Stage 3: A Post Apocalyptic Thriller (13 page)

"Yeah.…," he acknowledged grimly, "…..I know you know."

This was a mission destined to fail before it had begun. It was a ridiculous waste of time and energy, and was sure to end badly for both of them. The smartest possible move now would be to abandon the quest and get the hell out while they still could. Back to the sewers and then south, out of the city and away from the madness. That girl in the Red Cross cap was waiting, and a coffee and donut would taste pretty damn sweet right about now. If he had any intelligence at all, he would use his power of veto, tell Mackenzie in no uncertain terms that the search was over, and get her as far away from here as he could. He might have to drag her away, kicking and screaming, but so be it. Hell, he'd throw her over his shoulder if he had to. Whatever it took to call off this insanity.

He felt a tiny hand on his arm and saw the girl turn to him with her big, green, sightless eyes.  She slid her hand down his arm to find his hand, and she clasped it tightly.  

"Okay then," she said determinedly, "If Sarah had to go up to be safe, then we go up too, right?"

Mason drew in a deep breath and released it in a heavy sigh.

"Right, Mack," he said, knowing when he was beaten, "We go up."

CHAPTER VIII

They leaned heavily on each other as they climbed exhaustedly to their feet, then Mason retrieved his weapon from the girl's tiny hands.

"Dibs," he said inanely, then he took Mackenzie's hand and directed it back to his waistband. "Alright, kiddo, onward and upward."

And onward and upward they went. The next half-flight took them to a platform where Mason could see the door stenciled in black, '3rd Floor', and as they padded up those last few steps, he made himself a promise. This was the top floor. There was nowhere else to go. The third floor was bound to be overrun just like the rest of this accursed place, so once they got to that door, if there were any sounds from within, Mason would put an end to this whole lunatic venture.

Ten more steps…
..he promised himself.
Just ten more steps, and we can get out of this hell-hole….
.

They tip-toed up, and Mason counted off each step in his head. Once on the landing, he pressed his ear against the door and listened. He could hear nothing, but before daring anything further, he asked Mackenzie to have a listen. The girl pressed her delicate little ear to the door, instinctively closing her eyes to concentrate on picking up the subtlest of sounds from beyond.

A full minute later, she lifted herself away from the door and proclaimed in a hush, "I don't hear anything."

"Me neither," Mason admitted, but as he gnawed nervously at one corner of his lip, he mentally added a silent…..
yet...…

He had to look. He had to take that last onerous step. For Mack. For his own sense of obligation. Though every fiber of his being screamed at him to back away, he had to open that
damned
door. That determination made, right or wrong, he slowly eased the push bar down. The bolt released with the barest
shnick!,
and the door cracked open. He braced himself for an onslaught, ready to slam the door closed at the first indication of movement beyond, but none came. This time, there was no rush from the swarm on the other side. In fact, there was nothing at all. He pushed the door open another inch, ready to throw his weight back to slam it shut again, but all was quiet beyond. In fact, the place was as silent as a tomb. He let the door fall open another few inches and peered nervously inside. He shone the pale light of his phone into the darkness, sure he'd see a phalanx of creatures just waiting for the precise moment to attack, but again, there was nothing. At last, he pushed the door open wide enough to squeeze through, and found himself standing in complete isolation.

"Mack," he hushed.

Mackenzie came to his side and whispered, "Yeah, Mace?"

"Which way to the break room?"

"On the side facing the street," she hushed, "I remember 'cause the other nurses would watch me when Sarah was busy, and we could see the ambulances coming and going."

To the right, then. There were enough windows to cast an ambient glow down the hallway, but there were shadows there, too. The entire third floor looked to be vacant, but those dark recesses might hide all manner of danger. Here, he would have to rely as much on Mackenzie's ears every bit as much as his own eyes.

Mason eased the door shut with the barest click, and now the place really was as quiet as a tomb. 

Deadly quiet,…..
Mason thought carelessly.
Like a graveyard…..

He took one slow step at a time, weapon at the ready, and Mackenzie scurried along beside him, on her tip-toes and making not a whisper of a sound. They soon came to an open door, and Mason peeked around the corner. Inside were a pair of beds, both occupied. Mason expected the people in those beds to suddenly jump up and come at them, but they didn't. There were no beeping monitors to tell him whether these patients were alive or not, but they both looked dead enough. He guided Mackenzie past the door and continued on.

As it happened, those two weren't the only occupants of this floor. There was an open door every few feet, with beds in every room and a patient in every bed. Spare cots had been stuffed into every available corner of every room to handle the overflow of patients, and those, too, were occupied. Mason stopped and regarded each room as he came to it, and found the same situation all along the corridor. Male, female, old, young, and all ages in between, the occupants of those beds all lay in silent repose as if they'd just settled in for an afternoon nap.

They soon came to a nurse's station tucked into a corner that declared this place as 'Ward C'. The desk was neat; uncluttered. Patient's charts were carefully stowed, chairs were pushed under the desk, and the telephone was on the hook. In all ways, the place was in perfect order. It was as if the duty nurses had merely stepped away for a quick cup of coffee.

Mackenzie tugged at Mason's hand and pointed. She'd heard something. Mason listened closer, then he heard it, too. It was a soft, plaintive sobbing, coming from further down the hall. He raised his weapon and crept slowly toward the sound, and Mackenzie took her place behind his back. As they padded deeper into Ward C, they passed more rooms and more lifeless patients, and at last, Mason tracked the sound to its origin and paused before an open doorway. Beyond, he could see one side of a room, complete with a long couch and an end table stacked with magazines. This was the break room, then. It had to be. And someone was within. Someone alive.

He padded to very edge of the doorway and leaned in. Inside, he could see a man seated at a table, his head laying atop his crossed arms as he cried quietly. A small vial occupied the exact center of the table, and more importantly, a pistol lay discarded atop of crumpled white coat laying in a heap on the floor.

Mason stepped fully into the room, and a squeak of his shoe brought the man leaping to his feet. He spun around and faced the intruders with eyes as wide as saucers and skin as white as a sheet.

"Wh-who are you?" heHe stuttered, backing away so clumsily that he nearly toppled his chair.

"You took the words right out of my mouth," Mason replied in a hush, his weapon at the ready.

"I-I-I'm Doctor Walker," The man caught the chair before it fell and awkwardly positioned it between himself and Mason. "H-how did you get in here?"

Mason saw that he was a small man, slight of build and with a boyish face; more frightened than malevolent.

"Believe me, Doc, it wasn't easy," he harrumphed, lowering the end of his weapon to the floor.

"What's
that?"
The doctor pointed anxiously, "Behind your back. What
is
that?"

Mackenzie stuck her tiny head out from behind Mason, and the doctor's entire demeanor abruptly changed.

"Oh my!" He fairly howled.

"Keep your voice down, Doc," Mason cautioned the man, flipping a glance back toward the open doorway.

The doctor squinted stupidly, but awareness slowly sunk in and he shook his head.

"Oh, I see. But you have no need to worry. No one on in this ward will hear us," he said grimly, "Not anymore."

Mason regarded the gun, the sorrowful hunch of the man's shoulders and the sadness in his eyes. It wasn't hard to do the math.

"You're sure?"

The doctor sighed heavily and stared at the floor.

"Trust me," his lips curled up in a bitter sneer, "I'm a doctor."

Mason couldn't quite picture this meek little man moving from room to room, pressing a gun against each head and squeezing the trigger, but the fact that they hadn't already been swarmed was proof enough. In another time, Mason would have been shocked and alarmed. Now, he merely nodded.

"We're looking for this girl's aunt. Sarah Cullen. Do you know her?"

"She's a nurse," Mackenzie offered sweetly.

Doctor Walker stepped around the chair and came toward Mackenzie.

"Sarah? Yes, of course I know Sarah. You're her niece?"

"My name is Mackenzie," the girl said politely.

Walker saw the girl's beautiful green eyes staring blankly and looked to Mason. Mason nodded once, and the doctor turned back to Mackenzie, speaking sweetly.

"Mackenzie. Of course. I've heard Sarah talk about you many times. She always said that you were beautiful, but I had no idea!"

The girl smiled demurely, and Walker's demeanor lifted perceptibly.

"Said?" Mason singled out the operative word.

Walker quickly corrected himself. "A poor choice of tense. I apologize."

"Is Sarah okay?" Mackenzie asked excitedly, "Is she here with you?"

Walker came closer, and Mason made the subtlest of shifts in his stance. The doctor caught himself and stopped an arm's length away, dropping to one knee to be on a level with the girl.

"I'm sorry, Mackenzie, but your aunt's not here."

"Is she dead?" This, from Mason.

The doctor grimaced at the coldness of the question, but the complete lack of response in the girl's expression showed him the strength of her character. He discounted the harsh words and spoke gently to the girl.

"Mackenzie, the last time I saw your Aunt Sarah, she was perfectly fine."

"When was that?" Mason pressed.

The doctor stood quickly enough to cause a raising of the Mason's weapon, but he ignored it. "That was just before dawn," he said, then he turned and went back to the table. Beyond the table were the things that might be found in any lunch room; sink, counter, cupboards, microwave, and a refrigerator tucked into the corner. He opened the refrigerator door and pulled out two bottles of water sitting alone on the top shelf. These, he placed on the table, then he waved Mason in. "Come, come, please!" He drew two chairs close together on the opposite side of the table as his own, then he sat and folded his hands together in clear view.

Cautiously, Mason shepherded Mackenzie to the table and guided her to a seat. She hoisted herself into the chair, and Mason touched one of the waters to the side of her hand. She took it, screwed it open, and drank thirstily. Mason didn't sit, but he leaned his weapon against the table and helped himself to the second bottle. It was only then that he saw that the little vial in the middle of the table wasn't alone. Beside it was a white cloth with a single hypodermic syringe laying atop. Sheepishly, Walker quickly bundled both syringe and vial in the cloth and tucked them into his lap.

"You caught me," he forced a smirk.

"S'alright," Mason shrugged, his eyes narrowing.

Walker actually blushed as he admitted, "I'm not nearly as brave as I probably should be."

"Everyone deals with things in their own way," Mason said indifferently, but inside, he couldn't help but feel a familiar disdain.

What a piece of work is man…..

He wondered what it was in the human equation that made a blind little girl struggle on while an educated man was content to spend the eleventh hour of his life pumping God-knows-what into his veins. Mackenzie finished her water quickly, so Mason gave her the rest of his with a gentle pat on her shoulder, then he glared across at Walker and scowled.

"What happened just before dawn?"

Walker's eyes misted over, but to his credit, he seemed determined not to allow this bigger, braver man to see him shed another tear.

"The tipping point," he said simply, wringing his hands together. He was going to leave it at that, but Mason's silent stare told him otherwise. At last, he released an anguished sigh and reluctantly explained. "It was a madhouse. Oh, we all tried, make no mistake. For three days , we accepted as many patients as we could. The first day, there were thirty new admissions. Within 24 hours, every bed in the clinic was taken, and hundreds more were spilling out into the streets. We tried to find room for the excess at another facility, but we couldn't. It was the same everywhere."

Mason felt as if the wind had just come out of his sails, and he lowered himself slowly into a chair.

"Everywhere?" He asked bleakly.

"Everywhere," Walker repeated with dire certainty. "Not just San Francisco, not just California; it was the same
everywhere.
According to the CDC, the pandemic was worldwide. There's no way to contain an airborne virus, you see? And this pernicious bastard spread around the globe like wildfire, reaching into every corner of our little lifeboat Earth. Right now, there's probably some stone age tribe living deep in the heart of the Amazon tearing each other to pieces."

"I'm
not sick," Mason put a hand to his chest, "and neither are
you
."

The doctor narrowed his eyes and tacked on an ominous, "Yet."

"You're saying it's just a matter of time?"

"Who knows? Maybe. Every virus acts differently, and every immune system
reacts
differently. We both breath the same air as everyone else, so there's little doubt we've already been infected. It could lie dormant in a body for days or weeks before manifesting, or it might
never
manifest. We might even have some kind of natural immunity. With every epidemic, there is
some
percentage of the population who are naturally resistant, so it's possible." Doctor Walker looked to Mackenzie listening to it all with nary a whimper, so he felt it alright to continue. "Viral infections are notoriously difficult to treat, you see? In fact, without an antiserum geared specifically to a particular virus, all that our centuries of medical knowledge can do is wait and see. It really is up to every individual's own immune system to fight the infection."