Zombie Battle (Books 1-3): Trinity (21 page)

No other information was given except to get to that small town. It didn’t make sense to Jack. Why they were so worried about a distress call from a small town. Weren’t there bigger things to be concerned about?

Soldiers were being deployed to Charlotte, and pretty much all over the state of North Carolina.

From the rumors Jack received, it appeared that all of North Carolina, like the city of Atlanta in Georgia, was going to be sealed off.

Too many occurrences too fast.

But Jack also didn’t mind going to that small town, because he knew, that town wasn’t very far from his wife.

One more retreat, call of duty or not, Jack was going to retreat on his own and find Lil.

<><><><>

Six hours, that was it. Six hours and the Center for Disease Control building in Vermont went from over a hundred workers down to eight.

Saul remained.

He worked diligently on trying to beat this virus. His personal team consisted of him and one other person; and she was one more good scare from walking out the door.

But Saul was close; at least he believed he was.

Antigens taken from Specialist Carlson, the soldier who showed remarkable recovery then changed his antigens, were synthesized in hopes of making an antidote. Taking what he had one step further.

 Carlson was so close to beating the virus transformation. One step.

Saul saw it on the screen, against the viral strain that hit the cell structure. Biting his nails, Saul watched his antigens battle the infection like soldiers in a war zone.

“Dr. Klein,” his assistant’s voice cracked.

“Yes, Susan.”

“My husband called. There are reports of infection on our street. I’m going. We’re leaving.”

“And going where.” Saul made notation.

“Out of Vermont.” Susan pulled out a copy of the United States Map. “Montana. That’s a state with no reported cases. And a few others out west.”

Saul kept watching the screen. “We’re close.”

“I pray you are. I must go.”

Saul didn’t respond. He closed his eyes, listening to her gather her things. She wished him luck. He needed it.

The test on his screen was nearly complete, and it looked good. But so did the other batches. But like the other batches, he would try. This one was different. He took what he was calling SP1 to another level.

He could see what he needed to do. He needed to build the body’s defenses against the invading force and to do that, Saul took the good antigens and made them bad, in a good way. When the Peru strain tried to take over the blood, the new virus would combat it.

A virus there was a cure for.

A soupped up, biological weapon version of small pox.

And on the screen, which was like a paper version of a test, it looked promising.

 Saul was on his last leg. If he had more time, maybe he could beat it, but things were chaotic outside his window. He could hear growing gunfire and screams, rioting and breaking glass.

His last attempt. He would leave if it didn’t work.

Waiting for the serum to mix, Saul thought of calling Irma. He picked up the phone and it rang before he could dial.

Jack.

“What’s wrong?” was Saul’s answer to the ringing phone.

“They’re moving me to North Carolina,” Jack said. “ Just touching base. If it’s bad Saul, I’m heading to the fortress, letting you know.”

“Well, I’m finishing up here and heading there myself.” Saul rubbed his eyes. “I’m on to something Jack.”

“What do you mean?”

“Carlson. You know how he developed antibodies to the Peru strain?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, we synthesized them. Had the same results in others but it needed something more. I believe I’ve come up a combination that may work. I’m going to test it here, real soon.”

“And if it works?” Jack asked.

“Then, Jack, I don’t know. It may be too late to mass produce. If it works at all. At least we may be able to help some once they’ve been bit.”

“I’m keep my fingers crossed. Saul, when are you leaving there?”

“After I run this and see. A day or two,” Saul said.

“Keep in touch. I promised your wife.”

“I will. And Jack, if you get there and I don’t …”

“Won’t happen.”

“Jack.”

“Saul, I have to go. It won’t happen. I’ll talk to you soon. Good luck.”

Saul stared at the phone for a moment, and again, ready to dial Irma, he stopped when the alert on the computer told him his new test batch was done.

He went over, retrieved one of the six vials, and filled a syringe.

The walk to the testing area wasn’t long. Down the hallway with glass windows.

Test subjects one through six had turned and diligently fought the restraints that kept their reanimated bodies in bed.

Subjects seven through ten were turning fast. Their color was going, they thrashed. Vitals signs dropped as fever ravished them.

Test subject eleven had been bitten on the forearm four hours earlier.

She arrived alert and frantic and quickly fevered. She was strapped to the bed. Saul walked in the room.

Eleven was no older than twenty. She whimpered and her head thrashed back and forth. Her long dark hair reminded Saul of Sarah.

“Help me. I’m so… so…sick.”

“I know.” Saul reached for the intravenous tubing. “I’m trying.”

“Is that a cure?”

“I don’t know,” Saul said. “We can only hope.”

He injected the fluid into her intravenous.

If his theories were correct, it would start to work immediately. All his previous serums did. But the working immediately wasn’t his concern; it was the long term effect. The other serums failed and the patient reverted.

A few hours. That was all. A few hours and Saul would know if he were on to something or if he just tossing out another failed attempt at a hopeless cause.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Atlantic Ocean

After about twenty minutes of continuous attempt to contact, Officer Harold had enough.

“Hartford this is General Lance, Secretary of Defense, do you read me. Over.”

Consciously they called out.

Marlene had kept everyone in the control room at bay. Then Harold seized the moment and took control.

He had her restrained in a chair and held at gunpoint.

With the best interest of the few survivors in mind, Harold had to do what he thought was best and that was take control so he could get them off the submarine.

“This is Hartford. Executive Officer Harold speaking, sir.”

“Where is the Captain?” Lance asked.

“The captain, we believe has lost control and not capable of making decisions Sir. I have taken over command.”

“Do you have infected on board?” Lance asked.

“Yes, sir. We do.”

“How many?”

“Sir,” Harold said. “We are in the control room. We’re trapped here. The entire submarine has been taken over by the infected.”

“How many remain?”

“Eight.”

“Thank you.”

“Sir, when can expect a rescue? When can we come ashore? We haven’t eaten properly. We have two here with broken bones and cuts.”

“You have infected. You realize we cannot let you come ashore.”

“But, Sir …”

“Over.”

Nothing.

Harold hung his head in defeat. He lifted it slowly to Marlene’s mad laughter. First he looked at her over his shoulder then turned his body.

“You fool,” She said. “Why do you think I didn’t tell them? Let the infected die out, surface the sub, make an emergency escape. Now you don’t stand a chance. They are and will take us out.”

“No.” Harold shook his head. “No they won’t. They’ll spare us.”

“Then you’re more of a fool than I thought. What makes you think they’ll reason with you?” she asked.

“I have a bay of eight trident missiles whose launch codes I have the authority to override.” Harold said assuredly. “They’ll reason.” He turned to the communications officer. “Get them back on the line.”

CHAPTER NINETEEN

North Carolina

Juan was placed in the tool shed. There he sat with the ball that Jerry had tossed him, he played with it and was occupied enough for Steve to secure him in there and visit with Garrick.

Lil was frazzled but tried not to show it. “Garrick, how did Jack not know your brother?”

Garrick shrugged. “Don’t know. Never met him. Steve is a big virologist for the Army. And let’s face it, my last name is common.”

Irma spoke as she combed Jerry’s hair. “The question is, why does he have the boy?”

“Thing,” Garrick stated.

“Boy,” Steve said as he emerged, hair wet. “Thank you for the shower.” He reached for the bottle of booze and poured a drink. “He’s a boy. We brought him back from Peru for testing. He was different.”

“Peru?” Irma asked. “You were in Peru? Where did you bring him for testing?”

“Atlanta,” Steve answered.

Irma looked at Lil quickly then Steve. “Then you know my husband. You must. Saul Klein.”

Steve smiled. “Dr. Klein is an amazing man. He is.”

“Then you must have met my husband,” Lil said. “Sgt. Edwards.”

“Jack. Yes.” Steve nodded. “Wait. Garrick, is that Jack the one and the same friend you talked about all these years?”

“Yep. That’s him. But enough of this shit,” Garrick said. “Why did you bring him up here?”

“He’s different,” Steve said then downed his drink. “He doesn’t attack. On the way to America, he cried the entire way. He understands, he does. When the order came to exterminate him he … he looked at me and put his head on my lap. I couldn’t do it.”

Garrick rolled his eyes.

Irma covered her mouth. “He begged for his life.”

Steve nodded.

“What life!” Garrick asked. “He’s dead. Dead, Steve.”

Steve cringed. “I know. But I couldn’t do it.”

Lil asked. “So you took him? Why?”

“Look at him. He’s decaying at a normal rate. Most of the reanimated seem to have a slower decomposition rate. He will eventually just pass on. I brought him up here, away from it all to be in peace and to do so without being killed. Unlike the others, for some reason, he still has a bit of his soul in there.”

“And for that reason, Steven,” Irma walked to him, “You must end it for him. If he has any inkling of life. Any soul. If that is really him in that reanimated boy, then he is scared. He has to feel the pain of his body decaying. Don’t do this to this child. You need to end it for him.”

“He’s just a child,” Steve said.

“Exactly,” Irma replied. “Don’t make him suffer anymore. My husband made that choice for our own daughter who was bitten. If he can do that for his own flesh and blood, you can do this for that child.”

Steve shivered a breath, “But he’ll know. He trusts me. I can’t do it. I can’t.”

Garrick pursed his lips and pulled his weapon. “Then I will.”

“No.” Lil said firmly. “No. You aren’t going to go out there and execute a small boy.”

“Then what do you suggest?” Garrick asked. “Who will do it?”

Lil looked around the faces in the room. “I will. But we’ll do it right.”

<><><><>

By the time Jack pulled into Huntersville, North Carolina, his team of twenty had dwindled to eight. Not because of death, but because most of the soldiers just went AWOL.

Jack didn’t blame them. There is a duty to country but more to family first.

 He had made the promise that he would make it to Lil before risking anymore.

Huntersville was quiet and Jack pulled the convoy of vehicles up the main street.

There was no destruction, no chaos as the Humvee, two jeeps and a Fox rolled into town.

In fact there wasn’t a sound. They found the police station without incident. The doors were barricaded. What was going on?

If there were an undead epidemic like in Atlanta, surely Jack would have seen one. But he didn’t.

He picked up the radio. “This is Foxtrot Zulu Niner, come in. We’re in center square facing the destination. What’s our directive… copy?”

“Foxtrot Zulu Niner, we will try to reach those inside to tell them you have arrived. Stand by.”

“Copy that.” Jack lowered his radio. “This is absurd.” He waved out his arm. “Let’s move it in.”

Perhaps Jack shouldn’t have called out his order so loudly. Had he not, he and his team may have made it into the station. Instead, his booming voice was like a lunch bell and when it rang out, so did the screams and damned cries of hundreds of undead.

Jack cocked his head.

They came from everywhere. Over buildings, from behind cars. Fast and furious. Leaping out, jumping like animals. The slid down the side of the police station.

Jack watched three lunge at a soldier taking him down.

“Take them out!” Jack ordered, and then recognized it wasn’t going to be easy. He realized it as soon as one came for him. Jack lifted his weapon to shoot but couldn’t.

It was a child.

No older than four.

With mouth agape, hands outward, the child sprang at Jack. He couldn’t bring himself to shoot.

He revved back his foot and booted the child back ten feet. Turning, Jack saw another of his men go down, then another.

A child hit his back and Jack flung the little girl to the ground, took a deep breath, tried to shoot, but again, couldn’t.

What was wrong with him?

He fought them furiously, swatting them away, hitting them with his M-4, battering them with his hands and feet, his weapon, everything but bullets.

From the corner of his eye he saw one of his soldier shoot an undead child. The kid’s body exploded and it was like a blast of emotion in Jack.

He didn’t know what to do.

For some reason, the killer instinct instilled in him left and he was conflicted. He needed to think, he needed to be safe and Jack flew for the Fox vehicle.

The hundreds of children rained in like demons, snarling, biting, growling and screaming.

It was mayhem. Why weren’t they warned? He was facing an enemy he could beat, but emotionally was unable to battle.