The Pandemic Sequence (Book 1): The Tilian Virus (9 page)

Mike could hear the frustration and fear in the young man’s voice. The first hours of the night had found him ruminating over the same question. Growing up, he had been a fan of horror movies and the zombie, werewolf, and vampire villains terrorizing the foolish characters that inevitably made ridiculously bad attempts at escape. More humorous than frightful, those movies were indulgent breaks from the real world. If he wanted to be really scared, Mike had watched films with psychotic serial killers that hunted unsuspecting victims. To him, the fear was real because the villain could be real.

Now, though, it was not a serial killer that stalked them, but rather something closer to one of those creatures from horror movies. His mind struggled between acceptance of the situation he and the others faced, and rejection of the heretofore implausibility of such a situation.

“It’s crazy, right? Things like this aren’t supposed to happen,” Mike responded.

“Is it everyone? Do you think everyone that got sick turned into…” Derrick’s voice trailed off.

“I don’t know. My mom, my brother and his daughter were all in the hospital with it this morning.” Mike felt a pang of guilt as he realized that he had not been able to reach any of them after he had talked to his aunt.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Allard. Jenni’s folks were both sick this morning, too.”

Mike wondered how many dead would need to be mourned by the people surrounding him.

“How about your parents?” Mike asked.

“They were fine. My mom didn’t want me to come to school today, but I wanted to be here for Jenni.”

“How’s that working out for you?” Mike laughed, the comment slipping from his lips before he could catch himself.

Taking no offense to the offhand remark, the teen jokingly retorted, “It’s right up there with when I decided to jump off the barn with a sheet for a parachute.”

In the stillness of the night, Mike heard a familiar click followed by a soft, red glow.

“You guys are gonna wake everyone up if you keep laughing,” came a voice from the darkness.

The faint burning ember of a cigarette tip moved closer to Mike and Derrick. As the cigarette’s owner took a drag, the face of Erik Lasdale was illuminated. The second-time senior had spent the last four and a half years at John Moore High School creating a very large reputation, matched only by the equally large discipline file bearing his name. If there had been a fight in school, most assumed Erik had been involved. He had grown up in a challenging home; his mother spent more time with a bottle than her five children, and a revolving door of men that moved in and out of her room. His father was long gone. Whereas most could easily write him off as a prison-bound delinquent, Mike—who had taught Erik since beginning his career at John Moore—had come to see a different side.

Erik, though he tried hard to hide it, was actually rather intelligent. Clearly not a student that studied, he did possess an impressive skill to hear details and catalog them for future need. Of course, that assumed he saw passing a test as a need. He performed well in Mike’s classes, it was most of his other subjects that he blew off with casual ease.

Taking a seat in one of the empty chairs, he tossed both lighter and cigarette pack into Mike’s lap.

“Go ahead, Mr. A.,” Erik teased. “You’ve been fiending for one all day.”

Quickly rejecting the notion of not only smoking in school, but smoking in school with a student, Mike began to hand the pack back to the long-haired nineteen year old.

“You’re kidding, right?” the young man said through one side of his mouth while a cigarette dangled from his lips. “You shot up how many people today? And a cigarette’s breaking the rules? You think anyone’s gonna care that you smoked a butt while keeping all these kids safe?”

Either hearing sense in the words, or willing to give into his craving, Mike felt a small amount of guilt as he inhaled from a newly-lit cigarette. That guilt left with the smoke he exhaled.

The few remaining hours of the night passed as the three discussed Mike’s plans for the coming day. He felt relieved when both agreed with his decisions. Derrick, however, suggested a small detour before heading north to the military base.

“My dad has a bunch of guns. He collects ‘em. Our house is only a minute off the main road outta town. If my parents are there they can come with us, and if not, I know the combination to his gun safes.”

Mike understood Derrick’s true motive for suggesting the excursion, but he worried that each student would then ask to check their homes for loved ones. Travelling to sixteen different houses was a risk he was unsure about taking. He was cautious in rejecting the idea. Since he had no family in the area, he did not want to ignore the needs of the others. Agreeing to discuss it further in the morning, the three let the conversation drift to an end. Soon, he could hear the steady shallow breathing of Derrick and Erik as they slept.

* * *

Michelle was the first to wake, with the others quickly following suit. Though the room held no sunlight, the natural rhythm of the body brought them all out of their slumber. Mike informed the group of the plan of action he had devised during the night’s isolation.

No sounds from the hall beyond the barricaded door were detected. Within half an hour the team to search the school—Mike, Derrick, Blaine, Erik, Josh, and Jenni—were loading weapons and ammunition onto their bodies. The others watched with worry, knowing how deadly dangerous yesterday afternoon’s excursion had been. Though sharing some of their concern, the six prepared themselves with greater confidence due to their previous success in collecting the guns from the patrol cars.

Jenni Calente had insisted on being part of the group. With stereotypical minds, the males of the group at first balked at the demand. Derrick especially had wanted to keep her out of harm’s way. But the lean and agile senior would not be dissuaded. As the youngest of five, all brothers before her, she had grown up hunting, fishing, and camping. She was as adept with a firearm as she was with her hair straightener. Jenni often joked that she was an “Ah ha” baby, as the youngest of her brothers was seven years her senior. They had long since graduated from the high school and had moved to various parts of the state, with one establishing a residence in California. Though her 5’5” frame was diminutive in comparison to the others of the search party, her years playing soccer had conditioned and strengthened her body well. Her athletic prowess was matched by her intellect. At the last grading period, Jenni had been ranked fifth in her class. The combination of brains and brawn had secured her a full scholarship at the state school. Sensing a no-win argument, the others soon relented and she took her spot among the search party.

Mike’s watch showed him that it was a little after 7:00 AM, as four students pushed aside the vending machine. Though a night had passed, he felt like his last two adventures in the hall had occurred only moments before. As much as he wished to remain in the relative safety of the faculty room, he knew that answers and help could only be attained beyond the door he now opened.

Having passed on the revolver, which Erik now carried, the history teacher had armed himself with two semi-automatic handguns. Derrick had informed him that they were Beretta 92FSs, though the classification held no meaning to him. During the night, he had practiced loading and unloading the weapons to prevent any fumbling that could change the outcome from life to death. Checking that the hall was indeed free of infected, he motioned for the others to file out after him.

Travelling down the stairs was more difficult than the day before as the bodies of their attackers lay in a congested mass on each step. As they passed the front office, Mike made note that while they might not have encountered any hostility thus far, the front courtyard was once again filled with roaming figures.

A corridor to their left led to the Math pod, and was the first of the seven pods the group planned to search. The hall was lined with trophy cases displaying past glories of the school’s athletic teams. Their reflections in the glass startled Mike as he saw himself fully for the first time since this nightmare had begun. His clothes were stained with blood, one shirt sleeve torn where the sheriff had grabbed him. The back pockets of his jeans bulged heavily with the magazines he had stuffed into them. His face was drawn and haggard, which was perhaps the biggest shock to him. Twenty-four hours earlier he had looked similar to those his age. Now, though, it seemed he had aged greatly overnight. His jaw was held tight, the scruff covering it thicker now with two days of not shaving.

The mathematics pod had its walls covered with displays and posters students had made earlier in the semester. Some explained the quadratic formula, while others showed the various geometric computations for height, width, and volume. Silently, he opened each of the five doors, quickly scanning the rooms for signs of life. The classrooms appeared to have been untouched by the attack of the infected.
Can they not open doors?
Mike wondered to himself. Within minutes, he concluded that no one had sought refuge in the pod.

“Alright, guys. One down, six more to go. Let’s hit the English pod next,” he instructed. With remarkable bravery and determination, the others nodded their silent assent and followed him back out of the pod.

An hour had passed, and the search of the English and foreign language pods had yielded no positive results. The rooms in each showed no sign of survivors or infected. Mike began to allow himself to hope that all the others had managed to escape to safety. That hope mingled with a selfish disappointment that there would be no one else in the school to help him and the students in his care.

Immediately upon entering the hallway leading to the science pod, the signs of the infected were apparent. White walls were splashed with blood and gore and the floor grew increasingly slick beneath their feet. The now familiar stench of death and decay wafted towards them with each step nearing the classrooms. Mike could feel the building tension in his muscles as he gripped the guns he held out in front of him. Of the five rooms in the pod, one had its door open. The threshold into the class was blocked with an unrecognizable torso. Feeling the bile rise in his throat, he swallowed hard and willed himself forward.

The scene in the room was far worse than that which he had prepared himself. Desks and chairs were carelessly tossed around the room. The walls, floor, and ceiling were almost completely drenched in crimson, but his eyes focused solely on the carnage that filled the room. The dismembered limbs of the occupants, arms and legs gnawed down to the bone, lay scattered amidst the debris. Behind him, Mike could hear the sound of Josh Sorenson emptying the contents of his stomach. Easing his way into the room, it was clear that the infected had not left one body intact.

Anger welled up inside him as he stood silently among the devastation. As best as he could tell, some thirty to forty victims had lost their lives within the walls of the classroom. With a sickening irony, he felt grateful that none of the faces were recognizable after the savagery. Turning towards the door, he saw Jenni comforting the trembling freshman while the other three young men were struck still with shocked horror, the tears evident in their eyes. He could offer them no solace, for what comfort could be found in such a thing? Rather, he just stood before them as their stares eventually met his own. No words were spoken; any utterance would have fallen far short of its intent. As their eyes locked with his, Mike willed them what little strength he had left, through the gaze he offered them the resolve he now felt.
We will not become them
, he said to them silently.
We will live
.

A slight shuffling noise behind him caused Mike to whirl around, his feet barely maintaining a grip on the slippery floor. Derrick and Blaine were immediately to his sides, their weapons once again raised. The room was silent again and had the two teenagers not rushed forward, Mike would have thought he had imagined the sound. A tense moment passed as three sets of ears strained to locate the source of the noise. Finally, after a seeming eternity, the shuffling sound came again. Prepared for it, the three armed males quickly directed their sight to a small cabinet in the far right corner of the room. With steady, deliberate steps they approached the cabinet. Signaling for Blaine to open the door, Mike and Derrick took aim. Nodding slightly, Mike braced himself for whatever lurked unseen as the door was pulled open.

Within the cabinet huddled a small figure, arms wrapped around tightly drawn legs. Long, brown hair framed green eyes that were filled wide with pure terror. Taking a shuddering breath, Mike lowered his weapon, the two boys following his action, and rushed to the girl. Amanda Piper, a recent transfer student from Kentucky, threw her arms around him with desperation. Uncontrollable tears and gasping breaths poured from the sophomore as he held her. Turning her quickly so that her eyes were not directed to the room, he tried his best to calm the frightened child.

“Shh, it’s okay. Everything’s going to be okay,” he told her, hoping his words rang with a truth in which he did not believe.

Lifting her gently, Mike brought her out of the room as the others took point around the pod. In hurried, broken sentences, the young girl explained that some time yesterday Mrs. Holigan from the front office had come running in screaming about the devil. Before she had a chance to speak further, boys from the class were shouting and trying to push the door closed as people covered in blood forced their way in. Someone had pushed her towards the cabinet and closed the door. Amanda told Mike of the horror she had witnessed through the small crack of the door as dozens of people streamed in and attacked the class. Her tears flowed anew as she recounted hiding in the small space as the infected tore bodies apart and consumed flesh and muscle.