Zombie Battle (Books 1-3): Trinity (11 page)

“If you’re trying to delete the history, I haven’t a clue. It’s an old phone.”

“No shit.” Jack breathed out. “Okay, you have it.”

“What?” Saul asked.

A few more moves of his fingers and Jack handed the phone to Saul. “Here. See if you can figure out how to delete that last call.”

“What was it you did?”

“I sent your wife a text telling her you loved her. You know, just in case.”

“Thank you.” Saul examined his phone. He stood, and then paused in his phone manipulation. “Sergeant. I know they took your phone. Did you need to call your wife?” He extended his phone to Jack.

Jack shook his head. “Thank you. But I’ll figure something out. I’m sure I’ll get to call her soon.” With a motion of his head, Jack placed a hand on Saul’s back, leading him to the door. They were leaving the basement sanctuary, even if only briefly, for the meeting with Dr. Powers.

Gene Powers was an amazing mind. Well ahead of his time in thinking and technology. If anyone could figure out what was going it was him.

Jack stood guard outside the door, and only two individuals went inside. Saul and Steve.

Powers looked frazzled, three laptops set upon his desk. His graying hair was tossed about and glasses were a tad crooked.

“If I were my teenage son,” Powers said. “I’d probably phrase it as we’re, well, screwed.”

Steve chuckled. “Come on. Screwed? Who is screwed? Us? CDC? What?”

“Everyone.” Powers shrugged and took a seat.

Saul took things more serious than his colleague, Captain Long. “What’s going on?”

“First, our guard posted outside, I determined it was a surface wound not caused by an infected. He’s fine. Another positive is, we are dealing with the reanimated. Meaning, walking dead. As ridiculous as that sounds, it’s true. And they are human. Meaning . . . a few months maybe they’ll be a threat. Even if we don’t kill them all, they’ll eventually just decompose until there is nothing left. Problem being . . .”

“They carry more than just a viral threat?” Saul asked.

“Exactly. Like every other dead body.” Powers replied. “Now, why they’re dangerous. The brain works on pure instinct, in most cases. Only a portion of the brain survives when they return. And it reanimates after it was dead a few minutes. Hence why the violent behavior. They don’t know. The longer it takes for them to reanimate, the worse they are.”

Steve asked. “What about the child?”

“Without a doubt he reanimated instantly. Retaining some cognisance.” Powers held up a finger. “We have so much to learn from him. Unfortunately, he is decomposing and the order has come in to do final testing and relieve . . . to put it kindly . . . all those infected, reanimated or not.”

Steve released a heavy sigh. “We’re going to kill the boy?”

The corner of Powers’ mouth rose in a hidden smile. “He’s already dead.”

Steve shook his head. “In a conventional way, yes, but . . . there’s something there. A bit of soul. I don’t know. I just . . .”

Saul reached over laying a hand on Steve. “It’s inhumane to allow him to exist like this. I know you and I see this little boy. But, Steve, really, he can’t go on like this.” Saul then looked at Powers. “What about the soldier who had the amputated limb. Carlson.”

“He’s fine.” Powers replied. “No sign of infection, traces of it in his blood, but he is recovering. We had to move him to County for the amputation. He’s under guard, but we feel he’s safely out of the woods. He holds the key to possibly fighting this thing. Or at least that strain.”

Both Steve and Saul produced the same curious and questioning looks.

Powers explained. “There are three strains to this virus. The original, ground zero strain. Those exposed got sick, died, reanimated. Strain two were those like Carlson, those bit or scratched. Strain three is long term exposure. The contagion was still present in the air for a twenty mile radius before the area was burned out. It wasn’t as strong as we believe the initial levels were, but like radiation, continuous exposure . . . would cause those to get infected.”

Steve asked. “How long? I was there and exposed.”

“I ran your blood, Dr. Klein’s as well. You are fine. Those there maybe twenty four hours,” Powers shrugged. “Those are the ones I’m waiting to test. Because I am pretty positive they are infected. This is theory, remember, I don’t know. But we have to check.”

He spoke so nonchalantly, Saul couldn’t believe it. It wasn’t a measles outbreak or chicken pox, this was unreal, frightening. “All of those who were there for over twenty-four hours,” Saul said. “They are arriving in the States as we speak.”

Powers nodded. “Four different flights. Four different locations. Yes. We are rounding them all up now.”

“So they landed?” Saul asked.

“Four hours ago.”

Steve released a shriek. “Four hours ago? They can be anywhere.”

Powers held up his hand in a calming manner. “Remember this is theory. The data regarding the air samples only arrived two hours ago. I moved as fast as I could.”

“My God.” Saul sank into his chair, slouching in defeat as he ran his hand over his face. “If your theory is true, we just invaded our own soil.”

Powers shook his head with closed eyes, and gave a reassuring look. “No, we’re okay. I’m positive. Colonel Manning was there the longest and I spoke to him ten minutes ago. Relax. He’s fine. He’s absolutely fine. If he’s not showing symptoms yet, no one is.”

<><><><>

Colonel Manning made one more phone call from the back of the limousine. It was quick; it was to base, informing them he was going to be heading to Atlanta shortly. He coughed once as he placed down the phone, holding back the gag the cough had caused him.

Sweat grew on his brow and he wiped it. His stomach churned and that antacid wasn’t working. The flight was bumpy and he always was prone to airsickness. He suffered what he believed was the worst case of airsickness he ever had. The long ride to Washington in a hot limo wasn’t helping him either.

Manning knew he had to deal with it. Take another pill and be strong. He relaxed somewhat but not all the way. He couldn’t. Before long, he would arrive in Washington. He had to meet with the president. When that debriefing was finished, then Manning could relax. And after the meeting, he had to catch another flight to Atlanta right away; he wasn’t sure his poor stomach could handle it.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Berlin, Germany

The officials in Germany were able to cap the media and keep the truth from leaking. And the truth was . . . things were out of control.

The injured were taken to the hospitals and they in turn had infected others.

People were urged to leave or stay secured within their homes. The infection caused maddening behavior and homicidal tendencies in those infected.

That was the information the public was given.

The four youths, no older than twenty, decided they were staying behind in Berlin with their parents. It wasn’t looking good and the constant blaring of sirens was eerie and frightening.

They packed up with all intentions of heading to Italy. One of the youths had friends there.

The health authorities had set up military check points on the outskirts of the city and the four youths made it through, cleared of any signs of infection.

They felt safe.

Taking the back country roads was, in their minds, the best way to go. The exodus was causing major traffic jams everywhere.

Traveling at a good pace, just about ten miles from Berlin, they spotted the straggler. He moved slowly.

They felt bad for this man. He obviously, like them, had made it through the check points. He was probably tired and the young driver pulled over to see if he wanted a ride.

Winding down his window, he called to the man, wiggling his fingers as he pulled up to him. Calling out, ‘do you need a ride?”

The straggler stopped and turned to the car.

The youths didn’t know it was Hans Riesman, but they knew instantly something was wrong with him. He growled and snarled; his face white and bloody.

Hans lunged for the car but the driver was quicker and they sped away.

Picking up speed, the driver breathed out in relief. They got away from that mad man. Yes, he was slightly injured when the straggler scratched him, but he got away. He would keep driving until they couldn’t drive anymore. Only when they were far away from Berlin or even out of the country, would they stop. Then, and only then, would they truly feel safe.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Atlanta, Georgia

Ashley Simon had worked for the Centers for Disease Control for ten years. She was a lab technician and knew her job well. But it was the first time in her entire career that the prospect of a new virus frightened her. That fear stayed with her as she gathered up the last of the blood samples prior to the extermination that would take place.

There were only a few ‘alive’ patients remaining and she was on the last one, the last sample. Perhaps that made her lax, she didn’t know.

But her usual firm grip on the hub went out the door when the patient jerked violently. A patient she assumed was heavily sedated. The needle and hub unit ripped through the surface of the skin, flew up in the air and slammed back down, needle first into her foot.

She felt a slight pinch. Nothing major and she even assumed it was her imagination. Quickly, she left the room, disrobed, told no one about the incident, showered and disinfected.

The tiniest drop of blood was on her foot and it was so minimal she didn’t say a word.

She should have.

Not four hours later, Ashley found herself face forward, staring into the commode, heaving everything in her stomach. Her head pounded. She had never felt so sick in all her life.

Still at the CCD headquarters, Ashley, fearful of vomiting stayed near the toilet until she felt well enough o stand and get help.

Obviously she caught the infection and she had to let them know.

She would as soon as she threw up one more time. That would happen. Her stomach churned and sharp pains shot through her abdomen. Waiting for the eruption, not wanting to force it, Ashley leaned back between the commode and the wall.

She closed her eyes and passed out.

<><><><>

Powers was indeed correct in his statement that Spec Carlson was fine and posed no threat when he was transferred from the CDC to a hospital for proper medical treatment of his arm.

He was fine. In fact, he was in great spirits, wide awake and conscious when he arrived at County Hospital. Carlson even ate a soft food tray before he fell asleep for a nap.

Somewhere after the beef broth and red sherbet, Carlson died. Because he wasn’t hooked up to life support,  no one knew or even suspected that he passed away.

Bad timing for the nurse’s aide who came in to take his routine blood pressure. Carlson rose, took a chunk out of her arm. She screamed as he tore the flesh from her.

Her blood curdling scream summonsed help from the others in the hall. At that point though, tendons dangling from his mouth, Carlson was out of the bed, and racing for the door.

He tackled another nurse on his way out, bit her, stood and raced down the hall.

With almost a ‘conscious knowing’ to his movements and actions, Carlson took out three more people with bites before he flew into the stairwell and made his escape with ease, despite the fact he wore only a hospital gown.

<><><><>

The procedure was to be simple. Using a simple construction tool, a brad nailer, the two inch brad would go quickly into the front portion brain and end the secondary post life cycle of the undead.

Steve wanted to be the one to take care of Juan. The six year old boy they brought back from Peru.

Juan was different, he wasn’t violent toward people. He was clam, loved to play with his trucks. He even showed emotions. Steve grew close to him and because he knew alive or not, Juan felt fear, he didn’t want the child to go alone.

Placing the tool down on the small table as he entered the room, Steve focused on Juan. The small child began to smell despite the room being kept at a cool 50 degrees. He was showing signs of decomposition.

The second Steve walked in the room, Juan held up a toy bird. His mouth moved and it was obvious he was trying to speak.

“Bird?” Steve asked.

Juan smiled.

Smiled?

Steve’s heart sunk to his stomach.

This child, this poor child was left alone by his father who had been infected. He was alone when he initially got sick and died. How sick that boy had to have been without someone holding him, comforting him. That was probably the reason he cried so much.

Before stepping forward, Steve grabbed the power tool of death and kept it out of Juan’s sight.

“How are you doing?” Steve moved closer. He wasn’t afraid of Juan, not at all. He wasn’t fearful for his life. He crouched down next to Juan and the child extended the bird.

“Thank you,” Steve took it. “It’s very . . . very nice.” A lump formed in his throat as he gazed into what should have been lifeless eyes of the boy. But they weren’t, there was still a spark, still color unlike the other undead whose eyes had turned gray.

Not Juan’s.

Juan moved closer.

“What?” Steve asked.

And then Juan laid his head on Steve’s crouched leg. Almost as if he were looking for comfort, love, something.

Steve closed his eyes tight. It was heartbreaking for him. The child sensed something, Steve knew it. He felt it.

Juan cried.

With one hand on the tool, his other hand stroked Juan’s dark hair. “It’s gonna be all right,” Steve whispered. “It’s gonna be all right.”

<><><><>

Just a little past eleven a.m., Ashley went into the second floor ladies room at the CDC to throw up her stomach contents. It was there and then she passed out and shortly thereafter died alone.

The virus raged quickly into her body, shot into her like a drug via a vein in her foot.