Waiting to Die ~ A Zombie Novel (2 page)
Read Waiting to Die ~ A Zombie Novel Online
Authors: Richard M. Cochran
“Make
sure you tell the techs that these samples take priority. I'll need the results
back as soon as possible.” Dr. Pratt makes eye contact with Bill to make sure
he has been heard. “Understood?”
“Yes, sir,
but why are they so important?” Bill asks.
“There's
something strange about this case. I'm not positive, but it looks like he was
attacked when he died.” Dr. Pratt points down at the torn flesh, gathered around
the subjects missing leg. “You see here? Those are bite marks, and they're human.”
“You're
kidding. Someone bit the guy?” Bill asks, taken aback.
“Not
just bit. If I didn't know any better, I would say the man was eaten alive,” the
Doctor explains.
“Damn,”
Bill's expression turns to a look of disgust, “Who would do something like that?”
“Well,
that's what I hope to find out with those,” he says, motioning toward the
samples.
“I don’t
believe it,” Don says as he looks through the microscope.
“What is
it?” Grace asks, moving closer.
“Have a
look.” He moves away to give her enough room to look through the eyepiece.
She
adjusts the magnification. “What the hell is
that
?”
“I'm not
sure.” He squints. “It's as if the cells are reproducing. I've never seen
anything like it,” he admits. “Those are the samples that Dr. Pratt sent over,
right
?”
Looking
up from the microscope, Grace turns her attention to Don. “Yeah, but the body
was pronounced dead over an hour ago. Even with a living subject, that type of
activity wouldn't be normal. It's like the cells are mutating.”
“This
isn't good,” Don says, taking a few steps back from the table.
“What do
you think?” Grace asks.
“We run
another set of tests.” He scratches at the stubble on his face. “If we can't
figure this out on our own, we'll have to get the CDC involved.”
“The
Center for Disease Control?” she asks in an alarmed tone. “Is that really
necessary? They'll lock this place up and quarantine everyone in the hospital!”
“If we
can't come up with a better diagnosis than mutating cells, we won't have a
choice.” Dan removes the sample and takes it toward the back of the lab,
placing it on another machine. “I'll run it through the system and see if it
comes up with anything.”
“And
what if it doesn't?” Grace asks.
“Let's
hope that it does. The last thing we need is for the CDC coming in here, snooping
around.” Don runs his fingers through his hair and closes his eyes in thought.
“We'll call them when every other option has been exhausted.”
Bill
makes his way towards the back of the ER and picks up the second body. He steps
back from the doorway when he notices several more gurneys covered by sheets,
placed in rows, waiting for retrieval. Checking the tags at the bottom of each
of the bodies, he notices that each case has been pronounced dead within
minutes of each other.
Confused
by the sudden additions, he goes to the front desk where Becky is working
feverishly on patient files and asks, “What's the deal?”
“With what?”
Becky looks up for only a moment before going back to work on the patient
records, her hair in shambles.
“With
all of the bodies in the back,” he says. “The last time I was up here, there
was only one, now there are six. What's going on?” he asks, confused.
“Bill, I
don't know. It's like the whole world has gone crazy. I swear, if I see another
mangled body, I'm going to lose it.”
“Has
there been anything on the news?” Bill inquires.
“I haven't
had time to check,” she replies, stuffing a stack of insurance papers into a
file. “This place is such a mad house. Every couple of minutes, the ambulances
drop off another injury. I don't know how much more we can handle.”
“After I
bring the bodies down to the morgue, I'll see if I can get some more information,”
Bill says, turning toward the back room to retrieve another body.
“Bill,”
Becky calls, stopping him mid step.
“Yeah?”
He turns and waits for her to speak.
“One of
the ambulance drivers said something about protesting downtown,” she says,
searching her thoughts for the information. “He said that the police were
getting pretty rough with the people there. But that was over an hour ago, and
I haven't heard anything since. Let me know if you find anything out, okay?”
“Sure
thing,” he nods and grabs the next gurney.
·2
“I’m telling you,” Scarlet
protests, “they were dead. No heartbeat, no pulse, dead!”
“All right, calm down, lady,”
the officer says, holding his hands up to quiet the woman down. “I need you to
start at the beginning again. This time, a little slower, please.”
“She’s telling the truth, I saw
them too,” Greg interrupts. “There’s no way in hell those things were alive.”
“I’ll get
her
statement
first and then I’ll get to
you
,” the officer shoots a look at the
security guard.
Greg holds up his hands in
surrender and leans back in the chair. He smiles at the two-way glass on the
wall and gives it a wink.
How stupid do they think we are?
He asks
himself.
Probably not stupid,
he corrects,
more along the lines of crazy.
Through his thoughts, he can
hear the woman recite the exact same story, but slower as the officer
instructed.
“Listen,” the officer begins, “we’ve
been getting some strange calls in the last twenty-four hours. If there’s
something you know that you’re not telling us, I suggest now would be the time
to come clean.”
“I give up,” Scarlet says,
laying her head on the table.
“I’m serious,” the officer
replies. “This
is not
a joke. Whatever is going on out there, you two
seem to be the first ones in the city to have known about it.”
“We’re telling you everything we
know,” Greg says. “Those
things
came out of nowhere. If they
were
alive, that’s something your people would have more information on than us.”
“What’s that supposed to mean,”
the officer asks, tilting his head as he waits for an explanation.
“I think you know exactly what
that means,” Greg replies. “The government does all sorts of weird shit. It’s none
of my business if some of that shit happens to wash ashore at the dockyard.”
“Great, you’re one of
those
guys,” the officer rolls his eyes. “I’ll be back in a bit. Why don’t you two
see if you can get your stories straight and we’ll continue this later,” he
says, rolling down the sleeves of his uniform. He fastens the door behind him
with a click as the lock engages.
“They don’t believe us,” Scarlet
says.
“I wouldn’t believe us either.”
Greg shakes his head. “It’s not the most believable story.”
“Still, you would think they
would have sent someone down there to see for themselves.”
“That’s not proper
procedure
,”
he says sarcastically. “First they have to bore us to death and
then
they’ll get to the details.”
“Jim, do you actually believe
these people are involved?” the detective asks.
“They
have
to know
something
,”
the officer replies. “They came in here last night with this halfcocked story
about dead people at the pier. They were the first to report anything out of
the ordinary, and I intend to find out
exactly
what they know.”
“I’m telling you, they don’t
know anything,” the detective states calmly. “If they did, they sure as hell
wouldn’t be reciting the same story over again. What’s this, the seventh or the
eighth time?”
“It doesn’t matter how many times
they say it, I don’t believe them. They know something else, I can feel it.”
“Jim,” the detective begins,
“sometimes feelings are wrong.”
“They know something,” he
reaffirms.
“Either way,” the detective
sighs, “we don’t have any evidence to hold them. You have one more round of
questioning and then we have to let them go.”
Jim adjusts his firearm on his
belt and wipes at his face in a single swipe that distorts his features.
“Fine,” he says and walks back into the room. He looks at the man and woman and
turns away. “You’re free to go,” he says over his shoulder and walks out,
leaving the door open.
Scarlet lets out a sigh of
relief. “Is he serious?”
“I think so,” Greg says, still
staring at the door.
The police station is bustling
with activity as officers are dispatched through bright, glowing computer
screens. The glare of blue uniforms blur, flashing badges of brilliant silver
as they scurry through the hallways, service pistols tapping lightly at their
legs.
“Yes ma’am,” the operator says
into the phone. “I understand that, but …” She is cut short by the person on
the other end of the line, screaming frantically into the mouthpiece.
Another operator tries to calm
someone through an emergency. “No, I don’t expect you to kill your wife, sir.
What I’m saying is that you need to …”
“All units to 6159 …” another
woman says into the radio, her voice calm, yet stern.
“It looks like all hell has
broken loose,” Greg says over his shoulder as several officers shuffle by.
“What’s going on?” Scarlet asks
confused.
“I don’t know, but I have a
feeling it has something to do with those
things
we saw the other
night.”
“Cuff him, goddamn it,” an
officer says, pinning a man to the floor. The man is rabid, jerking under the
weight of the officer, trying to get out of his grip. “Put some fucking cuffs
on him!” he shouts again.
The melee erupts into several
officers pouncing on the man, trying to restrain his flailing limbs. Beneath
the man saliva is beginning to pool, making the tile slick and unmanageable as
the cops try to subdue him. He snaps and barks out as handcuffs are drawn.
“I think this would be a good
time to leave,” Greg says, sidestepping the ruckus.
From behind, Scarlet presses
herself against his back, letting him lead the way. She nearly trips on the criminal’s
arm as he reaches out. She catches his gaze and jerks back. He snarls at her
and snaps his teeth. His eyes are bloodshot and focused on her ankle, only
inches away. She lets out a whimper and Greg pulls her away from the scuffle,
lifting her off the floor and placing her next to himself as he guides her to
the front of the police station.
Outside, the streets are
deserted. The only activity is the occasional squad car rocketing from the rear
parking structure with sirens blaring and lights flashing atop pristine black
and white. Tires squeal and grip as the car takes a tight turn, distancing the sound
of the siren as it speeds away.
As the pair head toward Scarlet’s
car, they notice a news team situated off to the side of the station. The
reporter is feigning her most convincing smile, motioning to the rough brick
exterior of the station behind her before returning to the camera with the
brightest smile money can buy.
“Chief Graham was not available
for comment, but one of his top aides said that a report will be issued soon,”
the woman says. “It seems that the civil unrest that is gripping the rest of
the Nation is just as strong here in Southern California with little relief
expected in the coming days. Now here’s Elizabeth with the latest from the
Center for Disease Control.”
Once the reporter has finished
the taping, Scarlet approaches her. “Excuse me,” she begins. “What’s going on?”
The reporter looks at her oddly.
“Have you been living in a box?” She laughs.
“Sort of,” Scarlet replies.
“In that case, you can catch my
report on the six o’clock news,” she says, handing off the microphone. “Where’s
my coffee?” she asks no one in particular and scurries off to the news van.
“Thanks so much,” Scarlet replies
with a sarcastic wave, “bitch.”
“Makes you want to pack up all
your stuff and move out here, doesn’t it?” Greg asks with a laugh.
“Since I missed my interview, I
don’t think that’ll be a problem,” Scarlet replies. “Do you need a lift home?”
“That would be great.” He nods.
“I can’t believe my supervisor never showed up. The security company is usually
on top of things like this.”
“Maybe I should take you to
their offices.”
“No, it wouldn’t do any good,”
he says, shaking his head. “I’ll just call them from the house and leave a
message. I mean, we have procedures to follow … I can’t believe no one was
there to answer when the cops called.”
