Tainted Reality (The Rememdium Series Book 2) (5 page)

All of the news was mind-numbing, but the one tidbit that sent Ronald into an almost catatonic state was the CDC. According to Agent Coleman, the only hope to figure out what was bringing the dead back to life was gone. Somehow, several of the undead made it inside, and within three hours, the high-tech Atlanta facility was nothing more than an overpriced mausoleum.

Ronald felt his stomach churn. The antacids weren’t helping.

So much for worrying about how to handle ISIS. Or immigration issues. Or the economy. Or healthcare. Or global warming. Gun control. Violence in the streets. The world just collapsed in on itself. Will I even have a country to run before this nightmare ends?

He stood and moved through the throng of agents, all of whom ignored Collette’s outburst. Most were too busy staring out the windows, watching the chaos unfold on the streets of Manhattan. The remainder of them lugged suitcases out the front door, on their way to the roof.

“Darling, don’t worry. These men are professionals. They will take care of our needs, including making sure our treasures are pampered and secured.”

Agent Coleman, who’d been assigned to guard them the minute Ronald won the Democratic nomination, scowled. “Sir, we aren’t your local movers. We are here to gather essential items only. We leave in five minutes. The helicopter just landed on the roof.”

Collette’s eyes narrowed into small slits. When angry, they turned from lime green to vibrant teal. Ronald knew a verbal explosion was about to spew from her silicone-plumped lips. Agent-in-Charge Coleman was about to have about three pounds of his ass ripped off from a mouth full of enough dental work to buy a small house.

“How dare you! You do realize I’m the First Lady, correct?”

Agent Coleman’s face was bright red, a thin sheen of sweat glistened on the top of his lip. He no longer wore his jacket, and the stains of perspiration discolored the white of his shirt under the armpits. Though he’d been busy barking orders and instructions to the other men, he had yet to raise his voice to either of the Krump’s.

Until now.

Agent Coleman grabbed Collette by the arm and shoved her toward the bedroom. “I am well aware of your title, Mrs. Krump. But, if we don’t get you both out of here and safely underground, you won’t have to worry about what expensive ensemble to wear to President Krump’s inauguration. Dead people don’t concern themselves with such trivial events.”

The look of shock on Collette’s face would have made Ronald chuckle any other time. Her face was stretched tight from numerous facelifts and countless injections of chemical fillers. The only way to really tell if she was angry was the color of her eyes. Ronald was the only one who’d ever spoken to Collette in such a rude manner, and it never boded well when he did. Credit card charges skyrocketed and their bedroom became colder than the grave.

Even though he agreed one-hundred percent with Agent Coleman, Ronald felt the need to come to his wife’s defense. Halfheartedly, he said, “Coleman, please don’t address my wife in such a—”

“You truly are a pompous, arrogant buffoon! And you,” Agent Coleman turned his attention to Collette. “Are the most self-centered, fake, plastic-riddled bitch I’ve ever met. If I didn’t love my country so much, and ache for what’s happening to her, I’d say I’m glad this happened before the likes of either of you defiled the hallowed grounds of the White House. It sickens me to no end the rest of the succession line is dead! Even the Secretary of Homeland Security, who was nothing but a political puppet with no discernible brain power and a major coke-fiend, would have been a better option than you. Now, fucking move your privileged, lily-white asses out the door and up to the roof!”

The room fell silent. Ronald felt the stares of the others bore into him. A flame of anger erupted inside his chest. It was one thing to dress down his overbearing wife. Almost comical, because quite frankly, Ronald agreed with everything Agent Coleman said to Collette.

But no one would get away with talking to Ronald that way. Not even in the midst of a global crisis.

“Agent Coleman! Contain yourself. You work for us, remember? You need to apologize to my wife, right now, for such intolerable behavior or you’re fired.”

“Fired?
Fired?
Are you insane? No wonder the world is falling apart. It was full of idiots who voted in the King of Idiotic Morons to the throne!”

Collette’s face blanched. Before Ronald could stop her, a wrinkled hand full of over a million dollars’ worth of jewels reached out and slapped Agent Coleman. The
crack
as her skin connected with the agent’s cheek reverberated nicely off the acoustical walls.

Agent Coleman’s reaction was swift and harsh. Ronald didn’t even get a chance to blink before the man’s balled-up fist caught Collette under the chin. The force of his punch knocked her backward almost five feet. She crumpled into an unconscious ball on the cold marble floor.

“What the…?” Ronald finally managed.

Agent Coleman responded by pointing his shiny SIG Sauer directly between Ronald’s eyes. “I said it’s time to leave and I’m not kidding. Not another word, or I swear we’ll leave you here. Wonder how long you'd last before those flesh-eating mongrels smell you and figure out how to climb stairs?”

The burning in Ronald’s gut from earlier ignited into an inferno. He glanced over at Collette’s limp body. Two agents picked her up and moved toward the front door. Nodding once to Agent Coleman, Ronald stepped back and grabbed his briefcase from the desk. Agent Coleman never lowered the weapon as they walked out the door and headed to the roof.

Ronald was breathing hard by the time they reached the helipad. The sounds of the city under siege rose from the streets below. Smoke from other buildings engulfed in flames blocked out the morning rays of sunlight. Gunfire and the screams of terrified New Yorkers made Ronald’s skin prickle in disgust.

The noise he wanted—needed—to hear, was absent.

No sirens.

No emergency personnel racing to help the downtrodden.

Only screaming and gunfire.

Collette was already strapped into her seat. Ronald climbed inside and settled in next to her. Agent Coleman veered off to speak with the pilot. Ronald took the opportunity to stare out the open door to the city he loved more than any other place in the world. Manhattan had been his home, his domain, his kingdom, for over thirty years. He felt a lump of tears swell in his throat when he realized the first two buildings he’d constructed were in flames.

He glanced down at Collette. A bruise had already formed under her chin, and there was a large knot on the side of her head where she'd hit the floor. Ronald felt more concern and sorrow for the structures on fire than his own wife. The reality of the notion made him numb.

What kind of man feels no grief for his wife, yet weeps like a child for a pile of metal and drywall?

The disturbing musings were cut short by two gunshots. Ronald spun around in his seat in time to see Agent Coleman stumble and fall to the ground about three feet away. With his SIG Sauer still clutched in his hands, Agent Coleman continued to fire.

Ronald had no idea what he was shooting at.

On instinct, Ronald leaned down and covered Collette’s body with his own, attempting to shield her from the bullets.

It would be the last—and possibly first—act of kindness he ever did.

Because Agent Coleman missed his target.

Ronald heard the agent scream, yet it only lasted a split second. The noise was replaced by a gurgling, chomping sound.

Collette woke up and wiggled from underneath him. “What the hell is going on?”

The appearance of the dead pilot answered her question. Ronald saw the entire world clearly for the first time in his life.

“The end,” he whispered as the bloodied, drooling thing burst into the cabin.

THE GATHERING - Saturday - December 20
^th
– 10:45 a.m.

Turner was full of raw, nervous energy. Too many thoughts zoomed inside his mind, threatening to eat away any semblance of sanity.

He’d killed someone.

No, several.

Not a deer, or a hog, or even a rabid dog.

Human beings
.

Or, what once had been humans. Turner didn’t recognize any of the others he’d shot.

Except one—and the image, the smell, and the sounds—wormed their way inside his head like a barbed, two-headed venomous snake.

He’d known Raymond Wright his entire life. Watched the kid skyrocket to local fame, heard the community buzz about scholarships and pro scouts skulking around the football games. Turner remembered him from school, though Raymond was only in the seventh grade when Turner graduated. Even then, playing for the junior high team, Raymond Wright had all the makings, the physical and mental agility, to go far.

Not anymore.

Turner ruined Raymond’s chances of achieving football stardom. All with one bullet. He’d taken aim and fired, not even wincing when Raymond’s blood, brain matter, and strips of flesh exploded less than five feet away from his position.

He’d seen the military descend on his hometown like a plague of locusts. Witnessed a helpless neighbor treated like a treasonous criminal and executed in his own front yard.

Stephen Sikes was only fifteen when his life ended in a flash.

In front of his poor mother.

Turner had been ordered at gunpoint by soldiers to leave under the threat of bodily harm. He’d watched the love of his life yanked away by the same goons while he’d be unable to stop them.

Seeing the videos Seth sent him earlier were awful. They paled in comparison to actually experiencing, in real-time, people turn into flesh-eating creatures.

Taking them out would haunt his dreams forever.

Turner had played simulated, live-action video games all his life. He’d spent hours upon hours with his friends, stalking, shooting, blowing shit up. Real life was harsh, cruel, and downright sickening. Virtual reality didn’t account for the horrid smells.

All of those issues were bad enough, yet the one bothering Turner the most was the overwhelming anger burning inside his mind. He knew he wouldn’t hesitate to kill one of the sick. Considering what they were dealing with, Turner thought the response normal.

What scared him more than anything was he knew he wouldn’t bat an eye if he killed a soldier. If one of them stood in their way of saving others, tried to hurt any of his loved ones, they’d be toast. The shift in his moral compass, and willingness to murder to save others, made Turner wonder if he was in the early stages of turning.

Was that how the sickness starts? Your mind blocks out everything but anger, embraces hate? Jesus, how is this even happening? What’s turning people into monsters? How does it spread? Why are some sick and others aren’t?
When will this nightmare end?

With the world turned upside down, Turner felt physically ill as he followed his dad, mom, and the others toward the gym. Four years of his life had been spent in the familiar area, eating lunch with his friends, attending basketball games, taking Jesse to the prom. Seeing the place full of terrified people and armed soldiers made his head spin. He wondered how many residents had already been processed and deemed clear. Did they leave and head home, only to find the world they’d known their entire lives gone?

Did they even make it home?

Had the soldiers told them what was really happening? Given them any guidance or tips on what to watch out for, signs of contamination, what to do when confronted by a walking corpse?

“Son, you okay?”

The voice of his mother brought Turner out of his rambling thoughts. “Yeah.”

“Jesse’s gonna be fine, Turner. Don’t worry.”

Turner nodded as the group stopped next to the double doors leading out into the gym. His father peeked through the doors then turned around and whispered, “Okay. Here’s the plan. There ain’t many troops left inside, maybe thirty or so. I’ll go in first, alone, and gather them into a group. Once I do, y’all follow and surround them. We’ll give them one chance to work with us. If any of them show signs of anythin’ other than acceptance, we’ll put them with the lieutenant and sergeants out back.”

“Then what?” Deputy Bailey asked.

“I’ll make the announcement we are takin’ our friends and neighbors to safety. No mention about the directive to kill them all. I mean it. No one is to say a word about it, not even to the soldiers. Looks like we’ll have some help. I noticed Curt Campbell in there. He’ll assist once he realizes we’ve got a plan.”

“How in the world did Curt get caught?” Lamar asked.

“Judgin’ by his attire and the way he’s movin’ from one resident to the next, I’d say he had the same sort of idea like we do,” Walt added. “Time to move out.”

Turner watched his father enter the gym. A shiver of fear made his heart pound. Turner stepped forward and edged the door open. Seeing his father march across the hardwood floor into enemy territory made the breath catch in his throat.

If they don’t listen…