Pestilence: The Infection Begins (7 page)

M
oya received
a call not long after he’d spoken with Thorncroft; the puppet master, as he now thought of him.

“Moya.” He answered as he unpacked his suitcase. He decided to see it through to the end, there was no other choice.

“Dr. Moya, I have some news for you on the current situation.” An upbeat Calgleef announced.

“Good, I’m listening.” Moya grabbed another bottle of water, sat on the bed and listened to Calgleef’s summary of what was to take place, or at least what he was to be told.

“I’ve sent a recommendation to the FDA and to the president demanding the current program be postponed due to a contamination in the vaccine, at least in the dosages found at the Riverside hospital.”

“Excuse me, if I may.” Moya stood and walked to the sliding glass door and looked out onto the street below. Traffic flowed without incident while people walked or jogged along the side of the road or in the small park next to the hotel. Not one of these people knew, Moya reflected, that decisions which would affect their lives, were being made by a few select people—some of whom were on the other side of the world.

“Certainly, by all means.”

“As you know I’m Mr. Thorncroft’s representative here in the US for this program, and I was under the impression that Mr. Thorncroft expected something more temporary, he has a considerable investment in this you know. How is informing your government of a contamination going to assist in this manner?”

“I understand that there is much at stake for Mr. Thorncroft, as well as his partners and you, but let me reassure you that I have quite an involvement as well. We are all partners in this business deal. What I’ve stated in my report is that some vials of the vaccine appeared to be affected, perhaps because they were improperly sealed and the cabin pressure from the plane may have led to the alteration. I also added that not all of the vaccines were affected, but to be on the safe side it would be best to abandon these vaccines until a locally manufactured version can be produced.” Moya wondered if the director of the CDC was reading this from a transcript, but Calgleef hadn’t finished. “This, as I assured Mr. Thorncroft, would not jeopardize the program, his contract or the initial purchase, as the decision not to use these supplied vaccines was ours, and therefore Thorn Bio-Tech would be fully compensated.”

Moya looked at the traffic and people below and wondered how many of these people would end up infected, or dead, with the Baltic flu. He couldn’t do anything about it now if he tried, all he could do was think of the money once more. Yes, the money, that’s what it was all about wasn’t it? The corners of his mouth turned upward; yes, I’m a whore for sure, but not a cheap one! He liked Calgleef’s plan and told him so, he especially liked it that the contract wouldn’t be affected and therefore neither would his stipend. But he didn’t tell him that much.

“The disturbance at the hospital will be explained away as an aggressive reaction from a mixture of the Legionnaires’ disease and the contaminated vaccine, a tragic situation yes, but an accidental one.”

Moya realized too that Calgleef was made of the same substance as Thorncroft; you had to be to make and keep money these days, he assumed, and he had become no better.

“How long will this take?”

“Not long, Dr. Moya, with the situation at the hospital and the cost factor, believe me the government will be distancing itself from any immediate scrutiny. Laying blame on a malfunction in the seals due to cabin pressure on the plane—which can’t be proved either way—is an easy out. I expect an announcement tomorrow and a recall of all vaccines to follow shortly thereafter. In a month or so the first batch will roll out from the US manufacturers. Sound good to you, Dr. Moya?”

It did, music to his ears as the saying went. He had an instant thought, with that timeline in place his presence wouldn’t be necessary, he could return to London and should anything break out in America in that time, well…

“It does indeed, Dr. Calgleef. And the press?”

“They’ll toe the line. They always do.”

“Good to hear. Well if there’s anything you need from me, I’ll be here at the hotel for a few more days and—”

“Few more days! Did Thorncroft not inform you?”

Moya remained silent as he felt a hole open up in the pit of his stomach.

“You’re to oversee and advise on the production of the vaccines here in the United States, Dr. Moya.”

He should have known you don’t just walk away that easy—not from Noel Thorncroft.

But at least I’ll get away from this city. This thought, his only consolation.

* * *

T
ilford took
his time to pushed open the door; his mop cocked ready at his shoulder. He and the others avoided the smudged blood below on the cream linoleum floor of the maternity ward.

Hospital doors do not, as a rule, creak when opened, but Tilford wasn’t about to take any chances. He looked back to check on the other three; Delaney, dressed in a white doctor’s jacket like him, and the two nurses in their blue scrubs were right behind. Tilford noted the difference in facial expressions. Delaney had a determined look, which didn’t mean she wasn’t fazed by the abhorrent nature of affairs. It hadn’t affected her looks at all, which Tilford took more notice of the longer he was in her company. Sanders had an eager expression; there was fear in her eyes for sure but not quite panic. Nurse Childs, on the other hand, was close to panic if not already there. Her dark eyeliner ran in streaks down her cheek from her tears; her hands trembled sending a shock wave through her leg-of-pork-sized arms, causing them to quiver. Tilford didn’t pass judgement on her though. Hell, he felt like crawling into a corner somewhere, putting his head between his knees and hoping it would all go away. It wouldn’t of course, and doing so wouldn’t help them get out of here, he couldn’t afford to do it—they couldn’t afford it.

There was a line of patient rooms on each side of the corridor before them, and approximately fifty yards of open travel before they reached the aisle that would take them to the security office. In another time, there wouldn’t be a thought about the distance, but now it looked as daunting as crossing the Grand Canyon—in a single bound. The doorways to each of the rooms weren’t directly opposite each other in the corridor, but offset.

“Stick to the wall.” Tilford said, loud enough for them to hear but, hopefully, no one else. This allowed them to peer into the patient rooms opposite as they inched their way along, step by step, one foot after the—

“Oh my God!” Childs shrieked. The lights in the hospital went out.

“Jesus!” Sanders also called to the deities.

“Hang on. Don’t move, the generator should kick in any moment.” Tilford remembered the emergency training drill from last year and the detail about the generator. It would also keep patients hooked up to life-saving devices alive; well, that was until bloodsucking infected ghouls were let loose.

“They shut off the phones, now they’re cutting power. Bastards, fucking bastards!”

“Who shut off the phone or cut power… what are you talking about?” Sanders wanted to know if Delaney knew more than she’d let on.

An electronic hum was heard through the walls as the generator powered up; within moments the emergency lighting came on in the corridor, bathing their view in an unearthly yellowish glow.

“How far down is the security office?” Delaney avoided the nurses’ question by asking one of her own. There would be time later; she hoped.

“Down that hallway. It’s the first on our right.” Sanders answered. With the lights back on the goal of reaching the security office became paramount.

“Let’s make a run for it, huh?”

“We don’t know what could be waiting for us… and I don’t fancy running headlong into a group of these things, y’know?” Tilford understood Delaney’s excitement, she was an exciting woman in many ways, but he knew that if they made a run for it Childs would be left behind. No, they had to stay together, safety in numbers and all that. Nurse Childs was a likeable person with a bubbly personality, and he was sure she’d taken more than her far share of taunts over the years. For better or worse, they were all they had. As they neared the first doorway of the patient room, Tilford held his hand up for the others behind him to halt. He edged along the wall, the sinews in his neck bulging as he strained to look inside the darkened room. He motioned for them to follow along. “Just slide against the wall, easy, easy does it.”

Childs slammed her three-hundred-plus pounds against the wall, resulting in a loud thud. Tilford’s eyes bulged and his stomach muscle’s tightened. Delaney bit down on her bottom lip, while Sanders eyes shot daggers at Childs. In the dim light, Nurse Childs could only offer a silently mouthed, “sorry”.

“Come on, we need to—” Tilford began but the sound of a voice, a woman’s voice, caught him midsentence.

“Help me, h-e-lp…”

Tilford reached out and grabbed Sanders by the arm, pulling her back. “Wait, wait, we don’t know what’s in there.”

“There’s a woman in there, begging for help. We have to!” Sanders sounded frantic in her answer.

“Damn…a flashlight or two…some weapons, maybe a platoon of soldiers.” Delaney muttered. She’d coped well so far, trying to stay alive can keep you focused, but nothing was going right and they still hadn’t come close to finding a way out. They weren’t in a good position, she knew that much. Tilford heard her but said nothing, he realized she was starting to struggle. They didn’t have any weapons or a platoon of soldiers not even a boy scout group but no one was callous enough to abandon a woman crying out for help.

“Get behind me.” Tilford waved with his free hand.

If a bloodsucker was inside the room, then maybe, he reasoned, maybe the women could run to the security office while he occupied himself with the ghoul. He didn’t like the idea of playing hero, but he didn’t have much in the way of choices.

I bet if Nurse Childs body slammed them, that would fix ’em… but good! He allowed a tiny smile to creep onto his face over his comical thought. He motioned with his open hand three times in the air as if pushing against an invisible wall; stay there, stay there. If any infected charged from the corridor, they’d have nowhere to go but inside the patient’s room. Options were fewer and fewer.

Shit!

“
Y
es
, sir, of course, sir,” Calgleef told one of the presidents’ personal assistants with confidence. “It is unfortunate, but it was out of our control. The vials were packed in England and rushed onto a waiting plane, and everyone from the manufacturing point to the airport luggage handlers had been informed of the necessity for haste, and that’s just what we got. I’m sorry to say, sir, but haste equals waste, as I’m sure you’ve heard many times before.”

Calgleef listened attentively when the assistant replied before continuing.

“The outbreak of the Legionnaires’ disease took everyone by surprise, sir, and it’s fair to say there have been some bizarre reactions with the contaminated vaccine. But as soon as we can contain the Legionnaires’ we can begin initial treatments. We may lose some of the elderly and the newborn but…” Calgleef didn’t want to focus too much on the negative, “we shouldn’t let this slow down the schedule to produce the vaccine here in the United States. It will be of the utmost importance if we’re to prevent the spread of Baltic flu. Have you seen the latest casualty figures from Europe?”

Calgleef knew the secretary hadn’t, and when he replied as much, the director of the CDC was more than delighted to elucidate. “Well, after a short lull in which fatalities actually receded—which caused a false hope—there’s now been another spike and an increase of five percent in recorded deaths.” He paused once more for the assistant’s response. “Yes, sir, that’s correct,” Calgleef answered, his admonitions and recommendations alone wouldn’t be enough to sway government policy nor would those of the FDA. But figures, figures don’t lie, and one thing politician’s love is to manipulate figures to their benefit.

“Thank you, sir.” Calgleef ended the call satisfied he had convinced one of the president’s most trusted aides not only of the need to continue with the vaccination program but almost guarantee the manufacturing here in the States before it was too late.

It already was too late of course. Not for Noel Thorncroft, who would have his contract fulfilled, but for the millions of Americans, their fate had been decided. The Baltic flu wouldn’t find its way to the North American shores, instead it would be introduced. Deliberately. The fear and panic that would follow would assure Throncroft and his accomplices of their massive profits as panicked millions lined up for their vaccinations. One in ten thousand recipients of the vaccine would contract the Baltic flu, which was the original plan but somehow the vials containing the virus were packed into the same storage unit and shipped to Des Moines, were everyone who received a shot got it. The “one in ten thousand” would be enough to ensure the pestilence would spread far and wide but at a rate that wouldn’t bring down the entire infrastructure; just enough to make sure everyone got their shots. And the demand for Thorncroft’s serum would be overwhelming and so would the profits. The government would make it compulsory and doctors would eagerly distribute the lies that it was done for the safety of America and its people. Nobody would question the motives, not at a time like this.

Most also believed the world was created in seven days or that a fat man with a white beard, dressed in a red jumpsuit brought gifts on December 25 each year.

The initial batch of vaccines, manufactured in Europe and transported to the United States, were meant to execute the “one-ten thousand” action, as referred to by many in the pharmaceutical industry, but the mix—up meant that only those at Riverside Hospital received the dose.

Thorncroft wasn’t the only one who understood that healthy people are of no value to the industry or the medical profession either.

Live strains of the Baltic flu in vaccines distributed throughout the United States it was a recipe for disaster if ever there was one. Perhaps it was Thorncroft’s plan or maybe someone else with another agenda, terrorist’s for instance, but whatever it was it didn’t look promising. Calgleef ran all these thoughts and possibilities through his head. Like Moya his feet were getting cold.

“Now might be a good time to get the house in St. Martin’s ready. I might need it soon.”

* * *

T
ilford crept
into the patient’s room as best as he could without overbalancing; he never was any good at sneaking up on anyone. He kept an eye on the bed where the woman lay, her cries for help subsided now. It was darker in the room with only the light from the corridor, and he didn’t help his night vision by constantly glancing back toward Delaney waiting nervously at the doorway.

“I’m a doctor,” he whispered as he neared the edge of the bed. “Are you injured?”

“I-I-I don’t know, but I feel weak, very weak…” She rolled her head toward the sound of Tilford’s voice. “I was resting. I just gave birth and my baby is in an incubator and—OH MY, MY GOD! MY BABY, MY BABY… WHERE’S MY BABY?” the woman screamed hysterically.

“Your baby is all right,” he lied; he had to, every blood—eyed ghoul in the hospital would hear. “Just relax, your baby is fine.”

“What’s wrong?” Delaney came up behind Tilford too fast.

“Jee-zuz!” Tilford felt his bones jolt when Delaney approached him. “You scared the—”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“I was just lying here when someone took my arm, a doctor, I thought,” the woman in bed expounded, the presence of another woman’s voice had a calming effect. “I felt a sharp sensation, many in fact, and I assumed he gave me a needle and I-I…”

“What happened, what…? Oh my God!” Delaney’s eyesight apparently adjusted faster than Tilford’s, because she saw the large bite marks along the patient’s sleeveless arm. Human bite marks. Blood ran from the wounds where it smeared on the floor below. “Oh shit…”

“What—” Tilford heard Delaney’s cry but hadn’t caught on.

“We have to get out of here, Isaac, we have to get out—NOW!” It was no longer necessary to remain quiet.

“My babeeeee!” The woman who just gave birth scowled at Tilford. “You killed my babeeeee!”

She lifted up from her prone position, shooting both arms out at Tilford, who had become accustomed to the lower light. He noticed the dark ovals where her eyes would be—they were covered in a film of blood.

She’d become one of the infected.

Tilford didn’t have time to think, only react. Dropping his mop, he grabbed the edges of one side of the thin hospital mattress, lifted it to where he could get his body weight behind and then giving an almighty shove. The patient–turned–blood-thirster fell to the floor with a thud, and the mattress followed. A screaming war cry from behind turned Delaney and Tilford into pillars of stone as they feared an attack, before they were brushed aside by a charging Jenny Childs wielding the small metal wastebasket above her head. Still trying to get their hearts out of their mouths, neither Delaney nor Tilford could prevent Childs as she launched onto the infected woman struggling to free herself from under the mattress. The wastebasket came down with a resounding clank when the woman lifted her head up from the floor. The wastebasket buckled with the force of the blow, but Childs struck again and again and…

* * *

“
J
enny
! Jenny!” Sanders implored. “Stop, she’s dead! You killed her already!”

Childs dropped the wastebasket to the floor as Sanders pulled her away. It made a hollow echo-like sound; every sound seemed louder in the deserted hospital. Just like a mausoleum it wasn’t really deserted; as long as you count the dead.

“She-she… she was turning into one of them, one of those things that attacked Mr. Gerard. They, they—”

“It’s all right, Nurse, we understand. You haven’t done anything wrong, but we have to get moving.” Delaney reassured, while at the same time eager to get everyone moving. She was certain that with all the commotion their presence had been detected. “Grab your mop, Isaac and let’s go!”

Delaney gave Tilford some room to lead them out while Childs could be heard chastising herself “I had no choice, I had no choice… she was going to turn into one of those things” as they picked up the tempo of their step.

“Is the security office lo—” Delaney caught herself and answered her own question. Wouldn’t be much of a security office if it wasn’t locked, would it?

“There!” Sanders who was in front of Delaney and behind Tilford as they turned the corner into the smaller aisle.

“Wait for us!” Delaney took it upon herself to watch over Nurse Childs, who, despite having traveled less than - forty yards, struggled for breath.

“Can we stop for a moment? I need to catch my—”

“Not now, Nurse! You best get your fat ass into gear!” Delaney hated to speak to Childs like that but when five bloody-eyed creeps led by the naked woman Tilford had first come across in outpatients burst through the doors into the main corridor she had little choice; get Childs moving or leave her to die. Delaney noticed the blood smeared over the mouths of the blood seeking infected, it reminded her of the mess young children made after devouring an ice cream cone. The eyes of all five were full of blood. The naked woman’s body was almost covered by blood and most of it was over her tits.

“Don’t look, just run, fucking run!” Delaney grabbed Childs’s puffy hand and led, her along.

Tilford was at the security office door when Delaney and Childs round the corner and into the smaller aisle. “It’s open, it’s open!” Tilford announced surprise in his voice.

“Well, get in, get in. Those fucking things are right behind us!” Delaney prayed Childs didn’t collapse while she had a hold of her hand. “Go, go, go!”

Growls, not unlike a pack mangy dogs, came from the corridor behind signifying the approaching horror. Tilford slammed the door as Delaney, with Childs in tow, raced through. He didn’t hesitate, dead-bolting the door and switching off the overhead light.

“Do you think that will hold?” Delaney asked him after helping Childs to a chair.

“Shh, shh, stay quiet!” He whispered.

“Over here, over here.” Delaney eased a chair away from an office desk and quietly summoned Sanders and Childs over. Tilford slid his back against the wall on the hinge side of the door, which, was away from the window. The staccato of clapping feet was heard outside in the aisle as the infected ran down the aisle outside the office; aware their prey was near.

Delaney whispered from behind the desk. “Listen… sounds like they have gone.”

Tilford nodded and crawled over to where the others were. There was more than enough light coming through the window to see. “The room behind us is the security storeroom.” He told Delaney. “There might be something in there that could help, but I think we should wait until our guests have left, don’t you?”

“Sure. Does security keep any guns in there?” Delaney wanted something more substantial than a mop.

“I don’t know, I—”

“They keep a couple in there for emergencies, but they’re kept in a safe.” An out of breath Childs managed to answer. “I helped transfer some files onto their computer once and noticed it.”

”I don’t suppose anyone has the combination?” The silence that followed told was answer enough for Grace Delaney.

They all huddled behind the desk, which wasn’t large enough to hide four grown people, especially when one was the size of three on her own. They kept their chatter to a whisper in the dimly lit office.

“Well… let’s cross the bridge when we come to it,” Tilford said. “Anyway, what do you know about guns?” Delaney had noticed that, even in the midst of this danger, the more time spent together the more questions he asked.

Was he becoming interested? She asked herself.

“
I
’m no expert
, but I have a .38 revolver and practice with it regularly. My first husband was a cop, and he taught me how to shoot.”

“Your first husband?” Tilford’s attention switched to her marital status.

Delaney noted the change of pitch in his voice. This wasn’t the appropriate time, but she leaned forward to answer his question, touching him lightly on the shoulder and…

“OH SHIT!” The cell phone in the pocket of her doctor’s coat blasted like the brass section of an orchestra in the small office room. Delaney, startled by the ring of the phone, bumped the back of her head against the edge of the desk.