Genesis (4 page)

It was the knock on the door that jarred William back
to reality. He wondered how much time had gone by as he stood up and gained his
bearings. The last time this happened to him he had lost track of several
hours. It felt shorter this time, but by how much? His head hurt—a lot. Something
that always happened when he had one of his episodes, but this time it was more
intense, more piercing.

KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!

Whoever it was, they were in a hurry, which
was understandable given the fact that a small group of those shit-eaters were
feeding on a body just off the porch. William tucked the photo into his front pocket—it
would be useful later—and made his way down the stairs.

He knew it wasn’t Dr. Cooper; it was way
too early in the evening for him to be home yet. Besides, Cooper would just
unlock the door and come in. It was most likely a refugee looking for shelter,
so he would need to be careful. Most of the ones left had guns.

KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!

The knock was somehow even more urgent this
time.

“Dr. Cooper! Wake up!” A female voice, and
clearly she knew the Doctor.

William’s posture relaxed just a bit. Probably
a neighbor or a co-worker, but just in case, William put his hand on his
service pistol as he pulled the curtain back on the widow just a bit to peek outside.

It was a blonde woman, and he couldn’t help
but notice breasts. William recognized those breasts from Dr. Cooper’s file. One
of his laboratory technicians, Mary something or another. He couldn’t remember,
and it didn’t really matter. She was unimportant, and he was not authorized to
transport her anyway, even if he wanted to. She was disposable.

“Please let us in,” Mary pleaded from the
front porch, anxiously looking back over her shoulder at the small group of shit-eaters
devouring the body of some unlucky person. One of the things looked up from its
feast and sniffed the air, letting out a guttural grunt of some sort, as if to
say ‘I see you over there,’ but then quickly turned his attention back to
tearing what was left of the flesh off of the bones.

William pulled the curtain back more and
saw she had two young boys with her.

A red flag went up inside his head, and the
analytical brain searched for a reason why. His brain picked though the file
stored in his mind with the speed and accuracy of a computer. He had studied
the file for years, and he knew every detail like the back of his…

Mary only had one son, Tommy. He would be
seventeen, maybe eighteen now. She must have picked up a straggler on the way
here.

The red flag went down and was replaced in
his mind by a yellow flag instead. William’s hand rested on the doorknob.

“Are you infected?”

William, of course, knew the answer before
he asked it. It was obvious to him that she was infected. She had some of the
signs. The eyes, the skin, everything pointed to infection, albeit early stage.
And if she had it, then most likely the two boys did, too. The decent thing to
do would be to put them out of their misery. Killing them would be the smart
thing, too. When the newly-infected turn, they get ugly. Fast and dangerous –
not like the undead who rise and are nice and slow.

Still, even now, the rule of law needed to
be followed.

Especially now, the rule of law needed to
be followed.

Article Three, Section Seven of The
Protocol One regulates the targeting of civilian objects, and before he put a
bullet into the head of a non-combatant and drug her to the pile where he was
feeding those things, he needed to hear by that person’s own admission that
they were sick or infected and therefore not afforded protection under Article
51.

However, odds and evidence both favored
that she was infected, and William did not relish what he would have to do
next. At least it would be quick. He was a professional after all.

“I asked you a question. Are you infected?”

Mary knew if she told him the truth he
would never let her or the boys inside. Who was he anyway? She had never seen
him before. He looked like some sort of cop.

“Please, let the boys in.” Mary pleaded. How
could they have made it this far on foot only to be stopped at the front door?
Mary put her face right up to the glass in the door and looked William in the
eye.

“Please, let the boys in…”

“I’m not going to ask you again. Are you
infected?”

It looked for a millisecond like Mary was
about to answer, but instead of words, a stream of blood and vomit exited her
mouth, hitting the glass and splattering in every direction. William reacted
instinctually, stepping back and away from the door, pistol drawn, even though
the glass partitioned him from any real danger. The blood and vomit she had
spewed up did not contain the infection, and William knew that. It had been
tested at the CDC in the early days and was slightly acidic, as you would
expect stomach acid and blood to be, but other than that, mostly free of
pathogens. The current theory in the scientific community was that the purpose
of the vomit was to serve as an attractant for others. So now it was quite
possible he would have a pack of those things eating on the front porch.

William cautiously approached the window in
the door and moved the curtain back. Mary was lying on the porch in a small
pool of her own blood and vomit. The kids, whoever they were, were nowhere to
be seen. Smart enough to know when to get away. If they weren’t infected, it
was possible they could last a few days if they were smart enough.

No one really knew for sure how the
infection was spreading. Some of the outbreaks could be traced, but overall,
the pathogen was not behaving like it should. This one was getting help from
someone, or something. Again, not his job, but something he could not help
ponder on a daily basis. What exactly was going on?

Of course he thought he had some of
answers, but he was smart enough and seasoned enough to know that was when he
was at his most vulnerable. A little knowledge is a dangerous thing. One
missing fact could mean the difference between life and death. One missing fact
could mean the difference between more revolutions around the sun with her rays
hitting your face and warming your soul, or lying six feet underground being
eaten by worms and slugs. And that’s if you were lucky enough to even get a
burial. Most people these days just got their heads lopped off post-mortem and
tossed into a fire.

She was done for sure. Nothing he could do
to help her. Except maybe lop her head off, and that was not in his mission
protocol.

A rumbling in his stomach told him what he
could do.

He could finish his apple.

William took another bite of the apple and
checked to make sure the front door was locked. He would not have to worry
about them trying to break the glass for some time. There was still plenty to
eat outside, and would be for several more hours. The things seemed to have no
interest in the living as long as there was something newly dead to rip open
and feast on. That simple fact alone had already saved him many times in the
past, and whatever this was, it was still in the infantile days. William knew
it was only going to get worse.

The right side of William’s head was
starting to pulse and throb; it must be a caffeine headache. William cursed
Cooper under his breath. Not a coffee bean in the whole damn house that wasn’t
tainted with vanilla flavoring, and William had his standards when it came to
coffee. You had to respect the bean. Besides, he was smart enough to know the
coffee supply was going to run out sooner than later, and he might as well
suffer though the withdrawal now and get it over.

William walked across the living room and
set the apple core in an ashtray, then flipped the switch on the radio and sat
back in the large, leather chair beside it while it warmed up. The house, built
sometime right around the turn of the twentieth century, seemed to be in a
slower state of time than the rest of the world. William could not find an
electronic device in the house that dated post 1972, and the radio he just
turned on was an RCA Victor 19K, built somewhere around 1920 most likely, and
in perfect working condition. The house actually had a large collection of
antique radios, and all of them seemed to work. There was nothing in the file
to suggest it had any importance, but William took note anyway, and made
himself a mental reminder to add that fact to the file when he returned to the
Command Center. In particular, the large number of superhetrodyne receivers he
had in his possession. Sometimes it was the little things that were the most
relevant, and William made it a point to always make notes of anything odd. If
he could not make something out of the clue, then maybe someone at some other
point in the future might find it useful.

The old radio had warmed up, and the
Emergency Service Broadcast was coming in just barely through the crackle and
static of the station.

‘…on the web at www.DHS.gov. This is not a
test. This is an actual emergency. This message will repeat.’

A high-pitched alert tone filled the room,
and William grimaced. The headache was getting worse, probably from the lack of
caffeine, and the last thing he needed was an ESB Alert Tone blaring. He
adjusted the volume of the radio slightly lower.

‘This is an emergency broadcast from the
United States Department of Homeland Security. This is not a test. This is an
actual emergency.’

Three short tones, followed by the same
computerized voice again on the radio.

‘A quarantine order has been issued for
range of this broadcast message. Remain where you are and shelter indoors until
further notice. Unknown virus or possible biological terrorist attack. For
shelter information specific to your area, tune to your local broadcast
television station or visit us on the web at www.DHS.gov. This message will
repeat.’

Another alert tone and the message began to
repeat, but this time the tone hurt his head. The headache was getting worse,
and William rubbed his temples for relief.

That was a sound out back.

William was on his feet, but a tad
unstable, as a soreness and stiffness had suddenly overtaken his joints. Was he
really getting that old? William dismissed it as his joints reacting to
pressure falling before the approaching storm. And from the lightning he had
watched earlier from the upstairs landing window, this storm was going to be a
big one.

William turned on his flashlight as he
entered the kitchen. It went against everything he had been trained to do, and
even went against his basic survival instincts; when investigating a mysterious
sound in the dark, one should not announce their presence with a beam of light.
But that was then, and this was now. The light actually served two purposes. First,
if the sound happened to be made by one of those things finding its way into
the house, they often froze up in bright lights, like a deer caught in the
headlights. They sometimes stared fixated for just long enough to give you the
advantage. And if it happened to be another human that made the noise, well
then it simply alerted them to the fact that you were a human, and not one of
those things.

In the early days, before anyone understood
about the decapitation thing, a lot of people were just shooting anything that
moved in the dark. Which ended up killing a lot of humans, significantly
increasing the population of the undead. A lot of people actually created their
own problems in the start. The official protocol suggested that he even call
out and identify himself, but that was something William could just not bring
himself to do, monsters in the dark or not.

The kitchen door was still secure.

It must have been one of those things
outside.

For now, the interior of the house was
still secure, which was a good thing because this headache was getting worse,
and he was having trouble focusing his eyes. This was more than just a caffeine
headache…was it a migraine? William had never actually had a migraine, but he
had heard others talk of their debilitating pain, and if his luck was going to
continue holding out like it had been for the past few days, then he supposed
now was time for him to experience his first migraine.

William checked to see that the kitchen
door was locked. It still was. He then shined his flashlight onto the back
porch and checked the exterior door to the house. It was still boarded up,
nailed shut, secure. Even the glass panel was still intact. The sound must have
come from outside, probably one of those things tipping over the trash. William
checked his watch, still plenty of time.

A flag went up inside his head, but why?

Déjà vu.

This felt familiar, but not.

Red Flag.

It was getting very hard to focus, and he
was feeling dizzy.

William switched off his light. Somehow he
knew, he felt that this threat was different. Ignore the protocol. Go with your
gut. His gut, it was churning and felt like it was on fire. What was going on? The
intensity of the headache was unlike anything he had ever experienced, and he
was having difficulty even focusing on the simplest of thoughts.