Live From the Scene of Death

By Nick Curry

A young reporter from Chicago finds himself short of words when writing his most recent stories.

The dead are rising.

Cannibalism rampant.

No one is safe.

His plight worsens when his wife is trapped as mass transit is cut off to and from Chicago. Hoping to avoid disaster, Jordan flees to his childhood home and takes refuge at his estranged neighbor Harry's farm.

Jordan attempts one last message to his wife, Chloe, letting her know exactly where he is. Unable to communicate further, he is stuck between searching for his wife or holding tight at the farm.

But the farm holds more secrets than he thought, and Jordan will have to choose between his safety and Chloe's.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Nick Curry
• Release date: Sep 10, 2012
• ISBN: 9781301654628

Nick Curry

Hey! Thanks for checking out my page and hopefully my work, too. I'm a writer hoping to become an author.

Book preview

Live from the Scene of Death

Copyright © 2012 Nick Curry

Smashwords Edition

Part 1: Chicago’s Gone Viral

A viral outbreak is causing overflow in hospitals and health clinics, warranting the dispatch of several National Guard members to set up medical treatment facilities.

The first report of this virus came yesterday evening, when an ER patient was being treated for injuries sustained in a low-speed accident. Others involved in the accident were diagnosed while being treated for minor injuries. Since the initial diagnosis, reports have surfaced of similar symptoms in hospitals across the city and raising the attention of individuals.

Our first concern is safety—we don’t want whatever this is spreading any further than it has already, said Terrence Dawkins, spokesman for the Center for Disease Control. At this point, there is no cause for concern.

Early reports indicate symptoms of this virus are flu-like, including fever, vomiting, and in some cases hallucinations and seizures. With no clear determination on how the virus is transmitted, all persons who think they may have been exposed to the virus in the greater Chicago area are advised to seek aid. Treatment facilities have been established in areas of Chicago. The facilities are free of charge and are accepting patients immediately.

By Jordan Martin

That’s my byline from four weeks ago, though I blame my editor for the terrible headline. Looking back, I’d like to toss in one small edit; the last line should read Get out while you still can. The first patient I mentioned became suddenly rabid and violent within a few hours of the paper being distributed, injuring several hospital staff members. He even killed a few before being shot by the police. Interestingly enough, patient zero was a doctor, himself.

Other infected people followed suit with symptoms, escalating up to violence and cannibalism.

Like any good virus, it didn’t stop with patient zero, though. It swept up thousands in just a few days, overrunning the city in the blink of an eye. I stuck to this story as close as I could, watching in absolute fascination as the virus took new victims every day.

Pardon my seeming sadism; believe me, I saw my share of stomach churning grotesqueries, but I can’t afford to have a filter. I intend to report as I see, hoping whatever I chronicle lives past me.

A week before the outbreak, I was dropping my wife Chloe off at the airport for her flight to Washington DC—she was going out for a week to cover some political pundit's newfound power as he found his seat in congress; representative Jake Murdock. I’m playing it down as much as I can. In sincerity, I was jealous; she’d been hand-picked to do a piece on the President’s little brother. We kissed and said goodbye, sure we'd see each other in just a few short days.

As it usually does, life had different plans. Her pundit fell ill (not that kind, just a cold) and had to delay her interview until he was in good enough health. She saw the sights, sent some pictures, and called every night. We never talked long, just caught up on the day. Three days before she was supposed to get on a plane back to me in Chicago, patient zero emerged. She got as far as Ohio, but then the city and the army started shutting down all mass transit. I asked around the posted guard units, but no one seemed to know exactly what was happening. I was even forcibly removed on more than one occasion.

Still, I clung to my little laptop, typing away at my next stories, under no impression the situation wouldn't resolve itself. It had every time before, so what made this time so different?

Within two weeks of patient zero, I found myself typing things I couldn't believe. Reanimated corpses terrorize citizens. Reports of infection surfacing in most every major city in America; then reports came from international sources. Then some reports stopped coming.

Power grids remained active for as long as I stayed in the city. Once the infection started to come inward from suburbs, the military posts began to weaken. Panicked citizens (myself included) fled whatever direction they could go, away from the people-on-the-menu tendencies of the now-dead populus marching about the streets.

I managed to hitch a ride in the back of a truck with a few other survivors, but that didn't last long. The group I was with ended up cornered in a small house off the interstate in south-central Iowa when we tried to stay the night—some escaped to the truck, driving it into the dark horizon. One other person was left behind with me. He fought bravely, but slipped down the stairs in our escape.

That moment was the real eye-opener for me. I watched as the dead fell upon him, gnashing into his skin and pulling his organs from his stomach. I wanted with all my heart to save this man, but I had no choice. I bolted outside and picked up a bike from the side of the house.

Even here and now, if I close my eyes hard enough, I can still hear him screaming. For a time, I'd wondered if my chances were better staying in Chicago.

I pressed on, forging my own way through