The Neuropathology Of Zombies (9 page)

CHAPTER 8

Heavily armed Marines squatted in all four corners of the roof. Their heads swiveled back and forth, gauging the danger of the insanity below us. The sky overhead was crystal-clear, and the hot sun was tempered by a cool sea breeze. It was perfect beach weather. But instead of sitting in the sand, sipping an umbrella drink, I was standing on top of a fortified hospital, staring down onto a street filled with reanimated corpses. I was amazed by how many there were, there had to be thousands of dead creatures stumbling through the quaint resort town.

“I think I’ll do a little observational study,” I said. I looked at the two Marines crouching behind me, “Do either of you have any binoculars I could borrow?” I felt the warm steel barrels of the binoculars against my hands and raised the eye pieces to my face, focusing on the crowd below.

I took a general scan of the street. The Driftwood moved alone, without any sort of group or pack-like behavior. They ignored each other and didn’t communicate, any vocalizations were random and not in response to stimulus. I saw no attacks or aggressive behavior among any of them.

I studied their movements. They were clumsy and uncoordinated. Their legs were spaced far apart and their feet hardly lifted off the ground as they shuffled along. They slouched and their arms drooped to their sides. Everyone’s skin had the same green gray color as Igor’s. As I looked closer I could see ulcers on the exposed regions of the skin.

Some of the Driftwood were missing large chunks of flesh, exposing the underlying muscle or bone. One body was missing an arm. Another was missing most of its legs, it just crawled along the ground, twisting and thrusting it’s torso as a form of locomotion.

I continued to survey the streets hoping for some form of divine intervention, an electric thought that would end this catastrophe.
Suddenly, I saw a quick and rhythmic flash coming from a first floor window of the building directly across from me. At first, I thought it was just the sun reflecting off the glass, but it seemed purposeful. I looked at the window where I thought I saw the flash and waited. After a few seconds it happened again. This time I saw two pale arms waving at us. Someone was in there, trying to get our attention. Someone was alive.
“Guys!” I shouted, “Look, over there, first floor, second window on the right! Someone is in there! He’s trying to signal us with a light!”
I handed the binoculars to the Marine sitting directly next to me, “Look! We have to get them out of there!”
The Marine took the binoculars and watched. A few seconds later he exclaimed, “Holy shit, you’re right, someone is in that building! Wait, no, there’s two people, two people!”
“What are we going to do?” I asked.
A crowd gathered around me, everyone came to take a look. We stood in silence wondering how we could get to them, or more importantly, how they could get to us.
Their building faced the rear of the hospital, where we were currently situated. One of the loading docks was located directly beneath us.
“What if someone goes down to the loading dock and waits while they run across the street? It’s not that far, and the Driftwood move pretty slow. We could provide cover for them from up here, I think it would work,” offered one of the Marines.
“It’s too risky,” said another.
“It’s no more risky than leaving them there!” came the reply. “You want to go get them?”
“No, that’s not good either. Let me see the binos, what’s on their roof? Maybe we could land a helicopter...” the soldier’s voice trailed off as he looked at the top of their building.
The flashing came again and this time one of the Marines took out his pocket light and aimed it at the building, quickly turned it on and off several times, letting people know that we saw them. We all waved, and for some strange reason cheered. Maybe it was because somewhere there were people who survived this ordeal and suddenly we are not so alone. Regardless, it provided a needed boost to our morale.
By now all the Marines were watching with binoculars. “What’s he saying?” asked one of the men. “He keeps pointing at something, what is it...”
A few minutes had passed when one of the Marines said, “Where did they go?”
His words had no more than left his mouth before someone yelled, “What the fuck is he doing? What the fuck is he doing?”
I snapped to attention and my smile faded. I squinted, struggling to see the other building with my unaided eyes. I could make out the movement of the front door and saw the top of a dark haired head quickly darting in and out of view.
“Don’t even think about it you asshole!” someone yelled. “Quick, get down to the loading dock, I think they are going to try and make a run for it! Fuck! Get ready to cover them!”
Four Marines ran for the exit. I watched them disappear down the stairs and then turned back to the street with a feeling of dread and despair.
Before I could refocus on the actions of our strangers, a Marine yelled “Cover!” and the air erupted with gunfire.
Below us I saw two people running across the street towards the loading dock beneath us. Several of the Driftwood took notice of the stranger’s rapid movements and began to lift their arms, grasping at the escapees. The strangers continued to run, swinging their fists at the attacking horde.
The bodies of the Driftwood exploded as they filled with fully jacketed metal bullets, the black goo that had replaced their blood streamed through the air around them like an aura. The barrage of projectiles did little to slow the swarm. Several creatures fell to the ground, but got up as if nothing had happened. One Driftwood was nearly cut in half by a stream of automatic rifle fire; it fell in the middle of the street and dragged its mangled torso along the pavement leaving behind a dark, oily trail as it pursued the escaping prey.
It was impossible to place accurate head shots on all of the Driftwood because their numbers were so large. Instead, the Marines opted to flood the street with bullets. They swung their machine guns back and forth, hoping to strike a bull’s eye.
When a head was struck, it exploded like a bursting water balloon, sending skull fragments and pieces of brain into the sky. With the head destroyed, the Driftwood fell to the ground motionless. The constant stream of bullets took 20 or 30 of the creatures out, but they just kept coming. The came from the surrounding streets, from alley ways, out of abandon stores, they just kept coming.
Soon the strangers were surrounded, and I lost sight of them in a sea of Driftwood. The pack of hungry zombies were howling and screaming with their arms flailing, all trying to push their way to the center of the feeding frenzy. After a few seconds the middle of the mob turned bright red and I saw several of the monsters hoisting various human organs into the sky before thrusting the meat into their starving mouths. The movement of the group became more frantic as the smell of blood wafted around them.
“Take them all out, mother fuckers!” a Marine screamed. The volume of gun fire increased, or it seemed to, if it that was possible.
One of the Marines pulled out a grenade, but a higher ranking officer beside him shook his head and said, “No, you’ll blow out the windows under us, we can’t risk that. They’re gone, there’s nothing more we can do.”
I didn’t notice the silence at first, but when I did, I became uncomfortable. Everyone stood still, feeling impotent and infuriated as we watched the Driftwood continue to consume the strangers. There was nothing else we could do. I stared at the scene in front of me, not believing what I had just witnessed.
“We’re fucked,” stated a Marine, defeated.
“Well, we’re in a lot of trouble, that’s for sure,” I replied. “A lot of trouble.”
Climbing into the helicopter seemed surreal and I was numb from what had just happened. My mind was lost in a fog. I closed my eyes not wanting to see any more of the world beneath me. “How did I get into this mess,” I mumbled.

CHAPTER 9

I felt the bump of the helicopter hitting the roof of the police barracks and I opened my eyes. The high pitched sound of the turning rotors began to deepen into a low pitched hum as the rotation of the blades slowed. Out of the window I watched the other two members of my team run towards the exit, ducking low to avoid the propeller blades. I sat for a few seconds, and then followed them down to the tents.

The former parking lot was buzzing with activity. Everyone was trying to finish their work before the briefing.
I walked over to a group of Marines. “Is there a shower in there?” I asked, pointing to the building.

“Yeah, and there’s some food in the tent around the corner. Grab some grub and take a shower, Doc, you’ve got plenty of time,” replied an eager, baby faced soldier. I tried to imagine him in battle. I tried to envision him shooting the zombies. I wondered if he would have that same little boy shine after this adventure was over, if he lived through it.

I grabbed a cold soda and a roll, and sat down in the shade of a tent. The scene reminded me of a plane crash I had worked on many years ago. All of the pathologists and morgue technicians had been working around the clock for days crammed into a wet and stinky aircraft hangar located close to the crash site. We were all exhausted. Many of the restaurants in town had donated food for the morgue workers, which was amazing because usually we are forgotten about in such circumstances. The only down side to it was that in order to get the food, you had to pass through the Kindred Souls tent and walk by what felt like 100,000 grief counselors. They would look at you with a sickening, fake sympathetic puppy dog stare and ask “
now, are youalright
?” I remember it was a beautiful September, much warmer than usual. After passing through the trailer, people would sit on a grassy hill overlooking the runways and enjoy the fresh air. Once you were comfortable, the grief team would start walking around asking if you were still ok. It became a joke between us that you shouldn’t go anywhere alone, one of the ‘grief goons’ might get you. One of the goons cornered me one afternoon while I was lying on the hill enjoying the sunshine and a cold soda. “Are you ok? Do you have any feelings you want to talk about?” came a voice standing over me. “No, I’m fine,” I said. He kept pressing me and pressing me about my feelings until I finally snapped and yelled, “You know what I want to talk about? I want to talk about how you’re going to feel when I shove this soda can up your ass, now leave me the fuck alone. Jesus Christ. Have you even stepped foot in that morgue?” I pointed at the aircraft hangar. He shook his head ‘no’. “Then don’t come around here asking me how I feel. Get the fuck out of my face.” That was the last time any of the grief goons came near me. In retrospect, it should have served as a red flag that maybe I was stressed out, but the reality was these people were phonies and they knew it.

The shower smelled of mold, but the water was hot, and it felt good to get the grime of the last 14 hours off of me. I could feel the deaths of the strangers washing off my skin and sliding down the drain with the dirty water.

I really didn’t bring any appropriate clothes with me; the ripped jeans and pile of t-shirts that were my usual modus operandi were a liability here, so I was given Government issued fatigues. Not having my own clothes reminded me that I was away from home and I hoped everyone was alright. I wished I could call and check in, but I was sure General Fitch would never allow it. I was confident that my ‘evacuation order’ was being followed and there was no need for me to worry.

After a shower and a bite to eat I felt like a new man. I sat outside, staring up at the palm trees peeking over the top of the wall surrounding our headquarters. I was anxious to share our information and to hear what everyone else had discovered. Maybe all our pieces would come together and provide the solution to this problem and then we could all go home.

“Hear you had some excitement at the hospital, Doc!” Fitch yelled as he slapped me on the back.
“Yeah, I guess that’s one way to put it,” I laughed.
“Good. Hope you’ve got some answers because if not, we’re screwed. But, the up side is I can get you some nice beach front property pretty damn cheap.” He said and walked into the barracks.
I entered the station behind him and a trail of people followed me. We were led to a small conference room. A round table in the center was taking up most of the space. A paper flip chart stood in the corner, and a clean white dry erase board was fixed to one of the walls. A window looked out in the direction of the main gate and allowed the room to fill with soft natural light. The central air conditioner was on high and the room was cold. However, it wouldn’t take long for the small room to heat up after everyone crammed into it.
The atmosphere was tense, but the room hummed with the murmur of small talk as people organized their notes on the table. I saw the man in the black suit slip through the door. He was tall and thin, his dark hair tightly cropped. He didn’t smile and his face was expressionless. He stood off to one side, behind the General.
General Fitch cleared his throat and began to speak, “Hello, everyone. Let’s get started, we’ve got a lot to cover. I’ll start by introducing the teams and their leaders, and then I will get everyone up to speed on what we know up to this point. After that, each team leader will summarized their results. Then, we’ll do a little brainstorming and come up with a plan for each team for the next 6 hours until the next briefing.”
The general spoke with such calm authority that I was instantly put at ease. I believed that if there was a single person on this planet who could figure a way out of this, it was him. I looked around the room and saw the group becoming transfixed by his voice. He was a born leader.
He continued, “To my left is security, followed by search and rescue. Beside them, in the middle, is science and medical, and finally on my right is the Governor of the Island.”
I looked around the table as the general spoke. The security team was represented by two middle aged men in gray fatigues. They were accompanied by a gentleman in a police uniform, I recognized him from the parking lot, it was the Chief. They all looked tired and their eyes were sunken and surrounded by dark circles.
There were four men with the search and rescue team. All were dressed in beige fatigues and had firmness to their stares while they scanned the table, as I was doing. I wondered how they were imagining me.
My science and medical team was made up of a total of seven people, myself, a virologist, a microbiologist, Dr. Allen, two medics and a medical technician. My group was represented at the briefing by the virologist and myself.
Fitch lowered his head, “Ms. Governor, I want to thank you on behalf of the President of the United States for having us as guests on your Island.”
“No, General, I want to thank you for coming. I’m not sure what we would do without the United States. We are all greatly indebted to you,” she replied.
The Governor was an older woman, maybe in her mid-60’s. She spoke with a humble, but self-confidant tone. I learned later that she had been the governor on the Island for 20 years, winning endless re-election bids. She was adored by her people and honestly cared deeply for them. I often wondered since, what life we be like if we had such politicians in the United States.
“Ok, most of us know the story by now. Close to forty hours ago two police officers responded to a domestic call at the Marina Star Hotel. They arrived to discover that a man had killed and mutilated his wife. The officers were attacked in the hotel room by the husband and he was subsequently killed by police gun fire. In the struggle one of the officers was bitten and has since developed a serious medical condition,” said the General. Everyone gave a half chuckle at the idea of ‘developed a serious medical condition’, he was a fucking zombie. ‘Serious’ doesn’t really cover it.
The General continued, “While at the hotel, several more domestic issues arose resulting in the deaths of a number of guests. Other acts of violence broke out at the beach around the same time. The original thought was everything was the result of mass hysteria, especially as events started to occur beyond the hotel and in the town market area. The scene became unmanageable due to the large number of attacks, and the local police became overwhelmed. They retreated to the main police barracks, where we are now. Original reports described mass murders followed by acts of cannibalism. It was also reported that the murders could not be killed. The police stated that bullets had no effect on the Driftwood, unless they were shot in the head. These accounts provoked the use of the term ‘zombie’.
“It was at this point that the Governor phoned the U.S. Consulate here on the Island and requested our assistance. We arrived expecting to provide security support, but quickly realized that the situation was much more serious and required expert advice. After detailed discussions with the President and the Joint Chiefs, each of you was requested to take part in this exercise due to your special areas of interest.
“We have an aircraft carrier off the coast circling the island providing supplies and other forms of support. The President is concerned that the violence will spread to the neighboring countries and is paying close attention to our efforts. He requested an answer within 48 hours; that was twenty four hours ago. Thankfully, we are geographically remote, so the press hasn’t caught wind of this yet, but it’s just a matter of time, given the internet and cell phones. We’re not sure what level of access the residents and visitors of the Island had to these various forms of communication before we closed it all down. This story is going to break; we just need the situation under control before it does.
“Now, enough of me rambling on, let’s hear what has transpired since we arrived here. First, let’s hear from security.” General Fitch finished, and pointed to the men to my left, “Major Thomas?”
A man in gray fatigues stood, “Thank you, general. Our first priority was to secure a command center. The police barracks was ideal given the high brick walls and holding cells. The parking lot was also large enough to house all our communication and team support needs. We are pleased to have the Police Chief and twelve local police officers providing guidance and insight into the local population and geography,” he said, extending his arm to acknowledge the Police Chief.
“We have Marines stationed on the roof of the barracks acting as our eyes and providing cover, should we need it. In addition, there’s a helicopter landing pad on the roof that’s giving us direct access to the aircraft carrier and to all parts of the Island. It’s best to travel by air, for now, the roads are not safe, given the large numbers of…” he paused, searching for the right word, “…numbers of zombies. Using the helicopter to move around the Island is the safest means of travel currently.
“The Island has about 20,000 inhabitants, most of who live in this city. The Island is fourteen miles long and eight miles wide. There are three main roads leading to and from town; one north, one south, and one west. Civil engineering constructed observation towers on each of these roadways, enabling us to cut off access to town. The infestation seems to be much less outside the city, so we have only experienced occasional aggression.
“We were using a number of the local police officers to assists us at the road blocks, but they deserted us, and took off for the caves on the edge of town.
“There is an airport with a single air strip to the north. The runway is short and can only accommodate light aircraft. It is totally surrounded by twenty-foot high chain link fence with barbed wire topping. We attempted to secure the airport, but encountered significant resistance in the form of gun fire. We know there’s a drug cartel running pharmaceuticals on and off the Island, the majority of the exchanges utilize small aircraft, and we think that the local gang has control of the airport. The Police Chief agrees. We don’t have the manpower to contend with this issue, so we backed off the airport. We still have it under observation, and believe that there are no medical issues to deal with. We’ve been able to contain travel off the island since our arrival, but have a high level of concern regarding the ability of these gangs to depart the Island undetected. I’m worried that several gang members may have fled using small boats, so we have aircraft searching the waters around the Island.
“As I mentioned, there are a number of caves to the east. We suspect that a number of local residents, police, and several gang members are holed up in these caves.
“We have attempted to contact the head of the local cartel in order to bring them on board for this event. They would be an additional source of men and have a unique insight into the landscape and population of the Island. Plus, we really don’t need two fronts in this campaign. Their cooperation would be a significant positive. However, they are not responding to our messages,” he said, his final comments directed at the Governor.
“The electric plant for the island is not securable. We have used two airstrikes to destroy the plant. The goal of disrupting the power supply is to effectively shut down all forms of communication on the island. Power to our controlled facilities is being supplied by emergency generators.
“The water supply has also been cut off, we’re not sure if it’s contaminated. We are bringing water in from our supplies stocks on the carrier, and civil engineering has constructed basic water and sewage systems for the police barracks.”
“We have secured the hospital for the medical team. There are two entrances to the hospital; both have been sealed with blasting steel. There are two loading docks; their entrances are blocked by large steel doors. In addition, we have two large water tanks on the hospital roof, bypassing the internal water supply.
“We also have the city under constant observation using helicopters. Our data so far indicates that there are approximately 12,000 to 17,000 Driftwood wandering the streets,” he said and sat back down, making eye contact with everyone around the table.
The General smiled, “Excellent work. Now, let’s hear from search and rescue.”
“Thank you, General Fitch. Our priority is to evacuate survivors. The first obstacle was locating them. In order to detain all individuals fleeing the city, we stationed ourselves with the security details at the observation towers. Thankfully, we only encountered a handful of undesirables. Once we identified unaffected persons, we flew them via helicopter to the aircraft carrier.
“We had to consider that a number of people escaped prior to our arrival and were located in the hills overlooking town. We performed lowflying sweeps of the surrounding region and picked up several more unaffected persons. We also located numerous persons on the roofs of buildings in the town. These individuals were also taken to the aircraft carrier.
“One of our major concerns is regarding the cause of this situation, and whether or not it is something transmissible from person to person. In order to mitigate this risk, the individuals on the aircraft carrier have been placed in as much of an isolated environment as possible. We have medical personnel keeping a close eye on them for any signs of illness. In addition, we have borrowed one of the medics, who is assisting us screen survivors before we bring them to the ship,” the Marine said, nodding towards me.
“We have told the evacuees that there has been a clash between local drug cartels and that the aircraft carrier is standing by as we evacuate more individuals. In regards to our numbers, we have 1,238 individuals on board the aircraft carrier. There are fifty two US citizens and nine Canadians, and eight British. The remainders are residents of the Island. Our current data from customs states that one hundred and seventy four US citizens, twenty eight Canadians, and nineteen British are currently on the Island; we have to assume the worst,” the officer stated, hanging his head.
“Our fly overs have not identified any survivors since early this morning. One area we are pursuing is the caves. We’re hopeful that a number of individuals may have fled there; but we are waiting for the security team to give us the green light to move in,” the search and rescue leader finished. He nodded to the General as he sat.
General Fitch let out a deep breath and rubbed the back of his neck, “Thank you. The numbers of known survivors is lower than I expected. Let’s all hope there are more elsewhere. Ok, now it’s medical’s turn. Doctor, Hawk.” Everyone turned to look at me.
“Thank you, General Fitch. Gentlemen, Madam Governor, our team has been hard at work trying to identify the cause and source of this situation. We have discovered a number of interesting things in the short time we have been active,” I said. It occurred to me that I hadn’t given any thought as to what I was going to say. My mind was firing on all cylinders and I made it up as I went along. I had never been the group leader of anything, now I was in charge of medical team on an Island I’d never heard of trying to identify the cause of a zombie outbreak. Life is hard to predict.
“I guess the best place to start is with Igor. He was one of the two officers who responded to the sentinel event at the hotel. He was bitten and within a few hours became acutely ill. His conditioned worsened and he developed symptoms similar to septic shock, meaning his body’s defenses appeared to be overcome by infection. He expired close to 24 hours after being bit. He reanimated approximately thirty minutes after being pronounced...” I paused. “Well, being pronounced dead. He demonstrated significant aggression that required isolation in one of the jail cells.
“When I first saw Igor he smelled awful and had skin changes similar to that of a decomposed body. His level of aggression increased with stimulation, or at least increase in accordance with our presence. I watched him for a bit from the doorway, after we were out of his sight; he paced the cell, unaware of his surroundings, or uncaring.
“I suggested we use Igor to advance our medical understanding of what’s happened to these people. Earlier, we drew some blood and took a skin biopsy from him. We also drew blood from his partner, who is here in the barracks. He appears to be healthy; we looked at his blood smear at the hospital and it’s normal. We will still keep him under observation, just to be sure.