Tainted Cure (The Rememdium Series Book 1) (16 page)

None of it compared to seeing the resurrection of the dead in front of his eyes.

Or the fact they seemed to be hungry for human flesh.

Pushing all the mental crap aside, Dirk let his training take over. In less than three minutes, he was packed and ready. He left the bedroom and headed downstairs. In the hallway, he ran into Kevin Warton. A former Special Forces brother about sixteen years Dirk’s junior, the look of concern on Kevin’s face was proof enough he was aware of the situation.

“The lower quarters are secure, sir. I assume we’re heading to the lab since it looks like a bio attack has happened?”

Taking the stairs two-at-a-time, Dirk nodded. “Yes. Have everyone ready to deploy in fifteen. We’ll meet up in the garage. I’ll drive Dr. Berning, and the rest of you each take a vehicle. Make sure to pack plenty of supplies. Enough for at least a year. If this is biological…”

“Already have three vehicles packed and ready, sir.”

“Good job, Kevin. Always knew I could count on you,” Dirk said. He paused at the base of the stairs. “How are the others taking the news?”

“Best as can be expected. This crisis is the first time we’ve all been thankful to be loners. The only family we have left to protect is you and Dr. Berning.”

Dirk nodded. “I know exactly what you mean, Kevin. I’ll round up Dr. Berning and secure his room. You take care of the others.”

Kevin gave a curt nod while veering left toward the main living area. Dirk walked down the long hallway toward Dr. Berning’s quarters. Rather than waste time knocking, he opened to the door.

“Dr. Berning, we need to…oh, looks like you already know?”

Eyes full of worry and fear, Dr. Berning stood in the middle of his immaculate room, two suitcases by his side. He was dressed in an old pair of Kevin’s Army fatigues, tufts of wispy gray hair poked out from Kevin’s oversized cover on his head.

The elder scientist looked like he’d aged twenty years since Dirk saw him at dinner the night before. Dirk could see his once steady hands trembled, and his face was devoid of any discernible color.

“I’m afraid I do. I was watching the news until EBS cut in. After the first reports I watched from New York and Memphis, I started packing. Assumed you’d be down soon enough to retrieve me. Figured we wouldn’t be making a trip to the local high school.”

Dirk stepped in the room and picked up the suitcases. “You are correct. Since we really don’t know what type of contagion we’re dealing with yet, it’s best to get underground. The lab is full of all necessary equipment to keep us safe from any contamination.”

“Agreed. Looks like whatever it is spreads fast. Plus,” Dr. Berning nodded toward the window, “seems a storm is brewing. I’d much rather hike to the lab while the ground isn’t a slippery mess. Old legs, you know.”

Dirk glanced over the doctor’s shoulder and saw light rain pelting the windows. “I believe, Dr. Berning, the storm has already arrived.”

Everett Berning nodded in agreement. The elderly scientist followed Dirk out of the room, and he knew the old man understood the comment had nothing to do with the weather outside.

ATTEMPTED CONTAINMENT - Saturday - December 20
^th
– 7:20 a.m.

Regina let her training and instincts take over, using the fear pulsing inside as fuel to her muscles. Turning on the lights and siren on the cruiser, she barreled out of the parking lot, damn near side-swiping a Humvee. Glancing in the rearview mirror to see if any of the vehicles changed directions and followed, she let out a sigh of relief.

They ignored her and continued on their trek to the high school.

After the request for backup from Roger, the radio went silent, which was even more unnerving than Roger’s terrified pleas for help. An eerie sense of foreboding settled over Regina’s mind.

Lines of vehicles leading into downtown Malvern clogged the southbound lane of Highway 270. The entire county was home to less than thirty-four thousand people, yet judging by the heavy congestion, it seemed half of them were on the road. Some of the motorists she recognized as residents of Rockport.

In less than two minutes, Regina crossed the bridge over I-30 and glanced over her left shoulder. The accident had shut down both lanes of the freeway. The flashing blue strobes of numerous units dotted the area, interspersed with red lights from a fire truck and ambulance. She looked right and noticed a county unit blocked the interstate about one hundred yards away, holding back a throng of vehicles stretching out for miles toward Benton.

Reaching the entrance ramp, Regina turned onto the freeway and pulled up behind a state trooper’s unit. Scanning the area, she felt a cold shiver race up her spine.

A jackknifed big rig was about one-hundred yards up ahead, the contents of the trailer strewn across both the east and westbound lanes. A crumpled SUV nearly split in two was less than ten feet from the rig. The deflated airbags coated in red hung limp on the driver and passenger sides. What had once been a sedan of some sort was on its side in the median about twenty feet away. Glass, metal, and liquid covered the ground all around the site of impact.

Up ahead about fifty yards sat both Roger and Clint’s units, each appeared empty.

“Where the hell is everyone?”

She left the car running and stepped out into the cold morning air, shotgun in hand. Pausing to listen, she heard nothing but the rumble of car engines in the distance. The eerie silence was unsettling. Accident scenes, especially ones involving numerous vehicles, were always a flurry of noise and activity.

The smell of gas, burnt rubber, and the unmistakable odor of eviscerated bowels mixed with the coppery scent of blood made Regina’s nose twitch. Though used to the stench from working hundreds of accidents over the course of her career, each time she came into contact with the foulness made her stomach twist into a knot.

Regina considered trying to reach Roger or Clint on the radio, yet some primal instinct in the back of her mind urged her to remain quiet.

Raising the shotgun, she walked over to the unit in front of her, aim steady and sure. The white Charger with blue stripes was about ten feet away, the driver’s door wide open. No one was inside, so she continued toward the ambulance about fifteen yards ahead.

After passing the front of the cruiser, Regina stopped short when she heard a strange noise. Over the pounding of blood in her ears, the rumble of engines in the distance, and the mumbled voice of someone yelling through what she surmised was a bullhorn, it took several seconds to recognize the sound.

No way!

Shifting her approach so she was hidden by the open doors, Regina held her breath. Edging closer to the back of the ambulance, she made sure to keep her steps quiet, sidestepping debris on the pavement.

The gurgling, crunching noises grew louder. Regina felt her stomach revolt, threatening to release its contents all over Interstate 30.

The world around her stopped when she peeked around the open door into the interior of the ambulance.

Two mangled bodies, presumably victims from the wreck, were loaded onto gurneys in the back. The one on the left looked like a young female, maybe twenty or so. The right side of her head had been crushed in, glass and debris embedded in her neck. Mounds of blood matted around a once beautiful head full of dark hair. No more blood oozed from her mortal injuries, indicating her heart was no longer beating.

The other one was male. Both were strapped in, ready for transport to the hospital, IVs already in place. The man’s face was a mutilated mess. His lower abdomen sported a gaping wound and Regina could see part of his internal organs were exposed.

A large chunk of flesh was missing from his left forearm. For some reason, Regina flashed back to the video of the accident on I-10 in Phoenix.

Looks like a bite.

Bile burned her throat as Regina realized the man’s jaw continued to open and close as he bit the air, his shattered teeth clicking together.

On the floor between them was an EMT, or what once had been one. The body cavity was ripped open, and a middle-aged woman dressed in jeans and a Texas Longhorn t-shirt hovered over the corpse. Regina blinked twice in shock as she watched the thing tear out a handful of intestines and shove them into her mouth.

Stunned, body and mind frozen in horror, Regina felt the axis of her world—everything she knew and had experienced until that very moment—shift.

A human being is eating another human. A dead human being is trying to bite the air. Don’t say it! Don’t even fucking think it! No wonder the military is taking over and insisted everyone be tested! This…can’t…be…happening. I’ve got to be at home, dreaming. God, please let me be experiencing a nightmare to end all nightmares.

In those few seconds while staring at things that simply could not be, all Regina could think about was Jesse and Reed. The two most important people in her life were in danger, along with, it seemed, everyone else in the world. Her survival instincts took over, shoving all the disturbing sights and sounds aside to be dealt with later.

If this is a dream, it’s time for me to kick some fucking ass.

“Hey, gut-muncher? Want some fresher meat?”

The bloody monstrosity that used to be a living, breathing female jerked its head at the sound. When Regina saw the eyes were solid black, the skin a strange, mottled gray color, she didn’t hesitate. There was no humanity left in its expression. The dead eyes were primal. Crimson-covered lips still oozing blood from its meal curled back into a snarl. The thing actually hissed and lunged.

“Eat this!” Regina yelled.

The recoil from the shotgun made her entire body shake and ears ring from the blast. The body flew backward, smashing into the gurneys, and then crumpled into a pile on the floor of the ambulance. The spray pattern from the shotgun at such close range removed ninety percent of her head, leaving only a few strips of flesh sticking up around the neck bone. Pausing only long enough to ensure the destroyed mass of flesh was dead—again—Regina pumped another round into the chamber and headed toward the other vehicles.

“Always knew you was a smart gal, Chief. Take the head off. It’s the only way, just like in the comics and movies. Who knew?”

Regina spun around at the sound of a familiar voice.

“Jesus H. Christ, I damn near blew your head off, Clint!”

Officer Clint Chesterson stumbled forward then collapsed onto the cold pavement. Regina was by his side in seconds. The back of his dark blue jacket was shredded apart. She could see sections of his exposed skin were full of deep, ugly claw marks. Large chunks of flesh were missing where his kidneys were located. Blood soaked his shirt and pants.

Too much blood.

Bending down next to him, she saw a pool of red mixed with saliva forming by his mouth. It spread out across the ground, already the size of an orange. She scanned the area for any more undead visitors. Seeing none, she leaned the shotgun against the ambulance and hoisted Clint off the ground.

“Just hang on, son. I’ll get you to the hospital as soon as I find Roger.”

Clint spit out a mouthful of blood at the same time he tried to say something. Regina didn’t ask him to repeat the words. “I’m gonna put you in the back seat for a minute until I secure the area. Any idea where he—and the others—might be?”

“Last I saw him he was tryin’ to help Hightower and Reynolds. They were on the backside of the semi. The driver was trapped inside, and they all were working on trying to get him out. I was helpin’ the EMTs load up the gurneys when I heard Roger yell for help. Took off runnin’ in their direction, but by the time I made it, well, shit went down fast.”

Regina’s mouth was dry. She forced her lips to move. “Then what?”

“It was a waste of time. The guys were surrounded.”

“Surrounded—by those things? How many? You sayin’ you think Roger’s dead?”

Clint groaned as Regina leaned him against the hood of her unit. Pausing long enough to grab the mic on her shoulder, she radioed for backup.

No response other than the continual static. She tried again, requesting an ambulance.

Nothing.

Where in the hell is Geenie?

After unlocking the back door, she helped ease Clint into the seat. “Yeah, I think so. There were four of those things surroundin’ them all. They attacked at the same time. They were so fast…I took aim but didn’t fire…afraid I’d shoot Roger. Right when one knocked him to the ground, I heard somethin’ behind me, but turned around too late. It jumped me.”

“Oh, God. Did you kill it?”

Clint leaned his head against the seat and winced. “Yeah, but not before he—it—whatever the hell you call it, tore me up. Unloaded my Glock until it quit tearin’ me apart. Found out takin’ its head off was the trick. Ha, just like on TV. Who knew those crazy people in Hollywood were right on the money?”

Regina saw tears run down the boy’s face. Clint’s skin was pale and clammy. A fleeting memory of the day she interviewed him flashed by. He’d been just a few months’ shy of turning twenty-two, all muscle and attitude, ready to get on the streets and make a difference in the community he’d grown up in. A former football star at Malvern High School, Clint Chesterson had been a textbook jock. He’d skated through his classes, his teachers looking the other way when he turned in homework obviously not a product of his own. Clint’s sole focus was getting a football scholarship to Fayetteville to play for the Hogs.