Origins of the Outbreak (7 page)

The Sergeant,
5:25 a.m.

Craig stumbled to the bathroom and turned on the hot water before continuing into the small room that contained the toilet.  He leaned heavily against the damned cabinet that his wife had insisted that he mount on the wall above the toilet while he did his business.

When he was done, he flushed and walked out to the sink where the water should be hot by now.  He regarded himself in the mirror for a few seconds before he dipped his hands into the water to help soften up his skin for his daily shave.  Nineteen years of shaving every morning in the U.S. Army had made his skin like sandpaper and he looked forward to one day soon
being able to stop shaving for a little while.  Hell, he'd even considered growing a beard once he finally retired.

The razor made a soft scraping sound as it glided over his shaving cream-covered face.  The expensive multi-bladed contraption that he used today was a far cry from the disposables of his early days in the Army.  He hated shaving his neck; it was the worst part.  He almost always nicked himself somehow.  Craig had often considered getting some type of laser hair removal on his neck because he hated shaving i
t
tha
t
badly.

He finished hacking away the hair
follicles and brushed his teeth before rinsing off the residue from his shave.  Then he applied some deodorant and went into the closet to prep his bag for the day.  He grabbed his uniform top and bottoms and folded them neatly into his duffle bag.  With the utility uniforms that the Army wore these days, they could just be rolled up and put into a bag like he did now.  Before the mid 2000’s the Army was all about starched uniforms that looked great, but couldn’t be wrinkled and were a pain in the ass.  It was so much harder back then trying to carry a set of clothes on a hanger, highly shined boots, plus all the other crap that he had.

After the uniform went a tan undershirt, a pair of
Army-issue green socks and a pair of underwear.  His boots were by the front door and he'd grab those on the way out.  He had everything that he needed to get cleaned up and dressed after physical training.  His daily prep routine – for nineteen long years – was complete.  He slipped out of his sleeping clothes and put on his uniform for PT.

The Army did PT, physical training, for about an hour every morning from 0630-0730.  In addition to keeping the soldiers fit and ready to go, the reason they had it so early was for accountability purposes.  Most bad things in the Army – hell, in life really – happened between 11 p.m. and 4 a.m. so the morning formation before PT was also to
ensure that everyone had made it home safe from wherever they’d been the night before.

It was Craig’s job, as a Sergeant First Class, to report the accountability of the thirty-five soldiers in his platoon.  Even the lieutenant was his responsibility.  Officers rotated jobs about every year, year and a half so they could be well-rounded, so he’d seen his fair share of new Second Lieutenants come through his infantry platoon over the years.  The current butter bar was something of an enigma to him though.

The kid was one of the most proficient infantry officers that he’d ever seen, but outside of work, Craig considered him a high-risk soldier.  The guy drove to Austin every weekend and would disappear into a drunken stupor – unless there were work issues – and then he’d miraculously appear, clean-shaven and sober, ready to do whatever task was required.  He’d heard through the grapevine that the lieutenant was an MMA fighter and loved to scrap with anyone willing to go, although there was never a blemish on him. 
Ahh, to be young again
, he thought wistfully.

Craig hefted his bag onto his shoulders and turned off the bathroom light before opening the door to kiss his wife and kids goodbye for the day.  When he went in his daughter’s room, her sheets were gathered up around her feet so he carefully pulled them from under her legs and covered her up.

As he walked down the stairs, the aroma of coffee filled the quiet house.  It was nice to have it waiting for him when he came down instead of needing to make it and then wait for it to brew.  The timer of the coffee pot saved him about ten minutes in the morning – ten minutes that he could use once he was on base to help gain accountability of everyone.  He always had a slight pucker factor about Friday and Monday mornings.  Mondays were obviously the biggie since they had to account for everyone after the weekend, but the dumb shit always seemed to happen on Thursday nights.

Soldiers from Fort Hood would drive the twenty minutes to Belton to flirt with the girls at the university and inevitably the local boys would take offense.  Craig had been stationed at Fort Hood for four years
on this tour and it was a never-ending cycle.  Sometimes he wished for the simplicity of Fort Irwin, California.  It was the Army’s desert training facility and there was nothing within fifty miles of the post, in any direction.  Soldiers tended to not get in as much trouble when they were stationed out there – or at least the Army was able to handle things in-house because no other authorities were involved.

The sergeant checked his cell phone again out of habit.  No messages or missed calls from the night before were a good thing, so he poured his coffee into a travel mug. 
He lived in a small Belton neighborhood on the side of town closest to Fort Hood.  He’d chosen to live farther away from work so his family didn’t have to deal with the drama of Killeen, the town right outside of Fort Hood.  Killeen had almost two hundred thousand people in it, whereas Belton only had twenty thousand when school was in session.  He liked the small town feel of the place and the bigger city was only a short drive away.  Plus, Belton straddled Interstate 35.  From the interstate, they could go north or south to anywhere in the country.

As he started to reach for the front door handle a blinking red light at eye level reminded him to turn off the alarm.  He’d made that stupid mistake before and the damn siren had woken up the entire neighborhood!  He quickly tapped the six-digit code into the keypad and pressed the “off” button.  It beeped quietly, letting him know that the system was disarmed.

He opened and closed the front door quickly, but didn’t lock it behind him since he needed to take the trash out and then roll the outside trashcan down to the street before he left.  It was a nice morning, the weather would be perfect for the six-mile formation run with the company that the commander did every Friday.  There was a lot of siren activity somewhere towards the center of town that Craig guessed was probably near the university.  The thought that one of his soldiers was in trouble in Belton crossed his mind quickly, but he pushed it aside.  The odds that the problem in town was caused by one of his thirty-five Joes when there were almost forty-fiv
e
thousan
d
troops stationed at Fort Hood were astronomical.

The duffle bag went into the back seat of his car along with the boots that he’d picked up from the foyer and he placed his coffee mug in the cup holder.  As he straightened up from the inside, the bushes on the opposite side of the car began to shake.  He glanced over and thought there must have been some type of wind gust that came through that he didn’t realize – that, or the neighbor’s damn dog was out again.  He’d almost hit the stupid mutt on several occasions as he backed out of the driveway for PT.

The bushes had stopped moving, so he rushed inside to get the trash.  If he dilly-dallied too long, then he’d get caught up in the rush of traffic at the gate.  Craig pulled the bag out and tied it off.  Then he quietly placed another in the can and walked over to the door.  He closed the door carefully behind himself and locked it.

Before he’d even pulled the keys out of the deadbolt some motherfucker jumped him from behind and grabbed hold of his shirt.  His years of Arm
y
combative
s
training kicked in instantly and he reached over his shoulder and gripped the hand.  He held the hand tightly as he twisted to face his attacker and the guy’s wrist snapped.

Craig had seen some shit.  He’d shot people in combat – some of them less than ten feet away – but he’d never held someone’s body as a part of the
m
broke
.  He dropped the hand in horror and looked up into the ruined face of a security guard.  The soldier recoiled even further in horror as the guy in front of him – th
e
thin
g
– didn’t even seem bothered by his broken wrist.

Giant patches of skin had been pulled from his neck and in the porch’s weak light Craig could see that dried blood covered the front of his uniform.  The guard’s eyes were sunken into his skull and the skin on his face that wasn’t torn or missing seemed to sag like it had lost all of the elasticity that normally accompanied a living person.  Whatever it was, the thing in front of him wasn’t natural.

The creature’s throat emitted a loud moan and it quickly dove in towards Craig.  He sidestepped and kicked hard into its knee, which buckled at an awkward angle.  Again, the man showed no emotion and lunged towards Craig.

He had a moment of panic as he realized that the thing was now between himself and the safety of his house.  Inside his home was where his family slept and he knew that this guy could just turn the keys and get inside.  He made a poor decision to try and grab the creature and throw it into the yard.

When he reached for it the thing turned its head and bit down into Craig’s wrist.  He shouted in pain and surprise.  He tried to yank his hand backwards and the fucker pulled forward along with him as it held on like a dog holding a chew toy.  The sergeant punched with his left hand into the side of the thing’s head and kept punching over and over until the skin on his knuckles split and bled.

The punches bounced ineffectively off of its head but Craig’s arm finally came away from the creature – at the cost of a mouth-sized chunk of missing forearm.  He held his arm protectively against his chest and watched in a daze of pain and horror as the security guard chewed his skin and swallowed.  Its dead eyes focused on him and it stumbled towards him once more, but the dislocated knee gave out and it fell forward.

Craig wasn’t fast enough to step out of the way and the creature’s one good hand clamped around his running shoe.  He tried to pull away, but the thing was incredibly strong and it pulled itself onto his leg and bit into his quadriceps muscle right above the knee.  This time, Craig screamed in terror and grabbed onto the porch pillar to keep from falling.  If he fell, it was all over.

With his upper body supported by the pillar, he kicked hard with his opposite foot to dislodge the creature.  It came away with a ragged strip of flesh and lay on its chest chewing happily.  Craig knew that he only had a second before it was done and attacked him once more.

He looked around in desperation and his eyes settled on a paving stone several feet down the driveway towards the street and away from the house.  He limped backwards to the garden and risked a glance back at the porch.  The creature had managed to stand, but fell when it tried to take a step in his direction.  It quickly abandoned the attempt to walk and dragged itself towards him.

Craig finally made it to the garden and picked up the brick.  The sickening sound of bone scraping against concrete made his stomach churn as the creature pulle
d
itsel
f
along with both arms.  The wrist that he’d broken slid along the driveway and bones poked through the skin.  It moved faster at a crawl than he’d been able to limp on his feet and the damned thing was already less than two feet away from him.

He thought about running into the house to call the police, but he knew that with the determination that this thing had, it would find a way inside.  He raised the paver above his head and smashed it down into the forehead of the fucker.

It collapsed downwards, but began to struggle upwards so he fell to his knees and bashed down onto the back of its head.  The thing continued to struggle so he raised the brick again and smashed as hard as he could manage.  The skull gave way and the paver crushed the creature's head in a sickening mix of sounds.

He swung the brick one more time into the ruined skull to ensure that it was dead and stood up.  He started to limp towards his car, but turned and picked up the brick to take with him.  Craig thought it was dead, but there was no telling so he didn’t want to be disarmed.

By the time he’d staggered to his car and opened the door, he was exhausted.  He fell into the driver’s seat and leaned drunkenly over to the interior where his cell phone sat in the center console.  Through bleary eyes, he found his phone and dialed 9-1-1.

As the phone rang, he tried to assess the damage to his body.  The large muscle in his upper leg had rolled up like a window shade when that thing bit through the ligament that held it stretched tight from his hip to his knee; part of the muscle was missing, eaten by that… thing.  His right arm was in ruin
s as well.  There was a mouth-sized hole in his forearm and from what he could tell, it was at least two inches deep and he was bleeding all over everything.

Craig tried to hold his phone to his ear, but his good hand began to shake uncontrollably, so he pushed the speaker button and set the phone down on his lap.  The emergency line continued to ring with no answer.  After almost a minute of waiting for someone to answer, he laid his head back on the headrest.