The dark green Global Delivery Services truck pulls up into the delivery pick-up and drop-off zone outside the office building. Trevor slides open his driver’s side door, grabs the overnight package from the passenger seat, and drops down to the asphalt below.
Briskly he enters the grey-toned building. This executive suite is one of his usual stopping points. With twelve different tenants, including lawyers, accountants, architects, and various other consultants and salespeople, he’s always picking something up, or dropping packages off.
Trevor approaches the reception desk. “Hey, Jess. Only one today.”
Jess is the usual greeter during business hours. She smiles. “Hey back. And I’ve got three for you. How’s the day treating you so far?”
“Not bad. Had one cranky one about half an hour ago, but otherwise, a very nice day.” Trevor starts the routine of logging the delivery and pick-up’s onto his e-pad.
“Everyone should be happy, the weather’s great.” Jess watches as she waits to give her signature. Trevor squeezes at his side and shows some discomfort despite attempts to hide it. “You OK?” she asks.
“Yeah, ulcers been acting up last few hours. Worse it’s been in month. Thought I had it under control.”
“You, an ulcer?” she asks with surprise. “Never would have guessed you have that much to worry about. Can I get you some water, or something?”
“That would be great.” Now that it’s out, he stops the guise and lets the discomfort show more. He takes short, measured breaths. Jessie stands to go to the back room to grab a bottled water usually reserved for clients. “I’m just going to have a seat. I’ll be fine in a minute.”
When Jess returns opening the bottle as she walks, “Here’d you go…”
Trevor’s sitting in the waiting area, but leaning forward in his chair, arms wrapped around his belly. His distressed breath is getting louder and faster in pace.
“You want me to call 911?” He doesn’t answer. Jess jogs around her burgundy receptionist’s desk out to the open waiting area. She places the water bottle on the end table and kneels down next to him. “Trevor? What’s wrong?” She places her hand on his back. His dark green uniform is damp with sweat. She notices he’s trembling as if a fever.
At that moment, one of her tenants, an accountant, comes down the open stairway and enters the waiting area. Jess looks up with visible concern. Never seen someone “crash” so quickly. “Call 911!”
The accountant flips open his phone as he calls 911 and races to join them. Not sure what to say yet other than “Help. Send someone quick.”
She wonders if it’s really his ulcer. Her mind races through all the possible options wondering what she should do. Appendicitis, food poisoning, the flu. What’s going on?
***
The pale looking man sits waiting at the bus station. Sick or not, he finds these benches highly uncomfortable.
The young man, a college student hasn’t been talking very good care of himself. Between working full time and school and eating lousy, his nagging cold won’t just go away. It’s stuck in his lungs. The campus health center hasn’t been much help. He’s hopping the bus back home to get some care just like the old days. His mother will meet him at the other end of the bus line. Wasn’t able to come and get him and not up to driving himself.
His boss told him his job will be waiting for him, just get well. Too sick to be around the customers anyways.
The loud speaker announces, “Bus Number 49 to Lexington Lexington
The young man stands up, throws his bag over his shoulder, and walks toward the open doors leading to a bus with its engine already running. A strong breeze blows through the opened doors. In his current state, doesn’t feel as good as it should.
Within a minute he’s falling into a window seat on the right side of the bus, bag in his lap. Wants to keep his water and cold remedies close by. As he notes that these seats are a lot more comfortable than the benches in the station, he leans up against the side of the bus, his head resting against the cold window. Once they get going he’ll see how far the seat leans back, if at all.
The bus is about half full. By the time it pulls away from the bus station the young man is sound asleep, head still resting against the glass. He doesn’t notice the commotion.
As the bus pulls out of the driveway it turns down the road. Everyone on the left side of the bus notices the police car, lights flashing, pulling into the parking lot of the credit union across the street. It stops in the middle of the lot, keeping distance from the front doors, but definitely a clear line of sight.
The bus passengers don’t notice the bleeding man crawling down to the end of the walkway. Probably could stand, but is trying to keep a low profile. Never saw what the gunman looked like, or where he was.
As the two policemen get out of the car, guns already drawn, Stephanie, who had been hiding between two cars, runs to the one on the passenger side, cell phone still in hand. She had been giving info to 911 as she waited. She starts to debrief the officer.
Meanwhile, the other police officer defensively runs to the injured assistant super market manager, wraps an arm around him, and guides him to safety behind the parker police car.
As the bus continues down the road towards the highway onramp, a second police car races past them, lights and sirens engaged.
***
When the pink clad nurse’s assistant entered the room she noticed both patients inside were asleep. Rare for these two, but maybe it was a big lunch so now they’re both napping.
The first patient is a man in his mid 50’s, advanced stages of cancer. The second man in the bed closest to the window is much younger and the cancer’s not as advanced, but both are likely to die from it. Neither of them are currently able to take care of themselves. That’s why they’re here.
The young woman approaches the head of the nearest hospital bed. She places a tray on his nightstand. The man is very still. “Mr. Kline, it’s time for your medication. Hate to wake you up but it’s time.” Her voice is gentle, but loud enough to wake him up.
Mr. Kline’s eyes jolt open. They’re slightly dilated. He gasps a thick liquid breath. He’s got the expression of a man who’s seen his tragic death arrive. “Mr. Kline?” she asks, and then hollers towards the open doorway for help, “Jackie!”
The second patient on the far side of the room sits straight up in, a pained expression as well.
Mr. Kline reaches for the young lady as she leans in, getting a firm hold of her forearm. “Help!” She not very experienced in this sort of thing, but obviously something’s wrong. The other patients she’s seen die haven’t got out this way.
Just as Jackie enters the room she sees Mr. Kline sink his teeth into the meatier part of her palm. She screams just as much out of surprise as she does out of pain. “Jennifer!”
Jackie tries to pry Mr. Kline’s teeth off of her young friend, but he’s locked on tight. She notices the second patient in bed 2 swing his legs over the side and lean towards them in bed 1. She thinks to herself, “Great, he can help us.”
The second patient has a glassy stair. He lets out a moan as stale air releases from his lungs.
***
Inside the credit union Steve pauses from his steady series of gunfire. He surveys what he’s done. He seems sad, but resigned.
Laying a few feet from Steve, Charles still clutches his thigh. From the severe blood loss he speculates that something major was hit. He’s starting to feel cold. The trembling he assumes is from fear. Next to him are two more bodies, a man and a woman. He’s not sure their condition. Can’t focus enough to notice any more bodies, but he does hear some crying and whimpering from various corners and work stations around the credit union. The phone begins to ring, but goes unanswered.
Charles says a rare, quiet prayer in his mind.
Outside, the injured assistant super market manager is placed into the back of an ambulance which has pulled up along the curb. A paramedic has already looked him over and stopped the bleeding enough for transport. He wants the hell out of this place and feels relieved once they begin to move.
By this point it’s been more than 10 minutes. Four police cars, a second ambulance, a paramedic vehicle, and fire truck have all responded encircling the parking lot. A few local and freelance reporters are beginning to arrive. The locals and other sightseers are keeping their distance but lining up with their cell phone camera to record the excitement.
Across the street a second bus pulls out of the parking lot. This one will be going south once it makes a slight detour to get around the commotion. Life must go on and there are schedules to keep.
Behind one of the police cars the police captain crouches. He’s put out a call to borrow a SWAT team from any of the larger cities in the region, but sure wishes he had his own. His ten guys are good, but hostage situations and workplace shootings are out of the ordinary. Only seven of his ten are even available and on-duty right now.
A second officer kneels next to him. “Still no answer from inside.”
“Keep trying. We need to find out what’s going on in there.” The credit union windows are tinted and many of the blinds are partially drawn. “Let me know when we get some info on the ex-husband. Anything. See if we can get his cell number.”
Back inside the phone rings for what seems the fiftieth time to Charles. He lets go of his leg as he no longer has the strength. As he loosens up he notices some movement back towards the loan officer’s desk. He’s now pretty much flat against the ground. He’s giving up.
The ex-wife stands up where she had collapsed five minutes earlier. Her blue blouse looks pretty much black now, stained with her blood. Pale, she lets out a gurgle. Steve hears the noise and walks back from the far end of the credit union. He’s reloaded with fresh clips.
Seeing his ex-wife he pauses. “Val!” He hasn’t lost her after all. She stiffly walks in his direction. Charles continues to watch from his vantage point.
With his handguns loosely hanging at his side. “I’m sorry, but you just never understood.” She does not respond, just keeps walking. “I didn’t think it’d go this like this.”
Val lunges for Steve, hands outreached, her artificial nails attaching to his neck. He stumbles back more under the surprise than under her weight. He’s twice her size. Val takes a bite out of the soft tissues of Steve’s neck. He howls in pain.
The last thing to go through Charles’ mind as he slips into darkness is “Good for her.”
***
Trevor slides off the chair to the ground and starts to convulse for about ten seconds before coming to rest. Jessie and a few more of the tenants are by his side. “Where’s the ambulance?!” she asks probably for the tenth time. He’s still not moving.
She doesn’t know him well other than his 30 second visits everyday, but her eyes start to tear. Suddenly he stirs again and turns his body so he’s lying flat on the ground. Trevor’s eyes open. Slightly glazed.
“Are you OK?” she asks.
Trevor sits up calmly, turns to Jess, leans in, and bites her on the cheek. The room erupts in confusion and disbelief. Some of the tenants observing the events take several steps back, while others grab at Trevor to pull him away from Jess. He bites and claws at their arms as they struggle to hold him down.
The virus spreads.
***
The pair of police officers crouch behind their police car in the street blocking traffic from passing by the besieged credit union. They await orders.
Suddenly behind them they hear a scream. “Help!” It comes from the nursing home behind them, the one across the street from the credit union. “Help us!”
Both men pivot around, weapons poised, but not aimed in her direction. A nurse has stumbled out of the nursing home, blood on her face and bare arms. She’s hysterical.
“Now what the hell?” ponders one of the officers out loud. “Go check it out, see what happened to her, and be careful in case the gunman has an accomplice across the street.”
“Got it,” answers the younger man less than thrilled. Shotgun in hand he darts across the road, over the sidewalk, through a small hedge, and into the nursing home’s parking lot. By this point, a few onlookers who had been hiding out in the parking lot watching the events at the credit union have also responded to the injured nurse.
The group gathers around the nurse who is know kneeling on the walkway leading to the front door. She’s staring at her own hands.
“Tell me what’s happened,” demands the young officer. “Are you injured?”
“They’re attacking us. They’re all attacking.” The nurse shakes her head as she speaks.
“Looks like she’s been bitten on her hands and fingers,” says one of the onlookers.
“The back of her neck too,“ says another.
“Quiet!” demands the officer. “Who’s attacking?”
After a pause. “Our patients. Mrs. Munoz. Al.” The nurse speaks with tragic disbelief. “Mr. White.”
The young officer looks towards the front glass doors. “Look after her here. Do not follow.” He re-thinks his request. “In fact, take her carefully over to one of the ambulances over there in the street.” She should be able to walk with just bites. “Tell them what you’ve seen and that I’m checking out the home.” He’d normally wait for back-up, but they’re all busy with the credit union.
As the young officer cautiously maneuvers towards the front door, he grabs his radio, shotgun still in hand. “A woman’s been bit several times. Bad enough to draw blood. Says the patients attacked her. Very scared so something’s going on. I’ll check it out and keep you updated. I’ll let you know if I need back-up.”
***
The ambulance door pops open to awaiting nurses and orderlies. They slide the stretcher out as the legs string open. On the stretcher is the super market assistant manager. One of the paramedics speaks first. “He was doing fine when we left the credit union, but he just passed out when we pulled up.”
The nurses go to work as he’s quickly wheeled inside the emergency room. A doctor joins them and is immediately updated on his status. Still unconscious.
Inside he’s lifted off of the stretcher and placed on an examination table. Still no response to the movement, still no reaction to anything they do to prompt a reaction.
“No external blood loss anymore. Could be internal bleeding.”
“Body temp is dropping.”
“Call up to prepare an O.R.”
“Bullet seems to have gone clean through.”
“Pulse is faint, and very erratic.”
The assistant manager begins to shiver as if a fever, but it quickly upgrades to convulsing. The paramedic who brought him steps back and watches until the second paramedic, the driver, runs up behind him. “We’re wanted back at the crime scene. More injured.” They both dash off.
***
The young police officer enters the nursing home. The waiting room is empty and quiet except for the bubbling of the aquarium meant to provide a relaxing effect. It smells like so many nursing homes. He turns to the right to proceed down the central hallway. The main receptionist desk appears unmanned.
Then, just passed the receptionist desk, he sees two legs sticking out from another intersecting hallway. In a cautious voice, “Hello, … Ma’am.” The woman’s legs kick against nothing.
The officer takes three steps forward while his eyes scan the central hallway before him for any threat. When he looks down he sees the most frightening sight of his young life.
Kneeling above the plump nurse’s head is a pajama clad male patient leaning over, clawing at and chewing at her bloodied face and neck.
“Back off!” demands the officer. No reaction, not even a twitch. Within a moment the officer swings his shotgun around, butt end first, and rams the weapon down onto the back off the patient’s head.
Pausing, the patient finally looks up at the officer, “Uhnn!” Assuming that’s in disagreement, the officer hits him with the shotgun a second time, this time, butt end to forehead. The patient falls backward. He appears very skinny and sickly. The officer wonders how he had the strength to do this. The patient looks at him intently. He’s got something new to pursue.
The patient pivots back onto his knees as the officer holds his ground. He shifts his weight and lunges for the peacekeeper as he flips the shotgun back around. With inches to spare he pulls the trigger.
The gunfire booms through nursing home attracting many ears. The patient, hit squarely in his thin, withered neck, falls backwards. His head is almost detached.
Meanwhile, a couple of the officers hear the shotgun sound behind them from the direction of the nursing home. They notify their remaining partners and then run to assist, leaving even fewer officers to attend to the credit union. They try to reach the young officer on his radio but he doesn’t answer.
Back inside, the officer puts pressure on the neck wounds of the still twitching nurse. “Ma’am, can you hear me? Hang on, I’ll get you help.” Hearing the voices on his radio he knows some help is on the way.
***
Suddenly the assistant manager’s hand grips one of the nurse’s wrists in an iron vice. “We’ve got something,”she says a little startled.
The man, in his late thirty when he died, sits up with a calmness as if awakening. With a compromised immune system from fighting the gunshot wound the virus he just picked up across town has a chance to work quickly. With his free hand he quickly grabs onto the doctor standing over him, digging his fingers into the man’s neck. The assistant manager gurgles as he opens his mouth as wide as possible. Some dark red stagnant blood runs from the corner of his mouth.
The emergency room bursts into chaos. Half the room seems to run to the nurse’s aid, trying to pry his hold of her wrist, while the other half works on freeing the doctor. The more who get within range, the more damage he inflicts.
He pulls the nurse’s arm to his face biting her thumb nearly off from her hand. She screams in agony as emergency codes go out over the loud speakers throughout the hospital.
Another bite to the arm of an orderly.
The doctor falls to the ground grasping the raw gashes to his neck.
Another man makes the mistake of trying to come from behind to get him in a headlock. The assistant manager reflexively clamps down on the soft flesh of the inside bend of his elbow. Letting him loose, the dead man slides from the examination table and onto his feet.
A brave nurse, small in stature, standing on the other side of the table leans in across it stabbing the assistant manager in the back with a hypodermic needle and enough sedative to knock out three men. Once the drugs are released into his system she retreats to safety. He does not feel the stab, nor does he seem to react or even begin to slow down. In fact, doesn’t even notice the injection.
Another bite, this time to the neck of another man trying to restrain the attacker. The attempt to restrain is futile since he registers no pain. With so many choices the dead man lets go and lunges for another.
An older woman, a physical therapist from upstairs, responding to the commotion picks up the phone and dials 911, but it’s busy.
Frustrated and scared a young male intern grabs a janitor’s mop from its bucket and charges the attacker. Leading with the handle end he rams him in his stomach pushing him back up against a once sterile ER wall. He holds him there pinned just out of the reach of his outstretched arms. He tries to claw at the young doctor, but can’t quite reach.
He waits and waits expecting the assistant manager to die, or weaken, but he keeps struggling against the mop, impaled, but hardly affected. This gives everyone a chance to catch their breath as he remains pinned.
Meanwhile, the nurse holding her badly bitten thumb tightly to her stomach is helped onto another examination table by a fellow nurse. She’s starting to go into shock. The doctor with the clawed neck stumbles over to her, a towel clutched to his wounds.
More hospital personnel flood in the ER. For those who witnessed the attack, they know something’s wrong. He wasn’t just another out of control drug addict. The movement and reaction was different. For those just now arriving, it’s just confusion.
Angered, one of the men, an orderly with a bitten arm, picks up a metal case from a nearby shelf. “OK, asshole!” Lifting the case shoulder height charges in on his attacker, he crashes the case into the face of the dead man. “How about that?”
Bloodied with a badly broken nose, the assistant manager hisses at him as if hungry. He is still pinned with the mop. A second man is now helping leverage the wet end of the mop keeping in perpendicular to the wall. The orderly hits him a second and third time with the heavy equipment case. The skull is fracturing but he’s still moving.
“Stop,” cries an outraged senior doctor who just entering the room. “What’s going on here?”
The orderly turns to the doctor, anger in his eyes, pumped with elevated levels of adrenaline, a byproduct of the new virus introduced into his system. He turns back to the dead man and with his full weight behind each blow he hits him with the case a fourth, fifth, sixth, and then seventh time. He hollers with rage with each attack.
By this time, a sizable pool of blood has gathered at the foot of the once friendly man. The skull is crushed. Letting up pressure on the mop his body crumples to the ground.
“My God,” cries the senior doctor. The rest of the room reacts with fear, relief, anger, confusion.
After a moment more of disbelief, the room shifts into trauma care mode. The injured are examined and treatment begun. The confused are debrief by those who witnessed the whole event. Tears are now shed once it seems to be over. Blood is sponged away from scratches and bits.
What’s not known is that within five minutes four more victims of violence will succumb to the virus in their blood stream and that within twenty minutes, more than 30 doctors, nursed, and other hospital staff will roam the hallways terrorizing patients, visitors, and the remaining personnel. The police will never arrive.
***
Still holding the neck of the injured nurse, the young officer explains what he knows to the two newly arrived uniformed men. “He was eating her face. I hit him with my shotgun … but he came for me so I shot him.” He pauses, “I had to…”
“Keep it together,” says one of the policeman. “We’ll get this all figured out.”
“Hey, look.” The second new policeman motions down the hallway. The two men look to see as a few more patients, nurses, and even one visitors to the home emerge from several doorways. At first two, then three, and quickly six. The young officers is still compressing the nurse’s wounds.
“Everyone stop!” orders the older officer. “Everyone down on the ground!” No one responds. They all still continue down the hallway. Some faster than others, some shuffling, some with a more natural gate.
“Hey!” The two officers look down to see the young officer prying his hand out of the nurse’s clutched teeth. Her eyes are now fully open and her skin is deathly white from the blood loss, but she is fully awake. “Let go!” Holding her neck, the meat of his palm was right there for her to grab onto.
The oldest officer stares in disbelief at the sight, as the second new officer looks back around to see one of the patients has taken to a full awkward gallop. He’s aiming directly at them.
Raising his handgun the officer fires. The first bullet hits in the patient’s shoulder while a second shot misses. He pulls off another pair of shots. This time he’s hit in the chest and collarbone. He slows barely, but has still covered the ground between the two men. They fall to the ground in a struggle.
The older officer turns his attention away from the young officer whose still struggling with the nurse to the third officer. He raises his gun and fires twice into the side of the patient who is only three to four feet away from him. He doesn’t seem to notice so he fires once into the side of the patient’s head making sure not to hit his partner. The dead body flops over and off of the bloodied officer.
Five more afflicted continue down the hallway in their direction.
***
A quarter of a mile from the credit union a quiet 3 bedroom home erupts in excitement.
“Mom. Mom!”
Mom leaves the kitchen where she just loaded the dishwasher and then walks into the living room. She hears some commotion from down the hallway. It’s her daughters talking. “What are you two doing now?” She turns the corner.
Both girls, one eight and the other eleven, are holding onto the doorknob of Grandma’s bedroom door. With their full weight they’re keeping it from being opened from the inside.
“What’s going on?” She hears a scratch at the door.
The eight year old speaks first. “Grandma’s acting funny.”
“Real weird,” confirms the older sibling. There seems to be a kick at the door just then.
“What’s making that noise?” asks Mom. “Do you have the dog locked in there with her? Grandma’s trying to sleep.” Meanwhile the dog is cowering outside in it’s favorite hiding spot in the bushes. It knows something’s not right.
The eight year old speaks again, still holding tightly onto the doorknob. “I went in to check on her like you always ask me too. She wasn’t moving at all so I went closer. She wasn’t breathing well so I called Tamra.”
“Yeah, she didn’t look right then she started to move and moan. We both ran to the doorway and she got out of bed and followed us.” The door only locks on the inside.
“Quit playing games. Your Grandmother hasn’t been out of bed without help in two months. She…” Mom pauses as there’s more scratching and some moaning from the other side of the door. It’s not the dog. “Here, let me. I need to see what’s wrong with her.” Mom moves towards the door.
“No, it’s not safe,” insists Tamra, the eleven year old. “She…hissed at us...like a vampire.”
“Stop it!” Mom releases their four little from around the doorknob. “Quit trying to scare me.” She opens the door and quickly hits something standing immediately on the other side.
The two girls knowing when they’ve been outranked step being their Mom and then keep going. Grabbing their mother’s cell phone from near her purse they run across the living room to the front door. They unlock it, open the door, and take their place in the open doorway. “I’m calling Dad,” says Tamra.
***
A few more blocks away, at a local strip mall, a man is collapsed. The location is a fitness center, part of a national chain.
At the foot of one of the treadmills lays a man in his late fifties. He’s wearing basketball shorts and a grey t-short. His hair is died not quiet the right shade. He’s clutching his chest and has the look or agony on his face. Several employees and other club members have run to his aid.
One of the other customers has already dialed 911 on their cell phone. She was on hold for maybe thirty seconds.
While running on the treadmill he grabbed his chest, stumbled off the back of it, and fell to the ground. He felt fine earlier today when he left work for an extended lunch break. He stopped off at Subway for a quick lunch, went and got some cash from the credit union, and then came here for a quick work out. He’s been feeling the whole time until he broke a sweat on the treadmill.
One of the senior trainers from the fitness center kneels over the distressed client. “Everyone back. Get me that automatic heart thing from over on the wall.” The receptionist reacts first.
The man isn’t reacting to any of the trainer’s requests and doesn’t answer any of his questions. He positions him so he’s flat against the hard linoleum floor. His skin is becoming pale. He’s starts chest compressions as he hope’s he doing the right thing for this given situation. He runs through his memories of the classes he took years ago.
The man’s not moving except with the motion of the chest compressions.
Finally the female customer gets a live person on her line. She starts to give the info she knows to the 911 operator.
Next the fitness instructor puts a couple of fingers in the man’s mouth to clear his breathing passage and starts “mouth-to-mouth” the best he remembers. As he alternates between chest compressions and breathing, about three rounds of each, he finally gets nerve to try the automatic defibrillator.
Nothing. No reaction. He doesn’t jump up like in the movies.
“Shit!” The fitness trainer is genuinely scared and over his head. “Got to keep trying.” Back to CPR. He starts with chest compressions again, and then goes back to breathing. The man’s skin feels cold to the touch as he opens his jaw to re-start “mouth-to-mouth.”
Suddenly, the heart attack victim’s eyes roll open. It gives a little hope to the surrounding crowd of nine patrons and employees. It quickly turns to confusion and shock.
As the physical fitness trainer leans in, not yet noticing the open eyes, the man lifts his head and with a mouth that already gapping open bites the man’s jaw, scrapping off some skin. He screams in pain, and out of a lot of surprise, as he stands up and jumps back from the newly awakened dead man.
