The Pandemic Sequence (Book 1): The Tilian Virus (8 page)

The ninth yielded the same result and within minutes he headed to the eighth. The digital watch strapped to his wrist indicated that he only had five more minutes before he needed to return to the lobby. Despair began a slow but steady march in his heart as the minutes rolled by without a sign of Michelle and the others. As he reached for the door to the eighth floor, Mike heard Paul call to him from the stairs below.

“Mike, we got ‘em!”

Pivoting swiftly, the refugee leader took the steps two at a time as he made his downward retreat to his companions. Over the railing Mike could see six or seven heads racing down the stairs. A half minute passed in a blur before he reached the lobby. Immediately, he took stock of those gathered. Michelle Lafkin leaned against the lobby desk, her arm in a splint. With her were two others from her team of foragers. On the floor before them rested the prone body of the lieutenant. His side was wrapped in thick layers of blood-soaked gauze. The visible skin of his face and hands were sallow from obvious blood loss. Tending to him was Lisa Velazquez, one of the handful of female members of the camp’s security team.

Paul was midway through briefing Mike on the situation when Andrew joined them from his search of the hospital.

“Lisa was able to take down the Til before it bit him, but the glass from the window went in deep. They’ve done what they could here, but, Mike, if we don’t get him to the doc soon, he’s not going to make it.”

“And the others?” Mike asked.

Shaking his head, Paul replied, “The team got separated during the attack. Michelle and the others managed to get inside the hospital, but no one has seen the others since.”

Still missing were two from security and one from the foraging team. Glancing at his watch, Mike cursed silently realizing that he would be forced to make the decision to abandon the three unaccounted for in order to save the lives of the ones now under his protection. Three blasts of a car horn indicated that Shane and Erik had returned.

“Load up!” Mike commanded.

As the group exited the hospital, they found the Chevy waiting outside, doors ajar. Further down the street was the seemingly tireless horde that had followed it. Quickly placing the backboard carrying Lieutenant Olinder into the rear hatch, the others piled into the now cramped SUV. When Mike gave the all-clear, Shane threw the car into drive and sped down the street, once again weaving his way through the obstacles.

The Tils had been able to keep pace with the deliberately slow moving truck before, but now at top speed, those that chased the refugees vanished in the distance. Two miles into the drive, Mike ordered a halt.

“How are we on gas?” he asked Shane.

Checking the gauge, he informed Mike that the truck now held slightly less than a quarter of a tank. Even without the added excursion to distract the Tils, the truck had been unlikely to make it back to the mountain without a refill.

“Okay,” Mike said as he stepped out of the truck and gave Shane his instructions. “When you get outside of the city siphon what you can with the kit. You should only need another quarter of a tank to make it back; more if the Tils occupy the trail we used and you need to use an alternate route. When you get to the base of the mountain, send up a flare so the others know you need them to meet you.”

“And where will you be during all this?” Paul asked.

Looking his second-in-command eye to eye, he replied flatly, “I still have three more men out there somewhere. I’m going back to get them.”

Without pause, Paul gathered his pack and exited the truck, saying, “And I’m going with you.”

“So am I,” both Lisa and Andrew spoke in unison.

Mike did not argue. He knew that spending a night in the city was dangerous at best. While he would not order them to accompany him, he was willing to accept their volunteering for the mission.
Besides
, he thought with a smile,
if I said no the three would have just gotten dropped off further down and doubled back to me anyway.

The four took whatever food, water, and weapons the others could spare and filled their packs. Mike then went to the driver’s side window for a word with Shane. The young man, recently turned twenty-four, looked nervously towards Mike.

“You can do this. I wouldn’t leave you guys if I didn’t think you could,” he spoke softly, his words measured and filled with authority. “You’re in charge of them now. Get them back safely.”

As he nodded his head, Shane seemed to relax. “Yes, sir,” he replied, his voice was strong, saturated in pride and a desire to serve his leader well.

Mike stepped back from the truck and watched them drive away. Taking a deep breath, he turned to the others. They stood before him, these soldiers of the new world, awaiting instructions.

“Let’s secure a location, then we’ll discuss the plan,” he announced, hoping that in the interim he could come up with a plan to discuss.

In their scouting of the surrounding streets, thankfully empty of any infected, they found several locations that would serve as a secure shelter for the night. Mike settled on a bank two avenues over from where they were dropped off. Between the vault and the tellers’ cage, the bank afforded them reasonable protection in the event of a Til attack. As Lisa and Andrew cleared the cage of discarded debris, Mike and his second-in-command began barricading the front door.

He was deep in contemplation when Paul, his voiced hushed so the others could not hear, said, “So, no plan, yet?”

Mike huffed a laugh and replied, “That obvious, huh?”

Lifting one end of a desk, while he hefted the other, Paul reduced some of Mike’s concern by saying, “To me, yes. To them, probably not, but I can tell when you’re turning things over in your mind.”

In the time that Paul had been with the camp, Mike had sought his counsel on numerous occasions. While he begrudgingly accepted the role of leader, he was self-aware enough to know when he needed the input of others. Even when he was a teacher, in what seemed a lifetime ago, he had sought advice from the veteran educators regarding lesson plans, classroom management, and various teaching techniques. One of his best skills had been taking what others told him and adapting it to fit his needs. When the virus broke out, he had been but one year away from tenure, and perhaps another two from chairing the history department. In the intervening years, he had laughed at his former self and the concerns that once plagued him.

“If they got separated at the hospital, they would have holed up within the vicinity,” he said as the two placed the desk atop its twin in front of the doors.

“If they survived,” Paul countered.

“Until we see proof that they didn’t, we’re operating under the assumption that they’re still alive.” The tone in Mike’s voice clearly indicated he would hear no argument on the subject.

“That still leaves a lot of buildings for them to hide in.”

Mike nodded, “So you agree that they would have stayed in the area?”

“Jon was with Lisa under the lieutenant. There’s no way he’d leave them behind. Especially not with all those Tils surrounding the hospital.” Paul’s sense of loyalty made any deviation from his statement inconceivable to him.

Sliding a four-drawer filing cabinet across the green marble floor, Mike, his voice strained from the physical effort, replied. “I saw three buildings near the hospital with enough height to offer some security.”

“So we start there tomorrow?” Paul asked.

“Tonight.” After he spoke the word, Mike waited for the coming debate.

“Tonight? So that’s it, huh, you’re just trying to get killed?” Paul’s voice quickly rose from its previously hushed tone. “It’s suicide to go out there at night and you know it! Why the hell are we barricading the damn door if we’re just gonna give ourselves to the bastards anyway?”

Mike knew his second meant well in his frustration, so he did his best to keep his voice level. “Because in here at least the four of us can get some rest without having to keep watch. It’s just after noon now. That’ll give us six or seven hours to sleep before the sun goes down. We know Tils are less active at night unless agitated. If we stay…”

Paul cut him off saying, “And the four of us traipsing blindly through the streets isn’t going to agitate them?”

“If we stay alert,” Mike continued, “we can slip past them. If the others are in those buildings they know to keep a light shining in the window for rescue. You and I both saw what this place is like during the day. And after our rescue stunt, those Tils aren’t going anywhere for a while.”

Jaw clenched in frustration, Paul remained silent.

“Look, I’m not saying it’s the best plan, and I’m open to suggestions. But come sunrise tomorrow, those streets are going to fill up with hundreds of hungry Tils hell-bent on finding the meal that got away.”

“You’ve always said travelling at night is too risky,” Paul reminded him, his voice lower, but still gravelly. Lisa and Andrew continued clearing the debris in the cage feigned disinterest, but his previous volume and body language had already caught their attention.

“I know. And it is. But, this time I don’t see any way around it,” Mike conceded. He did not continue, having laid out his argument as fully as he could.

A moment of silence passed between them.

Paul raised his eyes slightly to the ceiling, his head shaking side to side as he took a deep breath. “You’re a crazy son of a bitch. You know that right?” Paul responded, the slightest of smiles breaking across his face, signifying the end to the debate.

Sleep claimed its mastery over the huddled mass of students that filled the faculty room floor. Though not an overly large room it did, however, provide adequate space for the sixteen students Mike Allard watched over. Unlike the others, sleep did not enslave the teacher that night. Propped in one of the soft leather chairs that once encircled the conference table, he stretched his legs out in front of him. The relaxed manner of his body failed to accurately represent the tense thoughts that held much needed sleep at bay. His left hand fiddled with a pen he had fished from the pocket of his jeans some hours earlier. Turning the pen over and over again with his fingers was the only thing that satisfied his craving.

I need a cigarette
, he thought to himself. The concept of thinking of such an insignificant need during the situation he and the others faced amused him. There were moments when he imagined himself fighting off a horde of those creatures below to reach the half-full pack of Marlboros in his truck.

You’ve watched the Die Hard movies too many times,
the voice in his head mocked,
and you’re no John McClane yipee-kaying through the airport.

Forcing his mind away from the nicotine-induced hero delusions, he began to wonder what the coming sunrise would bring. He thought about the chance of a rescue from some unknown source. Recalling how quickly the virus had spread, the number of infected announced by the world’s governments, and the result of the sheriff’s bite wound, Mike was beginning to think that any rescue was unlikely. Four armed men had been overrun in mere minutes.

The realization left him with one thought.

“We’re on our own,” he whispered softly in the dark room.

That was difficult to accept. Before the attack, almost one hundred students had been in the building. Were he and the others all that remained? Or did others now hide in rooms around the school feeling the same sense of defeat and isolation?

Tomorrow, we have to check for other survivors in the school
, he silently decided.

Mike knew that the school would not be able to support a prolonged stay. There were too many entrances, either through windows or doors, to offer long-term protection. Even if they could raid the cafeteria kitchen for food more substantial than chips and candy, the faculty room was not going to be able to serve their needs indefinitely. He turned escape scenarios over in his thoughts. If more infected blocked the courtyard, the group would have to devise a way past them.
Then what?
Mike questioned himself.
Where do we go?

Some thirty miles north was a large military base. To Mike, it seemed like the best option. The sheriff had said dozens of calls had come in from the town before the school had been attacked. Reluctantly, he had to assume the small rural community had been overrun just like the school. With their numbers, and if more survivors were found in the school, Mike estimated that at least three or four vehicles would be required to make the trek north to the base. The military and its defenses would be the best protection, and hopefully a source of information as to what was happening.

Before his next thought took shape, Mike heard a shuffle from the floor to his right. The sound startled him, and he was surprised to see how instinctively his hand had moved to the gun in his lap.

“It’s Derrick, Mr. Allard,” the running back whispered.

Relaxing, Mike said, “You should be sleeping, bud.”

“I can’t. Every time I try all I see are those…those people. It’s like…I don’t know, man, I mean, is this happening?”