Was Jack trying to tell her a virus was about to wipe man into extinction.
Just as she had that thought, in the midst of trying to find more internet information on the Peru illness, she heard the beep of her phone.
She lifted it.
Jack sent a text? Was that his way of saying what was going on?
She clicked on read and drew more into confusion.
It wasn’t much. It was three letters. Three letters that added more to her mystery. What was Jack trying to tell her with the text, ‘WWZ’
Immediately, still in front of the computer, she typed the three letters into the search engine.
Lil wanted to kick herself when the results returned. She of all people should have recognized the three letters without a second thought, without confusion.
Jack had to be mistaken. But of all people, Jack wouldn’t joke and would be the last to admit to what he was witnessing.
If Jack was meaning in his text to refer to zombies, then that was what jack believed he was dealing with.
On that, Lil got up, locked all the doors and sought out her shotgun.
<><><><>
Saul wasn’t expecting the midflight phone call. He was just leaning back, reviewing documentation when the call came. He feared the worst. It had to be bad news. “This is Dr. Klein, what can I do for you, Col. Manning.” Saul asked.
“We’ve located Dr. Riesman.”
Saul exhaled. “Great. Where is he?”
“Are you ready? About three hours outside of Berlin, thirty thousand feet above the ground.”
Saul sprang forward. “You’re joking, right?”
“I wish I wasn’t.”
It took Saul aback. He had to grasp a moment and reason. Hans on a plane. There was no way he was infected. He knew better. He needed to be sure. Saul ended his call with Col. Manning, both men agreeing to use their resources to get in touch with that plane.
<><><><>
Marian hoped she’d get fifteen minutes of sleep without interruption. No such luck. She was summoned to the Captain’s cabin moments after she closed her eyes. She was in charge of their needs, but wished for once they’d call upon someone younger it was quite a hall there. Especially if they wanted something.
He didn’t want coffee, he wanted something else. “Have some sort of VIP in hiding on the plane,” the Captain said.
“How do we know?” Marian asked.
“US Government contacted us. Passenger in 65B. Familiar?”
“Yes,” Marian nodded.
“Well, they want us to check on him. Report back, then move him up to first class.”
“He’s probably sleeping. He was airsick. We have only another half hour of the flight.”
“I know. But, this is important. Could you go check on him and move him? His name is Dr. Riesman.”
“Yes, Captain.” Marian smiled, but it was forced. She didn’t feel like walking all the way down the steps then to the back of the plane. Row 65 was the last row.
But she did.
The main cabin was dark; the aisle lights were dim but give enough light for her to walk. She’d smile to the few passengers who were still awake, but most of them were sleeping.
She hated to disturb Dr. Riesman; After all, he had taken that medication.
Reaching into her apron pocket, she pulled out a small flash light.
Row 57 she heard something. It was a wet sound, squishing.
It grew louder as she hit row 62.
At Row 63, she heard a heavy, gurgling. A breathing that didn’t sound right.
Had he taken a turn for the worse? The odd sounds grew louder.
She arrived at row 64 and couldn’t see Dr. Riesman’s head. Perhaps he had gone to the rest room. Another step, a raise of the flashlight, Marian softly called “Dr. Riesman.”
The beam hit the empty seat of ‘65B’ only for a split second. Into the light, Hans raised his head with a snarl. His mouth opened wide, showing his teeth and blood along with saliva poured out. His eyes flared a deadly blank look.
Fear had consumed her so much, that she couldn’t get a productive scream.
Hans shook his head like an animal, shucking remains from his mouth.
The flashlight tippled from her grip as her hand shot to her mouth and backed up when she watched Hans returned to devouring the man in ‘65 A’.
Marion was frozen in fear and in shock. She wanted to scream, warn the sleeping passengers. She hadn’t a clue what to do. So she ran. She ran as fast as she could through the plane and up to the Captain’s cabin. “You need a gun.”
“Marion, what’s wrong?” The Captain spoke calming, standing as he did.
“A gun. A gun!” Marion screamed, and then broke into hysterics. “Oh, God. Oh, God.”
“Marion.” With a firm grip to her and a slight jolt, the Captain vied for her attention. “What is going on? Calm down.”
Marion cried out. A bone chilling scream, followed by sobs.
“Greg, I’ll be back.” The Captain moved to the door.
“Do you want me to go?” Greg asked.
“No. I’ll see what the problem is. In the meantime, notify Berlin and alert them that we may have a situation.”
As the Captain began to leave, Marion dove for him, holding on, begging and sobbing ‘please don’t go back there’ repeatedly.
The Captain pulled her from him, pulled the cabin door closed and walked out.
Marion dropped to the floor.
Greg’s radioing to Berlin was mere background noise as Marion weakly reached up and locked the door.
The cockpit was safe and secure.
No one could get in there. They would be fine until they landed and that would be long.
Something told Marion that the Captain wouldn’t be back.
She was right.
<><><><>
They arrived at a small village just after dawn. Chickens danced about in the orange hue of morning, people moved, but not slowly. They radioed in to let command know their position. Jack’s patrol was on foot, a vehicle would meet them there.
The woods didn’t bring anymore incidents. That was good. Jack believed he did overreact and that, really, there was no way it extended into the village. Another animal could have eaten that goat.
“Spread out, knock on doors,” The platoon sergeant ordered. “Try your best to convey that we are looking for people who are ill.”
Jack nodded his agreement; he was paired off with Spc. Carlson. The village houses lined a dirt road; he and Carlson were instructed to start at the last one.
They had just happened upon the home when the door opened and an old woman, maybe eighty emerged. She dropped her bucket when she saw Jack and Carlson, started rambling fast and insidiously in her native language as she ran to them, grabbing them.
Her face tear streaked her arms dirty.
As Jack tried to speak with her, he noticed her arms. Dirt? Blood. “Ma’am? Slow down. What is wrong?”
The door opened again and another woman emerged. High in the air she held sickle by its broken handle. Middle aged, thin. Her eyes widened, she lowered the sickle and she genuinely looked relieved to see them. She hurried to the old woman, pulling her from Jack.
“Come,” the woman beckoned. “Come.” She waved her arm and led Jack and Carlson around the small house.
The woman stopped and merely extended her arm to what looked like a small chicken shack. “Husband.”
Jack asked. “Your husband is in there?”
She nodded. “Husband” She pointed with the sickle.
Jack glanced at Carlson and both men took a step.
The younger of the women, reached out, stopping Jack.
“What?” Jack asked. “We’re going to go check.”
She pointed to his rifle and reached for it.
Jack moved it from her way.
The woman pointed to the rifle, shook her head, then mimicked raising the gun.
“Um, Sarge,” Carlson said. “I think she’s telling us to raise our weapons.”
“I think you’re right.” Jack lifted his and motioned his head. “Let’s go.”
The shack was only twenty feet away, but it seemed like a mile. Arriving at the door, Jack signaled Carlson to stand back and then Jack sprang open the door.
Nothing.
They looked at each other, then with weapons raised walked in.
It was quiet and dark. Another step then out from no where, with an inhuman growl, rushed a man.
His snarled and raged for Jack and Carlson, snapping to a stop inches before reaching them.
Jack stepped back. The man had been restrained by chains, but he fought and struggled to reach and bite him.
His face, his wounds, his coloring. All the same.
Jack didn’t need to be a doctor to know, this man, in this remote village, was infected.
PART TWO
INTEGRATION
CHAPTER ONE
May 7
th
Twenty Thousand Feet above Germany
The radio earpiece slipped from the Co-pilot’s fingers as he fumbled to get it in place. Fingers that trembled and were covered in blood. In fact, there wasn’t a part of Greg Harlow’s body that didn’t shake.
He had never been so scared in all of his life.
The plane was at twenty thousand feet. An altitude that would have to change, because soon he would need to prepare for his descent into Berlin.
But before Greg could land he had to radio in. And before he could do that, he had to get a grip.
Marion wasn’t helping. She was a veteran flight attendant who brought the situation to his and the pilot’s attention. Her hysterical screaming turned into continuous crying. What had happened? An out of the ordinary call from the tower sent Marion to the back of the plane in search of a high profile doctor who wasn’t supposed to be on board.
When she returned from her search, Marion was out of control.
Unable to decipher what had brought the usually calm woman to hysterics, the Captain went to investigate.
Greg didn’t have time to determine why Marion was bodily blocking the cockpit door or acting the way she did. He wanted to radio Berlin about the passenger, but a call from the Captain halted that.
“Greg, we have a situation. You need to . . .”
That was it. The only words the Captain spoke. The call from the rear of the plane ended.
Greg had to find out what was going on.
No sooner had he reached for the cockpit door in an attempt to unlock it, Marion flung herself at him, begging Greg not to go. In his mind, what could possibly be so wrong? Did this passenger get out of control? If this ‘Dr. Hans Riesman’ was violent, then Greg figured he’d be best to go back there. After all, he was a big guy.
After saying, “Good God, woman, what is wrong with you?” he pushed her aside.
The second he opened the cockpit door he heard the yelling, screaming and crying. He honestly debated on whether to turn back around, but Marion slammed the cockpit door.
He had to move ahead.
From the cockpit to the passenger section was short. One or two slow steps into his journey he could see commotion. Just as he reached the passenger area, a woman sprung into his view. Her face was desperate, her voice graveled with fear. “Help me,” she said to him.
Greg didn’t get to register the plea before she was yanked from sight. Blood shot outward describing an arch over the open doorway.
She must have gathered some strength, because her bloodied hand gripped Greg and in one final plea, she cried out for help again.
Greg tried. He did. However, he didn’t realize he engaged in a tug of war. The moment he pulled her, a man with pasty white skin and eyes of death snarled at him, widened his mouth, and lunged his teeth into the woman while pulling her toward himself.
When that happened, the passenger area came into complete focus.
It was deadly pandemonium.
People ran, screamed, and fought. Blood smeared the walls, windows.
They attacked one another. As if his eyes were a camera, they automatically zoomed to the back.
The Captain.
He could still see the tendons from the Captain’s neck dangling like spaghetti in the mouth of a young boy who hovered protectively over the Captain’s dead body, like a lioness devouring her prey.
Twenty seconds. That was all Greg was in that hallway … maybe. But it seemed like forever.
When he whispered out a ‘Dear God’, he was spotted, and three or four of the passengers who had turned into madmen, raged toward him.
Greg turned and bolted.
Locked.
“Marion! Let me in. Please.”
He pounded on the door, all while peering over his shoulder. “Please.”
They were at the edge of the short hall; they fought against each other to squeeze through.
“Marion! For the love of God!” His hand slammed against the door.
One man emerged victoriously in the struggle to gain access to that hall and to Greg. He was younger, twenty maybe, wearing a New York Islander Hockey Jersey that was soaked with fresh blood. He leapt into the hall, free from the other two, and paused, almost tauntingly before Greg. Arms extended, he opened his mouth rolling his head side to back to side before snapping his view straight at Greg and growling like a demon.
Greg pounded frantically at the door and the young man charged.
Marion opened the door just enough, Greg edged through, locking it just as something ‘slammed’ loudly against it from the other side.
The banging continued, growing louder and with intensity.
Greg didn’t say anything to Marion, he just resumed his seat and grabbed for the radio. Three or four tries later, he succeeded in putting it on and was ready to radio Berlin.
“What are you doing?” Marion asked.
“I’m calling for help and getting permission to land.”
“We’re supposed to be landing already. Just get the normal clearance.”
“Are you joking?” Greg snapped. “You saw what’s happening back there. Dear God, what caused that? ”
“I don’t know, but you can’t tell them.”
“What?” Greg laughed in disbelief. “I have to.”
“No.” Marion beckoned. “If you tell them about this, they’ll never let us land.”
“That’s preposterous.”
“Think about it.” Marion cringed with the bangs and groans outside the cockpit. “We don’t know what caused it. But I know for sure they were looking for that doctor. He had to have something. They know it. They’ll shoot us down. Please, I beg you, don’t tell them very much. Give you and me a chance to live.”