The Reaper Virus (4 page)

You could read it all over the national news
anchor’s face… even he didn’t believe what he was reading. The
basic summary was that the newly identified R33PR virus had gained
a foothold in most major cities.

Once infection reached final stages, the
afflicted person exhibited extremely violent behavior. It was
unknown whether or not this was a transmission method for the
mature virus or maybe even a result of altered brain chemistry from
the infected and darkened blood. As a result of the propensity
towards violent behavior, the CDC recommended that infected family
members who were showing signs of the R33PR virus should be
isolated and reported.

Scientists were still trying to determine the
exact transmission method and level of contagion. At that point,
the death rate in the newly infected appeared to be one hundred
percent. This new phase in the pandemic had potential to cause a
new collapse in the global economy unless drastic action could be
taken in the coming days.

Isolated and reported? What in the hell did
that mean?

Oh, I forgot the best part… they were calling
it the “REAPER virus.” I guess “R33PR” looks like “REEPER” on a
fucked up vanity license plate or something. Frankly, I was
surprised it took the media this long to think of a nickname for
it. Well, at least it was easier to say than R33PR, plus it sounded
deservingly ominous.

* * *

0230 hours:

Closing time for the clubs normally unleashed
a tainted flood of humanity in streets near our station. Club
patrons were kicked out of their sweaty confines of sensory
bombardment and into the streets. Our agency responded by having
extra officers in the area to deal with the inevitable brawls
between intoxicated, scantily clad deviants. This pattern of crowd
control was fairly predictable. I had seen girls waiting outside
the club wearing veritable scraps of clothing compared to my many
layers on nights where the temperature reached single digits.
However, the unrest from the viral epidemic must have everyone
truly scared because that night there was barely a soul.

Even though our officers covered two main
areas they usually conducted operations utilizing one radio channel
that was controlled by a single dispatcher. If there was a special
event or initiative, then command would authorize use of a
secondary service channel used exclusively for that event. I wasn’t
very surprised when they opened up a service channel on the radio
just for the hospital units, but it made sense with their hands
being so full with infected patients and family members. Our air
time was so clogged with distressed transmissions from east
officers that the ones on the academic campus could hardly get
across. The other officers needed to be able to reach the radio
room just as badly since the infection was hardly isolated to the
hospital area.

While stepping out of dispatch I tiptoed by
the commander’s office. It wasn’t my proudest moment, but I sort of
eavesdropped to see if I could learn anything new. I almost wished
that I hadn’t…. All I heard was
alley kid,
Reaper, bites
and
from attack.
After that I think they heard my shoe squeak and closed the door.
The last thing I wanted to deal with at the time was an irritated
senior officer. I abandoned my efforts to overhear something useful
and returned to the radio room.

The covert effort to get an idea of what was
really going on out there backfired because when I returned my mind
was flooded with more questions than answers. Did this mean the kid
got infected from being attacked? My imagination was often my worst
enemy, and it was fueled by reading so many books and watching so
many movies about zombies, because when I visualized the alley
attack, all I could think of was
that
word… zombies.

I spent time searching the web to see what
else I could find. There had to be something out there that would
make me feel better about what was rapidly transpiring. It was
difficult not to neglect the phones with this nagging curiosity,
but at least I was able to sort of multitask between the two.
However, my mind was not cooperating with the phones, no matter how
hard I tried to concentrate.

* * *

0400 hours:

Reports came in that two of our hospital
stationed officers got attacked by a patient in the emergency room.
Violence towards police officers was not as uncommon there as it
should have been, especially in the emergency room, but this time
was different. Both officers were rookies. I think one was still in
field training and the other just got out of it, but I couldn’t be
certain. All I could get was that they were rushed into isolation
and everything possible was being done for them, whatever that
meant. No matter how you try to spin it,
everything possible is being done for them
, never
sounds very optimistic.

It was becoming overly obvious that the
hospital was
way
under-prepared for the
situation. Sure, it existed to deal with sick people, but from
pandemic proportions? The grim reality that nearly half of the
infected crowds were now sick with something that made them a
physical threat to all those around them was compounding the
degrading security our agency had over the area. I eagerly awaited
an order from the commanders to contact Virginia State Police to
get assistance from outside our department, but with their stubborn
handling of this situation I had doubts that order would ever
come.

I was pretty sure they had let Lance go back
on duty after all the debriefings for the
officer-involved-shooting. Policy dictated that they keep any
officer-involved out for a while on administrative leave. Actually,
it wouldn’t surprise me if they were desperate for people right
now. From requiring extra units around the hospital to people
calling out sick, they needed all able-bodied units to keep this
chaos to a minimum.

I figured that I might try and catch up with
Lance later to make sure he was alright and maybe see what I could
find out about what was going on. Hopefully it wasn’t what I
suspected it to be. We’d been friends for years so if anyone was
going to be straight with me over what had been happening I should
hope it would be him.

I was still checking the news. There were a
lot of rumors, media speculation and propaganda, the usual stuff
one gets used to, but the key was to look for a common thread in
rumors, where you could often find a hint of truth. I didn’t know
what to think though, everything was such a jumble of information
that simply didn’t make any sense and when it did make sense, it
wasn’t making me feel any better.

* * *

0615 hours:

I bumped into Lance for a second in the
read-off room. He wouldn’t say anything in the station, but he did
mention quietly that I should meet him at the Third Street Diner,
which was about a mile away from headquarters, for breakfast and a
beer. For most people, a beer at seven in the morning is a telltale
sign of an alcoholic, but graveyard shift workers could never be
classified as “most people.” Everyone should be sleeping in at home
today so I doubted my being late would be noticed.

When the shift was over I hustled up the
street to meet him. I wanted to look closely at my surroundings
along the way in case there were signs of the chaos I’d dealt with
over the radio. Instead, I found myself distantly lost in my
thoughts, moving along on autopilot. Anxiousness over what my
friend might reveal kept me focused on the destination rather than
what passed by the car window. Entering the diner I saw Lance
immediately in a corner booth. I sat, wincing at the shriek of my
vinyl upholstered seat.

Before even starting to talk Lance looked at
me very seriously and said, “I’m not just here because we’re
friends, but because I know that you have a family to look out for.
They told me that if I talked to anyone about what I saw that they
would have my badge, so I’m risking my ass talking to you.”

I nodded, speechless, because in the back of
my mind, imagination whirling, I almost knew what he was going to
say.

“The homeless guy who attacked the kid was
definitely infected with the Reaper virus. His veins were dark all
along his hands, neck and face. When I got to him he was already
down. The kill shot, at least what I assume was the damn kill shot,
went right through his left eye. It didn’t go all the way through,
but it definitely made its mark. What came out of the wound was
thicker than normal blood. It was dark crimson, nearly black
liquid, and didn’t spurt blood out the way a wound should. The guy
got nailed with rounds around his body, easily six to eight other
entry wounds. He was wearing a lot of dark colored layers –
probably because of the cold. His jacket and outer shirt just
looked thick, like it was soaked in Jell-O. It was pockmarked with
bullet holes, several of which
should
have
stopped him in his tracks.”

He paused, took a deep breath, and continued.
“The kid was a different story… obnoxious hippie student type;
looked like a real asshole. The bum fucked him up pretty bad. But
the thing is that he didn’t beat him, didn’t stab him, didn’t do
any of what you would expect…”

Pausing again, he looked down at his beer for
a second and after a moment he regained his earlier pace. “The
bastard bit him. And not a nibble, a
bite
.
He had a chunk taken out of his arm the size of a small steak.
There were other bites all over his exposed skin. The shirt on his
left shoulder was torn; it almost looked like a big dog had bit
him. Even the tip of his fucking nose was gone. His nose! Probably
in the stomach of the bum’s rotting corpse. It was an ugly scene.
Hippie kid was screaming, the kind of scream I didn’t even hear in
Iraq. The rookie who fired the shots was shaken and he kept saying
something about the guy walking towards him – even while taking
rounds in the chest. When the bum was about six feet away he
lunged, using all the speed he didn’t use while taking bullet after
bullet. That’s when he shot at his face and the guy went down.”

After a moment or two lost in our beer
glasses I joked that the guy was “kind of like a zombie.” I’m a
smartass at heart, and was just trying to break the silence. In the
back of my mind though, I wanted confirmation… confirmation for
something that shouldn’t ever be.

“Zombie,” Lance said, expressionless. “Why
the fuck did you say
that
? I keep thinking
that, but didn’t want to say it. You really think the Reaper virus
is like the zombie viruses from all the movies, games, and
shit?”

I shrugged, waiting for a punch line to this
joke the world was telling us. We didn’t laugh. Instead, a few
minutes of silence followed this idea so absurd it had to be
considered.

“We need to find out what happens further in
the infection. Are these people becoming violent
and then
dying or is it something else? Either way, we
need to gather more information before we make a plan.”

* * *

0845 hours:

I was sitting on the couch at home, filled
with dread because I knew when Sarah woke up I would have to tell
her what Lance told me. The last thing I’d ever want to do was
worry her, but I was realizing that denial in any form right now
could be a deadly mistake. In the blissful quiet of my sleeping
house I started forming a mental script of how I’d tell my wife the
world might be ending.

I felt my eyelids grow heavy. The comfort of
my couch usually joined forces with the exhaustion of a busy night
to knock me out before even making it to the bed. A fog of
persistent grogginess started taking its justifiable hold. Then a
little voice snapped me back to reality.

“Good morning, Daddy.”

Calise stood before me in pink pajamas that
were patterned with kittens and cupcakes. She smiled sweetly with
messy curls twirled about her head like a halo.

“Hi, Princess. Did you have good dreams?”

She smiled and said, “Yes I did! Were you
nice to the sick people last night?”

My heart sunk at the innocent question. I
wished that the world were that easy.

“Yes baby. I helped the police officers be
nice to all the sick people. Now let’s stop talking and snuggle on
the couch until your mommy and brother wake up. Daddy could sure
use some snuggle time!”

Calise was already nestled at my side under
the blue and white afghan before I even finished talking. It wasn’t
long before I dozed again. With a mini angel at my side it became
easier to find hints of peace and rest. Sometime during my teasing
of deep sleep Maddox joined us on the couch. Sarah emerged from the
bedroom and rubbed my arm until I woke up to let me know it was
time for breakfast. Everyone went to the table and began tearing
through cereal like a swarm of locusts through crops.

The sight of my family at the table always
brings a smile to my face and this morning was no exception.
However, there was an unavoidable hesitation in my actions. Sarah
and I needed to talk about what Lance told me. She picked up on it
and waited for the kids to finish before suggesting they go play
with Legos together until one of their favorite shows came on.

When we heard their scurrying end down the
hall in Maddox’s room I began to recount all that Lance and I
discussed. She sat listening while I unloaded the burden of knowing
the reality of this all. Normally someone should feel better once
they don’t have to deal with something like whatever this is alone.
The fact that I only felt worse was evidence that the world had
departed from normality. Sarah was scared, but tried to cover
herself with her typical adorable smartass comments. Frankly, I was
scared too.