Surge (3 page)

“We started with six on our tail,” I tell John. “By the time we reached the corner market, we had at least doubled that.”

“If they’re hunting in packs, it must mean that pickings are slim.”

Again I nod, since there’s no need to respond verbally. We’re silent as we observe the cluster of wheezers. They were all human a little over a year ago. One year was all it took to reduce a population of over 300 million to mere thousands. One year to turn this group of former people into putrid animals with insatiable appetites. They’re hardly recognizable now if you don’t look specifically for the human characteristics.

Most have little to no hair, they ooze green pus from their red eyes, have flesh peeling off of their partially naked frames, and they all hunch over; some to the point of having their knuckles scrape the ground. The physical conditions depend upon how long ago they became infected and with which strand.

With the original strand, the wheezers are slower to the point of lethargy, unless of course they are provoked by a stupid fuck named Danny, and they have bad night vision. The second strand can be spotted instantly due to their speed, severely hunched over frames where their knuckles are scraped bare to the bone by dragging them across the ground, and their increased night activity. The longer they’ve been infected with either strand, the less human they seem. The one trait that they all have in common, regardless of age or strand of infection? That would be the gurgling noise that arises from their chests, hence the wheezer’s nickname.

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It all started as a new and highly praised treatment for cancer, known as Gene K. “The Miracle of Life,” was the catchphrase for it. Tested on apes, the results for Gene K were phenomenal. While gorillas and orangutans had satisfactory results in their ability to kill the cancer cells that they were injected with, the cancer in the bonobo chimpanzees was found to have gone into permanent remission. The Gene K vaccine was developed soon after.

The process of development involved an injection of human cancer cells being inserted directly into the placenta of a pregnant bonobo chimpanzee, thereby; the baby chimp absorbed the cancer. While in utero, the unborn chimp’s stem cells attacked the cancerous invaders, combined with the foreign cells and became a new element; coined Gene K for its apparent ability to
‘kill’
cancer. After the chimps were born, researchers took vials of blood from the newborns. From there, lab technicians stripped the blood of everything except Gene K to test on humans.

The initial 100 test subjects were volunteers with the severest cases of cancer, including those with pancreatic, lung, brain, or any of whom were in the higher stages and had little to no hope of recovery. The volunteers were injected with the vaccine and monitored. Researchers found conclusive results that coincided satisfactorily with the bonobo chimp’s testing, but at a much slower rate in humans. Therefore, a small modification was made to the vaccine in hopes of speeding up results to make it more efficient, known as Gene K+. Mass production and distribution of the modified version soon followed. Before the FDA could test the safety of the modified version of Gene K, over 1,000 more patients had been treated with it.

One month after the initial volunteer subjects were treated with Gene K and considered to be cured, side effects began to arise. Flu like symptoms, such as runny noses, watery eyes, and sore throats; were quickly becoming commonplace. With such mild symptoms, the volunteers were then only brought in for their routine examinations. Before toxicology results were processed from the exams, many patients began displaying more severe symptoms.

These symptoms included major hair loss, coughing up blood, and pustules forming on their skin. The most alarming discovery was of the large amount of blood accumulating in the lungs, causing a wheezing noise to gurgle out of the patients’ chests whenever they were attempting to breathe. As a result, doctors and researchers alike demanded immediate quarantine to prevent further outside contamination to occur and because of the possibility of contagiousness.

Only 56 of the original 100 volunteers agreed willingly with the order for quarantine, the remaining 44 volunteers were forcibly detained. Observation and blood tests were rerun in hopes of finding the cause of the degenerative symptoms. With high expectations of success in creating a vaccine to counteract the bad batch of Gene K, the focus was shifted away from monitoring the rapidly deteriorating volunteers.

After one week of forced quarantine, the 44 unwilling volunteers started to display violent tendencies, attacking their arresting personnel and eventually overpowering security to enable their escape from the lab. It was reported that the remaining 56 subjects deteriorated to the point of death, but I know that really meant that they were terminated before they could escape as well.

Reports of madness in the form of biting and scratching both civilians and law enforcement officers; without just cause by the escaped volunteers, were covered by all major news casting stations. Videos of the infected chasing down fleeing men, women and children before being gunned down by military troops were commonplace on the ten o’clock news.

Within two weeks of their escape, the attacks spread from the remainders of the original 44 escapees and their infected recruits, to include the 1,000+ patients injected with the Gene K+ vaccine. With the addition of Gene K+ patients rampaging and rapidly increasing in number, government and military personnel alike advised civilians to board their homes, lock up suspected and known infected, and retreat to bomb shelters if possible.

After three weeks of defensive combat with the infected and the resulting heavy casualties, the military was forced to abandon their offensive positions in favor of defensive ones. Public shelters became the main focus for remaining troops. With civilians told to be on lockdown, bombardments were dropped on areas with high concentrations of infection, causing electric services to shut down indefinitely. Power shortages were a daily occurrence until the final report signed off at 10 P.M. on February 19, 2013 with reports of 80,000+ infected, and to sit tight and wait for help.

That was 20 months ago. 20 months of
‘sitting tight and waiting for help.’
The first six months, we did just that. Watching news reports all day and living off of everything in our kitchen cabinets, even if it meant splitting a box of raisins three ways for an entire week. Depending on your version of lucky, it could be said that we were with just the three of us. Those being my little sister Sarah, my best friend John, and me, living in my parent’s three bedroom condo on the third floor of our complex.

Our parents weren’t so lucky. They were stuck in their office building, the Law Offices of Benson & Moure, which was located in downtown Boston while we were in the outer suburb of Newton. They also had little supplies shared amongst forty odd employees, while we had full cabinets to split between the three of us.

We had contact with my parents and John’s, Mr. and Mrs. Moure, for the first few weeks. Each call ended with the same sign off of sending their love with unrealistic promises to see each other soon, demands to stay safe and to take care of each other. With my ignorant mind thinking we were invincible, I used to find them annoying and somewhat embarrassing. Now, I would give anything to hear even a recording of it one last time.

Especially after they were breached.

Four weeks after the second outbreak of wheezers, we had the great pleasure of listening to the gory end of our parents. It was a day like any other, nothing special about this particular Tuesday afternoon, so we thought nothing of it when we were having our rehearsed sign off. It always began with John talking privately to his parents, when they were done, my father would then take up his turn. I always put it on speakerphone, therefore allowing Sarah to hear his scripted response, too.

‘Take care of my little girl for me, Jared. You’re the man of the house now, make me proud, son
.
’
My mom always went last with her,
‘Tell my angel to be brave, Jared. But I want you find a good girl, treat her right, and be happy. Stay safe. I love you guys, and we’ll see you soon.’

My mom was always telling me to the same thing,
‘Find a girl, treat her right and be happy,’
it was like a running joke with us.

‘You find her yet?’
My mom would ask every time I walked in the door.

‘No Ma, she wasn’t on the subway today, maybe tomorrow.’

‘Hurry up and find her then, I need me some grandbabies to spoil.’

‘Jesus, Ma, I’m only twenty.’

‘And tomorrow you’ll be thirty-five.’

‘Then I’ll worry about it tomorrow.’

But there were no tomorrows, good girls for me, or grandbabies for her, and we never got to hear them say their rehearsed goodbyes that last time. Right after John’s parents passed the phone off to my dad, the phone line was abruptly filled with our mothers’ blood curdling screams. There were audible growls, tearing and scuffling, before immediately being followed by a dial tone as permanent as their deaths.

19 months ago we were scared and helpless, newly-minted orphans, who hadn’t a clue of what to do. Now, we’re pissed off and starving. We live in a single cramped apartment with thirteen other strays that we’ve picked up along the way. On the upside, at least we’re still alive. That is, if you consider struggling daily to survive to constitute as living.

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“Jared, we can’t stay here much longer,” John says at my right.

I look over and see his arms crossed over his chest, dirty-blonde eyebrows scrunched together low over his dark brown eyes, and his jaw clenched in what I know is determination. That one look I’ve seen countless times over the nearly twenty years of our friendship, ever since it was formed on the jungle gym in preschool. You tend to pick up a few physical cues from someone you’ve known for over 3/4 of your life, especially when said person introduces himself by punching your bully in the face before demanding that you’re going to be his friend or else he’ll kick your ass too. Best friend for life right there; even if the bastard never lets me forget that I owe him.

“I know, but we’ve already tried persuading the group to leave. Majority rules and we only have three votes out of sixteen.”

“Then screw ‘em,” John spits out. “If we don’t move on soon, we’re gonna be mobbed with hundreds. How the hell are we going to scavenge through that shit?”

John thrusts a hand out to encompass the snarling mass reaching through the bars of the gate in hopes of an evening snack. I don’t get to answer, even if there is no plausible response, because I hear the stomping on the stairs behind us that can only mean one thing. John shoots me a smirk, he knows what’s coming and is about to enjoy the show.

“Jared Matthew Benson!” I hear Sarah shout from the hallway. “I am going to kick your ass six ways from Sunday, so help me God!”

I’m already moving to intercept her, when she appears at the bottom of the stairs. Seeing the pack of wheezers still reaching through the gate in an attempt to eat John, her pissed expression turns from fury to fear in a heartbeat, her lips snapping shut while her hazel eyes widen. I drag her inside while John follows behind, shutting and locking the two interior doors as we head up to our third floor unit. The two staircases leading to the upper floors have safety precautions put in place for a possible breach.