ZOMBORO VIRUS PART 1
Due to the graphic and mature content, reader discretion is advised.
This story is dedicated to my two boys: Trevor my zombie expert and Tyler my doctor/scientist.
Oct, 31st 2020
City of Delta, outside of Vancouver, B.C
Major Trevor Dyer scanned the room, looking down the barrel of his SDV Dragonv rifle. He took in the surroundings, his razor sharp instincts on high alert for anything that moved. A sleek black desk sat in the center. A charcoal-gray file cabinet rested against the far wall beside a leather couch. Papers strewn over the desk top and the white tiled floor fluttered in the light breeze that blew through an open window.
He crossed the room in three quick strides and glanced out the second story window of the hospital.
Captain Nicholas Nylander followed behind his troop as they weaved around abandoned cars in the hospital parking lot. The soldier’s guns swept side to side as they searched for the enemy.
A movement to the left caught Trevor’s attention. A shadowy figure crept out from behind a red sedan and sprinted toward Captain Nylander.
Fear kicked Trevor’s heart into overdrive and sweat stung his eyes. He leaned out the window and settled the butt of his rifle against his shoulder. He stared through the scope, lining up his shot fifty feet away.
The target moved with amazing speed as it closed the distance between it and its prey.
Trevor’s muscled tensed and his gloved hand tightened on the gun’s barrel to steady his aim. The forefinger of his other hand curled around the trigger. Shifting his aim to a mark just ahead of his target, he waited.
Seconds ticked by. He pushed aside his fear and panic and focused on the running objective. Blood pounded in his ears. The scent of gun oil, gunpowder, and his sweat assailed his nose.
The target’s head filled the scope, perfectly aligned with the black cross. Trevor’s shoulder clenched to absorb the rifle’s recoil as his finger squeezed the trigger. The bullet slammed into the back of the Zombie’s skull and exited out the front, scattering blood, bone and bits of gray jelly he knew was brain.
The male Zombie jerked and pitched forward. Its arms pin wheeled before it slammed face-first to the pavement. The body twitched then lay still.
Captain Nylander spun around, crouched, and raised his USP semi automatic handgun. He swung the weapon in a wide arc before aiming on the zombie crumbled eight feet from him. Sun glinted of his face shield as he lifted it and looked up at the hospital window.
Even from this distance, the fear that tightened Nick’s face was unmistakable. Trevor flashed him the thumbs-up sign. Nick raised a shaking hand in a salute before he took off after his troop.
Sagging against the window ledge, Trevor closed his eyes briefly. Christ that was too close. If the zombie had grabbed Nick and bitten him, he would’ve had to put a bullet through his friend’s brain. It would have been the humane thing to do. The virus would have infected him, turning him into a monster.
Over the past three years, he’d lost count of how many men—friends--he’d had to shoot. Their faces, the sounds of their screams as zombies ripped apart their flesh, was etched into his brain. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept without dreams waking him, drenched in sweat, heart thumping so hard it was a wonder it didn’t explode. He could remember the last time he’d slept without a knife under his pillow and a gun beside his head.
Trevor’s weary gaze followed Nick as he and his squad dashed across a deserted street, lined with more abandoned vehicles, and disappeared down an alley between two tall buildings.
Off in the distance, gun shots rang through the air. A couple of quick bursts sounded from somewhere inside the hospital, mingling with shouts and curses from Trevor’s men as they rid the building of zombies.
A breeze picked up and blew dry leaves and garbage across the lot. A white plastic bag snagged on the finger of a dead zombie—a child of no more than ten--lying in a spreading pool of blood. The bag fluttered violently, looking as if it wanted to escape--to fly away from this hellish nightmare.
Trevor ducked back inside. The iron scent of blood and rotting flesh clung heavy in the room. He barely noticed. He’d become accustomed to the stench.
Leaning his back against the wall, he shoved up his riot shield, and dragged a hand over his face.
If he hadn’t happened by the window at that precise moment, Nick would be dead, either by becoming zombie food or shot. A bite or scratch from a zombie was considered a death certificate. No exceptions. If left alive, the first symptoms would appear seven to fourteen days after infection, and then the lust for flesh would begin. There was no cure.
His older brother Tyler and a team of scientists were working around the clock to come up with a vaccine.
A small smile tugged Trevor’s lips. It had been six months since last he and Tyler saw one another. His brother was due to arrive soon--
A deep growl penetrated his thoughts. In one smooth motion, Trevor grabbed his M17 shotgun attached to a strap slung over his shoulder, and aimed it toward the doorway.
A young female zombie, no more than twenty, stepped inside the room. She might have been pretty once, before the disease ate at her brain and ravished her body.
Her blonde tangled hair was matted with blood and dirt. Red and black blotches covered her cheeks, neck, and her exposed arms. Under the filth encrusting her hands, the fingers were a deep purple--almost black. Septicemia had set in.
The capillaries in the zombie’s eyes had ruptured, turning the whites to red. Blood and gore stained her green sweater from the ripped collar to the waist of her filthy jeans.
She lurched forward and then crouched.
Trevor tightened his grip on his gun and stared down the barrel. Her black fingers flexed and blood stained lips curled up in a snarl, revealing broken teeth. Bits of flesh clung from the jagged edges.
Fear zipped up his spine and hatred filled his soul.
The zombie coughed and clutched at her distended belly. Blood poured from her nostrils and dripped onto the tiled floor in fat drops. Retching sounds came from her throat, and then thick yellowish goo streaked with blood spewed from her mouth onto the floor.
Holy fuck! He could have sworn he saw a finger mixed in with the puke.
The Zombie tried to shove as much of the mess back into her mouth. Incoherent noises combined with unmistakable swallowing sounds as more of the oatmeal-like vomit oozed from her mouth. A thick glob hit the floor with a wet splat.
Pity suddenly shoved aside Trevor’s hatred and disgust. He tried to look beyond the disease that had turned this poor woman into a living nightmare.
The Zomboro virus had been created by a select team of scientists funded by the United Nations to help put an end to terrorists groups. Believing they had created the perfect weapon, the soldiers who they secretly infected were released into the terrorist’s camps. But it had backfired, and now the virus had spread to every country in the world.
He leveled his shotgun and fired. The blast tore a fist-sized hole through her chest, shattering her spine before exiting between her shoulder blades. The force slammed her up against the wall. She slid down, leaving a trail of blood, bone and gore on the light green wall as she crumpled to the floor.
Moving past her, Trevor grabbed the radio clipped to his belt and stepped out into the hallway. “Nick, do ya read?”
Static flared then smoothed out. The deep rumble and screech of heavy machinery filled his ear before Nick answered.
“Are the electric barriers up and functioning yet?”
Static flared again. “The north, West, and East fences are up and functional, but there was a small problem with the South side, Sir. But not to worry, it’s almost finished now.” He laughed. ‘If any of those meat sacks try to climb over they’ll be barbequed.”
“Good.” Trevor walked over to the window and gazed out over the wasteland that was once the flourishing city of Delta just outside of Vancouver. Now it was nothing but a ghost town. “Any sign of Tyler and his crew?”
“They’re just entering through the gate.”
Trevor released a pent up breath; one he hadn’t realized he held. Relief was too small a word to describe what he felt after hearing the news his brother made it safe and sound. It was an eighteen hour drive from Alberta where Tyler and his team of scientists had been previously stationed. Although an elite team of special oops traveled with them as far as Abbotsford, the journey was loaded with danger from zombies, looters, and thieves. And more importantly, Tyler carried with him potential hope for the future of mankind.
Damn, it’ll be good to see Tyler again.
“Is that all, sir?” Nick asked.
“Contact Steffan and tell him and his team to get the dump trucks up here. There’s a pumpkin field near the north end of the city where we’ll dump the corpses and burn them. It’s far enough from the city core to keep the stink away unless the wind shifts.”
“Roger that. Over and out.”
Trevor took the elevator to the third floor. When the doors opened, he stepped out into what had once been the maternity ward. Pictures of various stages of pregnancy were tacked to the blue and pink painted walls along with happy cartoon zoo animals and balloons.
Across from the elevator, Corporal Dylan McKelvy jerked his rifle up and pointed the muzzle at Trevor. The barrel shook in his hands before he lowered it.
“Sorry, major,” McKelvy murmured. “I thought you were a . . .”
“It’s all right. These days we can’t be too careful.” Trevor glanced down the empty corridor. “Where’s Captain Anderson?”
MCKelvy cleared his throat. “Ah, he and the men are doing a final check to make sure this floor is clear. I was ordered to stand guard.”
Under his riot shield, McKelvy’s ashen face was covered with the sheen of sweat. His bloodshot eyes darted around the room, and his hands trembled.
Trevor narrowed his eyes. “Everything okay, Corporal?”
“Yes, sir. Just tired.” McKelvy’s gaze dropped to the floor as he nervously shifted on his feet.
It was more than just exhaustion. After the terrifying ordeal McKelvy had gone through, Trevor was surprised the guy could still function.
Two weeks ago, while their company cleared the town of Hope, McKelvy and his partner, Dan Conrad, were ambushed by four zombies. Taken by surprise, Conrad had his innards ripped out in front of McKelvy, Though McKelvy had made it out alive, he had had to shoot his partner. Ever since then, he hadn’t been the same. He kept to himself, rarely slept, and the look in his eyes suggested his mind relived over and over the horror of witnessing his friend eaten alive.
The screech of tanks and the rumble of heavy vehicles made Corporal McKelvy jump. His head wiped toward the window.
Trevor squeezed his shoulder. It vibrated under his hand. Obviously McKelvy was worse off than he originally thought, but Trevor didn’t have time to coddle him. Every man, woman, and child left on this planet had witnessed utter hell. “Try to relax. When Captain Anderson returns, head back to the lobby.
McKelvy’s head bobbed as he nodded.
Back on the main floor, the foyer was a flurry of activity. Men scurried everywhere. Some carried large supply boxes while others worked on securing windows and doors.
Trevor nodded to his men as he passed through. He stopped outside the wide glass doors and looked for his brother. Tanks, armored trucks, and hummers filed into the parking lot.
Tyler jumped down from a black Hummer. His brown curly hair was longer than Trevor remembered, but otherwise he hadn’t changed. A white lab coat covered his lean form and a blue tie was knotted loosely at his throat. His thin-framed glasses caught and deflexed sunlight as he motioned to a soldier, spoke, and pointed toward the hospital.
Trevor pulled off his helmet, leaned against the hospital, and watched his brother direct the soldiers, warning them to be careful with his equipment.
A wide grin stretched Tyler’s lips when he noticed him. His deep brown eyes sparkled as he saluted. “Major Dyer.”
“You’ve lost weight.”
Trevor shrugged, but his smile remained in place. “Zombie killin’ does that to a guy.”
They embraced and pounded each other on the back. Tears clogged Trevor’s throat, but he swallowed them down. Memories of when they were kids invaded his mind.
“It’s good to see ya,” Trevor said.
“Good to see you too. How’ve you been?”
“Doctor Dyer? Where do you want your lab equipment?”
Trevor and Tyler glanced toward a young soldier with a large box balanced precariously in his arms. He almost dropped it, but caught it before it hit the sidewalk.
“Jesus, will ya be careful with that?” Tyler rushed over helped him set the box down.
“We’ll have time to catch up later,” Trevor said. “It’s time for me and the men to dress up in hasmat suits and start operation body removal, and you need time to set up your lab.”
“Sounds good,” Tyler replied as he watched two men struggle as they unloaded a supply truck. He rushed towards them. “Damn it, that’s a fifty thousand dollar piece of equipment you’re holding. Be careful.”
Trevor laughed and shook his head before he called to his Captains. “Nylander, Anderson, McBride, gather your squads. It’s time to suit up.”
Join me next week for the onclusion of Zomboro Virus