It's a good thing that the proto-enzymes are relegated
to this hospit—Oh shit! Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit! That cloud after Charles'
cremation. I tested my blood. I was positive for the mutated proto-enzymes.
That means so is my mother, the crematorium staff, the reverend and anyone in
the Greater Atlanta area and within the path of the wind stream! Further test
denoted that the pathogen was indeed airborne.
What have I done? Who could I tell? Although, the
implications of this application are potentially limitless, but to the
contrary, this could be a species-ender if not handled properly. The military
applications alone…Wait! What am I thinking? This must be curbed and destroyed!
I called the CDC and warned them of what I discovered.
I couldn't bring myself to tell them of the cloud at the crematorium but did
provide the specifics of the burning of Trixie, Dixie and Jerry in the lab and
how it affected Ms. Frisbee.
I never once mentioned Charles, but I did explain to
them about Em, Adam and the orderlies. About how we had them under quarantine.
And how I ordered Em to be placed in suspended animation. They wanted Adam and
the orderlies transported to the CDC immediately. They were going to court to
contest Em's power of attorney to acquire her as well. They were also
determined to discover who patient zero was. After a few months, arrangements
were made, and the transport was scheduled for Adam and the orderlies.
On the morning of October 31, the world went to hell
in a handbasket. It was befitting that it was Halloween due to the horrors that
unfolded. When I think back, did my dad foresee something like this happening?
Is this why he worked on the ARC?
At 10:34 am, an emergency team brought in a little
girl named Aimee Washington. She couldn't have been more than seven years old.
She was the victim of a hit-and-run driver. She had on a little pink fairy
princess costume. She died on arrival.
At 10: 46 am, an emergency team brought in a young man
named D'Andre Thomas. He was the victim of a gang-related shooting. He was
approximately 17 years old, and he died on arrival.
At 10:55 am, an emergency team brought in Raphael
Jones. He was choked unconscious during a traffic stop by a sheriff's deputy in
Athens, GA. He had a crushed larynx and died at the scene.
At 11:12 am, emergency crews brought in Archibald
Jenkins, Terry Donnelly, Roscoe Bullard, Lisa Maloney and Eva Maloney. All dead
in a multi-car pileup.
Between 11:48 am and 12:07 pm, they all re-animated
and the hospital went to shit with the biting, scratching and the attacks. It
was at this time that a military transport team had arrived for Adam and the
orderlies, but due to the chaos and confusion, they got loose. The soldiers
began to shoot the infected with little to no effect.
One of the orderlies yelled, "You have to shoot them
in the head!" but the soldiers continued to shoot the living and the dead
center mass. St. Margaret's Hospital became a bloodbath. And as each living
person was mowed down, they re-animated while the dead trudged forward.
The order came in to eradicate St. Margaret's
Hospital. But before that could happen, some of those bitten escaped. I knew
then that this marked the beginning of the end. I drove home and gathered my
mom and T. We all headed to the ARC. I typed in the response to the query, "What
is the measure of a man?" The answer was, "His intent, his action and his
heart."
The settled soil on the massive door receded. Lights
lit up the corridors as the stale air escaped from the massive structure. We
were greeted by a computerized version of my father's voice.
"Welcome to the ARC. State your name to be recognized
as the controller," it said. "You have 30 seconds to comply."
"Marvin Harris!" I shouted. "Also present is T and
Mary Williams!"
"Welcome Marvin Harris!" it said. "Control is ceded to
your voice alone! I am Alfred, your artificial intelligence. I will scan and
catalogue all who enter the ARC, as well as manage security and the health of
those within."
I saw the sadness in my mom's eyes, as Alfred was my
dad's name. The voice wasn't his, but you could feel him in this place.
"Mom, T, I'd like to keep Alfred a secret from anyone
else that may end up here," I said.
They didn't question my decision as I instructed the
A.I. to no longer engage us verbally and to keep its presence secret from
anyone but us three.
The ARC was a structure with an air and water
filtration system 25 feet underground just outside of Atlanta. The water poured
in from a private unmapped well that was fed by the Chattahoochee River. It
took the government almost 16 years and close to $300 billion to construct it.
Above us were three nondescript farms complete with farmhouses that look
abandoned with nothing growing and no supplies. Alfred monitored all the
systems.
The ARC was stocked with enough food and weapons for
500 people for 10 years. In truth, it was more of a small city than anything
else. It is powered by four wind turbine windmills and solar panels on the
farms above. Extra solar panels and windmill blades were stored in the barns in
case of damage to the originals. There were also replacement turbines and
parts.
The first few weeks, T and I worked hard to get the
place up and running. The artificial intelligence would only respond to my
voice. It took a while before I could "convince" it to "obey" T and Ma. I
initially tried to get T to lead due to his military background. He declined,
saying this was well above his paygrade. He contacted a few men who served with
him and they agreed to join up, seeing as how society was rapidly declining.
I figured, in order to ride this out, we would need
more than just my mom, T and I. It was at this point that we deactivated the
voice function of Alfred. At first, we took in a couple of T's buddies, and
then anyone we came across. I quickly realized that we needed to limit it to
those who could contribute and could help rebuild society if necessary. I know
it was callous, but it had to be done that way. The key would be to remain
secret and undetected.
To populate the ARC would be tricky. We had to choose
people who were competent in their abilities, but who would not upset the
delicate balance of our burgeoning group of survivors. We gathered an
electrician, a plumber, a mechanic, a hunter, a self-defense instructor, a
farmer, a few other friends and quite a few of the contractors who worked on
the structure.
Each could bring only three non-contributors (spouses,
children, parents or lovers). One guy wanted to bring his dog, but I wouldn't
allow it. The barking would attract too much attention from both the living and
the dead.
Our fledgling little community was beginning to take
shape. The fact that we also scored an engineer and architect was a bonus. Our
hunter also knew how to cast ammo and the self-defense instructor began to
teach classes on how to strike the DCs,
which was short for DeCeased or dead carcasses, as they became known.
Weapons training was a must. We used air rifles for
training so as not to waste the ammo unnecessarily. Hand to hand became crucial
as we foresaw that quiet defense would be necessary due to the DCs affinity to
sound. Also, we would eventually run low on ammo one day. T saw to my tutelage
personally. It wasn't like when we were kids. He worked me hard, and I was
beginning to show results. He was turning me into a capable fighter.
As society continued to break down, we had to
implement rules. Some were tougher than others, but all were fair. Secrecy was
paramount above all else; no exceptions. We went on raids to the stores and
abandoned homes for gear and luxuries.
We got some flame-retardant suits from the fire
department, and our engineer and electrician whipped us up some flamethrowers.
We also picked up some bladed weapons, a few compound bows and some crossbows
from the sporting goods section of the department store. I explained to our
group that the DCs could only be incapacitated by piercing the cerebral cortex.
Our Raiders, the group that went out in search of
supplies, were quick and efficient. I was beginning to get a little concerned
as our community was growing too quickly. As the group added more and more
people, more and more opinions came with them. As I read over this journal and
my account of how all this started, I realize that this is just the beginning
and things are about to get a lot worse.
T and I agreed to militarize the Raiders, as I set
upon the task of trying to find a cure for this disease. I desperately needed
to get back to the hospital to gather my notes and samples. But with it being
ground zero and completely overrun, we weren't yet ready to tackle a problem of
that magnitude. We were still learning the ins and outs of how the DCs behaved
and how to deal with them.
What we knew so far was that if a mammal's skin is
broken through scratch or bite, said mammal turns. What is strange is that
mammals do not co-opt their nature. A deer, cow or horse that turns will starve
because it will not consume flesh. Dogs, however, are a different thing as
packs of undead dogs have been spotted. It begs the question of what has
happened to the zoo animals.
The virus is present in all organisms as it is now
airborne. Once life ceases by any other means than a piercing of the brain, the
mammal will change. An infection occurs if the skin is broken via bite or
scratch. That infection causes a fever, and the fever ultimately causes death
and the change.
Being in such close quarters, I've noticed that the
humanity of the group is devolving. They are becoming more animalistic in their
zeal to survive. I heard that one of the potential Raiders, Jacob, shot a
living man because he needed to protect what he had. I thought Jacob was a good
man, but we put him out.
Thankfully, we had yet to reveal the location of the
ARC to him. He and his daughter were headed to another settlement set up about
50 miles away. As one of the last ones in one of the last groups, the location
of the ARC was kept secret as new members were blindfolded going in and out. He
would never find his way back here unaided.
While out on our last raid, we ran into a man and his
son. I attempted to get him to talk to me, but he was too distraught. I think
he had just lost someone. He was inconsolable, and we can't have someone
unstable like that in our community. For now, we'll have to be content with the
people we have and make due, being careful of whom we invite into our midst.
It has only been four months, and already society is
defunct. Marauders are filling the streets and undead dogs are beginning to run
wild in packs. The dead are taking over little by little. If I could, I would
take in everyone that we encountered, but we are struggling as it is with the
supplies we have, as much of the warehouse stores were spoiled. To avoid and
ignore someone who needs our, no, MY
help, is one of the many crosses I will have to bear for causing the end of the
world.
My research has allowed me to localize the strain that
causes the mutation, but I am unable to treat it. I need my samples and notes
from the hospital. It would be great if I could collaborate with the CDC, but
communications are down. We have to go back to where this all began.