The Fall of Society (The Fall of Society Series, Book 1) (2 page)

           
“Your
suit looks intact,” the black general said.

           
And they stood there, in a completely
forgotten dead town
…

DAY
18:

FIRST
CASE
of
 
UNCHECKED INFECTION

Current population of the United States
of America: 316,000,000.

Current population of the State of
California: 39,000,000.

T
he city of San Bernardino
, California, basked in twilight as the
sun went to slumber. This neighborhood was upper class and homes larger than
the rest of town. There were no children playing because most families were
preparing for dinner or already in the middle of it, so the streets were empty.

           
A
car came fast down the street, a 1969 Dodge Charger muscle car, painted cherry black,
and everything else chrome. It pulled into the long driveway of a very nice
house and just as the car stopped—a woman, in her fifties, ran out the
front door—she blew right past the muscle car and across the street. The
driver got a good look at what ran by his window: The woman’s skin was grayish
in color and her veins were pronounced purple scars that tracked her skin, her
lips were without lipstick but yet, they were dark in color, abnormally dark,
and covered in saliva that dripped down her chin. It was
her eyes
that the driver noticed the most, though. He couldn’t
believe what he saw in those three seconds.

           
The
crazed woman got across the street and into a neighbor’s front yard. The man
got out of his car; he was in jeans and a hooded sweatshirt. He was in his
thirties, short black hair, muscular, and looked of Nordic descent. His dark
blue eyes were confused. “Mom?” he called out to her, but she was already over
a high fence that she scaled as fast as an Olympian, too fast.

           
“Mom!”
he yelled, but she was gone.

           
He
was about to run after her, when he heard a commotion from the house that she
ran out of, including
breaking
glass,
maybe an upstairs window. The man was torn on what to do, but made a decision
as he pulled a .45 automatic pistol from his car, loaded it, and headed to the
house.

           
Walking,
he recalled what he saw about his mother that bothered him—her eyes.

           
Lightning
struck in the distance, illuminating his dark path for just a moment.

           
He
looked back to see if he saw any trace of his mother, there was nothing.

           
Lightning
struck again and he saw the quick memory of her eyes as if they were right in
his face—they were bloodshot, but that wasn’t what burned his memory, it
was their
color
. They were milky and
the veins had expanded in starburst ruptures of a greenish, yellow substance. Her
pupils were a dark red, that they were almost black.

           
Unnatural
…

           
Lightning
struck once more…

           
Inhuman
…

           
He
proceeded toward the house with his gun…

DAY
22:

THE
OUTBREAK

L
os Angeles International Airport
was busier than usual at this time of
the afternoon, but then again; it was always busy regardless of the time. The
Tom Bradley International Terminal was more so as passengers waited at the
British Airways terminal for a London departure. People were on the move at all
the gates and some were sitting as they waited for their particular flights.

           
One
man sat alone, he wore a dark suit with his tie loosened, and he looked like an
aspiring executive, cocky and young. He was in the middle of a cell phone
conversation. “Yeah, things are kinda weird in town right now, so I’m actually
looking forward to this business trip,” the executive said into his phone.

           
“It’s
not really a business trip, Nick, we only have two meetings to attend, and we’re
gonna be there for a week,” his friend on the other end of the line said.

           
Nick
smiled. “I know; that’s why my golf clubs are on the plane.”

           
“Same
here, so what time are we teeing off tomorrow?”

           
“No,
no, not tomorrow, the day after tomorrow,” Nick corrected.

           
“Oh
yeah.” the friend remembered.

           
“Right.
You, me, Gary, Randy, and Brad. We’ll be teeing off at—”

           
“—Randy?
That guy’s an asshole.”

           
“Well,
I like Randy. We’ll be teeing off at 7:30, and if you’re not there because of Randy,
well, come on, ya know. I gotta go.” Nick ended his call.

           
He
grabbed his briefcase and headed to the restroom, and on his way; he passed a
flat screen TV on the wall that he didn’t give a glance.

           
The
local news was on and a reporter was live at the scene of a freeway accident. A
family van was overturned on the shoulder, smoldering from a fire that had
gutted it. The firefighters were still putting out what was left of the flames.
What looked like a body could be seen hanging from the van’s back window. The
reporter stood on an overpass about 200 feet from the accident. The weather was
a little windy, and some slight rain sprayed across his face. “Traffic is at a
standstill here at the 210 and 15 freeway interchange and the California
Highway Patrol said it may be several hours before they clear the scene and
reopen the freeway. The Highway Patrol isn’t speculating on the cause of the
accident, but witnesses reported that they saw gunshots coming from inside the
van just before it crashed. One witness told me that the person with the gun
wasn’t firing at other cars on the freeway, but was shooting at another person
in the van. This is Steven Roy, reporting from Fontana, back to you, in the
studio.”

           
The
accident scene was replaced with the studio newscast set and an attractive blonde-haired
woman was ready with her piece.

           
“Thank
you, Steven,” she said. “Police are posting a warning to Fontana residents
after a series of vicious attacks that have left several people hospitalized
with bite wounds. The attackers are suspected of being a group of homeless men
roaming the streets at night. Police are urging residents to stay in after
sunset and to lock their doors and all their windows. Also…”

           
In
the restroom, Nick zipped up after using the urinal, went over to the bank of
sinks, and turned on the hot water. After washing his hands, he splashed water
on his face. He looked at his reflection in the scratched mirror and smirked. “Randy
is an asshole,” he said to himself and laughed. He thought he was alone, until
he heard a noise from the back of the restroom, maybe a person’s feet hitting
the tile in a stall. He ignored it and dried off his face and hands; he was
about to leave when the door of the last stall banged open and a person fell
out to the floor. Nick jumped out of his skin. “Jesus, you scared the crap out
of me! You alright, man?” he said.

           
Lying
on his side in the fetal position, this person had his back to Nick.

           
“Hey,
you okay?” Nick asked but got no reply.

           
The
person rolled over and got up on his knees and it was a
woman
.

           
“Seriously?
Am I in the wrong place here, sweetie; don’t you think you should be next
door?” Nick said with a smile.

           
Then
he noticed that she was ill—more than that, she was very sick. She shook uncontrollably
and sweat dripped down her pale, blotchy skin; some sweat drops trailed down
her arms next to her dark veins that resembled serpents. Nick saw the bloody
bandage that was around her right forearm as it soaked up the sweat trails, but
he didn’t see that her eyes were a little milky. “My God. What’s wrong with
you?” Nick asked in shock.

           
She
struggled to speak. “Please…help…sick.”

           
Nick
approached her. “You need to sit down, let me help you up.” He reached out to
her, and she suddenly became angry and struck at him in a wild burst,
scratching his neck. Nick stepped back, touched his neck and looked at the
blood on his fingers. His neck was bleeding, not very much, but it bled. “Damn
it! What the fuck is wrong with you, lady?” he shouted.

           
Another
man happened to enter the restroom and came upon the scene.

           
She
fought to get out words. “Sorry…I’m sick…get help.”

           
Nick
saw the man behind him. “Get security,” he told him and the man left.

           
“Help
is on the way, okay, lady. Just relax.”

           
The
sick woman stayed in place on her knees, but she was still shaking badly and
then it turned violent. She began to convulse and excess amounts of saliva
poured from her mouth.

           
“Attention,
this is the last boarding call for British Airways Flight 282 to London at gate
25,” a voice announced over the airport PA system.

           
Nick
looked at his wristwatch and then looked at the sick woman, she was getting
worse and he was getting nervous. He started to back up to leave and then two airport
police officers arrived behind him, along with the man that Nick sent to get
them. “What’s the problem here?” the first officer asked.

           
“She’s
sick,” Nick answered.

           
“Does
she have a medical condition?” the second officer asked.

           
“I
don’t know her, Officer, this is how I found her,” Nick said.

           
The
woman cried out in agony and fell back on the floor; the two officers turned
their attention to her and moved closer.

           
“Miss,
can you tell us what’s wrong? Are you taking any medication?” the second officer
said to her but got no response and then she went into convulsions as her eyes
rolled back into their sockets.

           
“Control,
this is 517, we’re gonna need EMTs in the British Airways bathroom of terminal
four in Tom Bradley, we have a woman that appears to be having an epileptic
seizure.” the first officer reported into his radio.

           
 
The woman’s seizure became more violent
as she tossed around crazily and the two officers tried to restrain her by grabbing
her arms and legs. The woman’s crotch turned dark as she pissed and the
following smell was unmistakable—she shat herself.

           
“Christ,”
one officer said.

           
The
man that brought the police stood there transfixed by the spectacle, and then
Nick slowly stepped back to leave. She began to yell from pain and thrashed
around even more, the two officers, who were strong men, were having trouble
holding her down. Nick picked up his briefcase and walked away as quietly as he
could, but just before he turned the corner—he looked at the woman one
last time and she locked stares with him—Nick couldn’t believe it when he
saw her eyes
change
color, especially
her pupils that became deep red.

           
He
walked out panic stricken. Nick made hurried steps for the British Airways gate;
halfway there, he could still hear the woman yelling in pain and then it
stopped. No more cries, but what he heard next made the hairs on his neck stand
on end.

           
She
howled in a twisted screech, and then one of the officers in the bathroom with
her
screamed
.

           
Nick
walked faster and got to the gate; luckily, the airline personnel hadn’t heard
the commotion that he came from and they took his ticket with smiling faces.

           
He
went down the boarding ramp and didn’t look back.

           
Two
female flight attendants and the copilot greeted passengers at the plane’s entrance.
An elderly gentleman ahead of Nick asked the copilot. “Are you the captain of
this fine vessel, sir?”

           
“No,
sir, I’m the copilot.” he answered.

           
“Ah,
I see. I was a pilot in the RAF during World War II: too bad we didn’t have
aircraft such as this back then, we would have won the war much more quickly.”
the old man said.

           
“Yes,
sir. It’s an honor to have you aboard, sir.”

           
“Thank
you, lad.”

           
The
flight attendant took Nick’s ticket. “Right this way, sir,” she said in a soft
British accent and led him up a staircase to the first class section, which only
a dozen people sat. Nick walked by two other flight attendants that were
talking and caught some flight detail in his ear as he passed—“So how
many are we feeding on this trip?” one flight attendant asked.

           
“Not
that many, only 537,” the other answered.

           
She
directed him to his ample seat and reached for his briefcase. “Allow me to take
that for you, sir.” She placed his briefcase in a private locker and came back
to him.

           
“Can
I offer you anything to drink, sir?” she asked with a row of white teeth.

           
“Uh,
yeah, get me a seven and seven,” Nick said.

           
“Very
good.”

           
“Make
it a double.”

           
“Yes,
sir.”

           
Nick
walked back to the staircase and looked down at the plane’s door hatch that he
entered to see if it was still open, and it was.

           
He
heard that woman’s terrible howl in the echo of his mind, and he wanted that
hatch shut. He would be safe once it was closed, but they didn’t close it.

           
He
looked away from it and rubbed his eyes—
he saw her eyes in his dark eyelids and then they turned blood red
.

           
He
quickly walked back to his seat, “Stewardess, where’s my drink?” he said
loudly.

           
“Here
you are, sir.”

           
He
downed it in one gulp before she could walk away. “Bring me another.”

           
She
took his glass and then noticed something. “Sir, you’re bleeding.”

           
“What?”

           
She
pointed. “On your neck, you’re bleeding.”

           
Nick
touched his neck and looked at his blood stained fingers.

           
“Shit,”
he said under his breath.

           
“I’ll
bring you a bandage,” she said and left.

           
Nick
heard a distinctive sound coming from the first deck; he rushed over to the
staircase again and saw them closing the plane’s hatch. It locked into place. He
went back to his seat, sat down and reclined back, let out a long breath of
relief. A couple minutes later, the flight attendant returned with his second
drink and a bandage.

           
“Another
seven and seven, sir, and a bandage.”

           
“Thank
you.”

           
He
got up with his drink and the bandage, and went to the restroom.

           
Once
inside, he locked the door and looked at himself in the mirror. The wound on
his neck wasn’t a scratch so much as it was a gash in his skin, and it bled
with a slow but constant pace. The
RETURN
TO YOUR SEAT
sign lit up and chimed, but he ignored it. He used tissue to
stop the bleeding, but it was only temporary as it continued to bleed a few
seconds later. He tore a small tissue piece and stuck it to his cut, and then
he opened the bandage packet. He removed the tissue on his neck and placed the
bandage over the cut. Done.