Three Miles Out: Book One Read online

  “I wore shorts,” she said. “Do I need to change?”

  “Um, no. That’s fine. That works.” He patted the exam table. “Hop up.”

  Vivian did.

  “How are your injuries?” he asked, as he turned and took a step toward a counter.

  “Sore. Tight. I’ll be alright.”

  Aaron prepared things on a tray as he spoke. “This will be a little sore tonight. I’m gonna use a local, once that wears off there will be some pain and discomfort. I’m guessing not nearly as bad as the bite marks.”

  “Aaron, can I ask you something?”

  “Sure.”

  “When I got here I didn’t think there were any infected, are there now?”

  Aaron paused as he turned with the tray. “Things happen. We didn’t plan on it, but we kinda expected it.” He set the tray next to the examining table. “This thing moves fast. And they’re sick, very sick people. I know what you saw when we left Sandusky.”

  “Also in a trailer a few rows back. He was like the ones in Sandusky. Like my husband.”

  “Yes.” Aaron nodded. ‘But I don’t think I can help those people. They aren’t my focus right now, the ones that are sick, the ones burning with fever, they’re my focus. If I can help them, I can stop them from becoming fully symptomatic.”

  “Can you?”

  “We’re trying. We’re trying everything. We may not be able to help those sick right now, but maybe those who get sick tomorrow, or the next day. Time is our enemy. We need to beat it before it gets too far ahead. Every uninfected life is precious right now, we have to preserve that.”

  “Then I’m happy to help.”

  “Good. Thank you. Now….” He lifted a thin metal object. “This is what I am going to use after I give you the local.”

  “It looks like an epi pen.”

  “Oddly enough it works with the same premise. Only the end …” he showed her. “Isn’t a thin needle, it’s a prong. I press it to your skin, depress, when it retracts it pulls a tissue sample. It only takes a second. It actually takes longer to numb and bandage you.” He set it down and lifted a syringe. “Right now I’m going to numb the area. It will take a few minutes for me to set it up.”

  Vivian nodded her understanding.

  He lifted the syringe and when he did, he paused when the sound of crackling gunfire was heard.

  A few shots here and there, nothing rapid.

  “What’s going on?” Vivian asked.

  “I don’t know. Excuse me.” Aaron set down the syringe and walked across the room, lifting a radio. “This is Finch. What’s the situation? I hear shots. Do we have a breach? Over.”

  “Negative,” the other voice on the radio replied. “We have a stand off at the pier. Over.”

  “I’m on my way. Out.” Aaron faced Vivian. “I’ll be right back. Stay here.” He hurriedly left without saying anything further.

  Vivian waited a few minutes, then she too, walked out.

  It wasn’t an easy or fast escape, she had to go through the same delay of mist and hot air when she left. She emerged from Medical Unit Four to relative calm. She expected to see people running about.

  The gunfire had ceased and she could hear voices in the distance. One carried over a megaphone. The heavy echo made it hard for her to understand what the voice was saying.

  No one seemed to notice as she walked back through the medical units, just like they barely noticed when she walked through before.

  The voice on the radio said the pier, and she knew where it was. She wanted to see and find out what was happening.

  She made it across the parking lot to The Brewery, a restaurant where she had gone the night before. Just like the night before, Gil was there. He was standing out front staring toward the water.

  Down by the dock, soldiers held a stance as if ready for battle, armed and aiming outwards. Some belly down, others taking position behind objects.

  “What’s going on?” she asked.

  “Nearest I can tell.” He pointed. “That ferry showed up.”

  A small ferry anchored a short distance from shore.

  “That’s not the one that brought me, is it?”

  Gil shook his head. “No, that guy took off with two Nostrum early this morning.”

  “Are you kidding me?” she asked sharply. “I don’t want to be here any more than anyone else, but don’t we have a responsibility?’

  “We do.”

  “Who are they?” she asked of the ferry.

  “Closest I can figure they are survivors trying to get to safety.”

  “Are they shooting at us?”

  Gil shook his head. “We are. They backed up and stopped. This is far enough away from the craziness, they have their sights on this island. I don’t think they’re going anywhere,” he said and looked at Vivian. “Do you?”

  <><><><>

  Linda was a mixture of confidence and nerves, after all, this was an emergency session of the Joint Chief of Staffs. She didn’t know how much they had been briefed, if at all.

  She was a colonel, and speaking to them was highly unheard of. However, she had been in on the outbreak since the beginning, and she was by far the closest person to it, she had the most knowledge.

  Leaving Fort Detrick wasn’t easy. She had to take an obscure exit so as not to be seen. By the time she arrived in Washington word about the order to shut down Fort Detrick had spread, and they gave her hell about entering the Pentagon.

  It stressed her out so much her blood pressure was up and her head pounded.

  Then when she walked into the meeting room she saw they all sat at the same end of a long table. She felt as if she were appearing before a Disciplinary Board.

  The chairman, General Dunman stared hard at her. “Care to tell me why we’re being brought in for something that is the CDC’s domain, or at most FEMA? Is there reason to believe it’s a weapon?”

  “No, sir,” Linda replied. “It is not a weapon. May I ask what you know or have been briefed on?”

  “We are dealing with a level four virus that has spread to twelve states.”

  Linda shook her head. “Spread is an understatement. It’s like wildfire. It can’t be touched, it spreads easier than any airborne virus we know. Being in the room with someone, walking in the same area, you’ll pick it up.”

  “How is that possible?”

  “Because it doesn’t dissipate. It lives on the surface, it will settle on your skin and make its way in. The ‘r nought’ ratio is undeterminable. This isn’t a virus, it acts like one, but it’s not. It’s a parasite. One impervious to any treatment we know, one that will not die by any medical knowledge we have. The only way to destroy it is exposure to high levels of heat or extreme cold. Temperatures humans cannot survive.”

  Another general asked. “While I am not an expert in parasites, doesn’t it die when the host dies?”

  “Inside, yes, but the larva and the adult parasite is microscopic and the host leaves larva on almost everything he or she touches.”

  “How did we end up with this?” General Dunman asked.

  “Because eighteen soldiers returning from Niger brought it back. We thought we cured them, we only made it dormant, and we sent them home. All across the United States.”

  “Jesus,” General Dunman gasped. “What about in Niger? What’s the situation there?”

  “The village where they were exposed is dead. Or … dead-ish.”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “Let me explain the hows of it before I explain that.” Linda said. “People hear parasite, they think worm, rather tapeworm, we’re not talking one parasite, however, we’re talking millions in the human body that take over the bloodstream. There are two types of this strain, PV-1 and PV-2. With PV-1, the transmission is via larva into the blood stream. This is done by air, touch, or simple transference. PV-2 is the transfer of matured parasites into the blood stream. This is done by exchange of bodily fluids, a bite, or scratch. When infected with PV-1,
the patient is asymptomatic until the larva matures. Sometimes it takes days, other times it can take a week. When finally symptomatic, they experience flu like symptoms that increase in severity until the infestation reaches the brain, at which time, the infected becomes mentally compromised and exhibits severe and violent behavior. When infected with PV-2 the mature parasite heads directly to the brain. The incubation period is an hour or two tops. Most PV-2 infections occur to those mortally wounded and the maturity takes place post mortem.”

  “Wait. Wait.” General Dunman lifted his hand. “Are you saying PV-2 infected are … zombies?”

  “For lack of a better word, yes,” she answered.

  “Ridiculous.” He scoffed.

  “Yeah, well, it’s true, sir. Those infected with PV-1, they are the ones filling up our hospitals. Those infected with PV-2 are filling up our streets. That’s why I am here.”

  “What can be done? What can we do?” the general asked.

  “We can continue working on a long term medical solution,” Linda said. “We have been invaded so we treat it as such. Issue national travel bans. Mandatory quarantines across the country. Stay inside, stay alive. The ones with PV-1 are not a concern until they hit the encephalic stage. We treat them like any flu victim and we humanely spare them the final outcome.”

  “And those with PV-2?”

  “They are our biggest concern. Right now we have a dozen states with infection that will grow. The infected will bleed through the areas. We take them out. We get boots on the ground and we go in and clear out cities. Put the word out to those that are healthy to stay inside. Recruit their help. It will be a tedious process, but if we don’t get ahead of it, it will get ahead of us. This isn’t one of those zombie movies where you wake up and everything is done. We have a fighting chance, so we need to fight. I need you to advise the President of these actions.”

  “And what of plan B?” the General asked. “Ohio, I hear is pretty bad. What happens if we can’t beat them and keep them in Ohio? What’s the plan?”

  “Since we can’t call upon an instant ice age, any areas we cannot beat, we retreat, then …we burn the area down.”

  “Why?”

  “For the preservation of human life,” she said. “We use any means necessary.”

  FOURTEEN – HOMEWARD BOUND

  Stopping for gas wasn’t an option for Brady and Jason. The Wakeman police took their wallets and even if they did have cash, there wasn’t a service station open. They sputtered out their final drops of gas as they pulled in front of Brady’s house.

  Brady’s street was eerily quiet and still. In fact, the entire suburb was. No cars, no people. No movement at all.

  “Looks like an evacuation took place,” Bert said.

  “You think?” Brady asked. “I mean maybe there was an outbreak here.”

  “No, we’d see one or two of the insane,” Bert said. “This neighborhood looks cleared out.”

  Brady looked at his house. “My mom may not be in there?”

  “She may not.”

  Brady sighed.

  “My car is still here,” Jason said. “I think I’m gonna head home. Check Corrie and the baby and hope for the best. Hopefully she left word if she is not there.”

  “Since you don’t have a phone be sure to check your email or social media,” Brady said.

  “Good idea.” Jason opened the car door and stepped out.

  “Do you have your keys?” Brady asked.

  Jason nodded. “Not on me. I have a set in the console. You know with everything the way it is we shouldn’t be separated.”

  “I have enough gas to get three streets over to your house,” Brady told him. “Let me check my mom, get her if she’s there and I’ll meet you at your place.”

  “Hopefully, Corrie will be there. I know that sheriff said she was detained, but you don’t know for sure.”

  Brady opened the back door. “Are you coming, Bert?”

  “Nah,” Bert replied. “Either way you’re coming back. I’ll wait here.”

  “Sounds good.” Brady turned and faced Jason. “See you in a few. Good luck.”

  “Yeah, you, too.” Jason quickly embraced Brady then headed to his car.

  Once more, Brady looked in on Bert. “I’ll be right back.”

  “Sounds good. Oh. Wait.”

  Brady paused as he walked from the car. “Yeah?”

  “Do you have any soup in your house? A can of one of those new fangled pull tab on the go things?” Bert asked.

  “Soup?” Brady said confused.

  “Yeah, I could really go for some soup. Hot or cold. Meat or not. I don’t care. Just some soup.”

  “Soup. Okay, I’ll grab you a can.”

  “Thank you,” Bert gave a thumbs up.

  Brady turned and walked toward his house, dumbfounded that in the midst of everything, Bert wanted a can of soup. It was a strange request.

  A part of him was afraid to go into the house. He reached for the door and hesitated. Several factors played into it. His mother, if she was home, was probably pissed because she hadn’t heard from him. Or worse racked with worry. Then again, he hoped his mother was okay. She was recovering from the knee surgery and infection.

  He knew the second he stepped into the house, everything was not okay.

  The house had darkness to it, the curtains partially closed. The television ran static and all the pizza boxes were on the table right where he had left them.

  It wasn’t so much the smell of a normal house as it was a horrible, rotten smell that Brady had never experienced before. It burned his nostrils and permeated everything in the room.

  He could only guess what the smell was, he knew it wasn’t something rotten in the kitchen.

  His mother had been sick with an infection and without Brady to take care of her, she probably passed away. He felt crushed and guilty. Why did he leave? His poor mom. She was his only family member, and he hers.

  He stood there, wondering if he should go check. Go look. He had been gone for days. Did he really want the last vision of his mother to be a rotting corpse?

  Brady had to check to be sure. He had to.

  Maybe, he thought, he’d wait and get Jason. He just didn’t have it in him to find her, not alone.

  One thing was for sure, he was leaving his home for good. There were no emergency services to call, no police. If Brady was leaving for good, he wasn’t leaving without items. Pictures, clothes, maybe even some food.

  Food.

  Bert wanted soup.

  They always had plenty of food, because they shopped and never cooked.

  He could make a quick sweep. Brady’s home wasn’t large, a living room, big kitchen and two bedrooms on the second floor. The staircase was against the wall. Two steps led up to a landing, where the closet was, the rest of the steps led from it.

  There was a small duffel bag in the landing closet, Brady knew it for sure, it would be what he would use.

  He opened the closet door and found it with ease. He unzipped it, slung it over his shoulder and decided while he gathered courage to go upstairs, he’d get what he could from the first floor. Including Bert’s soup.

  As he passed the sofa table on the way to the kitchen, he lifted the picture of him and his mother in Atlantic City. He removed it from the frame and placed it in his bag.

  In the kitchen he grabbed the beef jerky, a box of Cheez Its and various other items. He needed to leave room for some clothes. At least some jeans and a shirt. He also needed something that would work as a weapon. As he emptied the box of Twinkies into the bag, his eyes shifted to the ceiling when he heard a creak.

  At first he thought it was his imagination, then he heard it again. The creaking came from above.

  The corner of his mouth raised in a smile and he was struck with not only a sense of relief, but embarrassment.

  What was wrong with him? Why did he assume his mother was dead?

  Hurriedly he raced to the stairs. Once he stepped
on the landing he saw his mother walk by. She moved fast, then a second later, she walked by again, as if pacing in a frenzy. Back and forth, back and forth.

  “Mom?” Brady called out.

  The footsteps stopped. His mother backed up and stood at the top of the stairs, arms slightly outward at her side.

  Brady’s eyes widened when he saw her. Hair matted, her face pasty white with purple discoloration on her neck and cheeks. Her eyes were dark.

  “Mom?” Brady whimpered.

  His mother hissed and with that jumped, in a lunge, down the stairs from the top.

  Brady dove out of the way, but there was no need. In her leap, her head smacked off the slanted ceiling and as her body bounced off, she slammed down to the landing and rolled against the closet door.

  She didn’t move.

  Breathing heavily, Brady backed up. He didn’t need to get close to see what she had become.

  He was too frightened, too scared at that moment to be overwhelmed with sadness. He took running steps toward the front door, stopped, spun and ran back into the kitchen, he thought of that weapon he needed. He pulled out the first drawer and grabbed the rolling pin. A step or two out of the kitchen he saw his mother was still not moving so he backtracked, he went into the kitchen again and grabbed the meat mallet.

  On the third trip out his mother was laying still, he realized he forgot the soup and ran back in for that.

  Can in hand, he raced out and that was when his mother moved. As he passed her, she jumped up reaching for him.

  He couldn’t bring himself to hit her, he shoved her out of his way and flew out the door.

  She followed furiously.

  Brady made it to the car, threw the bag in as he jumped into the driver’s seat, just as his mother slammed her hands against the window.

  “Holy crap,” Bert said from the back seat. “That your mother?”

  “Yeah.” Brady looked at her as he started the car. She clawed and bit at the window and he stared with pity for a moment.

  “We should go,” Bert said.

  Brady nodded and tossed him the can. “Here’s your soup.” After putting the car in gear, he peeled out. The whole drive down the street he kept looking in the rearview mirror at his mother as she chased them.