Catalyst (Book 1): Decay Chains (3 page)

CHAPTER THREE

DAYS UNTIL THE SUPERVIRUS GOES GLOBAL: 30:23:00

The door to the first patient room swung open and knocked the dead doctor’s body into the wall. He lay crumpled in a fresh hole surrounded by frustrated bits of dry wall about five feet from Stormy. The door swung on its hinges in front of her earless attacker, begging to be stepped through. The dead doctor stirred again and worked his way to solid footing. What looked like the door to sanctuary was now nothing but a cruel tease.

She squeezed her gun until she and the weapon were inseparable. Someone tugged on her shirt from behind. In response, she let loose a powerhouse scream. A set of hands grabbed her shoulders and dragged her back down the hall toward the first patient room.

“Stop screaming in my fucking ear,” a male voice said.

Whoever held her wasn’t the doctor, that much she knew, but he was pulling her back toward the danger zone. Her marred attacker drew nearer with each forced step, but so did the swinging door to safety. The dead doctor grunted as he righted himself and stepped out of the hole. Stormy wised up and started cooperating with whoever was dragging and cursing her. Then the race was on.

The hold on her shoulders turned into a violent push that jettisoned her into the open patient room. The dead doctor’s arms flailed behind Stormy and the Good Samaritan as they passed the threshold. Three slams later, the malicious arms jerked out of the way and the door smacked flush with the molding.

They both stood behind the door, attempting to lock it, when the pounding commenced. The lock clicked into place right before the dead doctor started messing with it. Stormy flinched each time the silver handle jerked up and down.

“We’re fucked if he figures out how door handles work, Ian,” shouted the Good Samaritan.

“I’m fucking working on it,” said an Oz like voice from a bed sheathed in hospital curtains.

“There’s someone else here?” Stormy asked.

“You know, it’s not everyday I have a life or death deadline,” Ian said. “This is a lot of pressure on me, Josh.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that,” Josh said. “It was insensitive.”

The banging grew too loud to speak over.

Josh shook his head in a matter-of-fact way and mouthed, “He’s about to give up.”

He was right. The pounding stopped. Stormy gulped down lung sized breaths like she was in a race to suck all the oxygen out of the room. They both jumped when the dead doctor hit the door again.

“That was new,” Josh said.

They listened as the next door over took a beating.

Josh patted Stormy’s shoulder as he walked past her. “He’s gone.”

After stowing her weapon, she followed him past an empty hospital bed to an occupied one. Hyperventilating waned into gasping, but Stormy was definitely taking the long way to calm.

“Thank you,” was all she could manage.

Josh rubbed the ear she screamed into earlier. “Don’t mention it.”

Josh had a rough look to him, perhaps because he was a tad overweight. A scruffy beard dipped a few inches off his chin and then met with acne that ran the length of his neck. Below that lay a Metallica T-shirt and some cargo jeans. In this situation, the look gave him an air of competence. Like he could handle himself because he listened to heavy metal and hadn’t shopped for clothes in decades.

Ian was a lanky guy with glasses straight from the Space Boom era. He definitely shopped for clothes, but not any brands she would recognize. An open laptop rested on his stomach. He pecked away at the keyboard while he read some scribbles on his bed sheet. The elevated cast housing his leg cut her view of Josh in half.

Stormy pointed to the scribbles on the sheet. “What’s that?”

Ian’s eyes settled on her for the first time. “Are you bit?”

She flinched at the thought. “What? No.”

“Did you check her before you let her in?”

“Not yet,” Josh said. “I’ve been busy.”

“Fucking douche,” Ian muttered.

Josh walked around the bed toward Stormy.

She shirked back. “Oh, hell no.”

“I’m not going to hurt you,” Josh said. “It’s not like with the cops or anything. No patting down. Just hold your arms out and turn around.”

Josh’s hands rose in surrender. Stormy looked at the door and then back at Josh. Not too keen on being ejected from the room, she stepped forward, stretched her arms out, turned around once, and then dropped her arms to her sides.

Ian pressed his glasses into place and cleared his throat. “She’s packing.”

Her hand flashed to her weapon.

“Yeah, but she’s not bit,” Josh said.

“Put your hand down,” Ian said. “We’re not going to take the gun from you.” He looked back at his computer. “You’re sure as hell going to need it.”

“What’s your name?” Josh asked.

“Stormy.”

“Have you been hurt at all?” Ian asked. “Exposed in any way?”

“Not that I can recall.”

“Not to make you feel rushed, but his pattern is changing,” Josh said. “Doctor Death just paused before hitting the door again. He’s learning.”

“How long was he in his pattern before the change?” Ian asked. “Twenty minutes, right?”

“About fifteen.”

“Damn. They’re learning too fast.”

“That really can’t be accurate though,” Josh said. “We don’t know if he’s faster than that. There wasn’t any reason for him to seek prey before she barreled down the freaking hall at him.”

Ian jotted down the new data on his bed sheet. “I have to work with what I’ve got. Unless, you want to be a guinea pig?”

“If we’re sending anyone out it’ll be you.” Josh pointed to Ian’s cast. “You’re already broken.”

Ian took his glasses off and glared at Josh. “He’ll figure out how door handles work in about an hour, from what I can tell with my unreliable data.”

“Are you serious?” Stormy asked. “Those things are going to be opening doors soon?”

“Fucking Cold World, man,” Josh said. “I know it.”

“You don’t know that. I mean it’s possible, but so are aliens.” Ian looked at Stormy. “He reads a lot of conspiracy blogs. He lives in his mother’s basement too.”

“Bite me,” Josh said. “You’re a virgin.”

“Am not,” Ian said.

Josh jutted his chin out. “Oral doesn’t count unless it’s on you.”

Stormy rubbed her forehead. “Can someone please tell me what the hell is going on?”

“What Ian is trying to say is that I’m wrong about Cold World,” Josh said. “But if they’re not really a terrorist organization, then why have they been on the friggin’ FBI’s watch list of suspicious organizations for five years straight?”

“You believe everything you read in blogs, but never anything from a legit source,” Ian said.

“There have been warnings and anonymous tips,” Josh said. “Plus that whole thing that happened up north last month. That was in the news. Super-flu outbreak my ass.”

“That was in the tabloids, not the real news,” Ian said.

“I remember that story,” Stormy said. “Wait. These things are up north too?”

“What about that list that Anonymous leaked? Remember?” Josh said. “Their hit list had five hospitals, three international airports, and commuter rail stations on it.”

“Not arguing with you,” Ian said.

Obnoxious banging stifled the conversation. The hairs on Stormy’s arms and neck stood tall when she realized it was coming from the wall separating the rooms. It took more than one pair of fists to make that kind of racket.

“Ah, shit,” Ian said.

“We gotta get out of here,” Josh said.

Ian stared at his cast and shook his head. “This is going to be fun.”

Josh stood on his tiptoes and lowered Ian’s cast from its cradle. Ian’s eyes widened with each scratch, thump, and moan that flowed across the dry wall.

“So, middle eastern terrorists did this?” Stormy knew that was bullshit.

“No. Cold World did this,” Josh said.

“What is Cold World?”

“An imaginary organization hell bent on ending the world,” Ian said.

“Only listen to him when he’s spitting out binary code,” Josh said. “Cold World is a terrorist organization that has made good on all its threats, so far. They have access to infinite resources, but they don’t want cars and yachts and shit. They want biochemical weapons. And they got them all right.”

“Why would anyone intentionally do this?” Stormy asked.

“Don’t encourage him,” Ian said. “He doesn’t shut up when you get him going.”

Josh sighed. “They want to end the world. I don’t fucking know why. But they’re homegrown right here in the states. No turban heads.”

“Whoever it was let something off in the ventilation system,” she said.

“Yeah, that was something to listen to,” Josh said. “Sounded like sitting outside a damn gas chamber. Then, well, you saw—”

“Go ahead and say it, Josh. She already thinks you’re nuts.”

“Shut up, dick wad.”

Ian rolled his eyes. “Supers.”

“You would know if you were mobile, cripple dick,” Josh said.

“Listen.” Stormy pressed her fingertips against her temples and took a deep breath. “I just want to know what that the hell is going on outside that door, not with your dicks.”

“Got it,” Ian said. “What we’re saying is that Josh named the reanimated bodies. Something about paying homage to DC Comics. Super is for Super-flu. It’s gay, I know.”

“It’s awesome, which is why Ian doesn’t like it,” Josh said. “He’s got shitty taste in comics.”

“It’s an appropriate name,” Stormy said. “They’re hell on wheels.”

The banging intensified as more fists joined in on the fun. Cracks stretched longways across the wall nearest Ian’s head. Stormy reached around Josh to help with the sling, which he had tangled up so badly it wouldn’t lower at all.
I need to find Matt and get the hell out of here.
             

Josh pointed at the wall. “It’s so weird. They wake up at different times. We can’t find any pattern.”

“The weird I can deal with. The unknown I can’t.” Ian slid his computer into his backpack. “We still don’t know if the virus has mutated and created new and wondrous vehicles of exposure.”

“And finding a pattern would help explain that?” Stormy asked.

“Yes,” Ian said.

Josh loosened a knot and Ian’s sling dropped six inches sans warning. Ian seethed in pain. Josh acted like nothing happened.

              “We know the biochemical agent that went airborne infected them,” Josh said.

Ian cradled his leg. “It dispersed about a half-hour ago. I’m worried about other forms of exposure. Is it like an STD where you have to swap fluids or will any contact infect?”

He looked at Stormy. “How are you not infected?”             

“How are you not infected?” she asked.

“Who would want to eat her anyhow?” Josh said. “Bet she tastes angry.”

“I bet you taste great too. Like day-old pizza and skunk beer.”

“More like ingenuity with a dash of paranoia for flavor,” Ian said. “And we are alive and well because of him.” He pointed to the covered wall vent. “Josh boarded up the ventilation system. He does it every time we go anywhere, even to Comic Con.

“It’s not good to breathe in hospital air, even if there aren’t life threatening biochemicals in it.” Josh shook his head for emphasis.

“I was trapped in the elevator,” she said.

Josh looked at Ian. “They recycle the air in elevators and planes . . . and jails.”

Ian lowered his eyes at Josh. “I know.”

“Did you call for help?” Stormy asked.

“Nope,” Josh said. “The land lines are down and there’s a jammer blocking cell signals.”

“If you were in the elevator already, why did you get off?” Ian asked.

“My boyfriend is on the fifth floor.”

“Sucks to be him,” Josh said.

“This is the second floor,” Ian said.

“I know that. Help me get him out.”

“No way in hell,” Josh said. “We’re going down the building, like smart people. Not up. The farther up you go, the less likely you are to get out. Unless, you can fly.”

“Please help me get to the fifth floor. I’ve don’t have any cash on me right now, but I’ll get you whatever you—”

“Just follow us to the stairs. You can go up and we’ll go down.”             

“That works.” If they were on the side of the hospital she thought they were on, Matt’s room was only two doors down from the staircase.

“Everybody listen up,” Ian said. “From what I can tell, with you being my main research finding,” he pointed at Stormy, “contact with the supers won’t turn you, unless there’s a transfer of fluids. So don’t do that, and you should make it out of here.”