The Reaper Virus Page 5

  Chapter 4

  Before Sunrise

  Day Seven.

  November 16th – 0019 hours:

  I was feverishly going through every news site I could find, hoping and praying that what I was reading wasn’t true. It was breaking news – no pictures, at least none discernable. Direct from the Louisville, Kentucky NBC Affiliate:

  “We’re still waiting on final confirmation from the FAA, however, preliminary reports indicate that a Delta Airlines Boeing 747-400 has crashed. The plane has engulfed the downtown business district immediately south of the Ohio River. Unconfirmed sources state that the aircraft was attempting to make an emergency landing at the Louisville International Airport located almost seven miles south of downtown. These reports state that the plane issued a mayday minutes before the crash. It is believed that the mayday was in reference to an outbreak of the Reaper virus from within the cabin of the aircraft. It is too early to ascertain how many may have been killed in this tragedy.”

  All the pictures showed a city on fire. It looked almost like a scene from any disaster movie. A silhouette of what remained of downtown Louisville was backlit by a hellish glow.

  Was this really happening?

  * * *

  0050 hours:

  The White House released a statement to all major news outlets saying that the FAA had grounded all flights to prevent another Louisville from happening. People were advised to stay indoors until the National Guard could be mobilized in all metropolitan areas.

  Outside, people weren’t being quite as civil as they were when I came in. There were fights breaking out all over the place. I wouldn’t have been surprised if all the officers had run out of OC pepper spray by sunrise. Phones had lit up, but with escorts being completely shut down it could be worse. We had plenty of people working, but I didn’t think patrol was as fortunate. I was seeing officers from other shifts that never worked midnights too, so things had to have gotten bad out in the streets of Richmond.

  The hospital area went into total quarantine. Richmond Ambulance was all over the city doing their best to treat people on scene, but there were only so many people that were able to help. Truth be told, we simply didn’t seem to have the manpower for this pandemic.

  I needed to get a look outside. If there was a chance I could get out, I was going now. Going in to work that night was a bad idea, which I didn’t realize until that moment. I’d have given anything to be home listening to Sarah lecture me about her being right. Maybe it’s true that women are always right.

  * * *

  0100 hours:

  I stepped out front onto Grace Street to assess any chance of getting home. The answer became abundantly clear in the two minutes I was outside. In front of the 7-Eleven, half a block away, five guys were in a nasty fight. Two of the guys were covered in blood, one with a gaping wound on his right forearm. I heard maybe half a dozen gunshots; didn’t see any muzzle flashes, but they sounded close. Everyone around ducked in response to the booms. The group fighting didn’t seem to take notice, probably distracted by the knife the guy with the open wound was waving around.

  There were a lot of people out, cars backed up, and the air was thick with a palpable panic. Looking around, I didn’t see anyone in uniform, and I felt like I had a target on my back. It didn’t take any more convincing; I practically jumped back inside. A magnetic door and bulletproof windows had never felt so comforting.

  I didn’t have to explain the situation to my coworkers. My expression must have said it all. Not to mention the gunshots were plenty audible from within our brick tomb.

  My mind raced over everything it had seen. I had to call Sarah immediately. That was all my brain could think to do.

  * * *

  0127 hours:

  Moisture welled up in my eyes as I listened to Sarah try and hide her own tears caused by what I was saying. I know she was also angry because I hadn’t listened to her and I wasn’t there with her, at that moment, doing my duty as a husband and father. Of course, I didn’t tell her what I had just seen – I even tried muffling the phone to cover up the sounds of gunshots probably a block away. I don’t know if it worked, but she didn’t ask about the background noise and I didn’t feel the need to alarm my wife more than necessary.

  Craving a distraction from my situation, I said, “Sweetheart, I need you to lock the door, turn off all unnecessary lights, and pull the drapes. For all intents and purposes, the house needs to look like it’s empty.”

  The reality was I had no idea what was going on in the streets by our house, but I wasn’t taking chances. Then she asked when I was leaving.

  All I could say was that I might need to stay for a while until the streets calmed down. Hearing her gathering a protest I stopped her with a reminder that I was in a police station, and that the place should be one of the safest in the city. Internally, I didn’t believe a word I was saying. The reality was that in the coming hours our block would probably become flooded with panicked and possibly infected people.

  I told her that I loved her and the kids more than anything. She started crying in a much more obvious manner then. After reminding her that they were all well equipped in the house I said something I never thought I’d say. “If anyone tries to get into the house – you shoot first.” She was quiet. “I have one of those walkie-talkies I bought with me. If the phones go down, I’ll use it as soon as I’m within range.”

  I waited a minute and she eventually let out a sobbing “ok”. I told her I loved her again and reassured her everything would be fine, and that before we knew it we’d be at my parents’ farm waiting this whole thing out.

  Minutes after hanging up I realized I didn’t have the walkie on me; it was in my car…

  * * *

  0230 hours:

  There’s no paraphrasing this. I hate gut feelings. It was all falling apart. From the New York Times website, my fears became a reality:

  “REAPER VIRUS SPREADS UNCHECKED THROUGH URBAN CENTERS WORLDWIDE… THE DEAD NOW WALK!”

  People were starting to congregate in front of the building. If only we could tear down the giant yellow “CAMPUS POLICE” awning in the front of the building. Other than the lights acting as a beacon in the desolate block, the awning was a big invitation for any desperate person around.

  What was more concerning was that the power had been blinking. Our computers never shut down, but the lights would for a split second or so. It was eerie to say the very least.

  We were hearing more shots outside. It looked like someone was lying in the middle of the street at the end of the block. You couldn’t see much from the camera in front, because even when the world wasn’t falling apart its quality was very poor, but it looked like three people were crouched around the person. I hoped they were helping the poor soul; although I don’t think that was the case.

  * * *

  0318 hours:

  I had to get to my car for my survival pack. Things were getting worse outside by the minute. I had to step out of the radio room for a moment just to clear my head. Lance was in the hall when I ran to the bathroom. He gave me the “why the fuck are you here!?” look. My response was only, “You live on the south side of the James so do you have a way back across the river?” His answer was silence. “Lance, I either need you to come with me or I need to borrow your gun.”

  He shot a puzzled look back at me. Before he could offer a rebuttal I answered his unspoken questions.

  “I have to get to my car on the second level where I always park. In my trunk there is a bag of supplies that could help us get through a few days in here. With everything that’s going on out there, I’d like to have someone to watch my back or a way to defend myself. I don’t plan on ending up infected or as a meal for some of the sick fucks out there.”

  He nodded and said to meet him by the vending machines in fifteen minutes.

  * * *

  0433 hours:

  I sat back in the radio room, trying to fathom everything I’d just
experienced. My hands were trembling uncontrollably.

  Just as he promised, Lance was waiting, fiddling with the Pepsi machine.

  “Ten minutes or less. I promise.”

  “If not, people will notice we’re gone and they’ll lock us out. The Corporal is talking about locking down the building until sunrise when they can get more people to come in,” he told me in a near whisper.

  I took my uniform shirt off, stashing it next to the drink machine. He did the same but kept his vest on. There was no point in bringing more attention to us than absolutely necessary.

  We were down the hall about five feet from the back door when the power went out and stayed that way. Lance was walking in front and stopped in his tracks. He reached towards his back on his utility belt. For a second there I thought he was handing me his gun. Pulling his ASP Baton from its holster, he flicked it open from its collapsed position and handed it to me.

  Well at least I wouldn’t be completely unarmed.

  Stepping out the door we stopped to listen. I heard chaos in the background, but the generator drowned out everything nearby. That was both good and bad. Good, because it would cover up any sounds we might make – bad, because that worked both ways.

  I eased the door closed. It was thick and metal, and liked to bang shut. There was a slight alcove in the brick leading to the door, which provided some concealment and the opportunity to check out the alleyway. Streetlights were on, along with some of the emergency lights in the deck. I could hear more sporadic gunshots coming from all directions, glass breaking, cars honking, and yelling… yelling from everywhere.

  The alley looked empty. There were a few shadows at the far end of the block where the person was laying in the street. We dashed to the parking deck side entrance. Heel to toe, heel to toe. Combat boots were a great choice; they didn’t make a sound on concrete, assuming you watched your step.

  Lance was two steps ahead of me, hand on his holstered weapon. The generator was rumbling behind us, covering any sounds we made, its mechanical whine blending with the echoing anarchy of the rest of the city. Wearing only a white undershirt, I should had been cold in the brisk November air. It would seem that an adrenaline surge made for a great temporary jacket.

  Within seconds we reached the glass door leading to the stairwell on the southwest corner of the deck. My ID card was in hand ready to swipe the card reader several steps before we even made it to the door. No need; power was out and so were the maglocks.

  Great, one more thing to be positive about, now the whole deck was open. Lance’s expression told me he was thinking the same.

  All university owned buildings with maglocks connected to a monitoring system. Power failures caused a communication failure to the building, something we saw on the monitoring console in dispatch. Most of the exterior doors held a residual charge in the magnet long enough for us to send a security guard out for manual locking.

  The problem was that it only took one person to pull on said door hard enough that it opened; releasing the residual charge and leaving the building vulnerable. During your run of the mill inclement weather situation, this wasn’t a huge concern, because plenty of people were available to quickly get to the doors. This wasn’t your run of the mill situation.

  Lance barely touched the door and it opened. That was all the incentive he needed to remove his Sig Sauer P229 forty caliber service weapon from its holster. He glanced over at me, and then the dimly lit stairwell ahead of us. I nodded once and we pushed onward.

  My right hand kept the cold steel baton in a white-knuckled grip while the left muffled the keys attached to my belt with a carabineer. We slowly and quietly sidestepped up the dark concrete stairwell while listening to every sound that could possibly be in our vicinity. I tried not to fill my mind with all the worst case scenarios. Damn my pessimistic tendencies! Thoughts of not being able to get back into the station, getting infected, getting eaten or worse, all swirled about my mind. Focus returned with a single thought of Sarah, Maddox, and Calise.

  When we rounded the second bend in the stairs, light from the thick glass window illuminated something I didn’t want to see. Blood pooled over about half of the flat landing between flights of stairs beneath the window. Handprints, some so thick with blood they ran like wet paint, trailed from the pooled crimson to the window above. We stopped to listen, and heard only distant gunfire and glass breaking from the street. Just a handful more stairs and we would be at the opening for the second level.

  We picked up our pace when the entryway was within reach. Then Lance stopped in his tracks. I nearly ran into him, distracted by what sounded like a car colliding with a street sign. My eyes followed to where his gun was pointing.

  A human form was slumped face down over the stairs at the next bend. Blood ran down the steps from the figure’s right arm which was draped down towards where we stood. In the dim light I could see the black veins trailing over the lifeless arm. Its face was buried in the concrete, concealed in a flood of red. This poor bastard had the Reaper virus.

  We stood motionless for a minute or two. No sound, no movement. The clock was ticking; there simply wasn’t time to spare. Convinced this person was dead, we continued on.

  Stepping into the cavernous deck we quickened our pace. During the day every spot would be filled. Now there were only a scattered few cars, all belonging to police employees. No one was around; the peppering of parked cars gave us some confirmation of that. Open walls provided slightly more light than the stairwell. This made it possible to see the broken windows and slashed tires of every nearby car.

  I headed to my vehicle, parked straight ahead of me. Lance moved towards his, which was parked off to the side where the incline to level three began. As I crept closer I looked around the corner towards the east side of the deck. Centered in the drive at the far end, a silhouette stood motionless. I froze and watched it intently. Its posture reminded me of a scarecrow with both arms down, slumped and lifeless. After thirty seconds of eternity I crept across the open drive to my car.

  My steps stopped along with my heart the moment I heard glass crunch beneath my boot. The sound wasn’t what killed my spirit though; it was the realization that my driver-side windows had been smashed and the door left ajar. Looking closer I saw that the car sat at a tilt, both exposed tires slashed.

  I glanced back to the other side of the deck, relieved that the figure hadn’t moved. Exercising caution, I tried to stay quiet as I walked to the side of the car. The inside had been gutted, stereo gone and glass everywhere. Even the booster seats in the back seat were yanked out – a sight that enraged me more than anything. The trunk, what if they got to the trunk?

  I reached through the shattered glass to hit the “pop trunk” button. The sound of the trunk opening punctuated the still silence of the deck so well that it might as well have been a loudspeaker. I immediately ducked behind the open car door and swung around to see if I drew any attention. No movement from the scarecrow. The only movement I could see was Lance waving me to hurry from the stairwell. I threw the trunk open and was nearly blinded by the trunk’s light. Finally some good news – the trunk was untouched.

  The backpack was stuffed. Almost a comfort of home, having it put me at ease. The handle of the Kukri protruded from the zipper, a sight that also gave me some relief. Fighting the urge to slam the trunk closed (as I always did), I decided to leave it open. A final glance at the inside gave me a smile. Peeking from beneath a blanket at the back of the trunk was the end of my mini crowbar. I must have forgotten to take it out when I unloaded the goodies from my Home Depot trip. Feeling relief from any good news I could get, I attached it to my backpack with the top loop. Now, there wasn’t anything left of value inside. My poor car had broken windows and two eviscerated tires. And I only had one spare tire, which wouldn’t do me much good in getting home with the virus being so rampant. I’d have to come up with another plan to get home. If Lance didn’t have any better ideas I hoped he’d be willing to acc
ompany me.

  In a near jog to the stairwell, I looked back at my dilapidated ride. We bought that car when Sarah was pregnant with Maddox. It safely brought both kids home from the hospital, took Maddox to his first day of school, and drove Calise to her first ballet class. The memories gave me a smile. With the world falling around me, I knew I’d never see it again. I glanced to check on the scarecrow before the far end left my view. He was nowhere in sight.

  I quickened my pace. Within seconds I reached Lance. His right hand still with gun drawn, his left held his own retrieved bag. Now we just had to get back.

  What transpired as we ran into the stairwell spanned only seconds. However, the moment will inhabit my nightmares for the rest of my days.

  We passed through the entryway to the stairs walking nearly side-by-side. Lance was maybe a half step ahead of me. The slight reprieve offered from the retrieval of personal items may have clouded our prior alertness. To his immediate left, the stairs continued up. In front was the blood stained plateau and the following descent to street level.

  The infected man must have been three of four stairs up from where Lance stood. It nearly leapt towards him, making a gut-wrenching sound I can only describe as a gurgling growl of a moan. If I had been standing in his place I would likely be dead. My reaction time has been considerably hampered by enjoying a life spent in the seated position.