Lost Humanity: Outbreak

Stephen W. Griffin By Stephen W. Griffin, 21st Jun 2010 | Follow this author | RSS Feed
Posted in Wikinut>Writing>Short Stories

The second section to my story, also a bit old, but recently revised and brought up to share, this is an immediate followup from Lost Humanity: Ground Zero, which is also up here and if you haven't read that, you should probably read it first. For those who can't be asked doing that, because to hell with my damn suggestions, this is a tale of zombies, horror, and humanity... or the lack there of. And of course, it is only just beginning.

St. Joseph Hospital, Nashua New Hampshire, US 8:00 PM, -GMT -5, April 4

“Mr. Collins, please calm down sir, you need to leave the IV alone,” Michelle Trawyer struggled to keep the man from ripping it out. They had had him on a suicide watch since he’d been brought in, mumbling about how his life was over. It wasn’t until after the growths on the side of his mouth popped a half hour ago that he had become aggressive though. When he had, he right away bit the nurse in the room with him, Hal. They now were being more careful. Across from Michelle, Anthony, one of the orderlies, helped to pin the struggling patient.
Dr. Howards entered the room. He was a large man, tall and very fat. He was a very dark shade of brown, and his deep voice carried an air of comfort to it. He was a bit of a fixture in the hospital, known for a fatherly, or, given his age, grandfatherly, nature. “Michelle, why don’t you let me take your place there for a moment, let me have a chance to get a closer look at these growths.”
Michelle suspected he was only saying that so that she would be back away from the potentially dangerous patient, but she didn’t mind his being protective here. At five foot three, she was hardly the best candidate for keeping a man pinned, not with her weight, at least. There wasn’t much more to see about the sores. The initial idea had been that it was a rash of some sort from something he ate, but there was no signs of anything on the inside of his mouth. In fact, aside from what was leaking out of the sores themselves, the actual bacteria in them couldn’t be found anywhere. It wasn’t in his blood, as much as it somehow altered the blood itself.
When the patient had broken out of his IV earlier, the blood had oozed out slowly, and thickly. With blood like that it was a wonder he wasn’t worse, yet somehow he kept going. When it first happened there had been a panic, as it had almost looked as if the blood was coagulating in his veins, but the tests showed that it was healthy... even more rich in nutrients than the normal levels for a healthy person. There were concerns that his heart must be overworked, but so far there had been no issues from it.
“Looks like we’re going to have to strap him down. Michelle, put some morphine in the bag please, make things a little easier on him.”
“Sir, I just gave him some before he started acting up. It didn’t seem to do much of anything to him.”
“I’d say give him more, but I don’t wanna risk finding out just how thin the line between under and over dose is on this guy. We can” Howards grunted as he placed one arm under a strap “get him without that. I still feel bad for him though.” The doctor stepped away from the patient’s bed. “Tony, go get someone to replace you, you’ve been in here for almost an hour now, right? Get Phil, he’s been on this floor all day.”
“Sure thing doc… you really think this is that contagious? Hal hasn’t mentioned any kind of rash, and he said the bite stopped burning after it got washed out.”
“I don’t feel like taking the risk. I got a call from the CDC, they are sending someone out here now, apparently there are a number of cases like this one in Boston right now, and from what they say there, it is very contagious.”
“Alright doc, I’ll stick around this area too, keep my contact limited and all that stuff.” Anthony left the room, tossing his gloves in the biohazard bin as he went.
“Well Michelle, has he said anything while you’ve been in here? Any signs that he is still considering suicide?”
“No, at one point he mentioned the name Martha, but that’s about it. I guess it’s his wife or something.”
“According to what we have on him, it’s his ex-wife. She's listed as his next of kin still, no other family it seems. She did seem genuinely worried about himwhen we contacted her, but she had nothing on where he may have caught this. She wasn't interested in coming to see him though.”
“Sir… are you sure we should be talking about this in front of him? It seems like this might make his depression worse.”
“I didn’t get a chance to really check his temperature, but his forehead is hot enough to fry eggs. I don’t think he is even aware he’s here right now, let alone aware enough to remember what we are saying. We’ve given him what we can, now we just have to hope it works.”
Michelle frowned. “What if it doesn’t?” She looked around, looking for someone who might be listening, “ what if Hal is sick too?”
“We don’t know that yet, and hopefully if he does develop symptoms, we’ll have found out what we are dealing with by the time they come up.” Dr. Howards put a hand on Michelle’s shoulder. Before he could say more, the intercom cut him off, in a strange, and authoritative voice.
“This is Dr. Richard Hammond of the CDC, we are placing this building under quarantine immediately”
Michelle got a shocked look on her face, and stared at Dr. Howard, looking to him for some sort of direction. He just got up and began getting Mr. Collins medical sheets together.

Fitchburg State College, Massachusetts, US 9:00 PM, GMT –5, April 4

Bobby Jumped up and down as Skizz struggled to keep a snarling Jared pinned.
“Ow, he bit me again, what the hell man!? Get over here and help me hold Jared down will you?” Skizz screamed as Jared sank his teeth into Skizz’s arm for the third time.
“Hey, woah, hold on a minute” Bobby stood for a moment, one finger held out as he thought out his statement, “I don’t wanna catch that thing man, and you, you already have it. I didn’t take those freaky pills, you did. I don’t wanna get sick too. No way I’m touching either of you. This is sick people business, I'll let sick people handle it.”
“I don’t care if you don’t touch me, just find a way to HELP!”
“Alright, alright, stop being such a woman Skizz,” Bobby started to look for something to throw at Jared. “Ah ha! DIE!”
The dirty sock hit Jared in the face, sliding over his mouth where it was firmly bitten, the strange goop that was coming out of his mouth soaking into it.
“How is that supposed to help?!” Skizz was almost bucked off of Jared as he turned his head to shout. “Hit him with something harder!”
Bobby brought his next weapon cracking down over Jared’s head. His weapon snapped, but Jared was unfazed by the slow trickle of blood from where he’d been struck.
“My Playstation! What did you do to it asshole?! Ah!” Skizz began to lose his control over the situation. “Try something else! Something that isn't mine!”
Bobby looked around in hope of finding another item he could use. And he found it. “Sorry Harold, but we gotta put Jared down here for a bit” Bobby steadied himself and turned about, garden gnome in hand.
“FOR NARNIA!” Bobby swung the gnome full force.
Skizz toppled unconscious from the blow, as Jared pulled himself up, snarling through the sock. “Crap, sorry Skizz! OH SHIT, Jared don’t eat me!”
Bobby backed up, and tripped over the beanbag chair, landing in the pile of laundry. Before he could recover Jared was over him, ready to attack. Bobby threw up a hand and caught his friend by the neck. As Bobby struggled to keep the much larger Jared at bay, the sock fell out of Jared’s mouth and onto Bobby’s neck.
“Ew, ew, ew, ew, ew, get it off!”
“Greh…” Jared sluggishly stood up, and shambled over to his desk, where he picked up an old, semi-decayed, half eaten corn dog and finished it, chewing through the stick in the center with a crunch... although the corn dog was crunching a little too.
“Uh… so that’s gross, this sock is gross, and I’m still waiting for an apology for trying to eat me… hello? Mr. ‘I suddenly don’t want to eat Bobby’ a response would be nice right now.” Bobby daintily grabbed the sock with his thumb and pointer finger, and placed it on the floor next to him.
Jared let out a low growl as he watched Bobby, and began to step closer. Bobby frowned, picked up Skizz’s puss soaked sock, and placed it on his head.
Jared stopped growling.
Bobby picked up the sock again, and placed it on the floor next to him.
Jared growled.
Bobby picked up the sock, and placed it back on his head.
Jared stopped growling.
“Well that’s odd.”

Alleyway behind Ollie’s Electronics, Lowell Massachusetts, US 10:30 PM, GMT –5, April 4

Ricky followed as Scott led their crew of five to the back entrance of his work. “So you are one hundred percent sure we’re not gonna have anyone watching us work here? No cameras, no windows to other buildings, nothing?” Ricky didn’t want any unwanted surprises on his first big act. He’d gotten his friends together, Carl, Scott, and his girlfriend Christy in the van with the trailer, waiting to drive off fast if they had to. Scott has also brought a couple of his relatives. Rick didn’t like it, but then it was less time they’d have to spend carrying things to the van before they could leave.
“I’ve seen some homeless guys back here once, but that's it, and they aren't going to say shit anyway. It’s good man, trust me.” Scott was a steady guy, not overly imaginative, and he’d needed massive amounts of coaching from Ricky to come up with a plan to rob his work, but otherwise he was reliable.
Carl on the other hand… “Ricky, you sure this is a good idea, I don’t feel good about this, it seems like a really bad idea.”
“Jesus Christ Carl, it’s simple as fuck. We go to the back door, Scott breaks down the back door with his massive ass legs in a solid kick, we lift as much shit as we can carry into the trailer, then drive off. We can work out where to sell it all later, but right now, I need you to shut the fuck up.” Ricky sighed. If Carl freaked out too bad, it could really screw them all over. He was beginning to doubt whether it was smart to bring him along at all. “Listen Carl, you bitch out, it’s lights out, got that?”
“Aw, aw man, I don’t know, what if they get our finger prints or something? We could go to jail for this, I don’t want to go to jail Ricky, do you understand how serious this could be? You've seen those shows on tv, they can figure out who did shit from like, an eyelash or something tiny like that. What if a mosquito bites me and my DNA is in it?”
“Carl you fucking retard, we’re all wearing gloves. And even better than that, none of us have a fucking criminal record, none of us. And you know what that means, it means our prints aren’t even on record.” Ricky was of half a mind to pull out his gun; Carl was really starting to piss him off. “Go, now.”
Ricky didn't want it to come to that, and he hadn't really wanted to bring it in the first place, but nothing would have felt worse than to get mugged and robbed of all this stuff, after stealing all of it. Besides, Christy said that he behaved more assertively when he had it, like he was more dangerous, which technically he was, and that it turned her on. Ricky could tolerate that.
Carl cringed, and started walking down the alleyway. “Ricky, I think I heard something.” “Shut up Carl, I don’t care, keep walking. Don’t make up shit because you’re scared. Just think of the flat screens. You want a flat screen TV, right Carl? Well keep moving and you can have a flat screen TV. And no charge.”
Carl started to round the corner to the back of the electronics store.
“YRAAA!” A disheveled and sickly looking woman wearing tight blue jeans and a tank top pounced out from around the corner, pinning Carl and biting his ear.
“Oh God, get her off! Get her off of me!” Carl screamed, flailing around helplessly as the woman pulled away with his ear in her mouth. One of Scott’s relatives ran in and hauled her off of Carl, and she then proceeded to bite his wrist. Scott and his other relative ran up to help, while Carl lay on the ground holding the side of his head. As Scott and his relative pulled the woman back, a second figure, this one a guy in a blue sweater, grabbed Scott’s second relative and bit his shoulder.
“Tommy!” Scott pushed the woman down and punched the man biting the family member that Ricky assumed was Tommy.
Ricky drew his gun. It wasn’t very big, but it didn't need to be. “Everyone get down! You two psychos wanna jump someone then you don’t wanna jump me, I’ll fucking shoot you bitches!”
Tommy and the man continued struggling, as Scott tried to pull them apart. The woman meanwhile stood staring at Ricky. She had bite marks all over her forearms and one on her cheek. Her mouth was leaking some sort of yellow crap. “What the…” before Ricky could finish his expletive she snarled and began to come towards him in a half run, half stumble. Ricky leveled the gun and shot her, landing a round squarely in her shoulder.
The woman kept running as if nothing had happened. Ricky shot her two more times. He wasn’t even sure if the second shot hit her. Panicked, Ricky turned and ran. He heard footsteps of three people behind him. Reaching the exit from the alley, he ran up to the van and turned around to see who had followed him. Scott, his other relative who’s name Ricky still hadn’t caught, and the mad woman all raced along and came out of the alleyway.
“Scott, other guy, pin her down!”
They listened, and grabbed the woman from behind and chucked her to the ground, as Scott’s relative went and held her there. “Jesus these bites burn, wow!”
“Woah woah woah. You were bit?”
“Yeah, the bitch took a pretty deep bite in my arm, and another on my hand. Burns real bad.”
“Scott, were you bit?”
“Nope,” Scott was looking closely at his cousin.
“Alright, Scott, you can get in the van with me then, but you, whatever your name is, you stay here. I don’t know what the fuck they have, but I’m not catching it. You probably already have it, so uh, go have fun biting people. I’m out of this place.”
Scott’s relative looked outraged, “Hey, what the fuck! You can’t just leave me here like this. And Tommy and that other guy are still back there, what about them?”
“They were bit too, their problem, not mine. Come on Scott.” Ricky walked over to the van, and looked behind him to be sure the large man followed. Scott was just standing there. “You coming or not? You wanna stay and catch the psycho plague with these idiots, that’s cool by me, but the train is leaving station NOW!”
Scott looked one last time at his relative, who was still entangled with the woman who was now actively biting him, and then trotted along up to the car. “I don’t like leaving them back there.”
“You’d like having them with us less, let’s go.” Ricky ran to the passenger side door of the van and knocked. He heard the click as it unlocked and hopped in, with Scott getting into the back seat.
“What the fuck is going on out there, what happened? I heard gunshots Ricky, what the hell did you do?” Christy was panicking as she tried to start the van.
“We were attacked, now drive!”
“What?! By who? Who the hell attacked you? Cops? Are we going to get caught?” Christy was really starting to panic, although she had gotten the van started and was starting to drive off at high speed.
In the back, Scott spoke up, “Some crazy homeless people jumped us.”
“Yeah, homeless people…” Ricky thought back on how the people had been dressed. They weren’t homeless. Not by a long shot.

7/11, Boston Massachusetts, US 12:00 AM, GMT –5, April 5

Jason Conner glared at the frat house down the street. There had been loud sounds coming out of it since five in the afternoon. Crashing and yelling. It had been real early, even for someone trying to live up to the party reputation college life always got. It had quieted down from time to time though, only to be followed by a bit more crashing, a bit more yelling. Jason had to wonder what the hell they’d been breaking the whole time. Right now it sounded as if they were trying to break down their front door from the inside. “Idiots.”
“You really shouldn’t hate them so much you know. Sure they may be assholes to us, but they keep us in business. We’re the closest and cheapest place for them to buy more booze, and as with any sizable population of kids your age, that is a guaranteed steady market. You should just do what I do. Whenever they come in here drunk or high, looking for snacks of some sort, just overcharge them. They never remember!” Mr. Lark let out a laugh, which shortly turned into a cough. He was an old man, and rather short. At times he seemed very cantankerous and inconsiderate, but in truth he was a wonderful boss, as long as you did your job right and showed him a bit of respect. Ever since Jason had dropped out of school to support the baby, Mr. Lark had been very supportive of his effort to make enough money to float through.
“Every time those assholes come in here they act like we aren’t even people, like we’re dirt to them. It pisses me off. Hell, that one they all call ‘Boss’ acts like he owns the place. Talks down to us like we’re handicapped in the head. Jesus, I had a class with that moron, I’m twice as smart as him. And you, you’re a smart guy, even if you disagree I can see it, you think things through intelligently, I doubt any of those fucks could have lasted a month in your shoes. It pisses me off.”
“And yet you keep letting them get to you. Now lighten up, you’ll scare away customers with a look on your face like that. I half expect you to rob me now.” Mr. Lark leaned back in his chair behind the counter, “ehhh, tell you what. Just finish restocking that shelf and you can head home early, you could use the rest kid. I’ll last on my own till Evan gets here for his shift. Go get some sleep, between this and your job over at the mall I don’t think you get enough.”
“No, I need the hours, don’t worry about me boss.”
“Oh shut up, I will still pay you for the solitary hour you’re missing. You have a kid on the way, I know what that’s like, I’ve been there five times myself, and I already had a stable income when I did. You’re a good kid, now go get that shelf stacked would you?”
“You don’t have to do that Mr. Lark.”
“Hey, I know a man who needs a break when I see one. Now hurry up and get done so you can go home. I’m sure the missus will be happy to see you home early.” Mr. Lark smirked.
Jason sighed, “You know we aren’t married Mr. Lark. Hell, Kara and me aren’t even engaged. I’m sorry Mr. Lark, but if I hadn’t gotten her pregnant, we would still be pretty unserious about this. We only live together now to save on rent as it is.” All the same, Jason began placing the boxes of pop tarts on the shelf faster.
“Bah, like it matters. I’ve seen the two of you around each other." Mr. Lark chuckled knowingly behind the register. "Well, finish up would you? At this rate you’ll be leaving two minutes early, instead of the hour I am trying to give you here, come on!”
“Sure thing boss,” Jason placed the last box of pop tarts on the shelf, and then rushed to the back room to grab his duffle bag and helmet. Setting the bicycle helmet on his head, and the duffle over his shoulder, Jason walked out to leave. “Thanks Mr. Lark, I’m real glad to know you.”
“Yeah, yeah, go home.”
Jason went out the door and head over to the bike rack where he’d left his sole means of transportation these days. He used to have a car. Not a good car, but it had been a car. But he’d sold that. Now it was just him, a bicycle, and twelve miles of midnight dark Boston streets. Oh the joy.
It was then that the people in the frat house finally succeeded in breaking down their door. At first, Jason was too shocked by the fact that they had actually been breaking down their front door to react. He watched as about twelve people shuffled out into the street, looking disoriented, until one spotted him. The man who saw him first let out a wordless yell, and then all of them were howling as a group as they ran towards the convenience store. Jason backed away from the bike rack. He considered getting out of there on his bike, but it would take too long to unlock it, and that would still leave Mr. Lark to deal with these idiots. Whatever the hell they were doing, they sounded violent, and didn’t look like they were in any healthy state of mind.
Jason turned and ran back into the store, closing the door behind him. “Mr. Lark, I think we have some trouble coming. About a dozen or so of those idiots are high on something, and coming this way. They don’t sound like they’re in a buying mood.” Jason ran back towards the counter where Mr. Lark was sitting.
Mr. Lark listened until he heard the group yelling, and then bolted upright and onto his feet. “I’ll call the cops, let them know that someone’s causing trouble, if they're really acting violent they could hurt someone else too.”
“They broke their own door down, they didn’t even seem to try and use the handle, I'm pretty sure they are feeling violent.”
“Alright, I’ll get the cops on the line, and then I have to call Evan to tell him not to come in unless I call him back saying it’s clear. Go see if you can convince them to leave.” Mr. Lark began dialing the phone, and Jason went to go grab the best weapon he could. “Jason, catch!” Mr. Lark tossed a revolver he had stored under the counter to Jason.
“I can’t shoot someone! Why are you giving me this?!” Jason held the gun awkwardly by the barrel, staring at it.
“I'm not asking you to shoot them, and I don't expect you to, they don't need to know that though, do they? Hell, that gun isn’t even loaded; it’s about as deadly as a ham sandwich right now. Just try and scare them off.” Mr. Lark went back to his phone call.
Jason looked at the gun. The mob hit the windows and doors of the front of the shop like a wave, as half of them bounced off of the glass and hit the pavement, one window crashed and broke. One of the students, a man, came through on top of the glass. As he stood up, a large shard of glass was shown sticking out of his stomach. It was hardly bleeding, and the man didn’t seem to notice it. Jason stared in horror, as two more of the insane students came through the broken window, and he heard glass break at the other end of the front.
All of the students were dressed pretty typically, but they looked horribly wrong. Their skin was too pale, their eyes bloodshot, patches of hair ripped out of several of them. And some kind of gross stink coming from the puss leaking out of the sides of their mouths. The one in front of him snarled. Jason recognized it as the one all of the others called ‘Boss’ Ross. He had blood smeared under his mouth as well as the puss.
“I have a gun! I’ll shoot you! Damnit, I’ll do it, I have a gun!” Jason called out as he backed up. “Shit!”
Jason put the gun in his coat pocket and grabbed the mop from it’s bucket next to him. He brought the mop cracking down over Ross’s head, snapping the head off the mop, and doing absolutely nothing to Ross.
Holding onto his broken mop handle, Jason looked to Mr. Lark, who was just finishing up on the phone. Then he began dialing again, this time to call Evan. Jason turned back in time to catch Ross on the mop handle, before he could bite Jason. As it was the lunatic was trying, pushing his head forward, stretching out his neck with every intent to attack Jason.
Jason shoved him back and swung his mop handle at one of the other sick students. “Mr. Lark, we should leave NOW!” Jason tripped up another attacker by knocking over a stack of cans.
“Alright, alright, I’m going now, Evan, I’ll call you back if this gets cleared up, I need to go,” Mr. Lark hung up the phone and started to move as quickly as he could for the back door. Before he could get there, he was jumped by one of the students, a girl this time.
Jason ran forward, and tried to slide the broken mop in between Mr. Lark and the girl biting him, in order to pry them apart. He missed.
As the broken end of the mop stabbed into the girls throat, Jason could feel it tear the flesh, as splinters of the mop broke off in her neck. Horrified, Jason shoved the mop, and girl with it, away.
Mr. Lark began working the door, and he turned around after going through it. “Jason hurry up, get out here now!”
Jason stared at the girl on the floor. She was bleeding a dark, perhaps too dark, oozy blood. It pooled in a sludgy puddle under her head. And then she got up. Gurgling now, rather than snarling, she began to stand up like nothing was happening. She stared Jason in the eyes, every ounce of hunger and hatred that he’d seen in Ross’s face, was in hers too.
Mr. Lark pulled Jason by the arm through the door, slamming it shut behind him. “Come on Jason, we need to move.”
“That, that girl, I fucking stabbed her, I stabbed someone.”
“And she seemed fine, so we should leave now!” Mr. Lark began tugging at Jason’s arm as they heard thuds at the door.
“What the shit! She was stabbed though!”
“JASON!” Mr. Lark grabbed Jason and threw him towards the car. “Get in there now, this bite is burning real bad, and I think I should get to the hospital. Lets move!”
Coming to his senses, Jason got in the car. Mr. Lark got into the drivers seat and started the engine. Jason hadn’t even noticed him get out his keys. As they began driving out of the lot, Jason turned on the radio. Jason recognized the woman on the radio’s voice, but he couldn’t put a name to it. It was some conservative talk show host. “-has spread out from the hospitals and into the streets ladies and gentlemen. The governer has told everyone to ‘stay calm’ and ‘remain indoors’ but other than that I’m seeing nothing. That’s what happens when you lay off the police force, and then expect them to hold the rioting masses of crazy hospital patients who are all infected with this, horrifying disease, that makes them go crazy and try to attack people, and we’re just getting left to our own while several portions of the city are being overwhelmed with people who by the way, have no one trying to cure them. So far the only solution anyone’s had has been to throw the sick people outside that hell hole into that hell hole. I am telling you I-“ Jason got tired of listening to her rant, and swapped the radio over to a liberal station. The woman hadn’t sounded any less outraged about any other topic she brought up, and as much as a broken clock is right twice a day, he wasn't in the mood for it.
“-haha, I am willing to bet the Republicans are willing to let Mass rot. ‘Hmmm, mindless violent masses you say? We can work with this’”
The co-host spoke up, in his usual ass licking manner, “yeah, heh heh, Bill I wouldn’t be too surprised if they released this themselves.”
As the two talk show hosts laughed, Jason angrily turned the radio off. Apparently whatever was afflicting the students who attacked him and Mr. Lark was in the rest of Boston too, and on levels that warranted calling it a plague. But on the bright side, whatever was driving the residents crazy wasn't disturbing the delightfully bipolar "voices of America".
“Mr. Lark, Mass General is probably one of the hospitals that was over run, and it doesn’t sound like anyone is going to be helping you very much. My place is not far from here. We don’t have much, but Kara was studying to go into med school and become a doctor. It’s not a lot, but it beats just chucking you into a quarantine zone.”

Heathrow Airport, UK 6:00 AM, GMT, April 5

Rob was barely awake. He had gotten out of bed two and a half hours ago to be told that a plane had wound up rolling over on the airstrip, something to do with a faulty wheel support. You'd think they would catch a thing like that, but the wheel didn't come off until the plane had reached speed, so it had skid along at ground level for a bit, scattering debris on that portion of runway, hitting a number of ground crew, and starting a fire somehow at the luggage depot. As if the usual nightmare stories about how horrible airport service was wasn't bad enough, they'd just grounded every traveler in a major airport, a plane with some sort of medical emergency hadn't been able to land until hours ago, and even then no one had been ready to get to them, and now everyone's luggage was probably a mix of ash, water, and whatever that foam stuff the firemen used was called. The morning news was going to love this. On the bright side, it was unlikely that anyone from the press for interviewing purposes would get through the traffic backup in the next year.
That didn't matter to Rob's little role here. He was a part of the EMT group at the airport, along with a few others, including about a dozen other EMTs... and two blue berets.
Rob didn’t like having them there. It wasn’t that he was overly anti-law or anything, but he wasn’t a fan of guns, especially not guns that might get pointed at his potential patients. He didn’t know why they had to be right here either. It wasn’t like there weren’t enough of them walking around the airport as is, armed to the teeth. They'd been told the passengers were behaving irrationally, but that didn't justify shooting them. Rob had held down struggling patients before, there wasn't much a sickly or injured person could do.
Rob looked over to Chelsea. She radiated calm. He didn’t know how she did that, although he’d asked once. Rob was never a very confident person, but Chelsea always was so sure of herself. She said that she had gained a lot of confidence in herself when she had started learning martial arts, and had even offered to help teach him, but Rob turned it down, mostly out of a nervous fear of looking incompetent.
The two Blue Berets walked up to the airplane door, and began to open it. Everyone was nervous. Rumors had started to circulate about a plague of some sort in Boston, where the plane they were looking at now had taken off. Rob hadn't heard anything to support the rumor, but he'd been more than a little busy the past four hours. One of the men at the door stepped inside the plane, and called out. He was out of Rob’s sight, but within moments he heard the man screaming, and a wave of howls came out of the plane. Following behind their shrieks and snarls came a flood of passengers, lightly interspersed with flight attendants. They overwhelmed the second guard before he could even fire a shot.
More and more passengers came out of the plane, and they began rushing towards the shocked group of EMTs. A Blue Beret in the back was calling for back up, and yelling for people to get out of his way. And before anyone could think to start running, the mob hit the EMTs, pouncing and pinning them, four or five passengers biting down on each of the people in the front of the group. At that point the rest of the EMTs tried to run, half of them getting struck from behind by passengers.
Rob watched as the Blue Beret in the back was knocked over by a panicked woman, and he didn’t come back up. Rob himself barely made it out of the narrow terminal bridge and into the main waiting area. He stopped to look around for Chelsea, and was hit from behind by something heavy, knocking him down onto his stomach. Whoever was on him sunk their teeth into the back of his neck. Crying out in pain, Rob struggled trying to get loose. Before he could, he felt the weight get even worse, as another passenger jumped on, and bit his left shoulder. Flailing about, he was bit two more times by two more passengers, maybe more, he just knew there were people everywhere, and he couldn’t move. Rob screamed. He screamed in pain, he screamed in terror. He screamed for help, because there was nothing he could do, there were too many on top of him and he couldn’t shake even one loose. Rob tried to pull his arm in closer as one passenger, only a little boy, bit it, and he felt skin tear and come away with the child’s teeth.
“Hyaah!” One of the passengers on his back fell to the floor beside him, rolling onto the child before it could go to bite him again. Another shout from above, and the passenger on his neck came away, taking a bit of the skin from his neck with it. Rob quickly rolled over, and began to kick at the passenger that was biting his leg. It was a woman, her face contorted in rage as she looked up at him and growled. Before any of the passengers could get back on top of him, Chelsea hauled Rob off of the floor.
“Come on, we need to get out of here, run!”
The two of them ran for it, Rob with a minor limp from the burning bite mark in his calf. The woman had to have bit hard, in order to bite him through his pants. As they ran, Rob could hear more passengers coming out of the plane behind them, and more of the people in the airport began screaming, running in the same direction as Chelsea and Rob. Rob heard gunfire briefly behind him, and the screaming intensified. Even after watching the passengers tear through his fellow EMTs he didn't like hearing that.
Chelsea pulled him along behind her, heading towards two SO19 officers. “You need to look out for the people coming in behind us, you’ll have to shoot them, at least three of your people already went down back there. You need to open fire on the mob of people coming this way.”
Rob didn't even know what to say, he didn't think another person so dedicated to saving lives would have a reaction like that, to so coldly demand that these complete strangers commit murder. As she said it, the passengers rounded the corner, taking down people too slow to run away in their path. The collective howl of the mob sent shivers down Rob’s spine.
One of the guards protested, “We can’t just shoot civilians! Are you insane lady?!”
His partner, on the other hand, felt no such doubts, watching the mob take down an old woman in its rush. Or at least, if he was feeling doubts, it wasn’t enough doubt to stop him from raising his weapon and aiming it at the mob.
“What are you doing, you can’t shoot them, that’s wrong! Damn it man, stop, this is crazy! There’s fucking kids in there!”
The man clicked off his safety and readied to shoot.
The officer dropped to the ground, a bullet hole in his temple. His partner stood beside him, his gun shaking, held outwards. “… you can’t…”
Rob stood speechless for a second, until Chelsea grabbed his arm and dragged him on down the hall towards the main security checkpoint. Rob’s leg was hurting, but he couldn’t look back, not with the mob getting so close.
“Shit!” Chelsea swore as they reached the security checkpoint. It was backed up, filled with people trying to push their way through to the other side, and the mob was getting closer. “Shit, shit, shit!”
Rob looked around. “Let’s hide in that McDonalds, we can wait there till this clears up. There’s no way in hell we’d make it through there, and my leg can’t take me too much further. We can just hole up in there till help comes.”
“Good idea,” Chelsea helped Rob on his way to the now empty fast food restaurant. She climbed over the serving counter, and helped Rob to follow. His leg was killing him.
“Alright, I guess we can hide here for now, I’ll see if they have any kind of first aid we can use to clean these bites out.”
As Rob set to rummaging through the back of the kitchen for some disinfectant and gauze,a thought came to him, and he laughed.
“Hey Chelsea, you know, I’ve been meaning to ask you out to a restaurant or something for a while now. Heh heh, looks like I finally did it.” Rob nervously laughed.
Chelsea took his hand and squeezed it. “You could have tried asking me a little sooner you know. Maybe to someplace a little nicer.” She gave Rob a smile. They shared a nervous chuckle, as Chelsea set to checking Rob's wounds.
As the mob hit the crowd, people screamed, and the moment turned cold. Rob scratched at the corner of his mouth.

St. Joseph Hospital, Nashua New Hampshire, US 2:00 AM, GMT –5, April 5

Rich Hammond of the CDC looked at the message he’d received. There wasn’t a scrap of good news to it, and the instructions contained were bad news all of their own. The hospital’s staff certainly wasn’t going to be very happy when he went to do any of this. In truth, the thought of what he had to do made Hammond very unhappy too. But given the current situation, it was necessary.
Hammond looked at the two rooms across the hall. In the one room was Walter Collins. The man was one of the first reported cases of this disease, although he was the first to not mention being part of a new drug test. But then he hadn’t said much of anything useful as to determining the cause of his illness. For the past couple of hours, he hadn’t said anything at all. Nothing in English anyway, but the constant moans, growls, and shrieks definitely proved that he was alive in there. All the man was capable of now was trying to attack, or at least that’s what it looked like. The fever had dropped significantly, although it was still above normal temperature, and his behavior had become even less controlled. Hammond questioned whether there was anything left of the man in there. Given his instructions, Hammond really hoped there wasn’t.
Hal Bertrand, the patient in the other room, was a more difficult situation to deal with. He was one of the hospital’s staff, and also seemed to show no real signs of infection, beyond an itchy mouth, although reports from Boston before the hospitals there lost control somehow suggested that an itchy mouth was the first symptom of the growths developing. Which was why Hammond had kept such a close eye on Bertrand, to see how exactly the infection would develop. Bertrand was strapped down in his hospital bed, and there was the sore point with the local doctors and nurses. When he first had his guards put Bertrand in the straps, the old overweight doctor had almost tried to deck one of the police officers that had come in with Hammond.
But Hammond couldn’t do what he had to do alone. He went out into the hall, where sure enough, just past the policeman, was Dr. Howards. “Dr. Howards, I need to speak to you, could you please come into the room I’ve been using as an office for a moment?”
“What do you want?” the response was a snap. Not a good sign, and hardly a good starting point for what could only go downhill with what Hammond had to say.
“I would like this conversation to be private, so please, would you come into this room to discuss this. Please.” Hammond put a strong emphasis on the 'please', and turned and walked into the hospital room turned office and checked to be sure that Howards had followed him. A short while later, the large man entered the room, looking like he wanted to smash it. But he was in the room. Every little bit counted.
Hammond readied himself and spoke, “We currently know next to nothing about this plague.” Howards seemed to scowl more, if that was possible. “There are a lot of sick people in and around Boston, but this is the only hospital where we have one contained.” Howards looked and waited for Hammond to finish. “We… we need to know more.”
“And how do we know more?” Howards’s voice had an edge that felt sharp, and felt like it was pressed to Hammond’s throat.
Hammond grimaced. “We both know this disease is only getting stronger in these people. Physically they get… better, but mentally the effect only gets worse. It isn’t going to just run it’s course. No one is going to just recover, not if the interactions between the immune system and this virus are what they look like they are. But… no one is going to die from this either, not directly anyway. In fact, if what I’ve heard from Boston is true, they aren’t big on dying from any means. There are reports of them still trying to bite people for up to ten minutes after being decapitated. Now how is that even possible?” Howards said nothing. “These people will all be in a permanent state of madness, a never ending wave of people trying to infect more people. Unless we find a cure. We need to find out more than we already know.” Now the fun part. “We need to do an autopsy one Walter Collins.”
“WHAT?! I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, doctor, but that man is still alive in there. Both of those men are still alive. You do autopsies on the dead, not the living, doctor.” The way Howards said ‘doctor’ made Hammond feel dirty. He was afraid Howards was going to attack him, as it was, the man looked ready to pounce.
“Listen, we won’t touch Bertrand, he can stay out of our research. Collins is the better subject any way, he’s further-“ Before Hammond could finished, Howards slammed his fist on the table and rose.
“How dare you implicate that doing this to a stranger makes it better?! What kind of fucking doctor are you Hammond?!” Howards was trembling with rage, and waiting impatiently for an answer.
Hammond didn’t move. He didn’t flinch. Instead, he very coldly looked over the table he’d brought in to use as a desk. “What kind of doctor am I? I’ll tell you. I am a doctor who is willing to do this. I am willing to go to hell for it if need be, and I personally believe it quite likely that what I'm proposing will land me there. But I think that my own moral scruples, my own soul, doesn’t out weigh the value of all the people out there now who are slowly, or maybe quickly, depending on how much they get bit, turning into monsters. Because this is spreading. We have failed to contain this in Boston, there are reports of the infection all over Massachusetts by now. I just got word that an airport in London has it too. Do you understand that? Do you understand how many people are being affected by this? It’s only a matter of time before the sick outnumber the healthy in a lot of these places, and once that happens, it’s game over. So stopping this, keeping the infection from spreading, it is more important than any acts of right or wrong. Because to let this spread for my own selfish need to feel like a good fucking person is worse than any kind of atrocities I might commit while researching Mr. Collins in there. Do you understand me?” As the speech carried on Howards had become more forceful, even angry. He was about to intentionally do things that would kill a man on the operating table. That didn't sit well with him.
Howards stood, silent. Before he could speak, Hammond continued. “I have been getting reports from outside. You know that. Do you want to know what I’ve been hearing? Entire blocks of Boston have been given up by this point. Infected have been hiding in every nook and cranny to avoid being thrown into them, even killing some of the police to do so. People have watched children shot by panicked officers defending themselves from infection. There have been riots, looting, violence against people with the common fucking cold. This is going to hell. We need to find a cure, a vaccine, something. And we need to find it quickly, or we all are going to end up like them, looking for more people to infect. So, are you with me? Will you take this plunge and autopsy Mr. Collins with me, or will you let us all die?”
Howards sat in silence for a long time, glaring at Hammond the whole way. “Give me a moment.”
Hammond obliged. Time was wasting, but he couldn’t risk pushing the doctor too far again. It was unlikely that Howards would ever stop hating him, but at least he was no longer trying to stop him.
It was time to get to work.

Beoquadier inc. Research Facility, Boston Massachusetts, US 3:00 AM, GMT –5, April 5

Detectives Larson and Skezni checked the front door to the Beoquadier research facility. The door had clearly been kicked in. “Looks like we aren’t the only ones who think this is where everything started. Hope they didn’t kill anyone important.”
Skezni drew her gun. “ I kinda hope they did, just a little. There’d be justice to it. Hey, do you think Marty is right, that this is a terrorist thing?”
Larson stepped into the front office. No one was in. “I don’t think it’s terrorists. They’d have said something about it by now. Publicized their big victory over us infidels and stuff.” Of course, Larson couldn't think of what else it might be. This all sounded too perfect to be random. The rapid spread and chaos screamed bioweapon. "Besides, I don't think Osama's cave comes equipped with a fifth grade chemistry set."
The two officers stepped past what looked like a small conference room. Larson poked his head in to see if there was anyone in there. Nothing.
“Could have been a small deal thing, no major terrorist group, just some guy looking to get his name in the papers. Instead of shooting up a school he’s releasing a virus is all.”
Larson shrugged. “We don’t even know who made this though. The first patients said something about a guy called Struin, but from what they say, he took the pills too.”
“Could have been sugar pills…. SHH! Do you smell that?” Skezni held up a hand. “It’s that stuff they leak, it was probably one of the first sickies who broke in, look out. Smells close.”
In a hushed voice, Larson asked “Odds this one isn’t all gone in the head already?”
“No odds, if they smell this bad, they’re completely gone.”
“Odds we find someone from the company in here?”
Skezni smiled, and then responded in a very quiet tone, “Well, big day for these guys, so there is a pretty strong chance someone would be working late. Really it all comes down to whether or not they were able to get away from the sicky in here. Since the sicky smells like it’s close, I’d say that who ever they found didn’t make it out. I’ll call it at one to one odds, and put twenty on there being someone here.”
“Deal” The two detectives, finished with their game, walked up to a bend in the hallway. The sickies had liked to jump around corners so far, and places like this were starting to get nerve racking fast. The two detectives had been trying to find and bring in infected people who had been outside the quarantine zone. It was really unpleasant work, and their nerves were on their ends. Normally they didn’t do their little gambling routine while out in the field, but tonight they’d transferred back and forth between them an average amount of fifty dollars perhaps nine times. Nerves were high, and any little coping mechanism helped.
Larson looked around the corner. “So we both agree that this one is all gone, right?”
“Yeah, did you see anything?”
“No, but there are a bunch of side offices.”
They both came out into the hallway and watched the doors opening into rooms on either side. In the middle of the hall was a purse, with it’s scattered contents, and a pair of businesswoman’s heels. “Unless those belong to our sicky, I think I might owe you some money. Let’s see if we can flush out the sicky we know is here first… This is the Boston Police Department, come out with your hands up!”
Larson banged the wall several times.
Nothing at first, but then they heard rustling in the side room closest to the scattered belongings. A woman came out; she was in her early twenties, and a tad overweight. From her slouched posture, angry sounds, and puss-covered face, Larson had no problems discerning her as a sicky. “I’ll get her attention, you get her from behind, ready?”
Skezni holstered her gun and walked out to Larson’s left. “Go.”
Larson began clapping his hands together and cooing to the woman, “Hey beautiful, hey, come and get me! Mmmmm… delicious pork, yum, come take a bite, here sicky, sicky, sicky…”
Skezni grabbed the woman by the arm and pulled her back over her extended foot, causing the infected woman to crash to the ground on her stomach. Skezni quickly got down and cuffed the sicky’s hands behind her back.
Larson looked around. Now let’s see if we can find our Beoquadier employee… you know, that name doesn’t even sound like it’s real. Among all the French names I’ve heard, none of them really sounded like that.”
“Maybe it isn’t French. Be careful. If there is another person in here, they might still be turning. They’re the most dangerous like that, one of the sickies who wasn’t gone yet bit McDuran. I don’t want someone who’d bet smarter than you to come in as your replacement.” McDuran’s bite had shocked everyone. The woman who bit him had only just had the sores grow large enough to leak puss. She had been communicating, talking to him, explaining how she’d been bitten… and then the moment he turned his back, she bit him. The sickies who still remembered who they were knew that the police were coming to throw them into the quarantine zones, and they didn’t want to go. So they hid, ambushed, used weapons, and did everything they could to stay free that little bit longer.
Larson slowly and carefully checked the remaining offices. There was nothing in any of the open ones, which left only the door at the end of the hall. The door to it was scraped, with nail, tooth, and shoe marks on it. There were flecks of the puss drying on the wood. Towards the top was a spot for a label, which had been torn off and thrown to the floor. Larson picked it up.
Amelia Tell.
Larson tried the door, but it was locked. “Hello? Is anyone in there, this is the Boston Police Department, I’m Detective Greg Larson, it’s safe to come out,” Larson knocked several times on the door, but there was no response. “Miss Tell, if that’s you in there we would really like you to come out. The woman who was trying to get in is in custody now, so please, we need to know if you are in there or not.” Larson heard some movement, but no actual response was made. “If you don’t open the door and come out, we’ll break in. Miss Tell, please, it’s safe now.”
Before he started to speak again, he heard someone dragging furniture away from the door. She must have barricaded herself in. A short while later, the lock clicked open.
A disheveled and nervous woman in her early thirties peeked out of her office and looked at where Skezni had the sicky pinned and cuffed. Stepping further out of her office, the woman began to look more confident, almost arrogant. She had very sharp features, but was very attractive.
“I’d like to thank you so much for dealing with this intruder, and I intend to press charges against-“
Before she could finish her sentence she was spun around and pinned against the wall, where she too had her hands cuffed behind her back. “Miss Tell is it? I’m afraid we didn’t come here for her ma’m. Word is there is a little bug going around, and it started out here. Now we’d like to know some more about this. But those questions can wait till we get someplace more relaxed than this. I know a nice interrogation room that could work. But for now, you have the right to remain silent, anything…”

Connor and Haley Residence, Boston Massachusetts, US 4:00 AM, GMT –5, April 5

Jason collapsed into the armchair in the living room. Across from him, Kara Haley paced. She was visibly pregnant at five months, and a slightly plump woman besides. Her hair was a light brown, and her features were very soft. For all that motherhood had ruined her plans for a future, it seemed to suit her.
“Sit down Kara, you’ve been up for hours now. I’m really glad you have been helping Mr. Lark and all, but you need rest.” Kara came over and sat in his lap.
Jason looked broken to her. She supposed it made sense, his life had been a giant downhill slope in a lot of the same ways hers had, but then at least for him it had been at his choosing. And as much as she hated to admit it, she was grateful he’d chosen to take as much responsibility as he had. Even with both of them working, neither having a car, and living under one roof eating cheap food, they were struggling. But they were struggling together, and five months ago Kara wouldn’t have imagined it. Five months ago Jason was a cute guy with a clever head on his shoulders. Now she had grown dependent on knowing he was there with her, and she suspected that he felt the same way about her.
It was an awkward subject for them both. They knew how they felt, but neither was from a background where falling in love at this age made sense. Jason’s parents were in their forties when he was born, and Kara didn’t even know who her father was. That was a large part of why she had been so shocked when Jason stuck around, and even offered to drop out and help her support the baby.
“I’m fine Jason. Besides, I’ve been sleeping poorly anyways. I know you’re worried, but there isn’t much you can do but hope at this point. The news doesn’t seem to suggest that there is anywhere he can go but into the one of the war zones out by the hospitals, and we need to keep him out of there. You said that the people in the shop, they were up and moving around, and the news said that the disease hasn’t directly killed anyone yet.”
“None of the ones in the shop were as old as Mr. Lark. He isn’t a healthy man, with or without this crap in his system.” Jason looked troubled for a moment, as if contemplating what to say next. “Kara…I stabbed a woman. I stabbed her in the throat.” Jason half cringed, as if expecting to be hit. Odds were, he felt he deserved it. “She was the one biting Mr. Lark, I had to stop her… I didn’t mean to stab her.” There was a silence that seemed to stretch forever, as Kara tried to think of what she could say to make Jason feel at peace with what he had done. She didn’t know why she felt it so important that she do this, or why she never once considered that maybe he shouldn’t be at peace with it. Before she could say anything, Jason continued. “I drove a mop handle into her throat. Thing is, even with all the blood coming out… she got back up Kara. It was like she didn’t even notice. She just got back up and started to come at us again.”
Kara sat for a time, struggling to believe what she’d heard. If Jason had really put a pole through the woman’s throat she would have bled out very quickly. And she certainly wouldn’t have ignored it. Kara was tempted to assume that Jason was just amplifying things when he remembered them, with all the trauma he’d been through, but with the stories she’d been hearing over the radio they had, it certainly fit in. Either way, she couldn’t tell someone who was borderline in shock that he was exaggerating things when his friend was lying in the other room with a horrible disease.
“Kara… I’ve been thinking about everything that’s going on out there, and with Mr. Lark. I don’t think it’s safe for us to stay here. Not just in here with Mr. Lark, but in Boston. It sounds like they are losing control out there, and if we don’t get out of here, we’ll be in deep shit. I can’t see how it’s a good idea to risk you getting infected with something like this while you’re pregnant. We can’t take Mr. Lark with us, but I figure there is food, water, and a toilet all here if he needs them. He’ll be safe in here, and we can come back for him to get him help once this gets sorted out. If that group was able to hit us at the store, I doubt they’re the only ones wandering around outside of the quarantine zones.” Jason stood, lifting Kara to her feet with him. “Start packing things for a trip out of here. I’ll talk to Mr. Lark about using his car. Go ahead and grab blankets, some first aid supplies, a flashlight, and empty out the milk jug and fill it with water. I, I’ll go talk to Mr. Lark now… I need to do this anyway.”
Kara watched as he went down the hall to the bedroom door. He looked more alive than before, now that he had come out with his plan for how to ride out the storm, but as he walked down the hall, it looked as if he were marching to his grave. Or rather, that of his friend.
And as much as it pained her to leave the poor old man here alone, she was relieved to know that they wouldn’t have one of the infected in tow when they left.
All the same, as the door to the bedroom was closed, and she began to put together all the things that she and Jason would need when they left, Kara was unable to stop herself from crying, and she didn't think she could just chock this up to hormones.

Heathrow Airport, UK 9:30 AM, GMT, April 5

It felt as if it had been days. Chelsea and Rob had stuck to the kitchens, not once venturing outside of them for fear of alerting any stragglers from the sick passengers who had swept out of the area some time ago. The screams, gunfire, and howls had all drifted off into the distance some time ago. Every now and then they would hear someone out in the airport calling, but the calls were always answered by several howls. Chelsea and Rob weren’t alone, and they knew it.
And all the while, Rob had gotten worse. Once they had cleaned out the wounds, the burning had stopped, but all of his other symptoms had only gotten worse. He ran a massive fever, and had already developed the stinky puss leaking sores on the sides of his mouth that the passengers had had. For thirty minutes now he had been cringing in pain.
Chelsea had tried to comfort him, but to no success. Rob had already given up on himself. It made her sad to see him like this. Rob had always been a sweet guy, with a good heart and a ready laugh. He had always been so shy and uncertain though. Chelsea had many times in conversation left him openings to flirt, or to ask her out, and even made a few attempts herself, but he never seemed willing to act on it. She would have left it at that and assumed that taking charge and stepping out of his shell were things that Rob just didn’t do, but when they had a patient in front of him, Rob was amazing. He not only was better than Chelsea at knowing what he should do, but he knew what everyone else should be doing, and wasn’t afraid to tell them. She clearly remembered him yanking her arm back from a patient and yelling at her for not checking for a neck injury before going to reposition a man’s head. She also remembered him making an excuse not to practice Karate with her. She didn’t understand how the two things could come from the same man, and she suspected that the question about that was a part of what interested her in him.
And now, after he finally came out of his shell to her, she had to watch him slowly lose himself, as he suffered through pain and fever. It was difficult.
Rob stirred where he sat next to Chelsea. “Ungh, I… I think you should leave. I… listen, you know how sometimes, you get cravings? Like hunger, or a sweet tooth, wanting a sandwich… wanting to get laid?” Rob paused. For a moment Chelsea thought Rob was laughing at what he’d said, but instead she saw that he was coughing. Flecks of puss flew onto his lap. "I’ve got this craving… but my craving, it’s not for food, or sex, or any of that. No, I… I want to bite you. I don’t know why, and I wish I didn’t feel like this, but it’s only getting worse, and I don’t know how much longer before I just do it. I don’t think I could stand to do that to you, but I don’t think any of those people from that plane were particularly interested in biting me before they got off of that plane either.”
He looked Chelsea in the eyes. He looked so desperate, for answers, for help, for anything other than what he had.
“Rob, I can handle it if you make a lunge, now I’m not leaving you here alone. We can get you treatment. We just need to wait for more people to get on the scene.”
“No, no I don’t-“ Rob stopped talking immediately as they both hear a gun fired outside. It sounded like one of the ones the Blue Berets used. Moments later they heard another shot, this one closer, but from a smaller gun.
Chelsea grabbed Rob’s arm. “That’s got to be a rescue team, and they’re close. Lets go, they can get us out of here, and get you to a hospital.” Chelsea stood up, and pulled Rob up after her as he mumbled some sort of protest. “You’re going to be ok Rob, come on, lets get out there.”
Slowly Rob tried to follow her. “I feel so heavy Chelsea, I can’t do this.”
“Shut up, I’m not leaving you now. I want you to take me to a better restaurant than this next time okay? Someplace that serves Italian food would be nice.” Chelsea pulled Rob along. “You can do that, right?”
As they exited the McDonalds she saw down a ways the source of the gunshots. It was hard to tell from that distance, but Chelsea was sure that they were SAS. It was a five-man team.
“Hey! Over here!” Chelsea jumped up and down. “Rob, we’re saved!”
She turned to draw Rob in a celebratory hug.
Rob collapsed on the floor like a limp doll, a small red hole in his forehead between the eyes. The back of his head was a bloody mess, leaking blood and brains onto the floor in a pool around him, as his eyes stared blankly upwards.
His body made no movement. There was nothing there. Rob was dead.


Apocalypse, Apocalyptic, Duncreek, Horror, Lost Humanity, Stories, Story, Zombies

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author avatar Stephen W. Griffin
Hello, the name is Stephen and I write what would mostly be classed as horror for the entertainment. I wouldn't advice it for children, but it is fun stuff all the same.

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author avatar emmy19
23rd Jun 2010 (#)

WOW ! What a detailed article

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author avatar drelayaraja
23rd Jun 2010 (#)

Nice article. Wonderful write..

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author avatar Stephen W. Griffin
23rd Jun 2010 (#)

I have put up Lost Humanity: Trans Atlantic, which carries on the story at the airport. It can be found here -> http://www.wikinut.com/lost-humanity%3a-trans-atlantic/faq0oncu/50jz3.19/

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