Chapter 4

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.