This Dying World: The End Begins (7 page)

“I think I can handle that.  We’ll talk again soon.”  The small comfort I felt in talking to my brother quickly faded as the phone fell silent.  The crushing loneliness of the dark and quiet barn made the car seem colder somehow.  I’m usually the loner type.  Quiet places usually attract antisocial creatures such as myself.  However, given the circumstances the need for human interaction overrode my natural hermit tendencies.

I turned the radio back on.  I didn’t want to wake Abby again, but she was already deep into her nightly coma, and I needed the background noise.  The same raspy voice filled the cabin again.  However something had changed.  He sounded desperate, almost frantic.

“According to our sources on the ground, the crisis has suddenly and without explanation escalated exponentially.  Earlier instructions for people to make their way to evacuation centers have been rescinded.  Current estimates place the number of safe zones that have been overrun at over eighty-five percent.”

Sometimes I hate it when I’m right.

I expected it would happen, but knowing it doesn’t make the pill easier to swallow.  The places those poor people thought to be safe havens had become their tombs.

“Automatic gunfire can be heard around our studios.  Sources inside city hall tell us all police and military units are retreating.  Defensive lines have fallen, and all remaining forces are currently attempting to regroup outside of the city.  When asked for a comment from the mayor, we were informed the mayor is currently unaccounted for.”

Not a total loss then
, I thought to myself.  Yeah I know, it’s a horrible thought.  I wish I could say I felt guilty for thinking it.

“If you are just joining us, as of 10:30 this evening, CDC officials as well as members from the World Health Organization have confirmed that bodies of the recently deceased are returning to life.  Those who have died for any reason will, in a matter of minutes to hours, return and attack the living.  It was also confirmed the reanimated bodies are eating the flesh of those they attack.

Officials claim the only known method of dealing with the ghouls is severe trauma to the brain.  The brain seems to be the driving force of the corpses, so damaging the brain will stop the creatures.  If the brain tissue has been destroyed after death, reanimation will not occur.  Folks, I know this sounds like it has been ripped directly from the movies, but it is the truth.  The dead are rising.

The city of Chicago has become a war zone.  From the studio window we can see fires burning out of control across the horizon.  Traffic is at a virtual standstill as accidents and abandoned checkpoints clog the streets.  From our vantage point we can see the infected in almost all streets and alleys.  Ladies and gentleman, they are everywhere.

This is a story that is playing out all over the world.  All international travel to and from the United Stated has been cancelled as officials try and gain control of this crisis.  European authorities have also banned travel across countries in an effort to control the spread of this virulent, yet unknown disease.  China, who CDC officials now believe saw the very first outbreaks, have moved troops to their borders with the order to shoot anyone attempting to cross in or out of its territory.

Okay folks, we have some news coming across the wire now.  The President has issued an order declaring nationwide martial law is now in effect.  I am not exactly sure how that is any different than what has been going on out there already, but I guess it’s now official.  So there you go.”

I chuckled at the broadcaster’s sarcasm.  I leaned back into my seat prepared to catch more of the apocalypse nightly news.  It made more sense for one of us to keep watch anyway.  Abby was sleeping soundly, and Katie was snoring like a lumberjack.  I figured even if my shoulder didn’t feel like someone was jabbing a hot poker under my skin, the cold would keep me awake.

I think I lasted ten minutes before drifting off to sleep.

Chapter Nine

It was Wednesday night when Chris’ phone rang.  Normally he would have ignored a call that came as late as it had.  Life on the farm started early, and his mornings were busy.  Livestock didn’t usually feed themselves, unless they broke into the  storage shed again.

The ink on his Army discharge papers barely had time to dry before he moved his family to the secluded Wisconsin farm.  He was happy to move on to the life of a quiet farmer and family man, where the only grenades he had to worry about came from the back end of his livestock.

His first thought was to ignore the phone and go upstairs to bed.  But a quick glance at the display changed his mind when he recognized his old friend’s number.

“Malcolm!” Chris smiled, cell phone pressed against his ear.  “What the hell are you doing back in country?  I thought you had a few more months before you guys rotated back?”

“Hello to you too!” Malcolm’s deep voice came back.  “How’s life up in cheese land farmer boy?”

“Hey!  There’s beer and brats up here too!” Chris laughed.

“Uh-huh.  But you’ve got the Green Bay Packers!”  Malcolm’s loud laughter made Chris pull the phone away from his head.

“Yeah, yeah.  No state is perfect.  So really, how’d you score the early release?”

The pause was slight, but it was enough for Chris to pick up on it.

“Well, you know,” Malcolm’s cheeriness had lost a tiny bit of its edge.  “Close to Christmas and all, they thought it would be nice to get us home early.”

“Right.  You’re a terrible liar Malcolm.  You know you can be straight with me.  So out with it, what’s up?”

This time, there was no denying the pause.  When Malcolm spoke again, his normally jovial demeanor had vanished, replaced with hushed caution.

“Look man, something’s up,” he lowered his voice.  “It started two weeks before we got our recall orders.  Special ops were pulled from every post, everywhere.  It was fast too.  They bugged out like their asses were on fire or something.  Next thing we knew, we’re coming home.”

The phone suddenly sounded like it was getting a rub down from rough grit sandpaper.  Chris could hear his friend’s muffled voice in the distance.

“Sorry, had to put you in my pocket.  Security’s getting tight here.  This may be the last time I can call for awhile,” he whispered.

“What the hell is going on?” Chris sat forward in his chair.

“I don’t know man.  I wasn’t even done hugging my kids before we were told leave was cancelled indefinitely.  East coast to west, everyone’s locking down.  You know the drill, no one in or out.  They’re telling the civvies something about training for major bio events.  Whatever’s going on, those in the know are keeping it to themselves.  Just watch your ass okay?”

“You too.  Keep your head down, okay man?”

“You know it.  Talk soon, brother.”

Chris sat back in his recliner, rocking himself gently as his mind worked.  He should go to bed, but he couldn’t shake the feeling of dread creeping up from his toes.  Malcolm was as tough as they come.  If a horse ever kicked him in the head, Malcolm would end up apologizing to the horse for its new broken leg.  If he was rattled, Chris was nervous.

He dialed his brother, Jason.  He was still an active Marine and might know a little more than Malcolm.  He let it ring until it went to voicemail.  Chris wasn’t surprised.  Ever since his brother had earned a Gunny’s rank, he was hard to reach on a slow day.  If something was going on, it would take an act of Congress to get him to answer.

He got up from his chair, grabbed his laptop and made his way to the kitchen.  He passed by the steps leading up towards his sleeping family, longing for his own bed.  But he knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep.  He needed to try and get a handle on what had his friend so shaken.

He threw on a pot of coffee, and powered on his laptop.  As soon as he had a steaming cup of goodness in front of him, he grabbed paper and pencil and hit the net.

A quiet recall of Special Forces would not be that alarming.  It is the nature of the job to remain highly mobile and reactionary.  Rotating back to the States early was not overly surprising these days.  But when those scenarios are coupled with country wide military lockdowns, a broader picture starts to emerge.

Something had those in power shitting themselves.

The bigger the problem, the harder those in Washington would work to hide it.  It was standard operating procedure to bury information when national security, or political careers, were at stake.

This, of course, did not stop the internet.  A cursory glance over the major news networks gave him nothing.  The world was in Christmas mode and the news reflected that.  There was more fighting in the Middle East, and flu season was back with a vengeance.  There was nothing that struck him as overly concerning.

“
Shit.  Still need to go Christmas shopping.  My Little Pony, Spongebob…kill me now
,” he smiled as he scrawled across the paper.  He thought for a moment, and wrote “
flu?
” before going back to his search.

He spent the next couple hours delving deeper into the internet.  He found nothing of any significance on any of the major media outlets.  He decided to shift his searches to more unconventional sources of information.  He hit personal blogs, news forums, and even the occasional conspiracy theory page.  He furiously took notes, jotting websites down that were particularly interesting.

One site he found showed a makeshift hospital, beds lined with sick and bleeding.  Each bed had an armed guard standing over it.  Another showed mass graves in some unnamed jungle filled with corpses wrapped in white linens stained red with blood.  A group of men stood at the edge of the graves and appeared to be shooting into the bodies.

“
Terrorists?  Militias?  Bio weapon?  Virus?  Ebola?  Hanta?
” he wrote.

The next site hosted an image labeled “China”.  It was a color image of a rural village.  The dirt roads were covered in bodies, looking as though they had dropped where they walked.  The well worn road was awash in the blood of the dead.  Men in bright yellow biohazard suits walked amongst the bodies.  The image was dated three days prior.

“
Biohazard!
” he noted.

His list grew the longer he searched.  “
Epidemic.  Unknown origin.  Virulent pathogen.  Plague.
”  Every site gave him one more piece to an increasingly gruesome puzzle.

The pattern was hard to deny.  His sources were questionable at best, however.  The idea that a deadly disease burning through the jungles of the world had gone unnoticed by the World Health Organization or the CDC was ludicrous.  But when he went to their websites, he found nothing.  They were instead dedicated to the flu season, and a small SARS outbreak in the UK.

He took a sip of coffee as he scanned the CDC website, immediately spitting out the ice cold beverage.  He looked at the clock and sighed.  He had lost track of time, and it was now only three hours until sunrise.  He decided to check an earlier site one more time before going to bed.

He typed in the site address, and sat back in his chair, stunned.  The page he expected was no longer there.  Instead he was met with the emblem of the Department of Justice and the U.S. Department of Homeland Security.  A message emblazoned across the screen read “This domain name has been seized”.  The next site he went to simply wouldn’t load.  Yet another just redirected him to a page promising a date with a bored and lonely housewife.

Chris closed his laptop, now certain of two things.  Some kind of infection was rearing its ugly head, and the government was scared enough to hide it.  It was an election season after all, and a lethal disease doesn’t help with polling.

His mind went into overdrive as he got up and made his way upstairs.  He began formulating plans for the next day.  He was an avid collector of firearms, that wasn’t a problem.  He would need feed for the animals, along with food and water for his family.  He wasn’t sure how long he had, but his gut told him it was time to prepare.

He silently crept across the oak floors on the second floor of his century old farmhouse.  The planks groaned under his steps as he snuck past his own bedroom and down the narrow hallway to check on his daughters.

He looked in on his 8 year old daughter, Faith.  She was sleeping soundly, her long golden curls resting on her fair skinned cheeks.  She wrapped herself in a pink comforter, hugging her pillow tightly to her chest.

He crept along towards his bedroom, grimacing when a loose floorboard popped.  He cringed, waiting to see if someone stirred before continuing on.

Chris stopped in front of his wife’s full length mirror after stepping into his room.  Even in the dark he could see his once tall and toned military physique had softened from Anna’s home cooking.  The work on the farm however was more than enough to keep his physical strength in check.  He lay next to his wife, trying to shake off the dread creeping into his mind long enough to get a couple hours of sleep.

The room was still dark when something tapping on his foot brought him back to consciousness.  In the gloom he could just make out the silhouette of Faith standing at the foot of his bed.

“Hey,” he got out through his desert dry mouth. “What  are you doing up?”

“Daddy, I don’t feel good,” she said before falling to the floor unconscious.