All The Beautiful People (A Dread Novel Book 1) (6 page)

CHAPTER 11

“Are you okay?”

Jason’s mouth was so dry Taylor heard him try to swallow.

“I…those people. We killed all those people.”

“If it makes you feel better, I killed all of those people, not you. And if I’m right, whatever is happening to these people is making them able to withstand a substantial amount of physical damage. I don’t think any of them are dead.”

Jason snapped out of his trance and turned. “What do you mean?”

“I mean Rachelle tore off half her face. She lost gallons of blood but you saw her. She was out there running with the rest of them. After the collision between that blue SUV and the Lazarus van, all those infected people got out of the wrecked cars as mobile as ever.”

Jason was silent. Taylor let him think it over. He needed to rationalize to himself as to how they hadn’t committed murder. He eventually would; the only other option was to call himself a killer. She knew he wouldn’t.

The freeway was open and Taylor maneuvered around the midday traffic like a racecar driver. Even through a cracked windshield, she handled the car with ease. They were only a few minutes into their journey back to the office when Jason pulled out his cell phone.

“I better call this in. They’ll need another cleanup crew. Maybe even get the police involved in this one.”

He hit a number on his keypad, pressed the phone to his right ear, and sat there motionless for a few minutes, then Jason removed the phone from his ear and gaping at the screen’s display. “There was no answer.”

“What?”

“Nothing. It rang and then stopped ringing.”

“Try again.”

Jason obeyed but was met with the same result. “What do you think that means? They’ve always picked up.”

“I guess today is a day of firsts,” Taylor said. “Today’s the first day I didn’t complete a cleaning assignment. I guess we’ll have to wait and see when we get ba—”

An explosion tore apart the sky beside them. To their right, a gas station erupted in flames towering over the freeway. Red wisps of heat shimmered in the air as the fire fed off the large supply of gasoline. Black and every shade of gray smoke rose from the scene in large, angry clouds.

Before either of them could form a coherent thought, a car on the opposite side of the freeway slammed into the center divider. Chunks of cement and rebar flew in every direction. Taylor jerked the wheel at the last minute to avoid being skewered by a metal bar. Cars all around her slammed their brakes and those too slow to react became targets for debris.

Vehicles struck one another on both sides of the freeway. Taylor gritted her teeth and tried to calm her breathing. Maneuvering around the center of mayhem brought anxiety knocking on the door of her conscious.

What if this is all related? What if this is just the beginning?

Leaving the explosion and car accident in their wake did nothing to silence the voices of doom inside her.

Jason massaged his temple with his left hand. “This can’t be happening. You don’t think that all of this is—I mean how widespread could this be?”

Taylor was forced to consider the possibility that Vanidrum and the effects of the drug might already be at a point beyond containment.

“Lazarus is a billion dollar company with worldwide distribution,” she said.

Without a word, Jason leaned over and tuned the radio to a local news station, 101.7 JLA. A woman’s strained voice confirmed the worst. Taylor pictured the woman in her mind’s eye. Anxious, sitting in her radio booth, all her training tested now as reporting a series of violent encounters was pushing her to the edge of panic. She’d call on her years of experience to calm her nerves and do her job. Taylor knew all these feelings well. She also knew that much like herself, the newswoman would be able to tell this was no coincidence.

“We are receiving reports all over the city of Los Angeles and also from our sister networks in surrounding cities,”
the newswoman’s voice broke for the briefest moment then came back composed.
“Reports of maniacs running loose on the street. At first we thought it may be an isolated situation but more and more attacks are being called in by the hour. These incidents started last night and have continued to cause both physical and property damage to residents in nearly every Los Angeles city.

“The police have not provided a statement regarding whether these attacks are connected but one has to assume this is not a coincidence. Reports ranging from stabbings, home invasions, and even arson are flooding the lines. What’s more disturbing are the individuals responsible for these brutal crimes. Witnesses say they are delusional, psychotic, and most of all, dangerous. Now we move to Jerry Oliver, our very own KRTC news correspondent. He’s with a witness claiming to have seen one of these mysterious attackers up close. Jerry?”

“Thank you, Karen,”
a strong male voice said.
“I’m here in downtown Los Angeles with Latoya Williams, a business owner who had an interesting morning as she opened her shop. Latoya, in your own words can you tell us what happened?”

Latoya’s voice came over the radio soft and distant, as if she were trying to recall events that happened to someone else.
“I—I came to open my shop this morning, like I do every morning. I brought breakfast for Henry, he’s a homeless guy who wanders around but makes camp in the alley behind my store. It’s Friday,”
her voice stumbled as she grabbed at the events that took place only hours previous but that her mind was already forcing her to forget.

“It is Friday, Latoya,”
Jerry said.
“What happened next?”

“He was tearing Henry’s face off. Pulling it from his skull like you’d peel old paint from a wall. He was smiling the whole time like that is what made him the most happy.”

“Who? Latoya? Who was doing that?”

“I’ve never seen him before. He was wearing an expensive suit, hair done real nice, fancy shoes and watch. Henry was already dead. Snuggled up in his favorite blankets. He was the nicest person I ever met. He had so little but he was happy with that.”

“And then what happened?”

“I was terrified. I stayed in my car and called the police. They came in a few minutes. The man that had done that to Henry ran off.”

“There you have it, Karen,”
Jerry’s voice took over. No sympathy echoed in his words, only firm, matter-of-fact tone.
“Madness in the streets of Los Angeles.”

Jason turned the volume dial down. Pulling out his phone, he pressed a single button and waited. The ringing of his phone on speaker filled the car. Nothing.

“Why aren’t they answering?” he asked.

Taylor shrugged. “I don’t know. We won’t have to wait long to find out. We’re only a few minutes away.”

“Are you freaking out right now? Because this is my first time in the field and I’m really starting to freak out. It would be nice if I wasn’t the only one freaking out.”

“I am too. Your overuse of the phrase ‘freaking out’ isn’t helping.”

CHAPTER 12

Lazarus Pharmaceuticals was a scene of controlled chaos. When Taylor and Jason had left no more than two hours previously, it was business as usual. A single guard at the outer gatehouse provided access. A few guards patrolling the grounds and inner facility with a casual gait that said nothing was ever going to happen rounded out the security staff.

When Taylor pulled into the long driveway, dozens of guards were busy fortifying the stainless steel fences with barbed wire. Heavy brown work gloves strapped on their hands, they unstrung yards of heavy-duty razor wire. The industrial size security component reminded Taylor of a lethal slinky.

The gatehouse was secured tighter than most government checkpoints. Six guards decked in full body armor and assault rifles waved them to a stop. A red bar that would raise and lower to allow cars into the facility grounds was now joined by a wicked looking spike strip. An oversized black SUV positioned to block any access also hindered their forward progress.

Taylor brought her car to a stop as a security guard approached them with a wary stride, his right finger hovering over the weapon’s trigger. Even with what she had seen in the last fourteen hours, with what was happening to the world, there was no reason for a professional of any kind to approach a car window with his finger already on the trigger of his weapon.

“Name and business?” he asked like a pissed off bouncer guarding the entrance to an exclusive nightclub. He eyed the child-sized red handprints on the window as well as the cracked windshield.

“Taylor Hart. I’m employed by Lazarus Pharmaceuticals. We’re coming in at Wade Treadstone’s direct request.”

The guard stood erect at the mention of Wade’s name. His finger didn’t move from the trigger position but he motioned with his left hand. “That’s a big name to drop, little lady. Let’s see your company ID card and driver’s license.”

Taylor’s temper rose. Here they were in the middle of a serious outbreak, maybe even one that would mark the end of Lazarus Pharmaceuticals, perhaps even involve the government, and this guy outside her window was asking her for credentials. What’s more, he committed an unforgivable sin. He used a degrading name. Taylor dug through her pockets for the requested material but she couldn’t stop the sarcasm from pushing past her lips.

“Little lady? That’s a nice thing to call someone who could disarm you in a second and shove   that—”

Jason leaned over from his passenger side seat to look at the guard. “Brad, is this really necessary?”

The guard’s hand left his weapon and he squatted down with a smile. “Jason, is that you? I can’t believe they let you out. Aren’t you supposed to be shackled to a desk somewhere punching in codes and algorithms?”

Jason smiled. “I know, they let me out for a field trip under this woman’s supervision. I promised I’d behave.”

The man outside chuckled. “I see. Well, I can let you by this checkpoint without hassling you but you’re going to have to check in with the tent. We have strict orders no matter who you are.”

“What’s going on here?” Jason asked.

The guard shrugged. “It’s a full lockdown. We’ve trained to enact these security measures but we’ve never been ordered to execute them. My guess is that it’s an exercise.”

Jason and Taylor exchanged a quick look. News of the truth behind the outbreaks had not only failed to reach the general population but it seemed Lazarus Pharmaceuticals was also holding information from their own.

“Go ahead, you’re fine,” Brad said with a wave. “Stay out of trouble, kids.”

Jason waved and leaned back in his seat. The pole separating them from the facility was raised, the spike strip pulled back, and the SUV blocking their path reversed.

“Unbelievable,” Taylor said.

“I know. If you were a tiny bit more approachable maybe people would—”

“I’m not talking about that. I mean how little they know. They think this is some kind of drill?”

Jason nodded. “Lazarus hasn’t given up yet. If these events are tied to the drug, which all signs say ‘yes’ to, then Lazarus is facing lawsuits, forced closure, and even prison time.”

Taylor followed a maze of security guards waving her through to the company’s front parking lot. A sea of cars spread out in every direction covering the area like a giant quilt. So many cars in one spot reminded Taylor of a visit to a large entertainment venue like an amusement park or concert. The automatic weapons slung over every shoulder reminded Taylor of where they really were.

On the other side of the parking lot stood a gigantic white tent the size of a small building. Two large flaps opened, displaying white lab coated technicians wearing facemasks and gloves. Taylor and Jason were directed to an empty parking space.

“I’ll need your car keys, ma’am,” a guard asked Taylor as she exited the car.

Taylor tossed him the keys. No matter how much she hated the idea of being left without transportation, she wanted to get to Wade as fast as possible. If things went bad, she could always “borrow” a set of wheels.

Taylor and Jason crossed the asphalt to the large tent. A woman at the front entrance stood with a handheld tablet and a poor attempt at a smile. Her eyes told Taylor she wasn’t angry. The fake smile wasn’t there to hide a temper; it was there to mask her fear. For those willing to look past the packaged idea of an exercise, there was the possibility that something very wrong was happening.

“Names please?” the woman asked.

“Taylor Hart.”

“Jason Waters.”

The woman punched a few buttons on her digital display and waved them inside.

“We’ll need to take a quick—” the woman stopped mid-sentence when she noticed for the first time the amount of blood on their clothing. Although she didn’t take a step back, the woman recoiled with a shudder. “Are—are either of you wounded?”

“No. No, we aren’t,” Jason said, taking a step forward. “It’s not our blood. We do have important information for Wade Treadstone.”

The woman bit her lower lip and nodded.

“Shouldn’t we have been asked that question at the gate?” Taylor asked. “I mean, whether we were wounded or not?”

The woman took Taylor’s meaning and frustration soon replaced fear. “Yes, you should have.”

“Well, there’s a guard back there that is not doing his job. His name is Brad and he likes to call women ‘little lady’.”

Jason looked back at Taylor with an expression saying,
What are you doing?

Taylor knew that people worked better when they had something on which to direct their attention. This woman was no different.

“Thank you for bringing that to my attention. He will be dealt with immediately. Will you two please step inside? We’ll need saliva swabs and you’ll be on your way.”

Taylor stepped inside where she was met with a technician ready to scrape the inside of her mouth with what looked like Q-tip. Déjà vu hit her from the events of the night just past. Jason was treated the same way and both were instructed to wait for their results in a side room.

It really wasn’t a room. It was a sectioned off cube of the larger tent. Only flimsy, clear plastic sheets, hanging from ceiling to floor, separated them from the rest of the area.

There were multiple plastic cubes like this equipped with examining tables and chairs. The rest of the tent was fitted with large humming machines and enough hardware to fill the inside of a large warehouse.

“You probably got Brad in a lot of trouble,” Jason remarked.

Taylor shrugged. “Well, Brad should be doing a better job. He thinks this is an exercise.”

“Can you blame him? He hasn’t been through what we have. I don’t know if I would believe what is happening out there if I hadn’t seen it for myself.”

Taylor raised her eyebrows. “I don’t blame him for anything. I don’t really care, to be honest with you. What matters most is that we jump through all these hoops and get to Wade.”

“Have you always been like this?”

“Like what?”

Jason opened both palms and waved them up and down taking in Taylor’s frame. “This cold and calculating?”

Taylor hated herself for choosing this moment to remember back to a time she was “normal”. There was a time in her life when she was as happy and carefree as the next college student. The night when her best friend was randomly kidnapped and murdered changed her outlook on life forever.

“What happened to you?” Jason asked.

“Someone close to me died. I woke up.”

“You woke up? What does that even mean?”

“It means that the world is cruel place. Anybody that tells you different is either lying or selling something.”

Jason was about to reply when a technician approached the plastic. With one hand the female technician parted the see-through material with a soft crinkling sound. “You two are cleared to go. Mr. Treadstone sent down a message saying he wants to see you right away.”