The Neuropathology Of Zombies (11 page)

“This now brings us to the cortex. The cortex allows us to think, to be human. The zombie virus destroys certain portions of the cortex, and as we have seen, disrupts the aggression responses, and movement. Specific to the zombie, the virus destroys key parts of the frontal cortex. Frontal cortex lesions affect all higher order functions. Think of a frontal lobotomy, same thing happens with the zombie, to a certain degree. They can see us, they know we’re there, but they are emotionally dull, until provoked, which is when the lost connection to the partially preserved amygdala becomes important, and then they become hyperaggresssive.
“The brainstem is also destroyed and all heart and breathing function is lost. That is why you can shoot them in the chest, leg, arm, wherever, and they don’t stop, it doesn’t matter, the body is being totally driven by the brain. They feel no pain because the perception of pain is lost as the cortex is destroyed,” I finally stopped speaking and looked around the room. I imagined that everyone would be looking at me as though I was crazy, but instead they looked at me with fear.
The man in the black suit crossed his arms and I thought I saw a faint smirk on his face, “Very interesting, Doctor. I would say that our situation is not that dissimilar, no?”
I said nothing. Silence filled the room for the next few seconds.
“Another question, if I may, Dr. Hawk,” the man in black spoke, dragging out his words.
“Yeah, anything,” I replied.
“So, we have somewhere between twelve to seventeen thousand walking dead rambling through the streets out of a population of around twenty thousand. There are a little over a thousand individuals on the aircraft carrier. Where are the rest of the people?” he said, lifting his arms and shrugging his shoulders.
“I think we’d have assumed the worst, that they have been killed. Some may have escaped before our arrival, and some may be in the caves or scattered around the Island somewhere, but I would think the majority are dead,” I replied.
“You’re saying close to four thousand people eaten?” he retorted, shocked.
“I am afraid so, sir,” I spat back without hesitation.
“One last question, I promise, Doctor. How do we arrive at, assuming the worst, seventeen thousand zombies in forty hours, that seems very rapid, do you have any comments regarding this?” he said, placing his hand on his chin.
“It’s well known that without natural immunity a virus will spread exponentially throughout a population. That kind of spread can be alarmingly fast because a single individual can transmit the infection to many other people, almost instantly, and the scenario continues, over and over.
“If we’re talking about a toxin, the entire population of the Island, or a significant number of them, could have been affected at the same time, depending on the mode of exposure,” I said. I hoped the question and answer session was over, I felt like I was under intense cross examination by a fierce defense attorney.
The man in the black suit nodded with interest.
Finally, the General spoke, “Good, it appears that everyone has something to keep them busy until our next briefing, which should be tonight at some point. Until then, please go about your business, and thank you for your attention and efforts,”
As I stood up to leave the general waved me over to him. “Doc, we will get you in the hotel tomorrow morning, at first light. We have Special Forces and some black-op’s men already on the ground. I’m working with them to come up with a plan to get you in and out, fast. I can get you into the rooms, but it’s going to be ‘hot’ in there with the creeps luring Christ knows where. We’re sending a team in to take a quick look and gauge how severe the problem is, we’ll know better tonight. We can discuss it further after the evening briefing,” he said, giving me a slight smile. He stood up and walked out of the room as the team leaders rounded up their notes.

CHAPTER 10

The security team leader sat under one of the tents examining aerial photographs of the Island. I sat down next to him.
“I’d like to take a few more samples from Igor before I head back to the hospital.”
“Sure, Doc, I’ll get you four of my biggest bad-asses and meet you at the door to the cell blocks in 15 minutes!”
I walked over to the boxes of medical supplies and took out handfuls of needles, test tubes, and blood culture jars. I rummaged around for a few scalpels and some tissue cassettes. I divided everything into two piles and went to find the internist.
“Dr. Allen, we should get more samples from Igor before we leave, same drill as last time, blood for routine testing, blood for cultures, and a piece of skin for histology,” I said and gave him a plastic tray containing half of the supplies.
“Fine by me, Hawk.”
We walked to the barracks and slipped on our biohazard suits. The suits came equipped with hooded respirators that circulated cold air through the getup. Still, with the tropical sun beating down on me, I was sweltering, and the air being blown felt more like a hair dryer inside my suit than anything close to a cooling system.
After we dressed we entered the police barracks and waited by the cell block door for the Marines. We stood in silence for a period of time that was probably one or two minutes, but it felt like an hour. Finally the door opened and five enormous Marines walked in, all fully armed, and clad in biohazard suits.
We opened the door to the cell block. I could hear Igor’s movements, even through the constant white noise of the respirator. He noticed us immediately. He flipped over, jerked to a stop, and stared at us. His eyes widened. A low rumbling growl began rise from his chest, his jaw closed and his dry, black lips parted, revealing his broken teeth. He slithered quickly over toward the cell door, grunting as he threw his weight from left to right. His growl became an angry moan and he began to chew on the steel bars.
“Holy fuck, he’s gotten worse, if that’s possible!” one of the Marines shouted.
Igor was deteriorating, becoming more aggressive, and more animal like. His skin was slipping off his body and large pieces of thin, green flesh stuck to the floor as he squirmed around the cell. There were ulcers covering his face and arms. A thick, black fluid oozed from the sores and gooey strings clung to the ground; he left behind a trail of slime, like a slug, as he writhed.
“Alright, we’ll need to cover the head again, and then we can take our samples. Same drill as last time, right?” I said.
One Marine quickly moved past the cell and knelt in the corner, his gun pointed at Igor. Four of the Marines then passed in front of me and stood outside of the cell door. Igor became frantic and several of his teeth broke off and flew into the air as he gnawed on the steel bars. Without warning, the butt of one of the men’s guns came down on Igor’s head. He recoiled for a second, and then lunged at the Marine. The Marine struck again, and again, finally driving Igor away from the entrance of the cell.
The four Marines hustled into the cramped space. The sudden movement seemed to confuse Igor, and his head swung from person to person, attempting to locate the most convenient target. In a matter of seconds his head was concealed, and he was on his back, held down by the Marines.
I dashed into the cell, followed by Dr. Allen. We knelt on either side of Igor and began taking our samples. The body was ice cold and his arm felt compressible, like it was full of air; I could push down about a half of an inch before feeling the resistance of his bones. Igor was starting to bloat, his body expanding with the methane gas created by his intestinal bacteria as the little bugs spread through the veins and arteries. Igor was decomposing, right before our eyes.
I couldn’t get any blood, or any other liquid to enter my syringe. I looked at Allen, and he shook his head, holding up an empty test tube. I shrugged, and threw the needle into the tray.
I grabbed a scalpel and began to take skin samples. I palpated one of the ulcers and readied my knife above it. My thumb passed over the raised edge of the festering sore and slid down into the cratered center. The deep surface was soft and it felt like dough that had been kept in the refrigerator overnight. Igor gave no indication that he felt my actions and displayed none of the involuntary retractions that one would expect from painful stimuli. I cut into the ulcer and it burst, squirting onto my chest. I jumped, but continued cutting. I placed the skin sample in the tissue cassette, stood up, and ran out of the cell. The internist was waiting for me on the other side of the bars.
The Marines stood and moved away from Igor. One of them bent over and removed the covering from Igor’s head.
Suddenly, Igor extended his back, forming an arch, his swollen belly rising towards the ceiling. He flexed his hips, recoiling into the air, and his face struck the Marine’s leg. Igor’s movements were like a rattle snake, attacking out of thin air.
The Marine screamed and fell to the ground. His three comrades rushed back into the cell, one shot Igor in the chest with the automatic rifle, sending the rotten body flying across the cell. The soldiers dragged the Marine out of the cell and slammed the door behind them.
There was a puncture hole in the leg of the isolation suit. The Marine rolled around, shrieking in agony. We carried him out of the cell block and rested him on the floor of the lobby. I knelt beside him and removed my mask.
“Soldier, soldier, look at me. Look. At. Me.” I yelled. I placed my hands on his head, turning his face towards me. He was still rolling around, his hands clasping tightly to the area where Igor struck.
“That fucking freak got him! Let’s go kill that piece of shit!” one of the men yelled behind me.
I turned, “First, let’s make sure your friend is alright. Everybody just stay calm!”
The room filled with Marines and the General was standing over me.
I pulled the hood off the man’s isolation suit and tried to calm him, “Soldier, look at me. It’s going to be alright, I’m going to take a look at the leg, I need you to let go!”
He released the leg and held his hand out to one of the other Marines. I could see a dark red stain growing under the area of the bite. I knew the skin had been broken. I ripped the suit open and could see the pant leg of the Marines uniform was torn; blood leached into the tan cloth.
“Ok, let’s get the suit off. Would someone please get me a first aid kit?” I asked, trying to remain calm myself.
I unzipped the front of the suit and cut the pant leg trying to get a better view of the injury. There were two red half circles on the surface of the thigh. Blood was flowing from the jagged cuts caused by Igor’s broken teeth.
I searched the first aid kit and found a bottle of iodine, which I proceed to dump into the wound. I covered the gash with every form of antiseptic and antibacterial cream I could find. I then wrapped the bite in gauze and stood, looking down at this huge man that had seemed so invincible to me a few moments ago.
I turned to the General, “We should take him to the hospital with us. We can give him intravenous fluids and antibiotics.”
“I agree,” Fitch said, chewing on his lower lip. He walked out of the room without saying another word.
“Soldier, we are going to take you to the hospital with us. We’re going to give you some IV medicine, you’ll be alright,” I said, trying to sound reassuring.
The Marine grunted through the pain, “You don’t know that, Doc, you don’t know what that fuck may be carrying!”
I knelt beside him, “No, you’re right, I don’t. But I’m going to do everything I can to help you, and the best place for me to do that is at the hospital.”
I stood up and spoke to his friends, “Get him in the helicopter, I’m going to grab a few things and then we can get back. One of you should come with us, and keep him company.”
I turned to Dr. Allen, “You should come, too. I need your help.”
We all loaded into the helicopter. The injured Marine took up much more room than I had anticipated and I was a bit worried about getting off the ground with the extra weight, but we were in the air in a matter of seconds.

CHAPTER 11

I watched out the window as we flew low over the buildings. The streets were not nearly as crowded as they had been earlier. The little Driftwood that I could see were mostly standing in place, like they were hypnotized. I could see over turned cars and there was smoke rising from various parts of the town. It looked as though the city had been ravished by war, and in some ways I guess it had.

The flight to the hospital was less than 5 minutes and before I knew it, we were touching down on the roof. Several soldiers came over to the helicopter and carried the injured Marine into the hospital.

I turned to the internist, “I think you should go with them, get him settled. Take a blood sample and get it to the guys in the lab as soon as you can. Keep an eye on him, and let me know about any changes in his condition.”

Dr. Allen nodded and followed the stretcher into the stairwell. I looked at the virologist and the technician, “Let’s get down to the lab. We’ll do a frozen section on one of the ulcer biopsies and get the other one ready for the processor.”

The lab equipment hummed with the sounds of robotic motors and vacuum pumps pushing fluids from one container to the next. The virologist and the microbiologist each took a pair of cotton swabs and dabbed them all over the skin ulcer sample; the cotton fibers stuck to the tissue forming wet, gluey strands that seemed to tie the swabs to the skin. When they were finished the technician placed the skin sample into the liquid nitrogen and began the freezing process.

“I think I’ll go down and check on our two guests in the morgue cooler. I’ll be right back. By the time the frozen is done, the blood sample from the injured Marine should be here, we’ll get that set up while we look at the frozen slides. After that, we’ll go catch us a zombie,” I said and walked out the door with an armed escort.

The guard and I entered the morgue and opened the door to the loading dock. I kept the hall lights off and tried to sneak up on our guests. The lights were on inside the cooler and a square-shaped yellow glow beamed through the window and projected against the opposite wall.

We walked down the passage; each step was deliberate and careful. We crouched under the window and waited for a few minutes, listening for sounds indicating that our presence had been detected. There was silence.

I stood up, just enough to peer into the cooler, the top of my head barely extending beyond the edge of the glass. The Marine followed my lead. Our eyes widened, amazed at the scene in front of us: There lay the hollowed out torso of Mary Osbourne, bloody and ravished. Her arms and legs were torn off. The ribs were ripped apart, sticking into the air making her shell look like a lion’s conquest on an African plain. The floor and walls were covered with thick blotches of bright red blood, and pieces of the internal organs were strewn around the cooler. Our two guests were resting on their knees, sitting back on their feet, dripping with blood.