The Infection

By Pantoum Press

In early April of 2012, the unmanned Mars lander Faith returned to Earth with samples of the bacteria, the first life form discovered outside of our comfortable, blue planet. We kept it in quarantine and followed CDC procedures to ensure appropriate protective measures were taken. It wasn’t enough. The seemingly benign bacteria mutated when introduced to our oxygen-rich atmosphere.
This was how The Infection officially started, although the epidemic proportions of it were not fully recognized at the time. If the outbreak had occurred only at our labs, we could have contained it. In truth, it had started in the wild, weeks before. Faith had collected three vials of the bacteria. Only two vials made it to our labs at NASA.

The Infection is an anthology by 7 authors, based in the post-pandemic world of the undead.

Authors: Twana Biram, Marion Clarke, Gerard Gogarty, Vincent Hughes, Mitch Lavender, Bernard O'Rourke and Andrew Shortall.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Pantoum Press
• Release date: Jun 15, 2011
• ISBN: 9781452407494

Pantoum Press

Pantoum Press.

Book preview

Mitch Lavender

Copyright Mitch Lavender 2011

Published by Pantoum Press and Smashwords

Smashwords Edition

Twana Biram

Marion Clarke

Gerard Gogarty

Vincent Hughes

Mitch Lavender

Bernard ORourke

Andrew Shortall

Cover art by Kate Williams

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are solely the product of the author’s imagination and/or are used fictitiously, though reference may be made to actual historical events or existing locations. Any resemblance to actual persons, living, dead or undead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

www.pantoumpress.com

Copyright © 2011 by Pantoum Press. All rights reserved by the author(s) of each story. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher and author(s).

Special Thanks to Eamon Ó Cléirigh, Kate Williams and all our friends on www.writing4all.ie and www.critiquecircle.com . Keep the faith and shoot for the head.

Table of Contents

It Begins by Mitch Lavender

Not Dead Yet by Bernard O’Rourke

Head For the Hills by Marion Clarke

A Second Chance for Violetta by Twana Biram

Send In The Clowns by Mitch Lavender

The Last by Gerard Gogarty

Sanctuary by Vincent Hughes

The Unexpected Discovery by Andrew Shortall

All the President’s Zombies by Gerard Gogarty

Embelbee by Twana Biram

Underwood by Bernard O’Rourke

The Long Engagement of Saoirse Boyle by Marion Clarke

About the Authors

It Begins

Mitch Lavender

11:42pm July 3rd, 2012. Audio journal entry by Michael Landers, PhD.

We’ve made a terrible and costly mistake, and the world you live in today is the result of what we have done, or maybe it is the result of what we did not do. Regardless, I am sorry. I feel I owe you an explanation of how this began and where things went wrong; it is the least I can do. Everyone knows that the media will never get this right.

Back in August of 2010, the Rover Opportunity discovered living bacteria in the Endeavor Crater on Mars. Though just a microscopic and simple form of life, the finding was miraculous; the first life form discovered beyond those found on Earth. Smaller than terrestrial bacteria, they were initially identified through density and composition tests of carbonate globules and oxidized soil in the crater. The scientific community hypothesized that the bacteria was not native to Mars, but arrived on a foreign meteorite that formed the crater.

Life discovered on Mars! The news stories heralded our glorious achievement, and the scientific community, and even the usually disinterested public, were enthralled. I’m sure you saw the news coverage as we prepared to retrieve actual samples of the life form.

In early April of 2012, the unmanned Mars lander, Faith returned to Earth with samples of the bacteria. The parachutes on the small module opened over New Mexico, bringing it down in the desert some fourteen miles outside the city of Roswell.

The retrieval of the Faith module was handled with the strictest security. The three air-tight vials containing the bacteria were carefully extracted and placed in a refrigerated case, while the return module, no larger than a washing machine, was loaded on a flatbed truck.

The case was taken by NASA officials and a guarded convoy from the US Army, its destination being our labs in Houston, Texas; some 690 miles southeast and 11 hours’ drive time away. We were scientists, wanting only to explore our discovery. We did not anticipate that others saw the potential for profit and exploitation, and this was a costly oversight.

A gang, Los Hombres, attacked the convoy en-route, two hours outside of Houston. They were organized and knew what they were looking for, taking only the bacterium.

Twelve hours later, FBI operatives recovered the bacterium at a warehouse in Huntsville, Texas. An unknown buyer had hired Los Hombres to secure the vials, for which they were to be paid handsomely. The bust proved successful and the bacterium was brought to NASA in Houston. We kept it in quarantine and followed CDC procedures to ensure appropriate protective measures were taken. It wasn’t enough. The bacteria mutated almost immediately when introduced to our oxygen-rich atmosphere. This was a mistake that shouldn’t have happened, but did.

On May 2, 2012, we acknowledged the first signs of the Infection. A NASA engineer and close friend of mine, Dr. Brian Bromard, developed a high fever and severe chest pains. He fell into a coma and died one day later at Houston’s St. Luke’s Episcopal Hospital. Four hours after being declared dead, his body reanimated. Mindless and automated, the corpse rose from the table and attacked the coroner and his assistant. The autopsy video showed that even with the heart, lungs and liver removed, the corpse still came to life, or at least, was no longer dead in the sense that we think of death. Bromard’s body moved and it attacked: biting, clawing and kicking.

Doctors pronounced Brian Bromard dead for the second time that day. It took fourteen shots to bring him down. Only one shot proved effective - the one that hit him directly in the forehead, splattering his brains against the walls and sending his cadaverous body down in a heap.

This is how The Infection officially started, although the epidemic proportions were not fully recognized at the time. If the outbreak had occurred only at the labs, we could have contained it. In truth, it started in the wild, weeks before. You see, Faith collected three vials of the bacteria, but only two made it to our labs at NASA.

This will be my last update. My headaches have gotten worse and I have a fever of 103F. The pain in my chest is making it hard to breath, and yellow pus has started oozing from my tear ducts. I will end it before I change. I’m not expecting forgiveness for what we have done, but I am sorry. I am so very sorry.

~~~~~

11:35 pm, April 13th, 2012. Trundle Storage Warehouse, Huntsville, Texas

So that’s it?

Jesus Asesino pointed his silver Beretta at the brushed aluminum case, about the size of a 12-pack ice chest. It had a digital thermostat on the outside that showed the temperature as well as the battery life; 30 degrees Fahrenheit, with three bars on the battery.

That’s it. Look for yourself, Branco said. Branco wasn’t his real name, but to question it would mean to take him on. No one wanted to do that.

Jesus popped the two fasteners on the case and lifted the lid. Inside, three vials were visible within the frosty foam protection; each plastic vial had a small amount of what looked like red sand inside. Tentatively, Jesus extracted one. It was sealed with wax or caulk at the top. He held it up to the light and peered at the contents. No one moved; fourteen men, all quietly observing the proceedings. All had pistols drawn but relaxed in front of their crotches; penis extensions.

NASA spent four billion dollars for this? Jesus said, a smile creasing his face. Your tax dollars at work. The others laughed.

An unknown buyer had hired Jesus’ gang to secure this property. NASA paid four billion for their Faith mission to procure the contents of the case. The 1.2 million Jesus earned for his services would provide enough to arm his gang with the best weapons he could buy. Then he would be able to take back the territory they had lost to Los Diablos de Tejas.

FBI! Drop your weapons and surrender.

Penis extensions rose instantly, pointing into the darkened rafters and corners of the warehouse. Before they were fully erect, shots rang out, cutting down men around the table in the center of the warehouse. Others scattered for cover, but not Jesus. Not yet.

He threw the plastic vial down on the floor and it bounced up, unbroken. He fired at a muzzle flash coming from the distant corner of the warehouse. His gun shot three, nine-mm bursts of lead. Each bullet released in the direction of the muzzle fire, some 30 feet away. The third one hit the vial rebounding off the cement floor, shattering it. The granular contents blew into the air, and bacterial mutation occurred instantaneously upon exposure to the atmosphere.

Jesus dived for cover behind a pallet of industrial parts and continued firing triple-bursts at the shadows. The FBI agents, hidden in the dark corners and crevices of the warehouse, picked off the gangsters one by one. The unceasing gunfire ricocheted off the pallet and struck the crates behind Jesus. He was pinned.

Don’t move!

Jesus looked up and saw a gun barrel ten inches above his head, held by an FBI agent standing on the crate behind him. He dropped his Beretta and lay spread-eagle on the floor.

The arrest of the surviving gang members proceeded according to plan. Twelve FBI agents gathered the brushed-aluminum case with the two remaining vials and took it to NASA in a convoy of black Suburbans. The remaining agents waited while the police took the perpetrators away.

More significant than the recovery of the bacterium was the retained secrecy of the entire operation. The public and media remained ignorant of the bacterium’s theft and reacquisition. The leader of Los Hombres, Jesus Asesino; one of the most wanted men in Texas, was taken into custody. In order to close the loop on the investigation, the FBI needed to get a lead on who wanted to buy the bacterium.

Their exposure to the airborne bacterium was 100%. No one present was uninfected. No one knew they were already dead.

~~~~~

2:10 pm, April 15th, 2012. Walker County Jail, Huntsville, Texas

Jesus Asesino admired himself in the mirror on the wall. He knew they watched and video-taped suspects from behind the glass. He winked at his reflection and flexed his bicep, making a tattoo of a naked woman seem to spread her legs even more.

Agent Vincent Dunham leaned against the wall in the dirty room, sipping his lukewarm coffee.

Let’s do this again, he said. What did you want with bacteria from Mars? It’s not like you can hustle that on the streets.

Jesus shifted his gaze from his reflection to the agent. I told you, man. I had a buyer.

Who, Jesus? Dunham had been over this again and again and was tired of it. He stopped saying Jesus’s name with the Hispanic ‘hey-zoos’ pronunciation and started just calling him Jesus, in the biblical sense. He saw that one of Jesus’ tattoos was of a large cross, so he used this ploy to agitate him.

Rico, man. It was Rico, he said, his exasperation evident.

Taking interest in this new information, Dunham pushed away from the wall and took a seat opposite Jesus at the table. Rico who?

Rico Suave. Rico. Suavvvvveee! He sang the last part, drawing out the end with a laugh.

You think this is a joke? This isn’t grand theft auto or some liquor store robbery you are up for. You are looking at serious, hard time in Huntsville. Dunham referred to Huntsville Maximum Security State Penitentiary, a prison infamous for the number of death row executions it processed annually.

Will be like a family reunion, Jesus said with a smile, his gold tooth glinting in the harsh fluorescent lighting of the interrogation room.

Dunham knew this was true. Huntsville already held three of Jesus’ blood brothers and four members of El Hombres, maybe more. Jesus had done hard time once before. It didn’t scare him.

Why are you protecting the buyer, Jesus? Are you afraid of him?

I told you, Dun-Ham. I don’t know who the buyer is. Maybe it’s Al Qaeda. Maybe it’s Iran. Maybe it’s Richard Branson. I don’t know.

Dunham leaned forward, elbows on the table. You’re sweating, Jesus. Are you sure there isn’t something you want to tell me?

Sweat poured off Jesus and he tried to wipe the side of his face on his shoulder, difficult to do with his hands cuffed to the table. It’s hot in here, Dunham. And the food here is making me sick! I have some serious indigestion. You need some tacos and tortillas on the menu, man. I need to take a dump like, now.

Dunham felt the beads of perspiration running down his face and trickling inside his shirt. He didn’t feel good, and wondered if they had turned up the heat in the room intentionally. The dull pain in his chest had become more pronounced over the last hour or so.

You got the shakes, Jesus? Been a couple of days since your last fix? Crack? Black Tar? Coke? Nah, not Coke. You look like a Crack-head. Dunham mopped his forehead with a handkerchief. All right, take a dump. Take two for all I care. He got up and banged on the door. Dunham. Open.

The door opened and an armed police officer came into the room. He looked at the suspect and then back to Dunham.

Send him to a cell. I’m done with him for now.

Dunham left and went to his rental car. He really didn’t feel well. It was probably flu. If he could get a shot or some antibiotics, he might be able to throw it off. The Care-Mark medical place down the street might do the trick. He hated doc-in-the-box, but his own family doctor was in Washington DC, so this would have to do. These places don’t require making an appointment and he had a flight to catch tonight. If he wasn’t better when he flew back to DC, he would go to his own doctor. He resented the other agents who had left a day ago, heading back to their homes or on to new assignments.

I hate being sick! I’d almost rather be dead, he thought to himself as the started the engine.

~~~~~~

Kidnapping and/or Missing Persons’ Report

Vincent Bertram Dunham

Male, 31 years old

Field Agent, FBI

April 18, 2012

Huntsville, Texas

Special Agent, Vincent Bertram Dunham has been missing since April 15, 2012. He was last seen entering his rented vehicle at a Care Mark medical branch in Huntsville, Texas, wearing a blue suit, tie, and white shirt. His abandoned vehicle was discovered on Highway 45 North, near Woodville.

Vincent is 5’ 11", brown hair and brown eyes. He has no known scars or tattoos. He may be ill and contagious. If seen, contact local authorities immediately.

The FBI is offering a $75,000 reward for information leading to the safe return of Vincent Dunham.

Not Dead Yet

Bernard O’Rourke

Walter emerged from his home in the suburbs early on Thursday morning to find his next-door neighbor Carlos crouched on his lawn feasting on the remains of a dog. Carlos raised his head slowly, his eyes dead, empty of emotion, but still apparently capable of receiving visual stimulus. From his lips ran a froth of dog blood, which had already dyed the front of his Bob Marley T-shirt a dull grisly red. The dog’s corpse had been ripped to shreds, and Carlos seemed to have done this himself, with his bare hands. With his teeth.

Carlos, Walter said, but Carlos was already on his feet and moving towards the open front door faster than Walter had thought possible. Walter reacted just in time, slamming his front door shut with all the strength he could manage. Carlos collided with the door a second later with a dry slap of flesh and a sickening crunch of bone, the impact sending a shudder through the door and knocking Walter backwards onto the floor. Outside Carlos hurled his body at the door again, causing a deeper shudder, but the door held.

Panic gripped Walter, whose businessman’s mind was still telling him that he was going to be late for work. It took him a few more seconds to register a much more urgent problem, the fact that the big front window in the living room was a lot less secure than his front door. Walter scrambled to his feet, knocking the phone off the hall table as he went, and stood in the living room door.

Carlos had obviously reached the same conclusion. He hurled himself at the glass, causing a massive crack to spiderweb out from the point of impact. He threw himself at the glass again and came through.

Carlos pushed himself onto his feet. He must have dislocated his right shoulder as his whole right arm hung useless at his side, flapping horribly. A fetid stench of rot emanated from his corpse, and his skin had become horribly discolored, giving him a sickly washed-out appearance. Walter heard the buzzing of flies, and sensed the secret movements of maggots beneath Carlos’s flesh. He stared a moment at this walking, decaying corpse of his neighbor before bolting down the hallway behind him. Carlos followed.

Walter raced through his modest, tidy kitchen, Carlos on his heels, and fumbled the backdoor lock before wrenching it open and dashing into the fresh air outside. His house already stank of death.

Walter stopped and surveyed the back garden: a simple square lawn surrounded on three sides by bushes seven feet high. There was nowhere to go but back into the house. Carlos flew out the door and collided with Walter, dragging him to the ground. The pair scrambled in the grass, Walter desperately pushing back Carlos’s head, which hung over him, blood dripping freely from his open mouth. The stench of decomposition was overwhelming. Walter choked.

Carlos’s one working hand clawed relentlessly at Walter’s shirt and tie, grappling for a solid grip. Carlos took hold of Walter’s jacket, but Walter pulled out of it, leaving it behind as he crawled away from his attacker.

Carlos came at him again and Walter punched out desperately, making contact with the bridge of Carlos’s nose on only his third attempt. He felt it break beneath his fist, but this had little visible effect. Carlos advanced, forcing Walter back, until he collided with the hedge behind him.

Trapped, Walter lashed out one more time and kicked Carlos with all his remaining strength. Carlos’s feet gave way beneath him, and Walter wasted no time in rushing back into his home. He raced back through his hallway and tore open the front door. Then he was outside and in his car. He started it and pulled out of the driveway and headed down the street for the highway. He knew how dangerous it was to travel. The news had been warning against it for at least a week now, but he couldn’t stay any longer. He didn’t look back and he didn’t slow down until he saw the army blockade on the road north leading out of San Antonio.

In his rear view mirror Walter saw his own pale reflection. He was wearing the shirt and tie he had put on to go to work that morning. His collar was dotted with drops of blood. His face looked flushed, washed out, but not really that different from how he looked after a long day at the bank. In his forties, Walter had worked for the Bank of America in San Antonio for twelve years. He was a hard and dedicated worker. Everyone expected that he would soon receive a promotion to upper management, particularly after his calm performance during the brutal armed robbery a few months earlier.

With a gun pressed in his face and the masked bankrobber shouting: Open goddamn the safe, man. Walter hadn’t panicked.

Relax, he said, I’ll do whatever you want

Just open the fucking safe.

Okay, said Walter, rising from his desk. There had been three armed men, they entered the bank at midday exactly, going straight for the armed security guard, disarming him and beating him to the ground. They assembled the customers in a single group and held guns on them and told them not to scream. They screamed anyway.

Walter hadn’t panicked. He pressed the button for the silent alarm under his desk as soon as the men entered. Knowing the police would only take a few minutes to arrive, he went along with what was happening, as he had been instructed, praying that nobody would be killed.

He opened the vault and the bankrobbers made off with close to half a million dollars. The police arrived what seemed like seconds after the men exited the bank. They were never caught.

The media made a hero of Walter for his cool handling of the situation. He earned some serious respect that day. The bankrobbers had been in the news already. A week before, they shot and killed a clerk in a bank in New Mexico, and before that they killed a couple of hostages during a robbery in a casino bank in Vegas. But Walter had survived.

Walter knew he was no hero. He just followed procedure. They gave him training about what to do in such a situation and he stuck to it. Remaining calm had been as simple as following his plan.

He now suspected that his days working for the bank were over. His carefully prepared plan had been shattered. All his dedication had proved utterly pointless. The world was falling apart. He had seen this coming, and knew the plan had to be changed.

Walter saw the tan colored Humvees spread out across the highway in front of him, blocking off the lanes north and south. They were surrounded by sandbags and razorwire, looking like a news report from Iraq. There were armed soldiers in desert camouflage on the road in front of the blockade. When the officer in charge saw Walter’s car approach he raised his hand. Walter guessed he was an officer and in charge because he held a megaphone instead of a rifle. The officer raised the megaphone to his lips.

"All persons are at this time asked to restrict their movements to their immediate locality. There has been a serious outbreak and quarantine has been placed over the area. You are in no danger. Please stop your car and step out.

You will not be harmed, was the last thing Walter heard before the officer’s words were drowned out as his men opened fire.

Walter slammed on the brakes and jolted forward as the car skidded to a halt. The soldiers weren’t shooting at him, as he had feared. The shooting was coming from the other side of the blockade. Walter could just make out a number of cars rushing the barricade from the other direction. The shots Walter heard were the soldiers firing on the incoming traffic. The blockade guards on Walter’s side rushed to help their comrades, but the officer remained where he was, staring at Walter and shouting into the megaphone. The roar of automatic fire continued to drown him out.

Walter threw the car into reverse, flying backwards for a moment before spinning the car about in the opposite direction. He heard explosions at the barricade behind him but he kept driving and didn’t look back. The shooting faded away, but Walter didn’t know if it had stopped or he was just so far away he couldn’t hear it anymore.

Ever since news came back of the Faith Mars mission, things had changed. Life had been found in the vast emptiness of space, and it had been brought to Earth. The world, or at least the small part of it that Walter observed from his San Antonio home, now saw itself in a new way. Scientists heralded a new era in human existence. Religious cults sprung up, claiming the discovery of alien life as a sign from God. Thousands made the pilgrimage, for their own reasons, to Houston, where NASA had taken the sample for analysis. All were awaiting a sign. Some miracle. Maybe a Messiah’s second coming, or just some indication that they were not alone in the universe. Then the riots started.

Walter watched the news broadcast on television one evening after work. The broadcasts ran around the clock.

The state of Texas declared martial law today in response to an escalation in the violent street fighting in the city of Houston, said the female anchor. The Army has entered the city as well as erected blockades on all major highway routes. People are encouraged to stay in their homes in this time of extreme difficulty.

Walter, sitting alone in his darkened living room, noticed how pale the anchor looked. There were lines under her eyes that her heavy makeup couldn’t conceal. She yawned and gulped a mouthful of coffee, something he had never seen anyone do on a live news broadcast before. The picture cut to footage of truckloads of soldiers being driven into Houston, shot somewhere in the suburbs.

Here we can see footage of the current situation, taken only moments ago by our people on the ground, the voiceover explained. It’s impossible to speculate what exactly is happening inside the city at present, as no one can enter or exit due to army road blocks. Rumors of massive civilian casualties are at this time unconfirmed.

Most businesses around Texas had closed days before, but the banks stayed open and Walter continued going to work. He had continued following his plan until