Zombies Begin (Zombies Begin Series Book 1) (9 page)

“Where’s Fiedler now?”

“No one knows. He’s gone into hiding.”

“Does he have the cure?”

Santiago paused. “There is no cure.”

Fuller got back to his feet. At least he had answers to his questions, even if they weren’t what he was expecting.

He hadn’t heard anything from the team in the corridor. He listened closely, but there was nothing. Even the alarm had been shut off.

“Do you think they’ve given up?” he said to Santiago as he crawled towards the barricade.

“They’re not just going to let you go home,” she said. “They aren’t your normal everyday mall cops. This place is backed by the government. They’re like top secret spy agents; Area 51 style,” Santiago said with a smile, trying to make light of the situation.

Cool air from the air duct floated down over Fuller’s heated body. It felt good to him and allowed him to somewhat relax under the circumstances. He closed his eyes for a moment, feeling the cool air on his face. He slowly opened his eyes and stared at the overhead vent; realization suddenly struck him. A red dot—from a laser scope—appeared on his chest, quickly joined by another. Santiago noticed the dots and jumped to her feet.

“Don’t fire! DON’T FIRE!” she yelled, holding out her arms.

Fuller dived, sliding across the floor to escape. A short burst of bullets whizzed through the air, impacting the wall right where Fuller had been standing less than a fraction of a second ago. Santiago flinched and covered as the sound of the automatic gun shots ripped through the air. Fuller slipped and scrambled to get cover behind the cover of lunch tables.

Gun shots rang out from behind the door. The hinges blown off in a small cloud of smoke. SWAT officers started to push past the barricade items.

“He surrenders! Don’t shoot!” she said desperately, while cradling her head with both hands, her face still streaked with black mascara. Tears swelled in her eyes—completely overwhelmed at the events unfolding.

“Stay on the ground,” she yelled at Fuller, “and don’t move. Please don’t move.”

Fuller complied, lying face down with his hands on his head. Two SWAT officers smashed through the ceiling and were on top of him in what seemed like a matter of seconds. More officers piled into the room like ants. Six men on top of him. An officer rushed Santiago and started dragging her out of the room to safety. As she was shuffled past, Fuller broke one arm free and grabbed the end of her white coat. His battered fist held on desperately. She caught a glimpse of his terrified face and eyes, framed between the legs and arms of tactical uniforms smothering him. He had kind eyes. He was just a normal guy in the wrong place, in a situation he didn’t ask for. The officer yanked her free from his grip, she watched him disappear under a sea of tactical uniforms. She was safe.

Several pairs of flexicuffs were strapped around Fuller’s wrists. The men took turns bashing him repeatedly with the butts of their guns and stomping on him with their large boots. His head bled. Small, bright droplets sprayed the light gray floor and soaked the neck of his fresh, white T-shirt. A lesson had to be taught.

The room was silent, except for the repeated clicking of a pen. Johnson nervously clicked his pen as he stared into space. His ear had been bandaged, a small spot of red soaked through the white mesh, and he looked as though he had cleaned himself up.

Santiago sat quietly staring at Johnson. She was frazzled. She had come straight from the hostage ordeal. The ringing noise of the gunfire still echoed in her ears. It was debrief time. She hadn’t even been given an opportunity to take a break and clean up. She looked a mess. Hair tossed up and clothes ruffled. It had been a long day and she just wanted to go home, and probably never return.

They sat in a big boardroom. It was decorated nicely, with expensive furniture and art work. Executive chairs and a hardwood boardroom table that could fit twenty people comfortably. At the other end of the table sat three pale-faced suits. The same men from the observation room. Santiago didn’t ever speak with these men, nor did she desire to. Naturally it was expected that they would become involved. They had stern expressions. Their stares were cold and their hearts were even colder. Their tactics: intimidation. And it was working.

One of the pale faces, Henricks, spoke up. His voice was rough and scratchy from age. “Do you think Mr. Fuller can be controlled or is he as bad as the others?”

Johnson stopped clicking his pen. He pulled on his collar, trying to loosen his shirt. He cleared his throat. He nervously reached for a glass of water, taking a quick sip. His voice shaky. “We haven’t started any of the medication trials yet.”

“Medication hasn’t worked on the others. Do you really think it’s going to make a difference?” Henricks said as he looked down at some papers in front of him.

“Mr. Fuller is already different from the others. But his mind is slipping in and out of control more frequently—”

Santiago interrupted. “We haven’t observed him for long enough to know that for sure.”

Johnson shot Santiago a disapproving look. “He’s a primitive caveman that wants to eat your flesh!” he said in a stern voice.

“Dr. Johnson?” Henricks interrupted them. “You say Mr. Fuller is different. In your professional opinion, is there anything we can gain from him that we might not learn from the others?”

“I’m not sure.”

The three pale-faced men gave each other a look. There was a small pause in the conversation. The three men remained silent, thinking about what had been discussed. One of the quiet pale faces stood up, moving away from the table. He removed his cell phone and began a conversation. It was too soft for anyone to hear.

Johnson nervously started clicking his pen again and reached for more water.

Santiago leaned in closer to him. “We need to make them realize that so much more research should be done before any decisions are made.”

Johnson stopped clicking his pen. “Just be quiet! Know your place!” he quietly hissed.  “This has been a complete debacle.”

The pale face hung up his phone and returned to the table. He gave a nod to Henricks.

“In light of all that has happened in the past six days, the situation has gotten to the point where this facility has lost all control.” Henricks got to his feet, buttoning up his suit coat. “We feel any more research is pointless and we have no choice but to shut you down. We’re withdrawing all funding and authorization for this project. You will be required to hand over all research material and any samples to our team. All infected specimens will need to be euthanized and destroyed. Follow protocol. Effective immediately.”

Johnson kept his head low, as though he had just been chastised by a parent.

Santiago watched him, expecting him to fight for what they had dedicated themselves to. Spineless.

“You can’t do that!” blurted out Santiago. “This is years of work. We have a moral duty as doctors. These people aren’t disposable! Do what you want with them and then throw them away!” Her Latino accent even more pronounced in the heat of the moment.

Santiago banged her fist on the table. “We need to keep them alive as long as we can and continue to try to find a cure.”

“Dr. Santiago, I commend you for your integrity. However, we were trying to create a neurological wonder drug. It didn’t need a cure—it was the cure.”

“We didn’t create a wonder drug, we created a disease,” retorted Santiago.

“That’s why we’re shutting this project down, before this disease spreads any further.”

“What if we’re already too late? What if it has spread further?”

Silence swept over the room. It was heavy with the worst fear—the fear of a looming and unstoppable pandemic. Henricks closed the file. This conversation was finished.

Santiago got to her feet. “We just can’t kill them!”

Johnson added, “They’re walking corpses. They’re dead up here,” pointing to his brain. “Their bodies just don’t know it yet.”

“Not Fuller!”

“He soon will be,” Johnson snapped back.

“Sit down, Dr. Santiago,” ordered Henricks, in a quiet but forceful tone.

Santiago slid back into her chair, defeated. She spoke softly. “If they’re dying anyway, why kill them off?”

“I can ask you the same question,” Henricks said. “If they are dying, why not kill them off? We don’t know how long they will live and the risks of keeping them alive are too high. If any escaped we could be looking at a pandemic. I’m not prepared to take that risk. Are you?”

“We did this to them. They are still human. We should do what we can to give them the best possible treatment for the rest of their lives, no matter how long or short that is.” Santiago took a deep breath. “At least let us work with Fuller to see what—”

“Enough!” interrupted Henricks, realizing his point wasn’t getting through. He leant over and whispered into the ear of one of the pale faces beside him.

Santiago and Johnson leaned in to see if they could hear what was being said. The pale face shook his head “no.”

“How many specimens do you currently have?” one pale face asked.

“We have twenty-one—
patients
,” Santiago said in a correcting voice.

“This meeting is closed,” he said, glancing at his gold watch. “We want to see twenty-one body bags in the morning. If we don’t, there will be twenty-three body bags.”

Johnson squirmed in his chair. Santiago held her hand over her mouth. Shocked. Scared. These people weren’t to be messed with, but this was the first time she had ever felt threatened. Maybe it was time for her to get out of there, discreetly.

***

Santiago dragged her exhausted body towards her office.

The shutdown had already started. A team of men and women had torn the place apart. Most of the normal staff had gone home for the night and would have a rude awakening in the morning. The office area was large, with desks spread out in the huge room.

A team loaded boxes with papers and files. Computers seized. Papers shredded. Santiago quickly moved to her desk to rescue personal items. She took an empty box to collect her effects. She fought back tears as she realized her career was now over. Everything around her seemed to be in slow motion as the team shut down the office. They didn’t have any respect for the research.

A woman moved to a filing cabinet close to Santiago’s desk. It was a cabinet that held all the personal effects of all the infected patients. Santiago watched as large, yellow envelopes containing wallets, watches, jewelry and other personal effects were ripped from the cabinet and thrown into a trash can.

Santiago was deep in thought. These people’s lives had been taken from them and thrown away. Their IDs were just trash now, and in a few short hours their lives would be ended. Santiago felt some responsibility for what had happened. She had assisted Dr. Fiedler with his research and participated in the detainment and treatment of the current patients.

A large envelope was pulled out with Michael Fuller’s name on it. Santiago remembered writing his name on the envelope and placing his personal effects into it when he first came to the facility. She especially felt for him, as he still retained his full senses and awareness. The other infected ones had completely lost their minds by the time they had arrived, but Fuller was still functioning. Still a man.

Santiago walked to the trash and retrieved his envelope. She opened it, looking at his driver’s license and other effects. With a quick look over her shoulder, she placed the items back into the envelope, bundling it with her own effects.

“Excuse me!” the woman clearing the effects called after her. “You can’t take that. All personal effects need to be destroyed.”

Santiago spun around to face the woman. “I realize that, but…”

At that moment her mind went blank. She didn’t have a reason or excuse to take the items. As she went to leave, the woman quickly grabbed her wrist. Santiago pulled her arm away, breaking the grip.

“Don’t touch me!” Santiago hissed. “Where’s your supervisor?!”

“Security!” the woman yelled.

The woman grabbed at her wrist again. Santiago shoved the woman back, lashing out and slapping her across the face. Santiago was just as shocked as the woman she hit. She didn’t mean to lash out. She just reacted. A lot of different emotions had passed through her mind in the past twenty-four hours. It was time to get out of there. She quickly turned and briskly walked away.

“SECURITY!” the woman yelled, still holding her stinging cheek. “SECURITY!”

Santiago’s high-heeled shoes echoed throughout the empty hallway as she rushed toward Fuller’s room. She glanced over her shoulder to see if anyone was following her. The place was quiet and eerie. Only every second light was on, making large pockets of shadows in the hallway.

It was late and Santiago was becoming more and more exhausted. She was unsure of her next move. But something had to be done. An innocent man couldn’t be left to die. And she would have to live with that for the rest of her life. If she could save one person from this crazy place, she would. But how?

Dr. Santiago finally made it to Fuller’s room and took a deep breath. Was she really going to do this?

She fumbled to get her keys out and juggle her box of effects.

The door slowly opened.

Fuller’s room was dark. Santiago silhouetted in the doorway.

Fuller’s eyes opened as she entered the room. He could smell her sweet scent, before she was seen.

He was strapped into his bed and hooked up to a drip. He was quietly excited to see Santiago.

“Michael,” she said, noticing the new welts and cuts to his face. “I came to give you these.” She removed the yellow envelope with his personal effects, placing it onto his bare chest.

“What’s this?”

Santiago looked down. Silent. Hesitant to answer.

Fuller noticed her box of junk. “You’re leaving?”

“The project is finished,” interrupted Santiago. “It’s time for me to move onto other things. I’ve got to go.”

She turned to leave. Fuller could feel his only hope of getting out of this place was just about to walk out the door. “Wait! Please… Please, let me go.”

Santiago paused in the doorway, fighting back tears. She was conflicted. Did she help this man? What would they do to her if she did? He could infect other people if he got out of there.

He was desperate. “Don’t leave me here. PLEASE!”

She couldn’t face him. She closed the door, locking it. She could hear his faint plea as she rushed off into the shadows.

“If you leave me, I will friggin’ die here,” he screamed.

***

Santiago gripped her steering wheel tightly. Her car sat alone in the underground parking lot. Her eyes burned as she fought back tears.

Her whole life had been dedicated to her work, even at the sacrifice of relationships and family. It meant everything. It was her cause. But this was different. These were the lives of innocent people. There was no turning back.

But even if she did rescue them, what would she do with a bunch of highly infected and extremely dangerous patients? This could create a pandemic unlike anything the world had seen. Maybe the pale-faced suits were right. She couldn’t take the risk of infecting others.

Helpless, confused and scared, Santiago nervously tapped the steering wheel with her thumbs. This was not what she had signed up for. This was all wrong.

Santiago wiped tears from her face and ran her fingers through her long dark hair, in an attempt to tidy and compose herself. She started the engine of her silver hatchback. But just as she was about to make her escape—out of nowhere Johnson suddenly stepped in front of her car. Her heart pounded as she instinctively jammed the brakes, even though the car was yet to move.

He looked like a mess. His tie was loosened, his shirt was half untucked. He had a half-empty bottle of red wine in his hand.

“Where you going, huh?” he said in a slurred voice. “We have to celebrate.”

Santiago climbed out of her seat, standing behind her open door. Johnson stumbled around to confront her. He took a swig of wine, wiping this mouth with the back of his hand.

He waved his finger at her. “You’ve taken things,” his breath stank of alcohol, “that don’t belong to you?”

“Go home, Marvin.”

Johnson let out a chuckle. “Why? It won’t make me feel any better.” He leaned in close to her face, almost touching noses. His foul breath mixed with hers. “You just couldn’t keep your mouth shut, could you? You stupid bitch!” He grabbed her hair, jerking back her head.

Santiago let out a scream—from shock and pain. She instinctively bent her knees to relieve tension on her neck.

Johnson leaned over her and looked into her eyes with his bloodshot eyes. “Do. You. Know. What—”

Santiago lashed out, kneeing him sharply in the groin before he could finish his sentence. He instantly dropped to his knees, releasing his grip on her hair—his face now as red as his eyes.

Unable to catch his breath, he desperately reached up with one hand, trying to grab onto her black, pencil skirt. His face still bright red with immense pain. She slapped his hand away.

Johnson coughed and sucked in some well-needed air.

Santiago struck him in the throat with the ridge of her hand; something her father had taught her when she was a teenager. Johnson crashed half into the open car, his upper body lying on the seat, his legs sprawled out onto the pavement.

***

Fuller awoke to someone in a red top standing over him. As his eyes focused he saw that it was Santiago. She threw a bottle of pills onto his stomach. “If I release you, you have to promise me you’ll take your medication consistently. No skipping when you feel like it. The pills are just a work-around, not a cure.”

Fuller nodded his head. He wasn’t sure what Santiago was up to, but if she was going to free him, he didn’t care what restrictions she put on him.

“If you so much as look at me the wrong way,” she said while undoing his straps, “I’ll kill you myself! You also might like to know that I just kicked Johnson’s ass.”

She brought a change of clothes for him and a box of medication, with at least fifty bottles of antipsychotic medication in it. Fuller popped a couple of tablets and chewed them as he started dressing.

Santiago nervously peaked out the door, anxious to escape. Fuller observed her anxious and nervous behavior. “What’s going on?” he inquired.

“The project is finished,” Santiago said, looking back over her shoulder at Fuller. “They’re cleaning up everything, including all infected patients.”

“That’s good,” Fuller said, taking his time straightening out his clothes. “I’m glad to get out of here.” Fuller was obviously clueless to what was going on.

“They’re going to kill you,” she said, “and the others.”

Fuller’s face immediately changed from relieved to distraught. They weren’t simply going to walk out the front door. She was breaking him out.

Fuller grabbed his personal items, pocketing his wallet and other items.

Fuller and Santiago briskly walked down the corridor. They tried to blend in as though they were supposed to be walking there—nice and relaxed. Santiago had put her white coat back on. Security cameras peered down on them, but no alarms were sounding and no security was coming after them.

So far so good.

As they rounded the corner, they stopped as two male nurses were unlocking one of the infected ones’ rooms. The nurses had a small medical cart with them. The extermination was about to begin. The two nurses hadn’t noticed Santiago and Fuller.

This was their path to freedom. The elevator doors were in sight. It wasn’t long before the nurses slipped inside the room. Santiago and Fuller made their move, dashing towards the elevator.

Santiago rapidly clicked the button to request the elevator. It was slow, and seemed even slower in their nervous wait. Every second counted. The distant sound of the elevator motor working echoed down into the hallway. It shouldn’t be long. Fuller glanced back down the corridor.

The piercing scream of a male nurse rushed through the deserted corridor. A male nurse flew through the doorway, crashing into the wall. Shirt covered in blood. Severe wounds covered his body. The nurse was surely dead. Fuller and Santiago looked on with fear and anticipation as Mr. Willard staggered out into the hallway, facing his latest victim. His skin looked as though it was peeling. Bed sores covered his body. He didn’t see them standing by the elevator at the end of the corridor, watching him.

Heart pounding, Santiago hit the button repeatedly to open the elevator doors. They could hear the clank of the elevator as it neared their floor. It was close, but not close enough. Santiago continued to click the button.

Willard slowly turned his head towards them. Hungry. His eye on the prize—dinner.

He was awkward and stiff. He stumbled a few steps toward them. Stopping to gain his balance.

His stumble gained momentum and turned into a run down the corridor.

In a panic, Santiago still hit the button rapidly, trying to get the elevator doors to open. It was taking too long.

Fuller dropped his box of pills to the ground. He was fixated on Willard. The large man was heavy-footed as he ran.

Fuller turned to face the attacker. He could feel the rage building inside himself. It was like two lions in the jungle, ready for a death battle. He knew it was time to tangle.

Fuller ran at Willard. They collided in the middle. Willard a mindless beast. No fight strategy—only to bite. Fuller shot for Willard’s waist to slow his attack, but the big man was like a freight train coming through. The two men crashed to the floor.

Fuller managed to get on top. He tried to subdue the beast. Punching Willard to the face. No effect. Willard couldn’t feel it.

The elevator doors
dinged
opened. Santiago slipped inside with Fuller’s box of pills.

Fuller jumped off and ran for elevator. Willard with his large girth took longer to raise himself off the floor and give chase. Santiago hit the button; parking lot level. The doors started to close. Fuller managed to slip inside, his shoulder clipping the closing door. Willard charged from behind. The doors sealed as Willard slammed into them. Santiago gasped. The elevator jolted and started going down.

Santiago could feel her heart thumping in her chest and head. She breathed heavily and sank into the corner of the elevator. You don’t mess with these people. She normally obeyed all the rules, but this was going far out there. She’d just released a vicious, infected patient and she was trapped in the elevator with him.
Was this man worth it?
Her morals were too high to just let the man die. She glanced at Fuller, who seemed to be in his own world—he leaned his back against the steel wall and stared at the numbers counting down above the door.

Fuller noticed her looking at him. He gave a small smile. He wasn’t sure why she was helping him, but he was glad to be getting away from there. He might get to see the sky and feel the warm sun again after all. It would feel good to be outside again, even if he was running for his life.
Need a plan and cash.
At least step one was almost complete; get as far away as possible. Now all they had to do was get out, lie low and withdraw a bunch of money. At least he probably wouldn’t have to force Santiago to withdraw the cash. Looked like she was now going to be fugitive instead of hostage. He also had his wallet back, thanks to her, so he could draw his savings as well. He’d been saving for a deposit on an apartment. Twenty thousand in the bank would buy them time. Time to work on a possible cure, time to get help—from someone. They just had to stay alive in the interim.

He gripped the box of drugs under his left arm. This was his new vice. He hated that he would have to rely on this drug to control his erratic behavior—but whatever it took.

The elevator came to a stop. The doors slowly opened. The lot was dark and empty. Santiago went to step out first to lead Fuller to her car, but Fuller blocked her, stopping her from calmly strolling into the empty space. It felt too easy. Were they really going to just walk out of there?

Fuller quickly scanned the area. It all seemed clear. Not a soul in sight. He slowly took a step out. Suddenly a loud whizzing noise cut through the air. Fuller jolted back into the elevator. A tear gas cartridge impacted his chest, knocking him on his ass. He curled up, winded.

The elevator quickly filled with the gas. A second cartridge soon followed, hitting the back wall. Santiago covered her head.

Tactical officers dressed in black rushed the elevator, moving in standard formation; crouched, guns raised.

Coughing, and with his arm covering his face, Fuller reached up and repeatedly hit the button to the ground floor. Santiago huddled in the corner, using part of her red top to cover her mouth and nose. Tears streamed from her eyes.

He rapidly tapped the button to close the doors. The doors closed as tactical officers held their positions. The elevator jolted, taking Fuller and Santiago up to ground level.

Santiago’s eyes burned. Fuller didn’t feel the pain but it made him cough and tear up. He glanced down at Santiago, still squatting in the corner. Her pain visible. Her throat on fire. She couldn’t see. She couldn’t breathe. Gas filled the entire elevator.

The doors opened on the ground floor. Gas poured out and wrapped around Fuller as he stepped out. He cautiously surveyed the area. No one seemed to be on this level. Most of the lights were off. It was the entrance to the building, with marble floors throughout, and a security desk near the big, glass front doors. Huge glass windows wrapped around the walls. It seemed more like the entrance of an upper class hotel than a medical research facility.