The Living Dead Series (Book 2): World Without End (3 page)

“Oh no, Ben! What-?” She knelt in the snow and took his hand. He struggled and seemed to be trying to speak. The blood poured out into the snow even faster, pooling thickly near her knees. A trail of it led around the corner of the building. He must have dragged himself here.

“Don’t move.” She dug for her phone with her free hand and punched in 9-1-1. The line was busy.

What now? She knew she had to stop the bleeding but she couldn’t see where it was coming from. His coat was unzipped and she pulled it open to find his abdomen slashed and torn, shreds of skin hanging down to the side. Strings of flesh stuck to the flaps pulled apart with the coat and she began to shake. He was going to die and there was nothing she could do about it.

She ran back into the building, searching, screaming for someone to help. She heard nothing but her own voice echoing back. She ran up to the break room and found the first-aid kit. Back in the basement the door had blown closed but someone pounded on it from the outside. Someone must have come along and seen that Ben needed help. Thank goodness.

The door vibrated from the blows. She turned the knob and pushed it open.  It was dark enough now that the outside security lights were on, casting an unnatural glare across the heavily trampled snow. To her surprise Ben was on his feet, coming forward and she moved aside to let him through the door but instead he lunged at her and took her down to the floor. Caught completely off guard her head hit the concrete hard, dazing her.

She had just a second to register that he smelled like something dead and rotting before he grabbed her by the hair and opened his mouth, pulling her head close. She hit him hard with the first aid kit and it burst open, scattering gauze and alcohol swabs everywhere but he didn’t even flinch. He was so heavy she couldn’t breathe. Frantic and suffocating she clawed at his eyes and face but it didn’t bother him. He just tried to bite her hands. Pulling the chopstick from her hair she plunged it deep into his eye. He slumped on top of her.

A dark figure stumbled through the door and she called out, “Help me, please. I can’t get him off of me.”

The stranger said nothing. She pushed hard and finally wriggled out from under Ben’s body then looked up.

A woman she had never seen before stood over her, swaying as if drunk. She wore one black stiletto and the other foot was bare. Her mouth, chin, and the front of her un-tucked blouse were covered in blood and black chunks of something. Most of the skin on the left side of her face was missing.

Bea got to her feet and ran to the stairs. She stood a moment and watched as more people stumbled inside. Her legs trembled and she almost fell but held on to the banister until she calmed down a little. Starting to call out she stopped. Something was wrong with every single one of them. None wore coats and all were injured in some way. A small boy turned her way and hissed, lurching forward and dragging a broken leg behind him. The sound of gunshots and sirens came in through the open door.

She backed up the stairs. People still poured in. She ran for the top and slammed that door behind her. Leaning against the door, taking comfort in the solid, metal feel of it, she heard moaning echoing up the stairwell. Shivering, she pushed a bench against the door and went to the lobby. The bench wouldn’t keep them out but it was all she could do for now. She tried calling 9-1-1 again but got an automated message about unusually heavy call volume. Panic welled up and she stifled sobs when she thought of Ben. Did I really just kill Ben?

The basement exit wasn’t the only one, of course. Just the most convenient. She headed toward a little used side door that opened onto the piazza, deciding to use it even though it would trip the alarm. Actually that was a good idea. Maybe the police would respond to that since they weren’t answering 9-1-1.

As soon as she entered the lobby she saw blue lights flashing outside. Relieved, she had her hand on the door bar, ready to press down when she saw figures staggering slowly along the piazza, bumping into stone planters, benches, and each other. Some wore blood-splattered police uniforms. She backed away from the door not wanting to draw their attention.

She checked the offices again to see if anyone else was in the building but she found no one, not even security.

People were still out there but hadn’t increased in number. Snow swirled around the street lights. She peered out through the glass trying to see the street but couldn’t. The Judiciary Square Metro station was closest if she could just make it. She took a deep breath and opened the door.

The alarm pierced the night and caught the immediate attention of the people in the piazza. A few stopped in their tracks then began to walk toward the noise. Bea stepped into the shadows and edged along the building, heading toward the Metro.

Blue lights flashed all along 3
rd
Street. Occasional gunshots punctuated the moaning and screaming all around her. Every time a gun fired she flinched, expecting to be hit. This must be some kind of riot. A policeman yelled at her to run, RUN and she did, just as the glass wall behind her exploded. She threw herself to the ground as the officer sprayed a man with bullets. His body jerked with each impact but he kept coming and took the cop down. From her viewpoint it looked like he ripped the officer’s throat out with his teeth.

The snow around her was dark with blood and she got to her feet and edged toward the down escalator for the Metro. The street near the station was clear but she stayed down, ducking behind cars when she could until she had to cross the open area of sidewalk near the station entrance.

A woman lay prone on the sidewalk and someone (her husband?) knelt over her, rocking back and forth. Bea got to her feet. Her footsteps crunched in the crusty snow and she slipped then regained her balance. The slush on the streets had re-frozen as ice making the streets even more treacherous than they were this morning.

“Excuse me, sir? Are you okay?” she said.

He turned around. His eyes were unfocused and his face wet with either tears or melting snow. His mouth opened and he gestured at something just as Bea was pulled backward and fell down in the snow and ice.

An elderly man fastened one hand upon her scarf and dragged her with it toward his open mouth. He wasn’t large but he was very strong and the scarf was choking her as he pulled it tight. She clawed at her throat and got the scarf loose then kicked at the old man, getting him in the knees. He went down with an audible
crack
of bones that must be his knees or hip. Whatever was broken, it didn’t keep him from crawling toward her again, slowly dragging himself through the snow with his arms.

Bea stepped away after she picked up her purse and grabbed her scarf. It stank like a dead animal but she wrapped it around her neck anyway, tucking the ends inside her coat so no one could grab them again. She turned back to the man kneeling beside the woman on the sidewalk. He remained hunched over the woman and she definitely heard sobs as he took the woman’s hand, patting it, imploring her in a language Bea couldn’t understand. A pool of dark liquid formed in the snow surrounding them.

Suddenly the woman sat up and reached for her husband with both arms. He exclaimed in relief and embraced her just as she opened her mouth and bit a chunk of flesh from his neck. Blood arced in a fountain and he collapsed, eyes confused and uncomprehending as his life poured out onto the frozen ground. The woman continued biting, pulling and gnawing on tendons and veins. Bea backed away, hand to her mouth and then tried to run, slipping on the ice and falling.

This wasn’t a riot; it was something else altogether. She practically crawled toward the Metro, trying to stay low and out of sight. The old man who had attacked her still followed, crawling slowly but determinedly. The escalator down was still working and she stepped onto it, feeling surreal as the steps took her smoothly down to the train boarding platform.

No one was here. She had lost track of time but it must be after seven o’clock, no longer rush hour but there were usually a few stragglers or tourists who stayed later in the city than the thousands of federal employees. Her attacker fell down the escalator followed by a woman who hissed and stumped forward slowly on bare feet. Bea flinched and backed to the end of the platform close to the tunnel. She was trapped if the train didn’t come soon. More injured people stumbled down. The floor lights on the platform dimmed then brightened indicating an approaching train but she heard nothing.

The crowd drew closer. She didn’t hear gunshots anymore and considered trying to get around them and go back up but who knew how long it would take her to walk home. The lights dimmed and brightened again. A train should be here in seconds.

A rumbling roar came down the tracks and trash blew in the wind the train created. The throng seemed excited by the sound. The train slowly came to a halt and the doors hissed open.

T
he car looked empty. She ran for it and once inside held on to the pole whispering “Please, please” while waiting for the doors to close. The speakers inside the train chimed and the automated voice said, “Doors closing” and they slid shut, barely missing the outstretched hand of her bloody, barefoot pursuer. She sank gratefully into a seat as the train picked up speed. Looking over her shoulder she was startled to see that the car was not actually empty. A man wearing green hospital scrubs and tennis shoes slouched in a seat near the back. He was asleep. She watched him for a moment to see if he woke up but he didn’t stir.

She hadn’t even looked to see where the train was going. Mentally she ticked off possible stops from this station if it were going in the Georgetown direction. Normally she would switch to the blue or orange line at Metro Center then get off at Rosslyn or Foggy Bottom and take the Circulator or walk the rest of the way. There were several stops between here and there though. She looked out at the dark tunnel flashing by and wished she had checked her voicemail and left work early. She would call the police as soon as she got home and report Ben’s death. She didn’t want anyone overhearing
that
conversation. Closing her eyes she pressed her palms against her eyelids, trying to block the memory. It had been self-defense but would anyone believe her? Would they come and take her into custody or would she be allowed to turn herself in? Who would take care of her brother?

The train began to slow and the automated voice announced their arrival at Metro Center. She made sure her scarf was still tucked into the collar of her coat and cinched her belt tightly around her waist. Pressed against the side of the car so she wouldn’t be visible through the windows she peeked out.

A surging crowd filled the platform, obviously jockeying for position, doing that little shuffle trying to guess where the doors would be once the train stopped. They were conservatively dressed, some in their two-thousand dollar Burberry coats with laptop bags hanging off one shoulder. All of them government workers probably pulling down close to six-figures a year.

She self-consciously smoothed the lapels of her consignment store, London Fog coat. It was no Burberry but it was nice enough. Deciding to change tactics she moved in front of the doors so that she was easily seen. If she didn’t get off first she would be trapped by the incoming passengers. Some of them backed away and looked frightened when they saw her and she wondered what they knew that she didn’t. The doors opened and they moved back to let her off. She smiled hesitantly and they all looked relieved then practically trampled her in their haste to board.

Making her way past the turnstiles and onto the platform for the blue line she overheard snippets of conversation.

“Bastards made like they were in this with us then we find out they left town before the announcement was even made. Sneaking, lying jerks.” The speaker pushed past her and jumped ahead of several others trying to board.

“Yeah, they bombed the hospital but that was after it jumped. It jumped! They knew and they let us all come into the city today anyway.” This from a woman holding the hand of a little boy in a navy-blue parka.

Bea stopped in front of her. “What jumped? Can you tell me what is going on?”

The woman looked annoyed and kept moving forward in the boarding line. “Where have you been? The virus from Haiti jumped quarantine. They bombed the hospital this morning but it was too late. It spread. Any of us could be infected.”

“What? They bombed a hospital in Haiti?”

“No, here. They bombed the military hospital here.”

Bea knew about the earthquake but hadn’t followed the story after the initial reports. She had only recently gotten cable and Brian kept the television tuned to Animal Planet or Nat Geo almost all the time. She didn’t mind. Both channels were more interesting than the political bickering and sensationalism found in the news. Apparently though, she missed something pretty important. What kind of virus justified bombing an entire hospital?

People continued to board, pushing, shoving, and clawing to get inside. The doors wouldn’t close so the people inside pushed those near the doors back onto the platform. Screams broke out and they turned to see a spray of blood across the windows of the train Bea had just left. She caught a glimpse of the formerly sleeping passenger in hospital scrubs, hands locked around the bloody, torn throat of a teen-aged boy who was fighting for his life. The doors had already closed and the train was moving as passengers beat on the windows and doors, trying to get out. The train picked up speed and was gone.

Bea didn’t know if another train would come and if it did whether or not she really wanted to board. She needed a map of the city and time to plot a route home above ground. She had never walked the entire way home but was used to walking from Foggy Bottom. The only problem was who or what would be out there with her tonight.

While she stood there, biting her lip in indecision, the lights pulsed again. Another train. She moved over to the up escalator, poised to flee, and felt the rumble of the oncoming train. It slowed and came to a gradual stop but she and everyone else there could already see it held few passengers. Sending up a silent prayer she boarded.

Everyone looked at one another with suspicion and seldom made eye contact which was not that different from standard public transportation norms. Bea, however, needed information so she spoke up.

“Does anyone know what this ‘flu’ or whatever it is does to people? Believe it or not, I haven’t seen that much about it.” She looked around expectantly.

A gray-haired woman told her, “It causes vomiting, then coma, then psychosis.”

Bea asked, “How do you get it? Is it airborne?”

“They don’t know for sure. Most people have gotten it from bites so far.”

“Animal bites?”

“No, ma’am, human bites,” a very tired-looking man in military attire informed her. “There may be other ways to contract it. They don’t know for sure but they’re advising people to stay home to be safe. My guess is things will calm down in a week or so.”

A man wearing a houndstooth-checked wool hat put his cell phone away and leaned forward. “I don’t think so, buddy. The president and all his staff left town last night, heading for an undisclosed location. All the other big-wigs left around the same time. With the exception of 9/11, have you ever heard of that happening before? I haven’t.”

“Don’t jump to conclusions based on rumors. You don’t know that anyone left town for sure.”

“I don’t? My brother-in-law’s company has been treating the president’s study in the White House for deathwatch beetles and when he went in there two days ago the staff was grabbing papers and stuffin’ ‘em in bags and boxes, packing up everything they could. When he went back in this morning, almost everyone was gone. The people left told him to go on home and sit tight ‘til things get better but Ray said even they were packing up, getting ready to bug out.”

The train pulled into the Foggy Bottom station. The platform here was empty. Everyone disembarked then mounted the still working escalator up to the next level. A few people were there, looking ready to flee but they relaxed once they got a good look at the newcomers. Lights appeared in the tunnel and a train rumbled along the tracks.

It didn’t stop. She had a confused impression of blood-smeared windows and screams within. The people inside were fighting for their lives against what appeared to be their fellow passengers. The nightmare images flashed by then were gone and quiet returned to the platform.

Instinct told her this must be a terrorist attack even though that didn’t make sense. A missile attack, a plane crash or a vehicle bomb, those made sense in a terrorist scenario. Hand-to-hand combat in and under the streets did not. Whatever this was she had to get out of here and get home. What if the man shaking the gates outside her house was sick and managed to get inside? She texted Brian again telling him to stay inside, sending the message just as a colossal
boom
and then the screeching crash of tearing steel echoed down the tunnel. Bea thought she must have gone deaf because though she saw people on the platform cry out she couldn’t hear them. Faces contorted in pain from the sound and the realization that fellow human beings had just died, were still dying, in darkness and fear.

Gradually her hearing returned though accompanied by a ringing effect that dampened what she heard. Two men in safety vests and a woman wearing hospital scrubs under her coat jumped down onto the track, carefully avoiding the live third rail, and began to walk toward the crash. The darkness of the tunnel soon swallowed them up then the screams began. Or perhaps they had been sounding the whole time and she was just now able to hear them.

“We’re going to have to try to get home above-ground,” said a young father pushing a baby stroller full of packages. His frightened-looking wife held a sleeping baby tightly. “The trains aren’t safe anymore.”

Bea said, “There was a gun battle going on in the streets near the Federal Triangle. You don’t want to take a baby out in anything like that.”

“They don’t have any choice, lady. Take a look at that.” The man with the exterminator brother-in-law pointed down toward the tunnel.

Slowly emerging from the shadows of the tunnel, the survivors of the crash limped along the tracks. They seemed dazed, so dazed that they staggered to stay upright. A woman wandered dangerously close to the live rail and Bea shouted out a warning but she either didn’t hear or didn’t understand because she stepped on it. Once her foot made the connection her body began to jerk and they heard sizzling sounds before she fell to one side. Horrified, Bea went forward to jump down into the tracks to help her up but a man standing near her grabbed her arm. She tried to shake him off but he just shook his head and held on.

Incredibly, the electrocuted woman got to her knees then stood up. Shredded skin revealed a huge rip in her throat and blood covered the front and shoulder of her blouse. She continued to stagger forward with the others.

All of the survivors were horribly injured, to the point that they really shouldn’t be alive and certainly not ambulatory. The woman holding the baby began to make choked sounds that were not quite screams and she ran for the escalator, her husband following. Everyone else on the platform began to move away.

The man holding her arm let go and started up the escalator. He glanced back at her and said, “You should leave too. I don’t think those,” he pointed to the walking wounded “can get up here but there might be others who can.”

“What are you talking about? We can’t just leave them.” Bea had seen callousness before but this was unbelievable.

“They’re infected and you can’t help them. They’ll kill you if they can. Look down.”

She did. The survivors stood just below them, reaching upward but didn’t seem to know how to climb up. She went to the edge of the platform and a man wearing an orange safety vest bared his teeth and snapped at her. His eyes looked completely dead and he showed no emotion other than desperate, vicious hunger. He was also (she drew back with a small scream) missing an arm.

“Hurry! The others are coming,” her rescuer shouted at her from the escalator.

He was right. Dozens of wounded walked along the track. Several wandered onto the live rail but they just kept coming. How was this possible? She ran up the escalator, jumped the turnstile because she couldn’t find her pass, and walked up and out into the dark D.C. night.

“We might all be safer if we stayed together and there is strength in numbers. Which way are you going?” It was the same man who had held her back from the track. “I’m David and you are…?”

“Bea, Beatrice actually, and I need to get to Georgetown. I live near the C&O. Nice to meet you and thanks for- for down there, you know. Which way are you going?”

“Nice to meet you, Beatrice Actually. My apartment is up toward Rock Creek so that should work. You wouldn’t happen to have a weapon with you, would you?”

Odd question. Why would she have a weapon? Bea shook her head but thought of the tightly-locked old footlocker in the linen closet. She had a gun. Three really but none were licensed to carry. She found them in with some of her mom’s things not long after she left. Typical of her mom to leave something that dangerous in a place that a six-year-old could reach. Bea locked them up immediately, along with the ammo. She suspected they belonged either to her dad or maybe the grandfather they had never met. She knew her dad had been in the Gulf War and her grandfather had gone to Vietnam but little more than that. Family stories around the fire in the evenings were never a feature of their home life.

“I don’t either but maybe we can pick something up along the way. Let’s see if anyone else is going in our direction.”

The couple with the baby huddled next to the streetlamp. The man in the houndstooth-checked hat stood next to them, talking and gesturing down the street.

“… have seen Reagan International! Everyone fighting to get on a plane out, didn’t matter where, as long as it was out of town. Of course there weren’t enough flights and I guess they either tried to rent a car and drive out or they went back to their hotel or whatever. I didn’t stick around once-”

“Hey, sorry to interrupt but are any of you headed north-west? If it’s practical it might be better to stay together for as long as we can,” David said.