The Reaper Virus (9 page)

The roar of the reporters in the conference
room caused him to pause. Trying to talk over the ruckus in front
of him, he continued.

“
Effective immediately, I
am declaring a nationwide state of martial law. In addition to all
flights being grounded I am halting all rail travel to further
attempt to halt the virus’ spread. And now I am burdened with a
duty never required of an American president… all overseas U.S.
armed forces are to be recalled from their global posts. Before
now, American troops have never been deployed within the
continental United States for combat purposes. These troops are to
be stationed throughout urban areas in order to assist with
containment of the Reaper virus. This is a formidable task due to
the crippled state of global transportation. But rest assured, help
will come. Anyone using this crisis as a means to violate the law
will be found and prosecuted. Our strength as a nation and God’s
grace will see us through these dark days. Thank you and God bless
America.”

The screen went back to the blank screen with
“BREAKING NEWS” plastered in bold lettering. I muted the
television. We didn’t need to hear any more of it.

* * *

1650 hours:

There wasn’t any doubt that we were trapped
there. A mob of thirty to forty people had formed out front. They
looked plenty alive, just desperate. Ignoring pleas for help from
people over the phone was one thing – having to ignore people
outside our door was another matter entirely.

A few of the people had bandaged wounds. My
guess was that they’d been bitten. However, the bandaged ones
seemed to be blending in with the crowd. We’d see how long that
lasted once they turned.

* * *

1730 hours:

Most everyone had gotten to take a nap in the
manager’s office. The last person, the new girl that woke me up,
was taking her turn.

Our building was separated into three
sections: A – communications, B – patrol/security/ communal areas,
and C – all administrative offices, access to record storage,
property and evidence rooms. It was a solid building. Before it was
transformed into a police station it was a bar. Long before that it
was something else. Whatever it was, it was still a solid old brick
building. The reality was we could be in a much worse place.

Some of the security people who got locked in
made a similar sleeping set-up in the gym area. Everyone was taking
turns getting some rest. Good thing too, since this wasn’t your
average overtime assignment.

I finally talked to Sarah again. The phones
were still going nuts, but I neglected them for a few minutes. She
was hearing more gunshots but none had been close. Living in the
good ol’ capital of the South, we had a shitload of rednecks in our
neighborhood. I’d always suspected our neighborhood would be better
armed than a small country.

The kids were napping when I called.
Evidently they were taking things pretty well. The whole thing must
have felt like a campout or something. I reiterated to Sarah that
the house needed to look empty. She promised the drapes were
staying closed and the only outside views came from peeking through
cracks.

She asked when I was coming home. Again I
said soon. I told her that if I’m not able to get out of here in a
few days, she needs to get the kids in the car and head to the
farm. After a tearful protest she eventually agreed.

Something was going on outside, it sounded
like the screams were louder than usual…

* * *

1911 hours:

I was beginning to realize why we hadn’t seen
more infected outside – they just hadn’t turned yet.

Thankfully I had just hung up with Sarah when
we started hearing the renewed panic outside. The small
congregation of desperate souls that had gathered outside of our
building let out a joint shriek. It was loud enough to hear through
the outer solid brick construction and drab office atmosphere.

We jointly abandoned the phones and ran to
the shuttered windows but we couldn’t see much. People were running
west towards 7-Eleven. That struck me as odd. Nothing outside was
what you would think of as orderly. Cars were strewn about, store
windows were broken, and the air was polluted by distant smoke, but
suddenly everyone was running in one direction? Then it hit me –
they were running
from
something.

I stepped back from my colleagues at the
window to look at the security monitor mounted above the main door.
It was hard to discern details from the poor quality picture. I saw
a lot of people running, tripping, stampeding over each other. One
person, looked like an older woman, was knocked down and stayed
that way. Just beyond her sprawled, westward reaching body I saw
what started the flood of panic.

My initial count was four; that doubled
quickly. They walked in a slow but determined way. It was hard to
see individual features in the poor light, but the silhouettes were
unmistakably chilling. Most walked at the same shuffled yet
determined pace.

The two in the front walked quicker. I
wouldn’t call it a run though. It reminded me of those ridiculous
speed walking old people in the mall. All stood in unnaturally
stiff positions, their heads all lying limply at different angles.
I think that’s what bothered me most. Then again, I couldn’t see
specific details – I’m sure there were other things more bothersome
about them.

Their advancement forward was direct and
westbound. I tried to convince myself they were just poor people
running with the rest; those thoughts ended the instant they saw
the trampled woman. She looked alive still, just incapacitated.

Even in the low light you could see the head
of the foremost infected pursuer swing around in the woman’s
direction. The rest of the unholy pack shifted their path to the
sidewalk where she laid. It didn’t take them long to reach her; and
moved with new purpose.

I watched in horror. Not even the low
lighting could spare me from the grisly scene. The first infected
leapt on her from a few feet away. Second and third place followed
suit. There wasn’t a goddamn thing she could have done. Soon it
became a writhing pile of limbs. Poor lighting saved me from seeing
the gore that must have spilled from the pile.

Most of the infected remained over the woman,
wriggling and frenzied like piranha. The ones in the back of the
herd must not have had luck getting through to the feast. They
continued westward, back in a slow pursuit of the desperate crowd.
At the very least, the woman bought everyone else some time and
distance.

I went back to my desk tasting bile once
again. There was no point in watching the monitor any longer. My
colleagues were still at the window. I loudly said that it would be
a good idea to stay away from the windows when the infected walked
by. We’d be fooling ourselves by thinking they would never find us
in here, but there was no need to draw attention to ourselves
sooner than necessary.

Everyone cleared from the window area,
ducking around the corner from the nook leading to our shuttered
outdoor view. The window was barely in my line of sight from the
rear cubicle, which I used to call home. Shutters were closed. Only
dim illuminated outlines of the wooden curtains could be seen. Then
even the outlines disappeared.

Outside, the infected must have passed by one
by one. The sliver of light disappeared and reappeared in an almost
rhythmic fashion. The communications room became enveloped in
silence. Either the phones stopped or the sound of my heart beating
drowned them out.

My pulse raced further when the crack of
light went out and stayed that way. I glanced at the security
monitor with dread. What I assume was the last of the pursuing
ghouls had stopped directly in front of the window. It was so close
to the camera, yet you could barely see a thing. I think it was
wearing a hospital gown. Its silhouetted head was hanging limp and
forward. Bile again filled my throat with the realization that its
jaw was opening and closing in a snapping motion. The creature
paused for maybe a minute before joining its infected brethren in
the hunt.

The others returned to their desks. I started
answering phones again. Whatever the person on the other end was
saying went in one ear and out the other. It didn’t matter anyway –
the phone calls were starting to blend together. Everyone was
scared. Everyone was angry. Everyone was desperate.

Erin (the last stuck dispatcher) was taking
her turn to nap. I was thankful that my turn was next. Sure I was
exhausted, but there was so much going on that I doubted I’d find
sleep. I just wanted to be home.

Day Eight.

November 17th – 0011 hours:

In the two hours I was allotted, I may have slept
thirty-five minutes. It was hard to erase from my mind the things
I’d witnessed. Walking into the office I felt as if I’d been buried
alive. Beyond the horrors I’d experienced in the last day, I
couldn’t shake a single thought from my head. I had the sinking,
nauseating feeling that I would never leave this wretched place… I
simply hoped and prayed that the feeling was wrong and that my
pessimistic side was just overworking itself again.

I took out my cell phone when I was lying
there on the makeshift bed. The camera on it isn’t great, but that
was what I was counting on. Hopefully the poor quality would hide
the tears streaming from my face.

First I recorded a message for Maddox. I told
him how proud I was of him. He was the first great thing I ever
made of my life. I asked him to be brave and to look out for his
little sister and his mommy. Next was a message to Calise. I
started by telling her that she is without a doubt the sweetest
thing I have ever known, that being her dad has made me a better
man and that she would always, always be Daddy’s little girl.

I had to take a minute to compose myself
before recording Sarah’s message. How can you possibly tell the
love of your life and the mother of your children how you feel in a
damned cell phone video? Wiping the tears away I decided to keep it
short and to the point. Through a genuine smile I told her that I
loved her from the moment I saw her. That I cherished every moment
we had shared together and that I was sorry I had to break my
promise to come home. I had to stop, the tears became too much. I
could have talked forever, but I quickly said I loved her and that
I would always watch over them.

I removed the Micro SD card from the cell and
put it in one of the rooms’ computers. Opening each movie file, I
checked to make sure they recorded alright. I changed each filename
to the name of the recipient. Finally, I filled the info box with
their date of birth, social security number, and current address.
The whole process in itself was exhausting. I was finding it
difficult to muster up the mental strength to even consider what
the future might bring.

My survival pack was previously the same
green JanSport book bag I carried from middle school through
college. Its interior nylon dividers had since torn and turned the
two sections into one. On September 11th, 2001, I took one of those
little American flags they hand out at parades and stapled it to
the front pocket. It’s still there, albeit minus a few staples and
on the faded/frayed side. I had cleaned it out before, just not in
ten years or so. The bottom was a compilation of scraps: a couple
of zip lock bags, various pens, a note pad, etc.

Ejecting the Micro SD card, I made sure its
‘lock’ feature was activated. Then I took one of the decade old zip
lock bags and placed the card inside, sealing it and wrapping it up
to the point where all you could see was layered plastic. Reaching
back in my pack I took out the second most important item (first
being my Kukri), a small roll of duct tape.

From what I had seen so far, the turned
infected didn’t exactly maintain their ‘public decency’ so to
speak. Again, I’d never gotten a well-lit view, but some had been
missing clothing or barely wearing any at all. I’d be damned if the
final messages to my family got lost in a ripped pocket or even
looted. Thus I took the plastic wrapped memory card and duct tapped
it to my left shin.

At least my message should get delivered no
matter what happens to me. I was willing to sacrifice some leg hair
if it meant I could say goodbye.

I looked like shit. My appearance hadn’t
really occurred to me until I was looking at my image on the
computer monitor. If you looked closely you could even see the
blood spattered on my white crew collar.

* * *

0100 hours:

There weren’t any more people banging on our
doors and windows outside. Sure there was banging – but not from
live people.

A group of around twenty infected had
gathered. Fuck it… I was just going to call them zombies. The
desperate people pleading to get in before were probably infected.
These aren’t people anymore. They all move like the monsters that
devoured that poor woman.

I knew it was only a matter of time before
they found us. We were practically a beacon being fully lit with
that damned generator rumbling in the back. They were gathered
around the front doors for A and B. Double glass doors serve as B’s
entrance.

Thank God for bulletproof glass… it worked
for dead pounding fists too. I highly doubt the original
contractors had that in mind when they installed the doors. Even
with my now extinct horror genre fandom, I wouldn’t even have let
that thought cross my mind a week ago.

* * *

0140 hours: