You and Me against the World: The Creepers Saga Book 1 (2 page)

“Scott, you need to sit down.” Thorn let go of the door and guided Scott to a chair in the hallway.

“Thorn, what the hell was that? Did you see that? Did you see his eyes?”

Thorn ignored the questions as his mind tried to grasp the situation.

“Scott, listen to me. We need to lock down this hospital, and we need to lock it down quick.”

Scott nodded slowly and straightened up.

“You’re right. I’ll take care of the ER, and you go call the CDC.”

“Are you sure you’ll be okay?” Thorn asked. “You look faint.”

Scott waved him off. “I’ll be fine for a little longer; just go and make that call.”

Thorn left Scott but gave the closed door a final glance. At the sounds of footsteps, he turned and saw two large security guards running in his direction. He didn’t have time to warn them. He hoped the two large men could subdue the patient. His immediate priority was to contact the CDC. If the virus was contagious, they needed help. He ran to the stairway door instead of waiting on the elevator, and took the stairs two at a time. He wished his office wasn’t on the sixth floor.

Your call is important to us …

The CDC placed him on hold and transferred him repeatedly. He would get halfway through his report, and then he’d be asked to hold and transferred to another person. He would start over again only to be placed on hold and transferred again. The delay was frustrating, and several times, he instinctively grabbed for the phantom pack of cigarettes that had not been in his breast pocket for over a decade.

Finally, after ten minutes of mind-numbing acoustic music on hold, a woman came on the line and told him to hold while she transferred him. Before Thorn could protest, there was a series of strange clicks and a man picked up the line.

“Dr. Thorn, I apologize for the delay, but we have been quite busy today.”

Thorn’s frustration became anger.

“Well, I’m sorry to bother you with our pandemic problems. Perhaps I should contact the CDC.”

The man chuckled softly and Thorn heard the click of a lighter and then the telltale sound of inhaling.

“Very funny, Dr. Thorn. Now is there something you would like to report?”

Thorn quelled his anger and repeated his story. This time he was allowed to finish. The man made several sounds of acknowledgment and then asked a single question.

“Has anyone else who has had contact with this patient demonstrated signs of infection?”

“Yes, Dr. Benson’s nurse and, I believe, Dr. Benson himself is demonstrating early signs.”

The man paused for a long moment. The second hand on the wall clock moved from the twelve to the three before the man spoke again.

“Okay, Dr. Thorn, I need you to enact standard quarantine procedures in the ER. Someone will get back to you in the next three hours.”

Thorn lost it.

“Are you fucking kidding me? Did you hear a word I said? This thing is highly contagious and causes violent behavior. No, not just violent—murderous behavior. You want us to sit around for the next three hours and wait for a phone call. You need to dispatch a team here immediately!”

“I heard you, Doctor. I’m sorry we can’t do more right now.”

“Why? Some matter more pressing that this?”

The man was momentarily silent again.

“Doctor, have you watched the news?”

“Like I told you, I have been a little busy.”

“Well, perhaps you should.” He cleared his throat, and Thorn heard him light another cigarette. “Doctor, follow the quarantine protocols, but if it can’t be contained …”

There was more silence on the end of the line.

“If it can’t be contained, then what?”

Thorn could almost feel the speaker’s silent contemplation.

“If it can’t be contained then what?” Thorn insisted.

“Run.”

The line clicked, and Thorn was disconnected.

The sixth floor’s only television was in the staff lounge. He knew it was critical that he return to the ER. The clusterfuck call with the CDC had already delayed him too long, and he worried that in Scott’s current condition, the ER doc might make a mistake. The CDC guy had scared him though. The calm manner in which he took Thorn’s report, the lack of questions, and the ominous and outright crazy advice that Thorn should run. None of it made sense. It felt like a bad joke, and Thorn half expected someone to jump out and yell, “April Fools!” Watching the news was irrational, but it seemed more urgent than an immediate return to the emergency room. Reason and sanity had slipped away the moment the patient had eaten Antonio.

The television was tuned to the Golf Channel. The volume was muted, but the scrolling headline read that a violent incident had occurred at the Hilton Head Open and that the tournament was suspended. Thorn found the remote on a cluttered coffee table and tuned to Fox News. His unease grew as he watched. Aerial cameras showed live footage of people attacking one another outside of Daytona General Hospital. The video cut away to a similar scene at Miami International Airport, where three women chased a heavyset man across the parking lot. The distance between them shortened, and then the women caught the man and dragged him to the tarmac. The video cut back to the Fox News studio as the women bit into their large prey and blood splattered around the fallen man. The headers all read, “Violent outbreaks throughout Florida, authorities still uncertain of the cause.”

For Thorn, there was no uncertainty.

He pressed the remote’s Last button, and the Hilton Head scene reappeared on the screen. He turned up the volume and listened to the sports commentators discuss the unprovoked and violent acts that had killed three fans, a caddie, and one of the tournament players. Thorn dropped the remote and ran to the ER.

Chapter 2

It’s Never Too Early to Panic

N
obody’s listening

When he reached the ER, it was apparent that the window of opportunity for quarantine had closed. He found the nurse whom he had instructed to call the police. She looked disheveled, and black ooze stained the front of her uniform. He grabbed her arm harder than he had intended, and she let out a pained breath.

“Nurse, this place was supposed to be quarantined. Where is Scott—I mean, Dr. Benson?”

She shook free of his grip and ignored his first statement.

“Dr. Benson collapsed just after you left. They took him upstairs.”

“Where?”

“Umm, I don’t know. Pediatrics maybe.”

“What happened while I was gone?”

“Look around. All hell broke loose, that’s what happened. We have over two dozen patients with hypothermia and most of them”—she paused and looked down at her ruined uniform—“most of them are vomiting this vile, black stuff.”

“And the deputies? Did you call the police?”

She ignored his question and continued as if lost in her own thoughts.

“That patient, the one who killed poor Antonio, the police had to shoot him. He broke out of his room and almost killed one of the nurses. I called all the floors, and they’ve sent down as many doctors and nurses as they can spare.”

Thorn rubbed his forehead. Doctors, nurses, and patients filled the emergency room. Beyond the hallway, he could see the full waiting room and saw as many people leaving as were entering. Every person who departed increased the chances of the virus’s spread.

The nurse ignored his distraction and kept talking.

“This flu is moving fast. We have several staff members who came down to ER feeling completely normal who have suddenly come down with it.”

There was a hollow, shocked quality to her voice, and Thorn realized she was in the early stages of dementia. He was certain that if he asked her a simple question like the month or the year, she would give him that empty glazed look and be unable to answer.

“And poor Candice, they found her in the restroom, scratching at the floor like a dog trying to bury a bone.”

The nurse made a little sound that was half squeal and half laugh and then collapsed onto the floor. Thorn yelled for assistance, and a paramedic rushed over to help.

“Doc, what in the hell is going on?”

Thorn shook his head. “I don’t know. I just don’t know.”

The paramedic shook his own head. “About twenty minutes ago, I brought in an assault victim. The guy was half out of his mind. Said a couple of preschoolers had spit on him and then bit his leg. The way both of his calves were chewed to the bone, I would have guessed an animal attack.”

“What changed your mind?” Thorn asked.

The medic laughed, but it was a humorless sound.

“A few minutes after we got here, I watched an ER nurse eat half the receptionist’s face. A deputy pulled her off, but he had to put an entire clip in her to keep her down.”

Thorn glanced at the full waiting room.

“All that and those people didn’t flee?”

“Strange, isn’t it? Half of them are just spaced out, and the other half … well, they aren’t making a lot of sense. Must be one hell of a flu.”

The medic’s radio crackled with a call from dispatch. Thorn listened to the description of multiple injuries at Fort Myers High School. The medic responded and then smiled at Thorn.

“Gotta run, Doc. Must be bad if they’re calling in my district.”

Thorn thought about the quarantine protocol and knew he shouldn’t let the man leave but decided it was too late. The medic might at least be able to help some victims.

“Hey, what’s your name?”

“Rick,” the medic called back as he sprinted toward the exit.

“Rick, listen.” Thorn caught up with him, “Whatever this is, the black bile you’re seeing seems to be the source of contamination. Don’t get any of it near your eyes, nose, or mouth.”

The medic nodded his head, but the look in his eyes confirmed that Thorn was asking for the impossible. There was no safe way to assist the infected.

In one respect, a hospital is like a prison. During a crisis, the inmates have nowhere else to go. When a prison riot occurs, those in charge can contain it and try to restore order, but they can’t move the prisoners elsewhere. During a major outbreak, it is the same. Gulf Coast Hospital had eight floors, and even in the summer months, patients occupied 90 percent of the beds. The county health system operated on a tight budget, and they had opted for the airline method of cost management, with fewer hospitals and higher occupancy rates. The county had reduced the five-hospital system to four the previous year, and none had the capacity for any large overflow. Even if there had been ample room elsewhere, protocol required CDC authorization to transport or release people from a quarantined facility. The possible risk of the infection’s spread was too high. Moreover, if the other hospitals already had their own outbreaks, moving patients would not have ensured anyone’s safety. During a pandemic, the hospitals were ground zero. The medical staff and the patients shared the same fate. The first could not leave the sick, and the second had nowhere to go. All anyone could do was to sit tight and pray that someone less busy than they had a plan.

No one had a plan.

Thorn looked around at his colleagues. They all appeared worn but focused. They did the best they could to treat the growing number of infected. Some looked sick themselves, and Thorn tried to calculate how long it had taken the hypothermic stage to become violent. He could not be sure, but he knew the incubation period had decreased. Containment may have already failed, but he had a responsibility to continue his efforts until a higher authority said otherwise.

In the waiting area, a man in a sport coat spoke with a deputy. The weathered face and the way the man’s suspicious gaze swept the room made Thorn certain that the guy was a detective. As Thorn approached, he saw the detective’s hand casually slip inside his coat.

If I ran right now, he would probably shoot me
, Thorn thought.

“Detective, may I speak with you?”

The cold eyes looked at Thorn’s name tag, but the hand remained inside his sport coat.

“What is it, Dr. Thorn? I’m in the middle of an investigation here.”

“I understand but this is critical.”

The detective sighed and told the deputy he would be back. Thorn led him into Triage and found an empty alcove.

“Okay, you have my attention, Doc. What is it?”

“These people, they aren’t just sick. They’re infected.”

“Infected?” The detective looked around. “Infected with what?”

“I don’t know yet, but we need to lock this place down before it spreads.”

The detective gave him an angry stare.

“Doc, whatever you’re talking about is above my pay grade. I don’t know the first thing about quarantines, and I certainly don’t have the authority on your word alone to initiate a lockdown of a county hospital. You need to call the county and get them involved.”

“Listen, Detective, I have already spoken to the CDC.”

“In Atlanta?”

“Yes.”

“Well, then, they will contact the governor’s office, and then someone will contact our department.”

“There isn’t time. These people are going to become violent just like the first patient and the nurse your men killed.”

“Hey, Doc, listen—” Before he could complete his rebuttal, the deafening blast of the deputy’s .357 filled the air.

“What the fuck!” the detective yelled, and rushed back to the waiting area. Thorn heard the sound of more gunfire. Three people ran though the waiting room doors and into Triage. There were screams and more gunshots, and more people rushed Triage. Behind them, Thorn saw a nightmare.

A man and a woman herded the group of screaming people. They were both naked. Their skin had taken on a blue hue, and the same color blue clouded their corneas. They moved with an ungainly gait but fast nonetheless. The woman had a dark burn mark on her upper chest, and Thorn knew that the deputy must have shot her at point-blank range to cause such discoloration. Black ooze leaked from the hole, but the wound didn’t slow her down. Both of the infected had their mouths agape in moaning screams, and Thorn could see the torn flesh that hung from their teeth.

The virus had stepped up its game.

The infected couple caught a woman stalled at the end of the fleeing group. They jumped on her and drove her to the floor. The crowd hid the attack from Thorn’s view, but the woman’s screams and the sudden spray of blood told him everything he needed to know.

In the event of an emergency …

Thorn bolted for the stairwell as the panic behind him exploded into more screams, shouts, and gunfire. He hit the door hard, grateful it wasn’t locked, and ran up the stairs to the fourth floor. The peaceful calm of the pediatrics wing was surreal compared to the mayhem of the ER. Soft music played over the intercom system, and the hallway had the pleasant smell of newborn babies. Thorn ran to the nurses’ station. The nurses watched with surprised interest as he sprinted down the hall.

“Listen to me and listen carefully,” he said and tried to catch his breath. “We need to get everyone who can walk or doesn’t require special care out of this hospital.”

The lead nurse, an older heavyset woman named Judy, eyed him with an air of smug authority.

“I’m sorry, but who are you, Doctor?”

“Thorn. I’m Dr. Thorn from Oncology. Listen, we need to evacuate.”

“Doctor, I take my orders from Dr. Clemmons. He is in charge of Pediatrics.”

“What’s going on here?”

Thorn turned and looked at the fifty-year-old portly man who stood behind him. The man’s name tag read “Clemmons.”

“Doctor, listen to me: we need to get these women and babies out of the hospital.”

“Dr. Thorn, what on earth are you talking about? We cannot discharge all of these women to the street.”

Thorn had no choice because he had no time. He punched the pediatrician in the face. Blood sprayed from the man’s nose, and he fell to the floor. Judy screamed and then she rushed to assist Dr. Clemmons.

“You—what’s your name?” Thorn asked a young nurse behind the desk. She looked afraid and uncertain.