Quarantine: A Pandora Novel Read online

  Glancing at the TV, Amy said, “Yeah, we’ve had it on constantly all day. We just turned it off a half hour ago. It got to be too much.” As her partner entered carrying a large tray with steaming mugs of coffee, Amy leaned over and grabbed the remote. She turned the power on, and then flipped through a couple of channels until she came to CNN.

  Settling in with their hot coffees the group watched the screen with concern and then horror. The news was devastating. Right at the moment they were televising footage from Baltimore, Maryland. There was rioting in the streets and the whole city looked to be in flames. The newscast seemed to bounce from city to city, each view more terrible than the last.

  Boston showed a military convoy rolling through the heart of the city. Philadelphia played a tape of a major skirmish between riot police and the undead in the middle of Rittenhouse Square, Fort Lauderdale showed a rolling aerial shot of the city beach littered with bodies. And a frightening picture of the White House with sandbagged ramparts in front of the gates and armed guardsmen uncoiling razor wire down the length of Pennsylvania Avenue. But the most gut wrenching for the frightened people in the small apartment was the footage sent from New York City. They seemed to have focused on the hospitals and quarantine zones. There were a number of camera videos from Bellevue Hospital. They had triage tents set up in the parking area and showed hazmat suited doctors working along long rows of hospital gurneys and emergency cots. Inside the hospital was even more chaotic. The announcer came on and warned the audience of the horrific footage to be shown next. These were shots from inside Bellevue that showed blood spattered beds and bloodied bodies lying everywhere. They came back to the announcer. He apologized for the brutal scenes, then just broke down and started to cry. They quickly changed cameras and showed some earlier footage from Europe again.

  Amy switched stations, finding a local newscast hosted by a slightly disheveled reporter obviously filling in. He was talking about the First Lady and of her falling victim to the virus. There was a brief montage of photographs and names of various politicians, entertainers and sports figures that had already died from the Pandora virus and its new Pandora 2 Mutation. It was clear that the station manager was just filling time until another video could be set up and script hastily written. Amy pointed the remote and turned the set off. The rest of them sat there stunned. This was all just too much to handle. The entire country seemed to of fallen apart in a day.

  The valiant soldiers of the “Fighting 69th” finally got the upper hand and after a disarmingly large number of casualties, were at last able to defeat the zombie horde and destroy all of the undead attacking them. From the portion of the battalion designated to man this quarantine station there were only fifty-five able-bodied men left. A further twenty-seven more had taken severe injuries, the majority of which were bites received in combat from the zombie predators. There were also twelve police officers left from the unit stationed there.

  The captain in charge pulled his people back inside the perimeter and had the fencing moved to block the entrance to the site. He had another two squads secure the area and eliminate any undead that may have wandered off. He then got on the radio and relayed the station’s new status and asked for further instructions from Lieut. Col. Murray at headquarters. If this was no longer a quarantine station he would make it a fort.

  Austin took aim at a lone zombie that had somehow wandered out to the end of the pier. The zombie had just turned around and was making his way back toward the soldiers, moaning and reaching out for them as he trotted forward. He was about forty-five years old, unshaven, with the big belly hanging over dirty jeans and a ragged plaid shirt flapping open the breeze. Incongruously, he had a bright orange hardhat perched on top of his large head.

  As Austin looks through the scope he could see a huge piece of the creature’s shoulder ripped open. Well he thought, that explains that.

  “Remember, Hawkeye,” chuckled Jermaine, “head shots only.”

  Not taking his eye away from the scope, Austin grinned grimly, “Just watch and learn newb.” Slowly squeezing the trigger, Austin felt the M-16 buck and the back of the ghoul’s head blew out behind him. He jerked back, hardhat spinning in the air and tumbled over the edge of the pier.

  Austin lowered his rifle, still grinning. Extending his arm out before him he called out in a deep, theatrical voice, “Behold! For I am Death. Creator of Destruction, Scourge of the Undead.”

  As Austin stood there, arm in the air and chin held out, Jeff snickered, “And you forgot-- Major Asswipe.”

  Just then a woman’s voice sounded from behind them, “Hey Major! Nice shot.”

  The three men looked and saw Officer Donna Masters approaching. “Donna. You still here?” Jermaine said surprised.

  “Who are you expecting, Beyoncé?”

  “You mean you’re not?” joked Austin.

  “In your dreams,” she said. “Mine, too, for that matter.”

  “How did you wind up here and not outside the perimeter?” Austin asked approaching her.

  “When the fence fell,” she explained, “and the shit hit the fan, I ran into the terminal to protect the medical staff.”

  “What the hell happened in there?” asked Jermaine. “It was now you see them now you don’t.”

  “The ferry boat captain freaked out,” she explained. “When the people that were already given the medical okay were on board, the captain just left. Almost ripped the pier off when the last rope got caught. The CDC saw what was happening and jumped on board with them.”

  Austin shook his head, “Nice.”

  “What’s the story with you guys?” Donna asked. “What is the guard going to do now?”

  Austin chuckled, “Beats me Donna. We’re just the help. I’m sure when they get this shitstorm figured out, they’ll tell us.”

  “Meanwhile,” Jeff added, “we’re stuck here.”

  Smiling ironically, Donna noted, “All dressed up and no party.”

  There was a knock on the girls’ door and everyone snapped their heads around, waiting tensely.

  “Amy? Nemeeka?” a Spanish accented voice called through the door.

  The girls blew out a breath of relief. “It’s Israel Ramos, our super.”

  Nemeeka walked to the door and opened it slightly, peeking out. Seeing only him, she threw the door open wide and let him in.

  “Hello, girls,” he said in a worried, yet warm and friendly voice. “I’m just checking up on everyone and figured out start with my two favorite tenants.”

  “Come on in,” she said, smiling. “I have a pot on the stove. Have a cup before you go.”

  “Thank you, Nemeeka,” he answered. Then, noticing the four other guests, he hesitated. “Oh,” he stammered, “you have company.”

  “No, no Israel,” Amy announced, “come in. These guys are looking to get back to Jersey, and we gave them some shelter.” The four refugees all smiled and nodded their heads and affirmation.

  Sitting down in an empty chair while Nemeeka brought him coffee, Israel started making small talk. Introductions were made and all of the stories of this horrible day were exchanged.

  Israel Ramos was a friendly, upbeat superintendent that never seemed to be too tired or too busy to stop by and fix a leak or repair a malfunctioning window. Middle-aged, with a receding hairline and neatly trimmed goatee, he sported two muscular arms covered with multiple tattoos. He had taken his wife back to the hospital Friday night when she started to feel the effects of the new Pandora 2 Mutation. She had been very sick the first time around and Israel wanted to take no chances with his adoring wife’s health. She suffered, too, from type II diabetes and he wanted to be sure there were no complications. It was the only time the girls could ever remember him being down.

  “How is your son, Roberto?” Amy asked.

  Grinning widely, Israel proudly answered, “Roberto is doing wonderfully. You know he has finished his training in Coronado, California and is now a real Navy Seal.”

&n
bsp; “You must be so proud,” Amy said.

  “Amy, you have no idea,” gushed the beaming father,” Roberto always was a good boy. A good son. And now he is a fierce warrior. A proud United States Navy Seal. Here, look! He sent to Dora and me a photo.”

  Israel fished out his smart phone and thumbed through the pictures before stopping at a photo of a ruggedly handsome young man in sailor whites. He had the trident emblem and was pointing to it while smiling. There were two other men on either side of him, looking very buff and doing the same thing. Everyone seated remarked on how handsome he was and impressive it was to have completed Seal Training. Rick and PJ were very much in awe. They all talked for another ten minutes before Israel drained his mug and stood up.

  “Thank you for the coffee,” he said politely, “but I must be going now. I want to check on the rest of the tenants before I go to sleep.”

  “Be careful,” Amy warned. They said the goodbyes and the super left.

  Israel Ramos stood in front of the closed door and looked down the hall. Quickly he walked to the next department. This one was occupied by an old woman who rarely left her abode. Taking a deep breath, the conscientious superintendent knocked on the next-door of his self-appointed rounds.

  Back in the apartment, Amy looked at her watch. “It’s already ten- thirty. I really don’t think that it’s a good idea to go back out in the streets at night.”

  She looked outside the front bay window and saw two figures shambling by. As they left the glow of the nearby streetlight she lost track of them. She could hear screaming coming from down the block. As she tilted her body to see further down the street the screaming abruptly stopped.

  Turning back to the group, Amy continued, “There are still a couple of those creatures wandering around out there.”

  “We really don’t want to impose on you,” Eileen said. “Really.”

  “Nonsense,” replied Amy.

  “We have some extra blankets and pillows,” Nemeeka added. “If you don’t mind the floor or couches, you’re more than welcome to stay the night.”

  “Yes,” said Amy, “it’s going to be a lot safer to travel tomorrow morning when you can see what’s out there.”

  Looking at one another apprehensively, Rick spoke for the group, “You’re right. It’s not safe at night. We really, really want to thank you for this. I mean after all, we just met and everything.”

  Amy and Nemeeka looked at each other and smiled warmly. Looking back at Rick, Amy said jokingly, “Just think of Meek and me as your guardian angels.”

  Is easy laughter filled the room, the group went about helping the two women cleanup and sort out the blankets and pillows. Everyone picked a spot to spend the night and Amy and Nemeeka bade them all a good night as they retired to their bedroom.

  Rick and Eileen were together on the couch. Lying on his back with Eileen draped around him, he soon felt her body go limp as she fell asleep. He lay awake listening to the sounds filtering in from the bay windows. The normal sounds of heavy traffic and the conversation and laughter of passing voices were noticeably and uncomfortably absent. He could still hear distant car horns and the occasional vehicle (usually accompanied by the crunching of sheet-metal) zigzagging down some street, but that was it. The newly added sounds of distant, echoing gunfire, running feet and the sometimes far, sometimes near screams of terror or agony filled in the void of normal aural urbanization. But the most eerie and disturbing of all this was the continuous call and answer moans of the undead. It was that moaning and even occasional growling and that became the white noise of this new world’s cities.

  7

  Israel Ramos climbed the stairs to the third and top floor of the brownstone apartment building. There were four apartments to a floor. After leaving Amy and Nemeeka’s apartment he tried the next door belonging to Mrs. Nellie Berman. It took her a while to come to the door but she eventually answered. Assured that she was healthy and okay, he wished her a good night and left. There was no answer at the last apartment on the first floor. Israel didn’t remember seeing the owners, a young Asian couple, all day today. He knew they worked downtown.

  On the second floor, he bypassed the first door knowing the owner was away for two weeks. The second apartment be belonged to a transit cop but there was no response to his incessant knocking. Israel really didn’t expect him to be home. The next two apartments were occupied. One housed a forty-year-old couple from Chicago that arrived here two years ago. The other was occupied by a twenty-four-year-old Russian model. They were all home and assured Israel that they were well. Very afraid, but well.

  Now the tired super was on the top floor. He knocked on the front apartment door, which was immediately opened by Kelvin Mapes, who lived here with his roommate Jerry Falcone. Kelvin was a window dresser for Saks and speaking with Israel earlier in the day, told him he was too afraid to go to work today so he called out sick. Jerry was a nurse in St. Luke’s and was on duty all day today.

  “Oh my God, Israel,” Kelvin was saying, “Jerry still hasn’t returned my calls and I don’t know what I’m going to do. I’m just so worried about him.”

  “Don’t worry Kelvin, I’m sure that he will call when he gets a chance,” Israel said placatingly. “I’ll bet he must be swamped with patients at the hospital today.”

  Kelvin went on and on, fluttering his arms about in agitation. The understanding yet harried super finally succeeded in removing himself from the flustered tenant.

  As Kelvin went back inside and closed and locked the door, Israel went down the hall to the next door. This apartment belonged to the Rivera family. Ernesto and Rose Rivera had lived here for as long as Israel was superintendent. The father, Ernesto, was a union plumber and did very well for himself. A year ago he brought his elderly father in to stay with them when he lost his rent-stabilized apartment in the Bronx. Ernesto had been ill a couple of weeks ago, but recovered quickly and was back to work in two days.

  Israel and knocked on the door. Waiting a few minutes, he knocked again. He knew they were home because Rose had gone to the corner bodega around noon and he hadn’t heard Ernesto leave this morning. Knocking even louder, he waited outside the door in growing concern. He put his ear to the door but could only hear the television in the background. Telenovela was blaring from the speaker. Reaching down he tried the knob but it was locked. Going through his set of emergency keys he brought with him, he found the right one and trying it, opened the door with a click. With trepidation, the super stuck his head in the door and called.

  “Ernesto? Rose? It’s Israel, your super.” Silence.

  After a few tentative steps in, closed the door and called out again.

  “Ernesto? Is everyone okay?”

  Israel carefully walked deeper into the apartment. As he rounded the corner, he saw the first evidence of trouble. A struggle had clearly taken place here. Furniture was knocked askew and a table overturned. Noticing blood spattered on the floor and chairs, Israel was about to turn around and quickly leave when he glanced in the hallway and saw a body lying there. Thinking someone may be hurt, he continued on across the room.

  Lying on his stomach was the body of Ernesto Rivera. A heavy ashtray was lying next to his head, which was centered in a pool of blood. As the super bent over the body he saw that the plumber’s head had been split open by the glass object. He rolled the body over and jumped back in shock. Ernesto’s face was a horror mask. Wide open, yet unseeing eyes were milky white and dull. His skin, usually a rich olive, was pale gray. His jaw sagged open and Israel saw that his teeth and mouth was stained red with blood. The crimson smears covered his chin and hands.

  “Jesus Christ,” he gasped in the dawning clarity of his discovery.

  His head turned as he heard a noise coming from the closed bathroom door ten feet away. Slowly standing erect, the now unnerved and completely terrified superintendent edged carefully over to the closed door. Israel could see smeared, bloody handprints covering the surface of the door and gou
ge marks from fingernails clawed into the paint. Apparently Ernesto was after someone hiding in there.

  “Rose?” he said shakily.

  Hearing someone moving inside the bathroom, Israel thought that Rose must be hurt. He turned the handle and pushed the marred door open. Looking down stunned, the super whispered, “Ro…Rose?”

  Rose was on her knees bending over the crumpled form of the old man that used to be Ernesto’s father. His entire abdomen was ripped open and his daughter-in-law was feeding the contents into her gore filled mouth. Upon hearing Israel’s trembling voice, she spun her head quickly around and growled at him with red teeth dripping entrails down her chin.

  Quaking with fear, the super backed away as the now snarling woman turned around and pushed herself up off the floor. Incredibly, Israel looked again at the old man’s corpse and saw him twitch once or twice. Then the dead man’s eyes opened and his milky glaze fell on Israel standing there. His wrinkled lips turned downward in a growl.

  Israel continued to back up weak-kneed until his heels hit Ernesto’s body and he went sprawling heavily onto his back, knocking the air from his lungs.

  Now fully erect, Rose took two steps from the bathroom and grabbing the side moldings of the doorjamb, leaned over and growled viciously at the super’s gasping form. Behind her, the old man rolled over onto his side and put his hands out to push himself up. With a sickening, wet plop the contents of his abdominal cavity fell from his ravaged body and onto the tile floor in the greasy, steaming pile.

  His heels scraped on the wooden floor as Israel pushed himself back. Then still gasping breathlessly, he turned and rose to his already pumping feet. With Rose but mere inches behind, he made a mad dash for the apartment door. He reached for the knob and threw it open just as Rose crashed into him, slamming the door closed once again. The female zombie was clawing at his face from behind and savaging his bare neck with her teeth. She ripped out a huge chunk of flesh. Now he had the same wound that she received from her husband, right before she caved his head in and closed herself in the bathroom with the terrified old man. Still struggling across the hallway wall together, the last thing Israel did was to finally catch his breath and then scream it out; as the old man staggered down the hallway, entrails dragging behind, to join them.