Bitten

BITTEN

a
Resurrection Thriller

Tristan Vick

Hungry
Word Publications presents Bitten: A Resurrection Thriller.

Copyright © 2013
by Tristan Vick. All Rights Reserved.

www.tristanvick.com

Bitten: A Resurrection Thriller (Deluxe Edition): April 2013

Cover and book design:
Streetlight Graphics

All rights reserved. This eBook is licensed for the personal enjoyment of the original purchaser only. This eBook may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you are reading this eBook and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This book is a work of fiction. All of the characters and events portrayed in the novel are products of the author’s imagination and are fictitious. Any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

This book is dedicated to my brother.

Who hates zombies.

MENACING SNARLS FILLED THE CLAUSTROPHOBIC kennels while the ammonia rich smell of urine stung the insides of Alyssa Briggs’ nostrils. She cringed. The smell was bad enough but the racket was even worse. The cages rattled all around her as she pushed herself up against the kennel wall. The cold concrete sent chills across her shoulder blades as she scraped along it. Overhead the pulsating glow of a dying fluorescent light flickered, revealing the jagged jowls and razor sharp canines snapping at her from behind enclosed bars, as she slid past. A crimson smear of blood trailed behind her and glistened on the floor from her leg wound. The beasts caught the scent of her blood and the horrid sound of rabid growling intensified.

Si
tting with her back to the wall her eardrums filled with the pounding of her own pulse. Sweat stains saturated her gray tank top and dark red seeped into her denim jeans. Alyssa desperately tried not to make eye contact with the dark beady eyes that ravenously watched her. She didn’t want to excite their carnal fury any further than she already had.

The dogs were all mad. The Lyssavirus Rhabdoviridae, more commonly known as rabies, had already consumed them. The virus boiled their brains away, literally, which made t
hem feral and vicious. But they were the least of her concerns.

With a loud hiss and pop
the fluorescent bulb overhead unexpectedly blew itself out. The short caused the fuse to blow too and the whole room went dark.

“Great, now the flippin’ power is gone too!” Alyssa cursed.

In the dark, amid the madness and noise, she could barely make out the scraping sound coming from the hallway. Peering through the dark Alyssa took out her smart phone and used it as a makeshift flashlight. She didn’t have much time. Using the dim glow of her phone, she searched around for a weapon. Something blunt would do. Anything she could use to defend herself with.

Brushing strands of dark brown hair out of her eyes, she
squinted as what appeared to be a metal container sitting in the corner of the room. She could scarcely make it out, but it had big red letters written on the side. Letters that read: “First Aid Kit.”

It must be Dr. Beckford’s old travel kit, she thought.
Alyssa reached over to grab it but lost her balance in the dark and fell onto her side. Crashing to the floor, her cell phone slipped out of her hand and slid up against one of the cages.

“Dammit,” she whispered. S
he timidly reached over for it but her fingers were met by snapping jowls. Recoiling from fright Alyssa seriously considered leaving it. She would have to, if she didn’t need it so badly. Mustering up enough courage she made a second attempt and successfully retrieved the phone.

Using her arms she dragged herself to the kit
and unlatched the metal clasps. Opening the lid, she held her phone up and used its dim glow to see the contents. Rummaging through the first-aid kit she found some disinfectant, gauze, a needle and thread, and a long pair of metal scissors. She also found a fluorescent orange flare gun. Feeling it might come in handy she tucked the gun into her pants waistline.

The loss of blood was beginning to make Alyssa feel faint. She had to hurry. Using the scissors, she c
arefully slid the blade under the tear in the denim jeans and cut off the tattered pants leg. Discarding the blood soaked strips of denim, she gritted her teeth and poured hydrogen peroxide onto the wound. Wincing from the pain, Alyssa felt like screaming as the peroxide sizzled and foamed around the gash in her leg. The searing pain caused her eyes to well up with a flood of tears which squeezed themselves from the corners of her eyelids.

The cut was deeper than she
thought. Taking the needle and thread she carefully stitched up the wound by the faint glow of her smart phone. The funny thing was, as she pushed the slender needle through her flesh, there wasn’t that much pain. She must be experiencing mild shock, she thought.

Getting herself stitched up
she tied off the thread and then poured another dose of peroxide onto her leg just to be safe. It fizzled less this time but the throbbing in her leg was about the same. Finally, she wrapped the medical gauze around her upper thigh and synched it tight.

Out in the hall the scraping noise drew nearer,
which excited the dogs and made their frenzied barking even louder. Practically unbearable.

Snatching up
the scissors Alyssa slid back up against the concrete wall. Using it for support she slowly rose up onto her own two feet. Shuffling along the wall, she took a few steps to test her leg. Even though her leg wound throbbed like a son of a bitch, the mending job held. Good, she thought. At least now she’d have a fighting chance.

Turing toward the door to the entrance of the kennel, Alyssa’s heart sunk in her chest. She dreaded
what she had to do next. She was only twenty three years old. She didn’t want to die. Not today. The only problem was there was no other way out. She had to go back the way she came. She had to go back out there ...
with him.

Looking attentively at the small
rectangular window that sat in the middle of the door, Alyssa suddenly screamed as the doctor’s mutilated face appeared from behind the small pane of glass.

Alyssa slammed back up against the cold, clammy, concrete wall in alarm. She gulped down the scream which fought to get out, but she knew it would only excite the dogs, which in turn would only excite the doctor.
Dr. Beckford’s face appeared as though he had been mauled by a rabid animal. Alyssa had seen a similar case when she was in Veterinarian school and had to treat a bear attack victim.

What was left of
the doctor’s face was torn to ribbons. Shredded face meat dangled from what was left of his cheek and chin. Without warning he slammed his body against the door. This excited the madness and noise of the animals even further. Alyssa shuddered as she suffered listening to Dr. Beckford’s mindless growling on top of theirs.

Dr. Beckford’s teeth were ripe with blood, but it was his eyes which really unnerved her. Those milky white eyes, as if a fog had rolled over them, looked so unnatural. So cold and vacant. The door jerked
open with a sudden force but the broom which Alyssa had conveniently wedged into the door handle caught on the steel kennels and prevented the doctor from getting in. His arm stretched through the small crevice and he reached around for her. His blood stained fingers, bent and crooked, clawed at her. Gripping the scissors tight in both hands, Alyssa stepped back.

“What happened to you?” she
asked the doctor, fighting to hold back the tears. But instead of a reply Dr. Beckford simply growled and took another swipe at her.

“Please…” Alyssa pleaded. “You have to stop this!”

“GraHhhh!” snarled the doctor, with a timely albeit suspiciously vacant reply.

Alyssa slowly raised the lon
g silver blades of the scissors. She had no choice. Just then the broom stick snapped and the door flew open. Alyssa met Dr. Beckford’s lunge with her own. With all her might, Alyssa slammed the scissors straight into the doctor’s left eye. The long blades went straight through his eye socket and pierced his brain with a wet sounding slosh. His outreached arms abruptly fell limp and Alyssa pushed his lethargic body to the side.

Escaping into the hallway, Alyssa paused
for a moment to catch her breath. Her heart raced with an equal blend of adrenaline and fear. Looking back into the kennel, she covered her mouth and smothered a horror filled gasp. The doctor was sitting on the floor, slumped over, with scissors hanging out of his face. She couldn’t believe what she had done.

“I’m sorry,” she said
out loud. “Oh, God, I’m so sorry.”

Alyssa limped
back to the front of the clinic and picked up the phone. She tried to dial 911, but all she got was the disconnect tone. The phones were down too.

Alyssa didn’t know what to do, so she decided to leave
the clinic. She’d leave the animals in their cages until she could come back for them. Limping back down the hallway, Alyssa’s adrenaline helped mask the pain in her leg. She barely even noticed it. Turning the corridor, she made her way toward the crack of light seeping through the exit at the end of hall. Suddenly, from behind her she heard a beastly growling.

The hairs prickled on the back of her neck from fright as she slowly turned around to see a massive Rottweiler Labrador mix eyeing her with
ravenous eyes. The rabid dog had somehow escaped his cage.

Baring its
teeth the dog growled then let out an angry sounding bark. Alyssa screamed as the dog began to run straight toward her. She knew she couldn’t outrun it, not on her bum leg, so she pulled out the flare gun. It was all she had on her.

Practically upon her
the snarling beast got ready to leap up and attack. Grimacing, Alyssa looked away and quickly pulled the trigger and shot out a hot orange flare. She meant it to be a warning shot but it pelted the dog straight in its side and then ricocheted off. The dog crashed to the ground with a whimper and passed out.

“Shit!” exclaimed Alyssa. “That did not go as planned.”

The fire quickly grew out of control. Orange flames licked the walls and climbed up to the ceiling as they slowly consumed the clinic. Alyssa turned and hobbled to the rear exit and escaped the burning building.

As the door slammed shut behind her, she contemplated going back to save the other animals, but with the recent rabies outbreaks, she wasn’t sure that was such a good idea. It was a horrible way to die, getting
burned alive, but in her condition there was no way she could save them in time.

Standing outside,
Alyssa looked around for help, but was nobody in sight. She stumbled down the steps down to the back parking lot and looked for anyone who might be driving to work. Still nothing. There was no sound of fire engines wailing. No sounds of emergency vehicles of any kind. Not even the twitter of birds chirping. Just dead silence. Alyssa didn’t like it. Not one little bit. She worried the nightmare was only just beginning.

HECTOR RAMIREZ SWALLOWED HARD. HIS throat was raw and it hurt. He wanted to go home, like the time he had his tonsils taken out and his mom boug
ht him his favorite ice cream. But instead he had to sit in front of Principal Sanders’ office. Stupid Mike Laurie bit him. So he punched Mike and gave him a bloody nose. Then stupid Rebecca Miller freaked out and screamed. Mike just ran off. He didn’t stop running either. He just ran away from school. Now the police were searching for him and everyone thought it was all Hector’s fault.

Michel
le Jensen, the school secretary, came over to Hector and knelt down beside him. Placing her hand on his shoulder, she looked him in the eyes and said, “Principal Sanders will see you now. Are you ready to talk with him about what happened?”

Hector liked Mrs. Jens
en. She was friendly. She smelled good too. Not only that, but she was the most beautiful girl at his school. His mom was beautiful too, but he didn’t like his mom like he liked Mrs. Jensen.

“You don’t have to go in right now if you don’t want to,” she added. “You can think for a while longer, if you’d like.”

“No, I’m ready.” Hector smiled and took Mrs. Jensen’s extended hand.

“What a brave young man,” she said
with encouragement.

Hector harbored a secret crush on Mrs. Jensen. His first one. Although he didn’t dare tell
anyone about it. Especially his mom. She would tease him relentlessly if she found out. Hector always teased him about the things she thought were irresistibly cute. Usually he didn’t mind, but he would simply die if his mom said anything to Mrs. Jensen about it.

He was going to tell Rebecca Miller
about his secret crush at recess but she ratted him out. So he decided he would keep it a secret, at least for now.

Mark Sanders, the principal of Newcastle Middle School, looked sternly at Hector over the rectangul
ar rims of his reading glasses. Folding his hands together and leaning back in his chair, he asked, “Do you want to tell me what happened at recess, Hector?”

Hector looked over at Mrs. Jensen who stood off to the
corner. She winked at him, as if to say not to worry. Hector turned back toward Mr. Sanders and nodded a simple ‘yes’.

“I was playing tether ball at recess and Mike Laurie was next, but when I served the ball Mike just stood there. Then the ball hit him in the face and he got angry at me
.”

“How do you know he was angry with you, Hector?”

“Because he ran up and bit me on the arm. I told him to stop, but he wouldn’t let go. So I screamed and pulled his hair, but he still wouldn’t let go. It was like he wanted to eat me.”

“Hector, please, let’s not exaggerate. Just stick to the facts. So what happened after Mike Laurie bit you?”

“I punched him on the nose.”

“It sounds like it was
self-defense,” Mrs. Jensen chimed in. She shot Hector a wink and smiled. Her smile let him know that she had his back no matter what.

Mr. Sanders frowned at
Mrs. Jensen’s obvious taking sides, but she didn’t seem to notice, or else, didn’t care.

“Yes, well, even so it is still a form of violence,”
Mr. Sanders stated looking at Mrs. Jensen. Turning toward Hector with a furrowed brow, Principal Sanders continued, “I do not tolerate violence at my school. We only use it as a last resort.”

“But what if someone bites you Mr. Sanders? What would you do
then?” asked Hector.

Mr. Sanders
sat forward in his big leather office chair, put his elbows on the desktop and his chin on his hands, and chewed on the question for a moment. “Well, I’d probably push him away.”

“But what if he wouldn’t let go? What if he just kept biting you?”

Mrs. Jensen shot Mr. Sanders a devious smile. “Yeah, Mark. What if he just kept biting and wouldn’t let go?”

“Well,
if that happened I’d probably be forced to defend myself.”

“Would you punch
him on the nose?” Hector asked.

“I might, but only as a last resort. There are better ways to resolve conflicts. Do you understand, Hector?”

Hector nodded that he understood and scratched his arm. His arm itched horribly all around the area where stupid Mike Laurie had bitten him.

Mr. Sanders continued to give him a stern look, but then took notice of t
he redness around the wound. This worried him. He knew that Hector’s mom was an attorney and didn’t want to risk getting sued over an oversight involving an infection.

Looking
up at Mrs. Jensen with a concerned glance, Mr. Sanders said, “Be sure to take Hector to the school nurse and have that bite mark on his arm checked out.”

Mrs. Jensen motioned for Hector to come over to her, so he did. She
ruffled up his soft brown hair with her fingers and smiled at him. Hector liked it when she did that.

“Come with me, Hector.”
Mrs. Jensen guided him out of the office. Hector looked back at Mr. Sanders who was now blowing on his glasses and wiping the steamy lenses off with his floral patterned neck tie.

“Come on,” said Mrs. Jensen. “Let’s go get you
checked up.”

Rac
hael Ramirez checked her watch. “Dammit,” she cursed under her breath. The meeting with her client had run long. What should have been a simple briefing on a settlement turned into an entire renegotiation.

Rachael’s client was an obnoxious thirty-eight
year old drama queen named Jennifer Hurley. Jennifer was plotting to take her soon to be ex-husband, a one Levi Hurley, to the cleaners. Not being satisfied with his initial settlement offer of a cool two million, plus the house in the heights, plus the beach house in Hawaii,
and
the Mercedes Benz, she decided to go back to the mine and dig for more gold. Even if she ended up getting her way, her husband would still be sitting fancy. His online security firm has amassed a huge fortune as one of the most trusted and secure datum protectors.

Rachael hid it well, but
secretly she detested women like Jennifer Hurley. They were never satisfied. Like blood thirsty vampires, they always wanted more. Give them even a little taste of wealth and they’d milk you for all your worth and leave nothing but a dried up husk.

Rachael
tried to explain to her client that she wouldn’t receive a better offer than the one she was already getting. It wasn’t like her husband had cheated on her or anything. Hell, Rachael half suspected that it was the other way around.

Jennifer Hurley crossed her long legs and gave Rachael a
fixed look. Rachael brushed her hair out of her eyes and gave a reticent smile.

“You look a little distracted. Is everything alright?”

“I’m fine,” Rachael replied. “Sorry, what were you saying?”

Jennifer leaned back and droned on
some more about how Levi owed her, although Hurley’s words quickly turned into white noise inside Rachael’s head. It seemed to Rachael that her client was more in love with her husband’s money than the actual man. So when Levi put the lid on her spending and froze his wife’s bank accounts, she went to court to get back what she felt was rightfully hers, whether she deserved it or not. Rachael had always held that divorce was the quickest and easiest way to get a man’s purse, and farm more economical that pickpocketing.

There was no denying it though, Jennifer Hurley was ten different kinds of beautiful. Rachael supposed that’s what money and constant pampering could buy you.
Her breasts were almost certainly augmented and her body glowed bronze from an upmarket airbrushed tan that was so uniform that it looked like her skin was bathed in real gold. Somehow, Rachael suspected that beneath all the artificial layers, behind those crystal blue eyes, there was something more to Hurley.

Rachael checked her watch again and released an exasperated sigh.

“Sorry to ask again,” Hurley said with a hint of minor annoyance. “But is something the matter?”

“
Pardon?” Rachael said, looking back up at her client. “Oh, no. I’m just a little tired is all,” Rachael immediately added. “I didn’t sleep well last night. My son kept having nightmares and waking up. Neither of us got a good night’s sleep, I’m afraid.”

“Oh, I didn’t know you had any kids.”

“Just the one,” said Rachael, turning toward the framed picture of Hector that hung on her office wall. The same one which had been hanging there since the first day that Hurley had set foot in her office over two weeks ago.

Mrs. Hurley followed
her gaze and looked at Hector. “He’s adorable.”

Rachael smiled. Her smile was as fake as Hurley’s breasts—meant to please b
ut clearly straining credulity. “Thanks,” Rachael said as she looked at the picture of her son. “He’s everything to me.”

Making an attempt to be polite, Hurley asked, “So are you and your husband planning on having any more kids anytime in the near future?”

Rachael’s eyes grew big with shock. She was totally caught off guard by the question. Everyone in her office knew that her husband had died and tip-toed around such personal issues. She hadn’t ever considered the possibility of getting the question from a client before.

“I … um … lost my husband a few years ago.”

“Oh,” Hurley replied. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

Rachael just smiled politely as she wasn’t interested in discussing the topic any further.

Hector was too young to remember the events clearly, but the roads were icy that night. The eighteen-wheeler had hit a patch of black ice and skidded through a red light of the four-way intersection they were passing through. What has been a simple trip out to dinner quickly turned into Rachael’s worst nightmare.

Unab
le to stop or even slow down, the semi-truck slammed into the driver’s side so hard that the family car became wedged halfway up into the engine block of the truck’s diesel engine. Her husband was crushed to death instantly. She would have been killed too, except that she had gotten into the back seat with Hector to sing him to sleep. Hector’s restless crying had been like a bad omen, but it’s also what saved them both. Being in the back seat was what prevented them from getting killed. It was the worst experience of her life.

“Anyway,” Jennifer said
, rummaging through her purse and fishing out a stick of gum which she promptly peeled the foil off and popped into her mouth. “It’s getting late and I don’t want to keep you from your son. We can finish this up some other time.”

Jennifer closed her purse and stood up. Rachael stood up
at the same time and reached over to shake Jennifer Hurley’s hand. Jennifer added a socially polite smile, even though it seemed rather terse. The ultra-bright whites of her bleached smile only added to the synthetic image. She was like a real life version of one of those photo shopped models on the cover of a fashion magazine. Completely airbrushed to the point of looking surreal, but somehow impossible not to fixate on in spite of the fact that you knew it was all just smoke and mirrors.

Rachael felt obliged to match the blinding, slightly manic, Cheshire grin with a slightly softer one of her own. As her client left Rachael jotted down on a yellow post-it note: Remember to charge Mrs. H for all the extra smiles.

With that out of the way, she put some case files into her briefcase and closed the lid of her laptop. Retrieving her jacket from off the hook next to the door, she headed out of office and rushed to go pick Hector up from school.