The Dead Live On

THE DEAD LIVE ON

Written By Julie Cooper Brown
Copyright©2013JulieCooperBrown

This Book remains the copyrighted property of the author and may not be reproduced, scanned, or distributed for any commercial or non-commercial use without permission from the author.  Quotes used in reviews are the exception.  No alteration of content is allowed.  If you enjoyed this book, then encourage your friends to purchase their own copy. This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to person, living or dead, or places and events are purely coincidental. The characters are a product of the authors’ imagination and are used fictitiously. Your support and respect or the author of this product is appreciated.

                                         
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         Copyright©2013JulieCooperBrown

THE DEAD LIVE ON

Prologue

September 9th   2014

CDC Headquarters

Atlanta, Georgia

During his forty plus years as an Epidemiologist, Dr. Stephen Pierce had never seen a virus quite like the one that he was examining at that moment. X3LZ-22 was the most terrifying virus he ever seen. It had no known cure and the end result was the most horrific of deaths.

The victims of X3LZ-22 suffered a slow, painful death only to reawaken with an insatiable hunger for human flesh. The few specimens that had been examined had provided little in the way of answers to
(the) questions regarding the length of time required for the virus to incubate and whether or not the victim retained any of their previous personality or cognitive functions. Judging by the extreme behavior of the infected individuals, it was assumed they did not.

Over the past several months, Dr. Pierce had made the study of X3LZ-22 his priority. So far, he had made great strides in regards to mapping the virus but the key factor of how the virus reanimated the body after death had eluded him. Dr. Pierce’s insatiable drive to discover all that he could about the virus had led him to all but the most crucial of discoveries; the cause of the bodies reanimation.
Convinced that if he discovered the process that reanimated the bodies, he could then discover a cure. To that end he began working twenty-four shifts and taking minor short cuts that were relatively harmless but against safety protocol. It was his insatiable desire to be the one to make the discovery and to receive the acclaim and notoriety that accompanied it, was too much for Dr. Pierce to resist. And he should have left it alone, but as they say, curiosity killed the cat and Dr. Pierce could not fight the urge to delve deeper and deeper into the virus’s inner structure.

One of the protocol’s he had broken was to keep a small sample of the virus in the mini refrigerator under the lab table where he was doing most of the work on the virus. Another was to leave samples under the microscope in order to avoid having to re-thaw the virus after every time he left the room to get a coffee or use the rest room. Tonight was no different. He was into his sixteenth or seventeenth hour after having work doubles and triples for days on end and he was growing severely fatigued.

It was well after normal operation hours and he was sure he had the facility to himself except maybe for a janitor or two and maybe a security guard in the main lobby. He chose to leave the experiment he was working on spread out across the lab table since no one would be wandering into lab this late at night.
Protocol required he lock the lab when he left but he was tired and believing that no one would bother his lab, he slipped out the door and headed for the employee lounge located down the hallway for a cup of coffee. He no sooner had stepped around the corner when at the opposite end of the hall the night shift janitor appeared.

He was doing a quick trash patrol where he would check each lab for any trash build up and empty the bins that needed it. It was simple, it was easy but he was lazy. He rarely made any effort to unlock a lab that didn’t have a light on and he typically would only venture in far enough to empty the trash bins closest to the door. He was also a slovenly man whose personal hygiene which left a great deal of room for improvement. When he had been hired, he had been instructed to read the labs safety protocols. He had told his supervisor he would do so, but it was lie. He was new illegal immigrant from
a Eastern European country who had learned to speak a few dozen American words and with coaching from his cousin, to nod yes to basically anything said to him.

He’d been warned a handful of times to wear rubber gloves while working but the failed to do so unless there was supervisor or a lab tech present because they were hot and made his hands sweat. His customary procedure when he encountered any substance that managed to get on his hands was to wipe it on his shirt or pant leg. Many days, his uniform was soiled by a dozen different chemicals which if he noticed them at all he would wipe off or rather into the cloth of his clothes with his cleaning rag. Which upon cleaning up the mess, he would promptly stuff it back into one of his pants pockets. He was disaster waiting to happen.

Dr. Pierce had failed to lock the door behind him and had left the light on. When the janitor stepped up to the door of the lab he could see into the room through the large safety glass window. There just a few feet from Dr. Pierce’s work station was a waste bin overflowing with paper towels and plastic bags. Resigned to the task the janitor pulled the door open and stepped inside. He stood looking at the rows of test tubes stacked neatly in tiered racks and the note paper strewn across the table top. After a brief moment of staring incomprehensively at the note papers he pulled his trash cart up close to the waste bin. In blatant disregard for the safety protocols he began grabbing the garbage off the top of the overflowing bin and stuffing it into the trash cart. Once he had reduced the overflow sufficiently, he yanked the bag from the bin and tossed it into the cart. He then wiped his hands off on his pants before replacing the bag and sliding the bin back in its proper place.

As he turned to leave he noticed that electron microscope was on and that there was a slide on the microscope’s exam tray. He’d never seen whatever is was the tech’s looked at through machine and being curious, decided he’d take a quick look. He leaned over and peered into the visor and did his best to see what on the slide but all he could see was a bright white light. So he decided he’d peek at the actual slide. Maybe he could see it what was on it without the machines help. As he pulled the slide out of the holder, he discovered it was slippery and before he could adjust his grip the slide slipped from his fingers, bounced off the table top and crashed to the floor below where it broke into several pieces.

Panicked, he quickly scooped the larger pieces of the slide and set them on the table top. He then yanked his rag out of his pocket and wiped the floor in an effort to clean up the evidence. He then swept the chards from the slide into the trash cart and tucked his rag into his back pocket. It was when he did so that he felt a slight prick on the end of his index finger. He yanked his hand back to discover that a sliver of the slide had stuck in his finger and he quickly yanked it out and threw it into the trash cart without a second thought. He stepped briskly over to the door and peeked out before opening the door all the way and feeling secure in his escape he quickly walked down the hall the way he had come and disappeared around the corner.

Dr. Pierce returned from his break feeling much better and ready to get back to work. Approaching the microscope, he noticed immediately that the slide was gone. He glanced about the room but knew the slide wasn’t on some other table top or in some other machine. He looked over the table top before him and slowly shifted the papers about as if somehow the slide had managed to become dislodged. Then he leaned forward, placed his hand on the table top directly over the only open space. The same space the janitor had placed the broken chards of the slide on. Dr. Pierce was unaware that the surface was contaminated with the very virus he was studying. He looked over at the in the trash bin and saw that it had been emptied and immediately made a called security. It was too late, the janitor after having broken the slide, had quickly punched out and left the building.

Upon returning home, the janitor woke his wife and made love to her, using his filthy hands to touch her in intimate places. Afterwards the janitor went to sleep and his wife got up and went about her usual routine. She stopped at Starbucks on the way to work and ordered her usual heavily caffeinated latte. As she paid for it, she experienced a tickle in her throat and with her hands full she was unable to cover her mouth completely and coughed a cloud of infected saliva into the face of the cashier, apologized and went on her way. The cashier in turn made a cursory swipe across her face and proceeded to cash out the line of customers without another thought about the lady who coughed on her.

The janitor’s wife arrived at her job at the local Target store and began her duties restocking shelves in the grocery department.  By lunch time she was experiencing some dizziness and shortly thereafter, she began bleeding from her nose and was unable to stop it. Her boss became alarmed when she noticed she was also beginning to bleed from the tear ducts in the corner of her eyes and she called 911.

Within hours, Dr. Pierce had died as well as the janitor’s wife, and within minutes she had reanimated and attacked the doctors and nurses attending her. The security guards killed her for good shortly thereafter but once again their efforts were too little too late as they as the infection swept through the hospital at the speed of a tornado and spread quickly across the city and the nation.

September 12th, 2014

When President Geoffrey Rosen contracted the infection, it was because a Secret Service agent failed to inform anyone that he had been scratched while ushering the President through a crowd of panicked citizens. As they left the CDC, the agents in front pushed and shoved their way through the mob to make a clear path for the President and his entourage. The crowd pressed in on them, some shouting that they wanted answers; others were shouting that the infection was a government plan to minimize the population, and that it had been put into action under the guise of an accident.

From the corner of his eye the agent that became infected, saw what appeared to be a rowdy citizen in his peripheral, weaving his way through the throng of people. Pushing and shoving people out his path and quickly closing in a little fast on the president. As he neared, he reached out to touch the president and the agent lunged forward and grabbed his wrist. As the agent twisted the arm away, the man’s fingers missed the head of his beloved president, by literally, a hair. In protest, the man latched on to the agent’s hand with his other hand and squeezed. The man appeared to be ill as the agent looked into his eyes but not to the extent that it worried him. His nose was puffy and red, clear mucus it leaked from it and his eyes, were ashen. It seemed as though he was probably coming down with a mild cold. When he spoke, his voice cracked from the effort.

The man begged the agent to let him speak to the President. He just had to know if there was a cure. His wife and children had been infected and he’d do anything to save them, anything. “So does everyone else,” the agent responded then easily escaped his grip and shoved the man away, as the President slipped into his limousine, the door quickly closing behind him.

Once settled in and en route to their destination, he produced a small bottle of sanitizer from his breast pocket, and sprayed it liberally on his hands. He immediately felt the burn and sting and looked at the back of his hand. There was a small scratch. It was a little deeper than he would have liked, but he pushed the worry from his mind. He had an important job to do, and that was to escort the President and his family to a safe location.

Over the next few hours, the agent began to feel queasy and prayed that they would reach the shelter soon. After what seemed like forever, (but in reality had only been a two and a half hour trip, thanks to the lead-footed chauffer) they finally arrived at their destination. Once inside, he asked to be dismissed on the grounds that he was feeling very ill and needed a few hours rest. It was granted with the condition that he would see the physician when he awoke. They would have liked it to have been immediately, but Dr. Richards hadn’t arrived yet, though he was expected soon. The agent had slept for several hours before being awakened by the doctor and being diagnosed with the common cold, given the proper doses of medication, and told to resume his duties. At the time he thought nothing of the stranger or the scratch on his hand.

As the day went by his condition worsened and he began to feel disoriented. He had become unsteady on his feet and he wanted to lie to down, right in the middle of the floor would suit him fine, but he couldn’t. The President was in a meeting and he had to stand guard at the doors.
Determined to do his job, he remained in place. He longed for the meeting to be over so he could go back to his assigned room and go to sleep. It was a couple doors down from the Presidential bedroom; it would only take a moment for him to get there if he were to abandon his post. It was becoming increasingly hard for him to stand up straight, for in his eyes, the hallway spun and the walls seemed to be folding in on him. Sweat poured off of his head in streams and, feeling smothered by a sickly, sweet stench, he loosened his tie. He tried to remain at attention but the scent was too strong. It overwhelmed him and vomit spewed forth as he cupped his hands in front of him as though he could stop it from hitting the floor.