The Reaper Virus (8 page)

We passed through the entryway to the stairs
walking nearly side-by-side. Lance was maybe a half step ahead of
me. The slight reprieve offered from the retrieval of personal
items may have clouded our prior alertness. To his immediate left,
the stairs continued up. In front was the blood stained plateau and
the following descent to street level.

The infected man must have been three of four
stairs up from where Lance stood. It nearly leapt towards him,
making a gut-wrenching sound I can only describe as a gurgling
growl of a moan. If I had been standing in his place I would likely
be dead. My reaction time has been considerably hampered by
enjoying a life spent in the seated position.

The shots were deafening. Two in rapid
succession fired point blank in that concrete coffin. Shot number
one took off the top right side of its head. The corpse dropped in
its place, a quick airborne trail of darkly crimson muck and a
spackle to the dirty gray wall remained. A second shot, fired in
the considerable panic, cratered a stair near the next upward bend.
In that eternal second I looked at the infected man, realizing its
clothing looked like that of the previously motionless body draped
over the stairs. A second was all the time allotted to me, before I
met the infected man’s friend.

Outside, a car struck the large streetlight
standing in front of the club adjacent to the deck’s vehicle
entrance. The flash from its sodium-vapor bulb exploding lit the
stairwell like a lightning strike. My vision became filled with two
black eyes, a gaping mouth, and a roadmap of dark veins launching
towards my awestruck frame. A cold, vice grip hand attached to my
left shoulder, pulling me towards a feral snapping mouth. Instinct
took over. I’d like to think it had some help from long forgotten
Defensive Tactics training.

My left arm pushed with a surging might
against the cold mass of my attacker. Numbness immediately filled
my shoulder under the oppression of a determined grip. The ASP, now
warm from my unrelenting right-handed grip, met the infected temple
with a climax of adrenalized strength. A bone-cracking snap filled
the stairwell, mimicking another gunshot.

I would have been pulled down with the
bastard, had his grip not released seconds after my strike.
Continued momentum sent it towards the upwards stairs, where the
nearly headless corpse lay. The sound of his head cracking on the
stair filled my throat with bile.

Throwing caution to the wind, we basically
ran back to the rear door. There were more shambling masses in the
alleyway. Several appeared to be pursuing a panicked pair of kids
running to the east, away from our building. Another officer stood
at the door, holding it ajar and discreetly surveying the alley.
She saw us coming and nearly slammed the door shut. Had it not been
for Lance’s vest and familiar utility belt jingle we would probably
have been locked out. We ran inside and the thick metal door was
closed, secured by the functioning and powerful magnetic lock.

Moments after reaching safety, we heard
pounding on the door. Guttural growling and moaning bled through
the old, not-so-soundproof barrier. I crashed from the buildup of
adrenaline, fighting both passing out and vomiting. I made a
beeline for the bathroom, which was closely situated to the rear of
the building.

Once back in the office, I was bombarded with
both questions and anger for leaving, but I was gone only a total
of eighteen minutes and only outside for nine of those minutes.
Then again, it was nine minutes that have reverberated in my mind
from that day forth. Thankfully, Lance and I survived and I doubted
very strongly that either one of us would ever make such stupid,
careless mistakes again. Going forward, I’d not rush; I’d rather
make sure my ass was covered.

* * *

0537 hours:

Phones were ringing off the hook. Staying
busy didn’t bother me; what bothered me was repeatedly lying to
people.

Every person I talked to was desperate,
angry, scared, but what could I do? I had orders to follow and
frankly, there simply wasn’t the manpower, and even if there was,
we were kind of stuck in exactly the same situation that they were.
Our families were also worried and alone, we were really trying our
best.

We got a printout supposedly from the chief
that gave us a procedure for calls. Essentially it ordered us to do
nothing. The printout told us to get a person’s location and as
many details of the situation as possible. Then we were to assure
them an officer would respond to their location as soon as they
were able. In the meantime, they were encouraged to stay indoors
and not to confront any strangers. Lying every time I picked up the
phone bothered me more than the realization that I may have killed
a man earlier in the evening.

My mind combed through the incident
repeatedly. I questioned myself as much as I questioned what was
turning into my new reality. Did I kill him? Is it possible he was
already
dead?

I wanted to talk to Sarah more than anything
else in the world. My fingers kept starting to dial the house. I
always stopped with the same thought. After lying every time I
answered the phone here at work, telling my wife
Everything is going to be ok… I’ll be home soon
is a
lie I wasn’t willing to tell.

0600 hours:

All the buildings were locked down. Only a
handful of officers were at headquarters when things got closed up.
Everyone else was either barricaded in buildings around campus or
couldn’t be contacted anymore. Those who we still had contact with
tried to get back, but with the roads being clogged by every
obstruction imaginable, they didn’t get far.

So far they were sticking with the magnetic
locks on our building. If the generator started to go they would
probably get the master keys and manually lock them. Once our doors
were key locked, they could not be unlocked from the outside. In
the meantime I could see why they would want to get in or out
quickly. Three units were fairly close to Gladding Residence Center
(GRC), a dorm/student townhome that was kind of set up like a fort.
GRC was one of the few dorms still occupied by students. All others
were supposedly cleared when classes started to get cancelled a few
days before. It was a year-round dormitory housing eight hundred
and thirty upperclassmen or graduate students. I wouldn’t have been
surprised if over four hundred were left. Either seeking shelter or
exercising prudence, they had made it inside and locked things
up.

The news was saying that the Reaper virus was
being transmitted solely by bite wounds received by the infected.
Time from initial infection to the victim succumbing varied on
where the virus entered the body. People who only got a minor bite
could take anywhere from twelve to twenty-four hours to succumb.
However, if someone got bitten on, let’s say the neck, or an area
with major blood flow, they turned in minutes.

* * *

0821 hours:

My right wrist was throbbing. I found an ace
bandage in one of the dozen partial first aid kits we had in
dispatch. I doubted I sprained it or broke anything, but it seemed
to help having a little extra support. The impact from swinging the
baton against my attacker’s head must have reverberated back
through my arm. I guess that I came out lucky, considering the
violent attack, at least luckier than the other guy did. I wish my
wrist was the only thing reminding me of what happened. It had been
running through my head over and over. Recalling the sound made by
the impact of both my baton and its skull against the step was
enough to make me gag.

The thought of taking another life was
overwhelming. I found myself consumed with a cold self-dread. Then
I’d think…
consumed
. Was that bastard
trying to
eat
me? Logic told me I was
absurd for even questioning such a thing. I wasn’t sure logic meant
a goddamn thing anymore, quite honestly.

* * *

0900 hours:

I talked to Sarah… didn’t elaborate on what
happened. I told her I was safe in a secure building and I would
find a way out as soon as I felt I could do so safely. I also left
out the detail about the car – no need to worry her more than I had
already.

Things seem to be okay in our neighborhood as
far as she knew. Sarah said she heard what sounded like a few
distant gunshots throughout the night. Against my advice, she
stepped out on the porch after sunrise to see if the cats were
outside. Evidently all but one house in the cul-de-sac had empty
driveways.

In the few minutes she was out there, she saw
a dozen luggage packed cars drive by. She could see a few people up
the street boarding up windows. This update put me at ease just a
bit. It sounded like most people were packing up and leaving, a
stark contrast to what was going on outside our building. At least
the rural areas seemed to be responding to the end of the world in
an orderly fashion.

Both kids were awake so Sarah let each of
them talk with me. It’s amazing how hearing the sweet voices of
your children can make you forget all your troubles. Maddox asked
me when I was coming home, but all I could say was, “I’ll be home
soon, buddy, I just need to help the officers a little longer. Make
sure you are helping Mommy and looking out for your little sister.”
His response was a shy but serious, “Don’t worry, Daddy. I’ll make
sure they are okay.”

Talking to Calise made me want to break down.
She very sweetly said she missed me, and to “watch out for the
monsters, Daddy.” I guess they’d seen the news. At least the
television still worked.

* * *

1130 hours:

No one made it here from day shift. One
called out; not a word from the others. I would be irritated, but I
don’t know how they would get here. There were four dispatchers in,
including me.

The radio slowed down a bit since most
officers were either unreachable or were barricaded inside random
buildings. Phones were still busy, but not like before. My guess
was that Richmond Police were getting it far worse than we
were.

Anyone dialing 9-1-1 got connected to the
Richmond Police Department. If it was in one of our buildings we
got a notification, but that was it. Part of me felt bad for RPD
Communications; they had to be running themselves ragged. Then I
remembered how unpleasant they tended to be when we had to talk to
them. The term
comeuppance
came to
mind.

Everyone continued to ask me what happened on
the deck. I was as vague as possible, only telling them to stay
inside. I was the only dispatcher on duty parked at the deck;
therefore no one else had the pressing need to go in there.

Brad, a fellow dispatcher of the last several
years, saw me wrapping my wrist a couple of hours ago. He motioned
to it and asked me if I had a run in with anyone outside. I
responded with an expressionless glance. Then he noticed what I had
overlooked in the bathroom; a very dark crimson spatter stain on
the right side of my undershirt by my neck. I opened my mouth to
respond and he stopped me. “Why don’t you use the security master
keys to unlock the managers’ office? Take the cushions from the
window bench and make a little bed. We can all use a nap. Something
tells me you should go first.”

Partly pleased by the lack of pursued
questioning, and very pleased at the thought of shutting my eyes; I
agreed. My hope was that complete and utter exhaustion would
overcome the images plaguing my mind.

* * *

1420 hours:

I was dead to the world, totally immersed in
a physically and emotionally exhausted cloud. A loud knock on the
solid wooden office door brought me back to semi-consciousness.

“Nathan, you should come out here watch the
news.” It was the new part-time girl whose name I could never
recall.

I grumbled acknowledgement and rose from my
makeshift bed. Slipping on my boots, I neglected to put my
uncomfortable uniform shirt back on. It was hot in dispatch that
day, a little more so than it always fucking was. If I had to stay
here I’d rather be comfortable in just a simple white undershirt.
In my groggy state I forgot about the bloodstain on my shirt.

All eyes in the room were glued to the piece
of shit television mounted in the corner above the lobby window
when I emerged. The radio was silent, phones were ignored. A
breaking news graphic gave way to the president, looking as if he
hadn’t slept in a week.

“
My fellow Americans, I
come to you this afternoon with an update on the R33PR virus
plague. All representatives of the CDC are hard at work fighting
this global pandemic, so I come to you alone.”

He paused, breathing deeply. All the chaos
inside and out immediately turned into white noise. Everything
became falsely silent.

“
We have confirmed, in a
cumulative defiance of anatomy and medicine, that this virus has
the ability to reanimate a deceased human being. After reanimation,
a person becomes violent and bloodthirsty. They seek and attack
almost anything living. If they succeed in catching their target
they attempt to feed on it. The medical community has been unable
to study a reanimated person without extreme risk of infection to
all nearby. This has left us with many assumptions. We assume the
Reaper virus is somehow reanimating its victims as a means of
further spreading itself. It has also been confirmed that anyone
not killed outright by an attack becomes infected and eventually
turns into a carrier themselves. There is no known cure. It is
unclear how best to stop these unholy attackers if you are
confronted. I urge all citizens to stay in your homes. Anyone who
becomes infected, anyone, will turn into a violent
carrier.”