Quarantine: A Pandora Novel Read online

  While the East Coast started to experience the beginnings of this spreading plague, other events were starting to take place as well. Various governmental, military and other infrastructures started their massive wheels turning. The countrywide quarantine was gearing up to start the next day, Sunday.

  In New York City, the hospitals of Bellevue, Mt. Sinai, Harlem, Lenox Hill, St. Luke’s and New York Columbia/Presbyterian University Medical Center were designated quarantine centers. The structures of Madison Square Garden, the Jacob Javits Center, and both Central and Battery Parks were being readied for containment of all Pandora victims. Both Yankee and Shea stadiums were also standing by to take up any spillover of infected civilians. The New York City National Guard, consisting of the 1st Battalion 69th Infantry as part of the 42nd Infantry Division, under Lieut. Col. Gregory Murray was already at the New York Armory building getting organized for deployment throughout the city.

  As for the general populace of Manhattan, the frightened citizens were already starting to see the effects of Pandora beginning. Apart from the now constant television, radio and Internet feeds of live events throughout the world and their dire predictions across various channels, the denizens of the Big Apple got their very own up-close-and-personal views vis-à-vis as the owner or customer of a neighborhood bodega or coffee shop succumbed to the virus they had been bravely but foolishly fighting and turned and attacked passersby. Or a cabbie hoping for one last fare before he went home sick, died in the driver’s seat only to turn and attack some unknowing soul looking for a ride. Maybe it was a family of visiting vacationers sitting down for a quick lunch and having a member excuse themselves from the table, not feeling well, and then collapse in the toilet; eventually reanimating and attacking the patrons as they emerged again.

  All of these scenarios and others like them led to the decision by a number of residents to grab their belongings and get the hell out of the big city. The quarantine be damned!

  Meanwhile on the other side of the Hudson River, certain forces in anticipation of such an event, were coming into play and reacting accordingly. New Jersey state troopers along with local law enforcement set up cones and wooden sawhorse blockades at the starts of both the Lincoln and Holland tunnels. The cones detoured tunnel traffic back into the Weehawken and Jersey City streets. Any vehicles with New York or out-of-state plates were exempted and let through to enter the tunnels. A similar situation simultaneously happening at the George Washington Bridge entrance in Fort Lee and on the other side of the state in Camden at the Jersey side entrance of the Walt Whitman Bridge that led into Philadelphia. The governor’s threatened machinations planned to stop the influx of fleeing and probably infected people from the major cities of New York and Philadelphia from flooding into the Garden State and becoming an insurmountable problem for the already overstressed resources there. The logistical problem was simply that there was nowhere to put the hundreds of thousands if not millions of displaced refugees seeking refuge. And, if statistically one third of them were infected and turned, the results would be catastrophic. Not that the situation already wasn’t.

  A column of tractor-trailer trucks pulled around the orange traffic cones and drove up to the tunnel entrances. Only one lane was exiting from the city and this was soon stopped by the state troopers. Quickly, a lone trailer truck was backed into each tunnel entrance and unhooked from the cab. As soon as the cab pulled out another trailer was hauled across the front of the entrance, actually scraping the stone façade doing so. As this was also unhooked, the workers came up and deflated all of the massive tires on the trailer body. While this was proceeding another trailer was pulled up parallel to it, touching metal to metal. The tires were deflated on that one also. This successfully sealed off the tunnels from any traffic incoming from Manhattan. The lone truck inside would stop any attempt to use a battering ram to move the two outside trailers, and by deflating the tires, prevented any foot traffic from squeezing through and also rendering the entire structure absolutely immobile.

  Once the one lane to New Jersey was stopped, word soon spread that the tunnels were going to be closed completely. Although this was a belated warning, it spread fast and galvanized the already impatient drivers sitting in traffic on the New York side into action. Immediately vehicles changed lanes and access routes and with fender benders multiplying and horns blaring, charged into all of the now vacant tunnel entrances in both the Lincoln and Holland tunnels. The speeding vehicles eventually found themselves having to slam on the brakes as they came upon the tractor-trailer bodies blocking their escape. Soon, every tunnel was jammed full of stopped vehicles of all sizes and types. They couldn’t move forward and as the traffic entering was forced to stop, the resultant jam backed up into the city streets. The bridges and tunnels to New Jersey became a huge clusterfuck of stalled cars, angry drivers and worst of all, already infected Pandora victims sitting and dying in their seats, awaiting their inevitable and undead fate.

  Rick drove past Columbus Circle and continued onto 9th Avenue, which would take him to the 41st Street route to the Lincoln Tunnel. They had all agreed on forgoing their night on the town for now and returning back to New Jersey. He was sincerely hoping the two girls wouldn’t change their mind again. Rick had a very strong sense of impending doom and knew that it wasn’t too misplaced.

  They were traveling in the far right lane and as soon as they reached the fifties, Rick immediately hit heavy traffic. They were one block away from Mount Sinai West Hospital and the congestion along the block fronting the hospital was at a near standstill. He could see people crowded on the sidewalks and police barriers erected on 58th and 59th Streets. They were letting ambulances and emergency vehicles through, but were blocking it off to regular traffic. Traffic was inching along in the right lanes and Rick was trying vainly to cross over into the left lanes that were moving a bit faster. As they edged forward Eileen nudged Rick’s arm and said, “Hey, look at that.”

  Rick turned and looked down the long block toward the emergency room entrance near the end of the street. This scene was absolute chaos. There were doctors and nurses running to and fro. The crowd on the sidewalk had spilled over into the street and the people kept shifting side to side. Eileen had the window open now and they could hear shouts, cries and screams issuing from the mass of people undulating in the street. An ambulance had just pulled in from 9th Avenue and stopped at the foot of the crowd. They couldn’t get any closer and stopped in the middle of the street. The EMS workers ran to the back and threw open the rear doors to access the stretcher. Two cops came over to help. There were two stretchers in the back that were covered with blood. Rick could see that clearly because both were empty of patients. A third paramedic had just climbed into the back when the two victims in the back attacked her and the three of them were launched into the air to fall onto the two policemen standing below. Amid shouts and screams, the other EMS paramedics converged on the pile to pull the attackers off.

  Just then there was a break in traffic and Rick took the brief opportunity to pull ahead, losing sight of the multiple skirmishes happening on the street. He was able to move another lane over and as a delivery truck suddenly pulled aside, Rick swiftly maneuvered into the opening made instantly available to him. As he was about to move forward again a woman in a luxury car came up on his right and tried to cut him off.

  Eileen, who had now closed the passenger side window again, started yelling and spewing curses at the smug driver. Rick laid on the horn in the long burst, transferring his frustration, anger, and fright into the blaring horn. PJ reached forward and grasped Rick’s shoulder.

  “Jesus,” he gasped, “look at that shit.” He pointed at several figures that had suddenly materialized in the middle of the traffic snarl. They must have come from the hospital.

  Looking pale and sickly they wandered between the cars banging on the windows and snarling at the passengers. When the woman in the expensive car to Rick’s right started sounding her horn at Rick in ange
r, it caught the attention of several of the creatures. They staggered over and converged on her automobile pawing at the windows. Her sunroof was retracted and as they found the opening, hands reached in grasping at her hair and wildly waving arms.

  “Get us out of here!” screamed Eileen.

  The vehicle ahead of them lurched forward knocking aside an approaching zombie and Rick exploited the opportunity to pull around and speed forward through the brief break in traffic.

  Mora and PJ, trying to peer through the windows, couldn’t believe what they were seeing.

  “Jeez,” gasped PJ, “those people are zombies. Just like what we’ve been seeing on the news in Europe and Asia.” Mora turned to look at him. “It’s true,” he continued, “that whole scene looked just like what they’ve been showing us with Pandora. And now it’s here.”

  Rick glanced in the rearview mirror, “Don’t worry. We’re heading for the tunnel. We’ll be home soon.”

  Unfortunately, as they neared the turn- off for the tunnel the amount of traffic increased more and more. And as the packed cars drew closer to their goal the pace conversely slowed down to a crawl. Horns blared as tempers rose. Rick reached down and flipped the radio on. He searched around the channels until he found an all-news station. They were talking about some terrible event that had just happened in Paris. The reanimation of the dead was the continuing topic of discussion. The four passengers were staring at the radio and exchanging glances of newly dawning comprehension amongst one another.

  As a traffic light changed and the long lines of vehicles moved forward another foot or two, Rick looked over his left shoulder at the car that had just pulled alongside of his Nissan. A middle-aged man was behind the wheel gripping it tightly with both hands. He had a worried, frightened look on his face. Rick’s gaze moved over to the man’s wife seated next to him. She had her head leaning back against the headrest and the pained expression on her pale, drawn features. She looked extremely unwell. As he continued to stare, the woman grimaced and sat up. She suddenly jerked her head forward and projectile vomited over the dashboard and front windshield. The frightened husband jerked away pressing himself against the driver side door. His wife leaned forward weakly as her head dangled limply in front of her. Her seatbelt appeared to be her sole means of staying erect. While her husband tentatively moved to his sick wife’s aid, she leaned forward and again was sick. A horn beeped behind Rick and he moved forward again, leaving the other car behind.

  As they reached the corner of 50th Street a loud crash sounded from behind them. Rick quickly turned around while PJ yelled out, “Oh, shit! Look!”

  A blue sanitation truck had just swung onto 9th Avenue from the side street. Rick could see that it wasn’t a city truck, but a private carting company. The name Marangello Carting was printed on the side in grimy white letters.

  “What’s he trying to do?” asked Mora.

  The instant he made the turn, the truck rammed a sporty BMW out of the way. The wide avenue was jammed with traffic and Rick could see that the garbage truck had nowhere to really maneuver to. That didn’t seem to deter the grim faced driver of the vehicle. Diagonally cutting a crunching swathe through the slowly creeping traffic, the bulky hulk of the sanitation truck continued to ram and knock the cars ahead of him out of the way. The grinding and metallic crunching of auto bodies was deafening. The people in their cars and on the street were yelling and crying out. The grimacing driver seemed to be heading to the next block to turn into it against the traffic.

  This guy’s crazy, Rick thought to himself as he tried to move his car forward and out of the way.

  A yellow taxi shot forward in front of the rampaging garbage hauler, but was struck broadside and pushed forward like a battering ram. The turban wearing cabdriver was shouting and waving his arms wildly as he desperately tried to escape his deteriorating vehicle. After brutally ramming through another taxi, the crumpled cab tilted, and then flipped over onto its side, sparks flying out from the pavement underneath. The oncoming truck still continued on its path of destruction. Desperate to avoid the damage Rick again looked out the side window. The scraping taxi body suddenly swung to the side and struck the little red Juke with a window shattering blow. This collision pushed Rick into another vehicle. As he jerked his leg with the jarring blow, he floored the gas pedal. This shot the SUV forward and up onto the curb where it struck a light post. As the marauding truck tore past, Rick could see three zombies hanging onto the rear of the vehicle trying to climb aboard.

  Hands shaking, Rick turned in his seat, “Is everybody okay? Is anyone hurt?”

  “Yes,” Eileen said breathlessly. “I think I’m all right.” She was looking around shaking.

  “Are you sure?” he asked again concerned.

  Eileen turned and looked at Rick, her mind finally clearing. “I’m okay, really,” she said. She reached up and lightly brushed the broken glass out of Rick’s hair. The glittering pieces fell like crystal rain onto the console.

  Mora started to cry as PJ held her asking if she was hurt. “No,” she said trembling, “just really scared.” She had a small bruise on the side of her head from contact with the side window is used for when they were hit. She winced as PJ inspected it.

  Rick undid his seatbelt and pushed on his door to open it. It wouldn’t budge. He continued to bang his shoulder against the unyielding door, broken glass falling from his hair and shoulders and the window frame with every jolt. Finally with a loud and tortured creak, the reluctant door burst partway open. Rick scrambled out and leaned up against the car breathing heavily. A damaged car stalled in the middle of the block suddenly caught fire and was soon burning furiously. On rubbery legs he maneuvered his way around the car and pulled open Eileen’s door. PJ and Mora also emerged and the four of them stood there in uncertainty. The people on the street were scurrying around terrified. The noise of Times Square was already legendary, but now it was just a wall of sound. Cars, brakes squealing, horns blasting, pedestrians shouting and yelling with hundreds of voices, the shrill sound of ambulances and police cars and now the periodic screams is echoing through the vast canyons of skyscrapers; the combination of sights and sounds was pure sensory overload.

  “What are we going to do now, Rick?” asked Eileen with mounting fear.

  “Try the car again,” suggested PJ.

  Looking around for a police officer, Rick hesitantly reentered the car and tried to start it again. After turning the ignition key several times to no avail he gave up.

  “It’s dead,” he stayed with finality.

  Mora was standing near a subway entrance watching Rick emerge again from the wrecked SUV when she was almost bowled over by a number of people scrambling up the stairs and running away from the subway station. PJ grabbed her and held her steady as she stumbled forward.

  “Assholes,” he mumbled under his breath.

  Eileen and Rick came over to see if she was all right “What happened?” he asked.

  Annoyed, Mora said, “I was waiting for you guys when this crowd came running up from the subway. Almost knocked me over.” Mora turned to the stairs as she gestured.

  “I don’t know what all the---” looking down she froze in mid-sentence.

  Appearing at the foot of the subway stairwell, after stumbling from the platform, were three zombies; two business attired women and a young man in a hoodie. The two women had blood around their mouths and on their hands. Growling menacingly the three creatures started up the stairs toward Mora. As Rick, PJ, and Eileen joined her to look down at the ascending threesome of undead, they could hear frantic shouts and then gunfire coming from the subway platform.

  “Come on,” shouted Rick as he grabbed Eileen’s hand and started running. They ran along 9th Avenue then crossed the deadlocked street and ran up 55th Street. They then ran along the next block to 56th Street. The scene there was chaotic, too. Panting, they found themselves standing at the corner in front of a tavern called The Green Shamrock. They stood under the tav
ern’s Kelly green awning holding each other and attempting to get their bearings.

  “Where do we go from here?” asked Mora.

  PJ looked around at the growing confusion and desperation of the people running by. They saw a couple of people enter the doorway next to the tavern. It led to a second-floor Mexican restaurant named Dos Amigos.

  “I don’t know,” he reluctantly admitted. “We should probably keep heading toward the Lincoln Tunnel. Maybe we can find get ride from somebody.”

  A black man with a Knicks cap was standing there also and watching, with increasing horror, the deteriorating conditions of the city. He turned to the two couples.

  “The tunnel?” he asked in surprise. “Why you can’t get into the tunnel now. Not the Lincoln or the Holland Tunnel.”

  “Why not?” asked Rick.

  “Haven’t you people heard?” the man asked. “The tunnels are all closed. They closed them at the Jersey entrances and now nobody can use them. They’re completely jammed with stalled cars. Nobody’s going anywhere.”

  “What?” Eileen gasped.

  “You heard me, girl,” he continued, “you’re stuck here now.”

  An outcry arose from the line of cars snaking down the side street. They all turned to see what was wrong. A bloodied man ran down the middle of the street snarling and jumped up on the running board of a white delivery van that was idling at the light. He slammed his fist against the driver’s window cracking the glass. As he was pounding his fist, the delivery driver abruptly threw open his door, knocking the maniac off the truck and onto his back in the street. Suddenly the driver pulled out a gun and shot the attacker before he could recover.