The harried woman struggled to keep the writhing creature under
control as three men stood over her. Near the woman’s feet lay a
bloodied stuffed animal. A lavender unicorn.

“That thing is trying to rip out your neck!” a
large man with a hammer yelled.

“What is going on?” Wyatt approached with his
weapon ready.

He must have startled the group because as the
words left his lips, the squirming creature managed to twist around
and clamp its mouth onto the side of the woman’s face. A wail of
pure agony ripped from her lips as she and the creature fell to the
ground in a tangled mass.

Wyatt couldn’t get a clear shot. One of the men
that had hovered over the woman leapt in. The other men wavered,
hesitant to get near the creature. Without a second thought, Wyatt
rushed in, pulled the creature off the woman.

As he pulled the little monster away, he saw it.
Its face was contorted in a gruesome snarl, but he knew it. Its
golden blonde locks were stained and matted with blood. In that
instant, a piece of his soul was ripped to shreds.

The scared, timid features he recognized had
been contorted into those of a savage beast. As the creature turned
on him, he threw it against the wall on the opposite side of the
hallway. The creature began to stir the instant it hit the
ground.

Wyatt pointed his gun at the feral monster.
“Stop.” Though the word was meant to be a command, it came out a
useless whisper. As it regained its footing, for a brief second
Wyatt and the monster locked eyes. Nothing looked out at him from
those big green eyes.

God, forgive me.
He was not a praying
man, but nevertheless, the thought crossed his mind. With just the
slightest pressure he pulled the trigger. The little monster’s head
snapped back and it crumpled to the floor.

Wyatt fell down to his knees. As quickly as he
hit the floor, he moved to the creature’s side. Gently, he
disentangled the limbs from the unnatural angles they had fallen
into.

His heart ached as he looked upon the small,
fair-haired child. He delicately brushed aside the golden locks
that clung to her face. Death had softened her features. She was no
longer the crazed monster from just a moment ago. It was almost as
if she were sleeping.

Black webbing crept out from under her shirt and
up her neck, along the right side of her face.

A bite. Hidden beneath her clothes.

She had been bitten and then she had become one
of them. One of the deranged.

“Look! He’s alive!” Another one of the men
shouted as he let out wild, ecstatic laughter. The man ran to the
bloodied, prone body of the girl’s older brother.

No, stop.
The words could not reach
Wyatt’s lips. The boy’s arm reached for the man as he rushed to
help the gravely injured teenager.

As the boy took hold of his savior, the contact
jolted through him like an electric shock. His fingers clasped a
fistful of the big man’s sleeve as the boy suddenly pulled the man
to him. Surprised by the sudden and forceful movement, the man
became unbalanced and fell forward onto the scrawny teen.

Like a cobra, the boy leaned in and struck with
a vicious snarl. His teeth buried deep into the man’s shoulder.

Caught as he was, the man only gurgled as he
fought to pull the boy off, but the more he struggled the harder
the boy clamped down. The teen was seemingly stronger than his
short stature and gangly limbs implied.

Wyatt shuddered as more of the harsh screams
echoed down the halls from the direction of the holding cells. If
they had any luck at all, Stephen had already closed the cell
doors, effectively separating those who were sick from those who
weren’t.

Wyatt jumped into the fray of men who were
working to pry the boy from their companion. No one seemed to know
what to do to dislodge the grip the teenager had on the man. There
was only one way to deal with it.

With a sense of purpose, Wyatt placed the barrel
of his gun against the boy’s head, and pulled the trigger.

The momentary silence that followed was
shattered by a deep, guttural scream. Wyatt’s head snapped towards
the sound. The people who crowded the hallway shifted nervously,
unsure of what to do.

The holding cells.

Wyatt’s heart stopped. Down the long, straight
corridor, through the crowds, he could see the cell doors hadn’t
been closed. Right now they held the injured, not criminals. The
processing area that contained the holding cells was separated from
the rest of the department by a thick, sturdy door. That door stood
propped open.

The hallway suddenly descended into chaos as
fear enveloped the survivors. Wyatt roughly shoved his way through
as more of the gruesome cries echoed from wall to wall. A shot
thundered from the confines of the small room. It was quickly
followed by a second and a third.

Wyatt burst through the doorway to find Andrew
struggling against one of the motorized cell doors. The doors would
slide closed after an officer swiped his badge and punched in the
proper pin number. To avoid bodily harm, though, the doors would
reopen if something were stuck in them as they closed, much like a
garage door. Though the doors could be manually closed, Trevor
struggled against Andrew to keep it open.

At this moment, though, this safety measure kept
Andrew from closing the door. Trevor had thrown himself against the
door and wedged his arm in the opening. No longer himself, he let
loose another terrible, throaty shriek. Blood coated the small
glass window to the cell as Trevor pressed his face against it.
Wyatt rushed to help.

“Go help Stephen!” Andrew nodded to the only
other holding cell in their small station.

Wyatt looked wearily between Andrew and the
rabid beast that clawed viciously at him through the door. “Go!”
Andrew shouted above the clamor. “He needs you more than I do.”

The other cell door stood open. Grunts and
growls emanated from its interior. Wyatt drew his weapon as he
entered. A struggle was taking place on the floor.

Stephen was pinned down. He used his asp to hold
a man and woman back as they tried desperately to reach him. Both
of his hands were occupied in an attempt to keep the monsters away,
but this meant he couldn’t take up his weapon to end the
struggle.

With three quick steps, Wyatt was in the holding
cell. The creatures were so fixated on Stephen they didn’t even see
him approach. He took hold of the woman by one ankle and dragged
her backwards. She howled as she was removed from her prey.

As soon as Stephen was out of her reached, she
twisted around towards Wyatt. The writhing creature’s foot was
ripped from his grasp. The woman pulled her feet underneath her as
he grabbed his gun from its holster.

The woman’s movements were quick, but clumsy and
disoriented. As she leapt, he pulled the trigger. The shot struck
her in the thigh and she crumpled to the ground. Almost as quickly
as the woman dropped, she began to pick herself up. Without a
second thought, Wyatt took aim at the woman’s head, which was no
more than a few feet from him, and fired.

Instantly, he rushed back into the holding cell.
Stephen had wrestled his gun out and fired at the man pinning him
to the ground. Wyatt slapped his hands over his ears in an
ineffective effort to drown out the deafening crack of the gun.

With his ears still ringing, Wyatt rushed to
shove the lifeless man off of Stephen.

“Are you bit?” he asked as he pulled his friend
to his feet.

“I don’t think so.” Stephen shook his head and
immediately bolted for the door.

They exited the holding cell to find Andrew now
struggling with Trevor and another deranged man. The second man had
wrapped his fingers around the edge of the door and pulled against
it. Andrew fought to keep the door closed as the two fought to pull
it open.