Transmission Recording 101408072014MTZ Classified “STEM
PROJECT”
Radio Newsman: "We are here
today with Dr. Patcorn, head of the Stem Genetics Surgery and Science Lab in
Denver, Colorado. Dr. Patcorn, we'll let you introduce the subject of today's
discussion."
Dr. Patcorn: "Of course. As of yesterday,
after for years of extensive research, we have completed a revolutionary
product that will cure Alzheimer's, Cancer of the brain, and even
paralysis."
Newsman: "How many tests on
humans have been done?"
Dr. Patcorn: "4678,"
Newsman: "So how does this cure work, and
how efficient is it?"
Dr. Patcorn: "Well, as you know, Stem
Cells have the amazing ability to repair any tissue in the human body. We
simply modified some stem cells to act like virus, affecting the area it is
injected to by repairing tissue. We have only so far succeeded in producing a
strain for creating nerve and brain cells, but within a decade we will have
produced cures to all types of disease. The process is painless, and would take
no more than a fifteen minute appointment to be cured. As for efficiency, all
but three patients were cured of their ailments. The three who weren't cured
had no other effects except a slight headache, and afterwards they were sent
home."
Newsman: "This is the end of our brief
interview of the miracle discovery made by Dr. Patcorn. Thank you for your
time, doctor."
Dr. Patcorn: "Thank you for your
interest."
· · · — — — · · ·
Day 1 of infection:
When he awoke, all Roger Torrens
remembered was this: he and his brother had gone on a hiking trip in Rocky
Mountain National Park, but both fell down a steep slope, Tyler was killed
while he’d lain unconscious for two days. He’d spent the third day hiking back
to the trail, and the fourth day getting back to their truck. He had only
survived because of the snack food in his backpack and two water bottles. When
he finally reached his truck he found the parking lot empty and no people
around. He also saw that his truck had been attacked by a bear, however it
still ran. Twenty miles out of the town Estes Park the truck died, and there
was still no sign of humans. Roger decided to head on to town on foot.
Day 6 of Infection:
After sleeping in the old truck
overnight, he woke to the loud calls of an elk herd in the gloomy woods just
off the road. He grumbled as he sat up and rubbed dirt out of his eyes. It took
him a moment to remember where he was and what had happened. He let out a cry
of anguish at the realization that his brother was dead and he was over a day's
walk from the nearest town. Why hasn’t
somebody come to investigate? He thought.
He remembered the parking lot; completely
empty except for his ugly truck, which appeared to have been shredded by a
giant blade. Damn bear, he thought
angrily. If only he had seen the creature and killed it. He groaned and
stretched his muscles: sleeping in a truck with no way of keeping warm was
extremely uncomfortable.
Roger Torrens was in his early
forties, an experienced athletic man with fast legs and a strong swing with a
bat. His lifelong baseball hobby had prepared him for lots of running and built
up his strength and endurance, helping him to survive the long hike back to
civilization after his accident. At six foot three Roger stood out and would
not be an easy meal for the wildlife. He could and once did hold his ground
against three men in a street fight.
Rubbing his eyes he peered over the
dashboard at the empty highway that snaked across the valley floor and between
two low mountains. He felt thick stubble on his cheeks and realized he had
grown a short beard. He took a minute to study his features in the rearview
mirror; his extremely dark brown hair was full of leaf scraps and dirt, there
were dark circles under his eyes, and his new beard was tinted grey. He usually
shaved daily and had never gotten a chance to see what it would look like.
Roger thought it made him look slightly older.
Eventually he knew he needed to leave
the dead vehicle behind hoof it the rest of the way to town. It took him almost
an hour to make up his mind over what to bring, what to leave, and what route
to take. He decided to stick to the road, and took only what he needed: food,
water, and a gun. The gun was weak and cheap, but it would have to do. Finally
he shrugged on the dirt-covered backpack he had with him and started down the
highway. It was a good thing it was late spring, or else he would have frozen
to death days ago. By noon his legs were aching and his neck was cramped from
the night in the truck. Roger spotted an open, mostly flat meadow and lay down
in the rough grass.
He was still surprised that nobody
had gone searching for him; and by the fact that the highway was completely
devoid cars. He judged he was only eight miles from Estes now. Roger could
barely comprehend how far he’d gone already: a couple mile back to the trail,
seven or more to the lot, around a dozen driving before the engine billowed
smoke and the truck came to a halt; He did not want to remember how much of a
struggle the past few days had been. What was worst, however, was that Roger
could not remember how or why the accident had happened in the first place. He
had simply woken up, stood and stumbled down the hill to where Tyler had been
killed, and found a gory mush smashed between a log and a boulder. There was
nothing left of his brother. So he walked, as if by instinct. He’d found and
followed the trail, alone and weak, all the way to the truck; which happened to
be destroyed. What did I do to deserve
such a curse? He wondered.
He was too tired to continue walking, so he
closed his eyes and listened to the sounds around him. He must have fallen
asleep, because when he awoke he found the sky was much darker. It took him a
moment to realize the sunlight was shining from the wrong direction for it to
be evening. Quickly he checked his watch- it was 7:00 am- the next day.
Day 7of Infection:
"You are one lucky bastard," he told
himself. It was nearly impossible that he had lasted this long without dying
already.
"I should be dead" he muttered, as
he jogged down the empty highway.
"Tyler is dead. I survived.
Why?" He kept asking himself. Thankfully his extended nap and a bit of his
food gave him a good energy boost. He reached the first group of houses by 2
o'clock. Finally, civilization.
He knew there was a medical center in
town, and he'd already come this far. He made it to the valley 30 minutes
later, and gaped in horror.
Cars were wrecked, papers were blowing in the
wind, garbage was strewn everywhere. Most of the city was abandoned. Not that
many people had lived there in the first place. Looking up at the Stanley he
saw that the famous hotel was burning. Ironic,
he though.
He trudged down the road, glancing
around in confused fear; taking in every detail. He say bullet casings
scattered randomly across the pavement, blood splattered on the walls of
buildings. He held his rifle ready. This
place looks like the aftermath of a war, he thought.
He passed a minivan in the middle of
the street. Hoping to drive it he opened the door- and immediately closed it.
Hundreds of flies were buzzing around something that smelled of death and
decay; a rotting corpse he could hardly see under the black cloud of pests.
Roger continued up the street,
passing a body lying face down in the gutter. Revolted he turned away. He was
nearly half way through town, by an empty motel. It didn’t look quite as bad as
some of the other buildings, so in desperation he called out:
“Is there anybody alive in there?” he
waited for a minute but got no answer.
"What the hell happened
here?" he yelled. He had to be dreaming. His yell was suddenly answered by
a gurgling groaning noise close to him... He looked around cautiously, thinking
there was a wild animal nearby. He didn’t see any in the parking lot or in the
brush across the street, so he looked back the way he’d come. Then he
discovered the source of the sound. The corpse he’d passed was climbing to its’
feet and shuffling towards him.
He-or she….it was revolting, terrifying; it
looked like a person that had been mauled not once but many times, then laid
out in the hot sun for days. Its whole left side was covered in blood, the left
cheek and eyeball missing. The only clothes remaining on its half-destroyed
body were shredded jeans and a (no longer) white t-shirt, now permanently
stained red.
Roger recoiled in fear, and jumped
behind a van in the motel parking lot. He stared at it in horror and sadness.
Its left leg appeared to be broken, but it gave the leg no notice as it limped
towards the van, growling as it went.
What
happened to that person? Roger thought as he bent down and started crawling
around the van, staying on the opposite side. He then dashed to the motel
doors, threw them open, and ran inside. Not even thinking about closing the
doors he turned a corner into the main hallway, and right into the body of
another creature. It let out a gurgling noise and fell backwards. Roger stared
in disbelief as it rolled over and began crawling towards him. He backed away
in shock, and suddenly felt a cold hand roughly grab his neck. Turning his head
Roger saw it was the first creature, pulling his neck towards its mouth. Roger
struggled and managed to elbow it in the forehead. It growled and stumbled
back, dropping Roger on the floor. However, it quickly regained its senses and
limped towards him again. Something tugged at his foot and Roger knew it was
the second creature, and also knew he was going to die. He closed his eyes and
waited for the pain to come when…
Bam! Shhk-shhk…Bam!
Roger opened his eyes in time to see the
explosion of red, and the headless body of the first creature fall to the
floor. The second was also mostly headless.
“Are you alright? Did you get bit?” yelled a
voice from down the hallway. Roger heard the shhk-shhk of a shotgun cocking and
climbed to his feet as a tan, balding middle-aged man walked over to him.
“You are one stupid man, you know that?” the
man said. He and Roger both looked at the corpses, which were still moving.
Even without a head, the creatures’ bodies were beginning to edge closer to the
men.
“Let’s get the hell out of here, before more
come. They can hear shots from miles away, and are attracted to sound like
moths to a light.”
“Where can we go?” Roger asked. He was still
in shock, watching the squirming corpses.
“The damn things don’t die. And they aren’t
stupid, either.”
“Things?”
“Mockers, everyone calls ‘em, because
they learn. By the way, what’s your name? I haven’t seen a living soul in two
days.”
“Roger Torrens, what’s yours?”
“Mason Barres”
Cautiously Roger and Mason stepped out into
the now empty motel parking lot. Roger got out his rifle and Mason held ready
his shotgun. The air was still, eerily still, with no sounds.
They crept across the street as silently as possible, but
every footfall sounded like a boom. It
sucks how loud you seem to become when you try to be quiet, Roger thought,
then said, “You still haven’t mentioned where we’re going.”
“Keep quiet! They’ll hear us!” Mason snapped,
pointing down the hill- to a large group of Mockers.
Mason pulled Roger into a clump of bushes and
pines beside the road, and Roger stared in awe at the group of living dead.
Even from two thousand feet away he could swear he was hearing raspy breathing
and groans. The sound suddenly got louder, and sounded much closer.
“More are coming the other way, hurry! Follow
me!” Mason exclaimed. Roger didn’t need to be told twice. The two men bolted,
with five Mockers on their tails. Shit,
they run fast for corpses, Roger thought as he struggled to keep up with
Mason. He decided his rifle was quiet enough and turned around to shoot one.
Bam! He missed, and started running again. The
Mockers were mere yards behind.
“Up there, quickly!” Mason yelled,
pointing to a large house just up the hill. You’re
almost there. You’ll make it. You cannot die now! Roger thought, willing
his legs to run just a bit farther. He was twenty yards away from the house
when Mason reached it and climbed upstairs to a deck.
Bam! Bam! Bam!
Four Mockers fell, their heads blown
open. Even though only three shots were fired one round took two out at once.
Roger aimed his rifle at the last one and fired straight into its right eye-a
place the weak .22 round was guaranteed to puncture. He then charged the
creature and bashed its head open with the butt of his gun.
After a moment of pride Roger felt his legs
give out and he collapsed.
“Roger! Are you alright?” Mason asked as he
ran over, wielding an axe.
“Yeah, I’ve just done a lot of running
lately.” Roger replied weakly. He moved himself into a more comfortable
position and looked up at the smoke filled sky, and listened to the sickening
crunching sounds as Mason chopped the creatures to bits with the axe.
Crunch! A zombies’ head was split in
half with the blade of a shovel. The creature, formerly a soldier, was missing its
left leg and hand. The shovel’s holder-
a large dark man, began searching the soldier corpses’ pockets for anything of
use, but to his dismay found nothing. Wiping sweat off his forehead he strolled
up the road to a blue Prius. The small clean car stood out in the massacred
neighborhood. He opened the door and squeezed into the tight interior. There
was a single passenger: a middle-age woman with long ginger hair.
“I am too big for your pipsqueak car,
Mary,” he complained.
“Sorry that my car was the only one
left in running condition,” Mary apologized, large hazel eyes rolling. The man
started up the engine and pressed down on the gas, lurching the car forward.
“Carlos,” she continued as he slowed
close to a corner, where another soldier-zombie was walking aimlessly in a
well-trimmed front lawn. “Do we have to stop and search every single soldier we
pass?”
“No, but there could be some good
stuff on them,” Carlos defended. He lowered the window and raised a pistol. “Waste
of a bullet,” Mary muttered as he fired at the things’ head. The Prius took off
before the body hit the turf.
They passed several other Mockers as
they drove out of the neighborhood. Mary turned her head away when she saw one
chasing a Chihuahua out of a back yard. The little dog barked wildly and ran as
swiftly as its tiny legs could go, but the zombie caught up, knocking the
animal onto its back with a strong swing. Before the dog could stand up the
Mocker tore its stomach open. She grimaced when she heard the dying pet yelp.
“There’s a police station around here
somewhere…” Carlos muttered as he turned sharply around a corner, suddenly
swerving to avoid hitting a pair of Mockers. He hit the brakes hard and spun
around 90 degrees, slamming the side of the Prius into the creatures, which
were knocked down and crushed under the car. Carlos floored the gas, leaving
behind a bloody mush spread across the street.
“Nobody’s going to be there!” Mary
insisted. “For God’s sake, the military
couldn’t hold the damn things off!”
It’s just across those tracks,”
Carlos told her, pointing ahead at an overpass. “If I remember correctly, it’s
down the street up there.”
The Prius reached the overpass, and
from the top looking north Mary saw a wrecked train, the containers scattered
over a mile of track. Farther up the track, half-hidden by smog, was the Denver
skyline. As they turned south on the Avenue
and rode towards the police department they heard several shots ring out, and saw a police cruiser lurch out of a parking lot and hit a group of Mockers. The driver must have seen them, becuase they blared the sirens and turned to face them.
“Well goddamn,” Mary whispered. “Somebody
IS alive.”
“Where would we go?” Roger asked in a whisper.
It was past 11:00, and they had been in the house basement quietly debating
what they would do the next day. The only light came from a small candle. They
were trying to stay as well-hidden as possible, because the Mocker horde they’d
seen that afternoon had climbed up the hill an hour before. Thankfully they
passed the dark house without conflict.
“Denver, I guess. It’s closest.” Mason
shrugged.
Roger shook his head. “You said it
was overrun, and the place where it started!”
“Well, maybe the military has the
upper hand now?” Mason said hopefully, and then added, “And I heard the guy
responsible, Dr. Pot-horn or whoever, locked himself in that lab of his. He may
be alive, and could help everyone.”
Roger agreed it was possible that the
doctor could fix it, but then again he did lock out the world.
“I heard it was the three failures that
started it, a few weeks ago. The ‘cure’ thing mutated and spread but didn’t
affect anyone until seven days ago. It’s amazing you didn’t have to live
through it all. I lost my wife, my daughter, and my brother to the Mockers, two
nights ago. Crazy how quickly the world changes, isn’t it? You get stuck in the
Rockies and return to find…this.”
Roger nodded, only now realizing how
much the world had changed.
“You don’t have a family, do you? It’d be
awful if you did, because- and I’m only pointing out the truth- they are
probably dead.” Mason asked, though hardly showing concern.
“No, I’m divorced,” Roger replied, lying
down on a dirty mattress Mason had provided.
“Glad to hear it. You
know, because now I don’t have to worry about emotional problems from you or
anything.”
Roger laughed weakly, and then fell
into a deep sleep.
Day 8 of Infection:
“Hopefully this one will make it,”
Mason said. It was early in the morning, and they had found a car in one of the
nearby driveways that had keys in the ignition. The driver’s door was open and
the window broken, but the engine ran and there was a half-tank of gas left.
“I’m sure it will,” Roger replied as
he shoved the last of their supplies into the trunk. They were bringing food
and water for a week, plus their guns, 2 tents and sleeping bags, and a medical
kit.
“It really is a good thing I saved
you yesterday. I was going to kill myself last night if hadn’t.” Mason said,
giving Roger a thankful look.
“Can I do the driving?” Roger asked.
“Nope! You can have shotgun, though,”
Mason said humorously. He dashed into the driver’s seat and started the engine.
Roger laughed and got in….
. -. -..
On the next Episode:
“The whole town looks
abandoned,” Roger replied.
“Of course it does- everyone is
dead!” Mason said matter-of-factly as he closed the trunk. Roger shook his
head, looking at the surrounding buildings. There’s
hardly any damage at all, in fact if you hadn’t known the world had ended you’d
have thought the town looked perfectly normal-except for the convenience store,
Roger though.
“No, I mean the place looks like it
was actually abandoned—like the people all left here before they got hit. They
might be alive and safe somewhere.”
“Don’t get your hopes up,” said
Mason, who was impatiently leaning against the car, “There are Mockers in
there, locked up.” He nodded towards the convenience store.
“Did you see that?”
Mason yelled. Roger looked up from the map he was reading just in time to see
the diminishing fireball and the falling wreckage of a helicopter no more than
two miles ahead.
"Your job is to reach Stem
Genetics and find Patcorn." the helicopter pilot ordered. Two hundred feet
below was a massive horde of Mockers, maybe three thousand. Private Marshall
was currently at the left door-gun and Private Daley at the other. They both
yelled excitedly as they sprayed the horde with bullets.
"Eat lead, you bastards!"
Private Daley shouted. Somehow he was having the time of his life.