Episode 103 All I Never Wanted

On the last Episode of Dead Limit:

            “Evasive maneuvers!” Richie hollered to the pilot. The helicopter moved swiftly up and right, towards the southwest. The pilot increased their speed. Looking down at the parking lot where they should have landed, Richie saw the shooters: eight survivors who were obviously territorial.

“It’s some gang down there” Richie informed Paul.

“Paul, I’m over here!” He heard Richie answer, and saw him few yards out in the water. Paul smiled in relief as he watched his best friend swim up to the shore, but then gulped when he saw the state of Richie’s right arm.

There was a ten inch-long gash bleeding heavily. Immediately Paul went over to his friend and helped him up to dry ground. He then tore a strip off his own uniform and wrapped up the wound as best he could. It had to be over an inch deep, and still had bits of metal in it. Paul knew the metal might cause an infection, but at the moment stopping the bleeding was more important. Richie was already palling.

“Safe-zone?” Mary asked, stepping out of the car. She eyed the crawling corpses with worry. Miguel noticed too, and said; “I don’t think that’s our biggest issue right now, Angela.”

She glanced around and sighed, looking at Carlos and Mary with distrust.

“We’re heading south for NORAD. You two are welcome to follow if you like.” She sheathed her katana and grabbed Miguel forcefully by the shoulder, leading him to the car.

“I guess we follow?"

“What will we do about our new ‘friend?” Mason asked, looking at the backseat, where a teenager was bound in duct tape. The kid, the person who’d attacked them earlier, had apologized greatly for his mistake, claiming he’d done it in self-defense. Roger had interrogated the kid, named Tyrone, who pleaded to accompany them. Mason had been tempted to leave the kid tied up in the truck, but Roger made a deal: Tyrone could come with them, but he would remain restrained until they reached the lab.

“Keep him for now. He’s not a threat.” Roger told him quietly. Tyrone groaned in the back, but at least wasn’t putting up a struggle. Roger decided to take a risk, and tore the tape off Tyrone’s mouth. The teenager took a deep breath the blurted: “We’re going to help those folks, right?”

 

 =====

            The road up to Cheyenne Mountain was clogged with cars heading east; the wrong direction, according to Mary. All the survivors camping at the entrance to the bunker were leaving, packing up their possessions and heading out for who knows where. A hundred or more vehicles came down the road, passing the police cruiser and Prius that were stopped on the side. Angela was scanning a huge map laid out on the hood of her car, while Miguel and Carlos tried to get attention from the leaving survivors.

“Where do they think they can go? Out of state?” Mary asked as she approached the policewoman.

“They might think they can, but I doubt they will get far. I heard rumors that the military is imposing a state-wide quarantine, and nobody gets in…or out.”

“Oh god…” Mary thought aloud. They heard a loud honking as a jeep pulled off the side of the road. An older man got out and started chatting with Carlos. Mary walked over to hear what they were saying.

“We got to get out of here, the place is going to blow!” the man was saying.

“What?!” Carlos exclaimed.

“Listen, I know where some other camps are around here,” he told them.

Mary looked back at the police car, waiting for Angela to join the conversation. To her shock and dismay she saw the cruiser turn around, spraying dirt, and speed down the street, fleeing along with all the other survivors.

“Wait!” Miguel screamed, “Hey!” the young man sprinted after the car for several yards but soon quit, knowing there was no way to keep up. “Why? You can’t just leave me here!” he cried.

They heard muffled blasts coming from the mountain, and looked up at it. Clouds of dirt erupted everywhere above the concrete entrance.

Mary gasped and stared at the mountainside. Everyone watched as a landslide poured down over the end of the tunnel, sealing the bunker permanently. Rocks and soil and weeds washed over most of the large shanty town that had been built in the parking lot at the foot of the slope. Mary looked on, feeling hopeless. Tears fell from her brilliant blue eyes.

· · · — — — · · ·

            “Let us in, Goddamn it!” Mason yelled at the gate camera. It was nearing seven o’clock, and Richard Daley was close to death. He’d lost consciousness two hours ago but still had a pulse. He’d only survived this long due to the medical experience Mason had, and how they had cleaned the wound early. After re-wrapping Paul’s uniform over the gash in Richie’s arm they had carefully placed him in the backseat of the car and driven up to the lab’s front gate. And for four hours they’d argued with Patcorn, begging for entry. They knew he was alive at least, for Patcorn was watching them through the cameras and speaking, rarely, over the intercom.

He used excuses such as “I will not allow military personnel in my building” and “I’ve kept out thousands before you, you are not ANY different.”

            “Please, Richie will die!” Paul screamed for the hundredth time.

Tyrone took a step back and leaped up onto the fence and started to climb. “We’re getting in there one way or another,” he grunted, trying to keep a grip on the chain links.

“Kid, get down from there,” Mason ordered. He still didn’t trust the teenager, but he didn’t want to witness another death any time soon.

“Please, for your own safety, do not do that,” Patcorn warned. Roger noticed the turrets swiveling to aim at Tyrone. The teen reluctantly jumped back down.

“That fence is high, man,” he replied. He looked angrily at one of the cameras. “These are good folks, man!” he yelled. “They saved me, and these soldier dudes! All we want is a place to stay and-“

“Shut up,” Mason hollered. Paul continued to plead in his mind, too scared to speak out. After all we’ve been through, please help us.

 “I cannot let you in. I am sorry. As for the infection-and I’m sure you’re wondering- There is no cure.”

They stood there for a moment, starring at each other, and at the cameras; trying to comprehend what they just heard. There is no cure. Patcorn himself had said it. Paul and Richie had known, somewhere in the back of their minds, that it was true. However Roger and Mason had greatly hoped that Patcorn was working on one. Tyrone just shook his head.

Mason was first to speak, shouting, “Then what are we doing here in the first place!?” He took his axe and angrily swung it at the fence, beating at the chain links several times before giving up.

“We have a young man dying out here! We are NOT infected!” he yelled, breathing deeply and raising his axe for another swing, “We came hoping you were finding a cure for this thing!” He swung the axe hard, and it actually broke apart a few links. He then stood back, panting. “We should just go, we aren’t getting in,” he said.

“What? We’re giving up?!” Tyrone questioned.

“No! We have to help Richie, or he’ll die!” Paul refused.

Mason was almost across the parking lot, near the car when he turned and told Paul,

 “That son of a bit-“

 “Is going to let you in, on one condition….” Patcorn said over the intercom. Everyone paused and stared at the gate camera.

“Name it,” Roger warily replied. After four hours of begging, they were getting a chance to go in.

“Bring me an infected body, in good condition.”

“How do we kill it without causing major damage?” Paul asked, relieved that they would gain entry but confused by how.

“You don’t. I want a live specimen.”

“Shit,” Mason cursed, shaking his head and twirling his axe. “This is just a kind way of saying ‘go get yourselves killed.’”

“I will watch over your friend and see that no harm comes to him,” Patcorn offered. They heard a whir as the sentry guns swiveled on their stands, just beyond the fence.

“You guys can go, but I’m staying with Richie,” Paul told them. Roger nodded, but Mason continued to stare coldly at the camera.

“Let’s just get it over with,” Roger whispered to Mason, “We’ll find a way to bring one back.

“Fine, but we aren’t going far. We’ll get the best-looking one we find in that shopping center over there-“ he pointed across the highway to the shopping center “-then come right back.”

“I’ll go with you!” Tyrone volunteered. Mason shook his head. “You stay here, make sure the good doctor does tyr anything.”

Tyrone looked back at the building fearfully. “This place is sketchy, man! Why can’t we all just go?”

Paul stood up and confronted the teenager. “Richie is in no condition to be moved right now. I hate to admit it, but he would be a burden to take him anywhere with us. He needs to rest.”

Roger gave him a look of approval. Paul smiled, feeling, for once, important. All his life Paul Marshall had been a nobody, the scrawny kid everybody picked on, the little guy. It felt good to stand up for someone for once.

Tyrone looked mad, but kept his mouth shut.

“Be back soon!” Paul hollered as Roger and Mason strolled to the car. They were both trying to think of a plan, wondering where they would find a Mocker that wasn’t in some way mutilated. Carefully they carried Richie out of the car and brought him to the gate, where they set him down. Richie was still unconscious, but he was breathing regularly and Mason could feel a steady pulse. “He’ll make it,” Mason whispered to Paul, who was kneeling beside him. Paul nodded and whispered back, “Please hurry. I don’t want to be alone out here”

“It’ll only take a minute.” Mason promised. “And you’ve got him,” he nodded to Tyrone, “to keep you company.”

“I don’t trust him,” Paul whispered.

“Me neither,” Mason replied.

He then got up and went back to the car, where Roger was already waiting in the passenger seat.

“You drive ‘crazy’ better than me.” Roger said. Mason decided to take that as a compliment and got in. They turned out of the parking lot and back onto the road, heading east towards Lake Chatfield, where the helicopter had crashed. Before they got halfway though, they turned onto another street leading to the highway overpass. They stopped for a moment, lowering the windows and listening for any nearby sounds. They didn’t see any Mockers under or beyond the overpass, so they drove through. Then Mason hit the brakes, hard.

            They had barely reached the other side of the overpass when they both saw them: hundreds, no-thousands of Mockers, all slowly moving across the store parking lots. They made no noise except for the shuffling of their dead feet on the asphalt.

            That can’t be right, Roger thought, they’re silent! No groaning or growling or whatever zombies do in movies. Mason immediately turned off the engine. “God, I hope we haven’t been noticed yet,” he whispered to Roger.

“If they do, we’re doomed,” Roger whispered back. They sat completely still, trying to be as unnoticeable as possible. After about five minutes the undead crowd had moved on, beyond the shops and into a neighborhood.

Cautiously, for they could still see parts of the horde and there were plenty of stragglers, Mason restarted the engine. They didn’t go very far; in fact Mason crept the car into a cluster of trees next to a golf course across the street.

Still attempting to keep quiet, they both got out and went around to the back of the car. Roger opened the trunk and started unloading their supplies, Mason transferring it all to the backseat except for his axe. Once the trunk was empty, Mason slammed the side door. The sound was like thunder in the eerie silence.

“Why’d you do that?” Roger hissed.

“Because now all we have to do is sit here and wait,” Mason replied.

“So they’ll come to us…” said Roger, sort of understanding Mason’s plan. But what if there’s too many for us to handle? He thought worriedly.

It didn’t take long for some of the stragglers to approach them. Once the Mockers saw, or smelled, the two men they began running towards them.

Swish went Mason’s axe as he beheaded the first to reach him. With a big, bloody, torn-up hole in its chest Mason guessed it wouldn’t meet Patcorn’s requirement. Seconds later, he also brought down as second and third, both of which were badly mangled.

The fourth, however, was nearly perfect. The clothes it was wearing were untouched and clean: a blue graphic tee, denim jeans, and silver tennis shoes. The Mocker’s skin was unmarked. The only damage was a bite mark on its left cheek. The bite was the only part of the body-which they could easily tell had been a teenage boy-that was covered in blood.

This one took its time approaching the car, growling as it came. Mason set his axe on the ground and cracked his knuckles.

“We’ll have to act quickly when it reaches us,” he said impatiently waiting by the open trunk. “It’s taking its sweet time,” he added.

“As if it knows what we plan to do,” Roger commented. He stared at the Mocker, studying the way it moved. It wasn’t limping, but it wasn’t exactly walking either. It looked to Roger like it struggled to take each step, like each movement required a strong will. It’s the virus, trying to control the body, Roger thought. For a moment he felt sorry for the thing. He looked at its’ eyes, and noticed something…odd about them. As it got closer no more than ten feet away, Roger realized what it was: the eyes were not bloodshot, or pearly, or rotten-looking. In fact, the eyes looked completely normal. In all the zombie movies Roger had seen, zombie eyes always had something wrong about them. But this creature’s eyes looked knowing and, creepily, human.

Roger felt a pang of guilt as he heard Mason mutter:

“Come on, just a bit closer…so I can shove your zombie ass in the trunk…”

The reason they didn’t just take the few steps forward to capture the Mocker was that it would be much quicker and easier if they let it come to them, and then just push it into the trunk. And that’s exactly what happened, at first.

It gave another growl and, with unexpected speed, lunged forward at Mason, who quickly stepped aside and allowed it to hit its’ head on the open trunk lid. Before the Mocker could react Mason shoved it head-first into the small space. Roger tried to grab its’ flailing legs, but got kicked hard in the stomach. It nearly knocked the air out of him, but together he and Mason finally got the lid shut, the Mocker trapped inside.

“Let’s get the hell out of here,” Mason said. Roger agreed; the other Mockers were closing in. He heard a twig snap behind him and saw a Mocker, half-hidden behind one of the pines. It noticed that it was visible, and ducked as Mason charged it. Roger realized his friend may need help and searched the car for his rifle. Meanwhile, Mason was struggling against the zombie, which had grabbed and thrown aside his axe and pinned him on the ground, arms groping at his shirt. With a powerful heave he managed to shove the creature aside, and rolled towards where his axe lay a few feet away. Then he felt a tug on his shoe; he kicked hard and stood up. The Mocker climbed to its feet and lunged.

Bam! A bullet tore through the zombie’s esophagus, and it fell face-first onto the turf. Mason looked thankfully at Roger, who was holding the weak rifle.

He glanced around and cursed. “There’s more than we thought!” he said loudly. Then he heard gunshots, not from Roger, but out in the shopping center.

From Stem Genetics, Paul could hear the gunshots too. He and Tyrone looked at the overpass.

“Sounded close to where the guys went,” Paul observed.

“Yeah, but they don’t have autos. I think there’s someone else.” Tyrone said.

“Oh god,” Paul remembered, “a few gangsters attacked us when we flew over that area earlier.”

Tyrone looked at him like he was crazy. “Are you SERIOUS?!” he thundered, “You knew that and still sent them out there? Man, I swear…” his voice trailed off. Nervously he looked at the cameras.

“That creep is watching us, man.” He muttered. They heard more gunshots, rapid blasts of sound still loud even from a distance.

“What sort of trick from hell is this?” Mason wondered aloud. He and Roger had ducked behind their car when the shooting began. Several things made their situation a death trap: first, there were more Mockers hiding in the trees, Roger had shot four he’d been lucky to notice. It seemed the thing waited to be seen before attacking, which Roger found extremely strange. He only had seconds to kill them when he spotted them; they’d snuck up so close. Second; there were five shooters-but that was hardly an issue alone, Roger was confident he could win a firefight. What was disturbing was that the gunmen were dead. The Mockers were holding guns, and firing them. They even had some aim, because all the bullets came close to the car.

“What’s the plan?” Roger yelled over the noise. Mason laughed. Roger just looked at him, confused. With a broad smile Mason explained; “They’ll be out of ammo in seconds. I doubt they know how to reload.”

To prove his point Mason stood up, waving his arms around wildly. “Hey, fuglies! It’s dinner time!” He saw one of the Mockers lift its gun, and he ducked as another barrage of bullets flew over his head until-

“Ha!” Mason snorted. “You hear that clicking sound, boys? You just wasted your last bullets. Time to fight like a normal zombie, dirt heads!” He jumped on top of the car a leapt at the closet Mocker, swinging his axe at the perfect angle to knock the creature’s head clean off. The others charged at him, and he chopped off the left leg of one and drove the heavy blade into another’s heart. Roger heard the crunching of all the ribs breaking. The thing wheezed in- was that a sign of pain? Roger wondered when it clutched its chest. He was so stunned by Mason’s performance he forgot, for a second, that they were in danger. He took aim with his rifle and shot at the furthest of the gun carriers. He missed, and pulled the trigger again. He heard a click and cursed. He was out of ammo. To make matters worse, something hissed behind him. He spun around and stabbed the barrel of his gun down the thing’s throat, not stopping until it tore out its back, between the shoulder blades. He decided he no longer needed the weapon and left it in the convulsing body.

He sighed in relief when he saw Mason slice the arms of the last Mocker.

“Let’s get out of here before more find us,” Mason growled when he reached the car.

“We got your Mocker, in good condition!” Mason yelled when they got back to the Stem Genetics building. He was holding the Mocker’s arms forcibly behind its’ back and pushing it forward to the gate.

            “I see it, very good! Thank you. Now, to keep my end of the bargain….” There was a lot of clanking as the chain-link gate swung open. A few moments later the front doors opened just a crack. They heard a phht as a dart flew out. It hit the Mocker Mason was restraining directly in the forehead. It went still, and Mason let it fall to the ground. Roger and Paul carefully lifted up Richie. While carrying the sleeping soldier to the lab’s doors Roger told Paul about the enormous horde.

“We saw it too!” Paul exclaimed, “We flew over them earlier!” He did not bother to mention that the helicopter had probably drawn the horde nearer in the first place.

Dr. Patcorn was not what Roger had expected. He was the opposite of what he did not expect. He’d thought the man would be big, important-like, or something like that. Instead, Patcorn was short, really skinny, wore glasses and a lab coat, etcetera. Overall, to Roger at least, Patcorn looked a lot like a nerd.

            The scientist was very polite, however. He showed them to a place where they could stay: an overnight rest-lounge complete with bedrooms, bathrooms, and a small kitchen. He told them they could eat what they want and use all the hot water they needed. Then he put Richie on a gurney, with Paul’s help, and wheeled him out. Then Patcorn promptly looked them in.

            “I’ll need some privacy for the operation. I’ll let you free when I’m done,” Patcorn assured them.

Three long hours went by. Paul lay crying on his bed, not talking to Roger or Mason. He especially wanted to avoid Tyrone. Paul didn't trust the guy.

 He was finally having time for emotion: his parents, friends, everyone was dead, except for Richie. And if Patcorn couldn’t heal him, the Paul would…He didn’t want to think about it.

“Don’t start bawling now,” said Richie’s voice in his memories. Paul couldn’t believe it had been only fourteen hours or so since his friend had told him that.

Suddenly he heard a commotion outside his room. He heard Patcorn saying something to the others, and another familiar voice.

“Richie!” he exclaimed as he burst out of his room.

“Hey, buddy!” Richard Daley answered. “James here fixed me up, see? Turns out I’m going to live after all.” Richie had a broad grin on his face, but he also looked tired. Paul looked at his arm and saw it was clean and in a proper cast.

“I managed to get all the metal out and sew the wound closed. Thankfully the bleeding stopped hours ago,” said Patcorn.

“Thank you, for saving me,” Richie said, not to Patcorn, but to Mason and Roger. “If you hadn’t helped as much as James says you did, then I-“His voice trailed off. It took a minute for Paul to realize ‘James’ must be Patcorn’s first name.

“He’ll be fine now, except for one thing…” James Patcorn explained, “I think he got some nerve damage, and if that’s so, he might not be able to move his arm well anymore.”

The whole room went silent. Richie cast his eyes at the floor. Paul could tell his friend had already been told this, and that he also felt ashamed about it.

“I’m sure you’ll be fine,” Paul said trying to comfort his friend. He then started giving Richie a tour of the living space.

While that was going on, Roger asked Patcorn;

“Can I have a word with you out in the hallway?” Patcorn nervously agreed.

 “First of all, thank you for saving that soldier. We owe you one.” Patcorn shook his head.

 “No. I owe you, and pretty much all of humanity. You were right, I should have been searching for a cure. A cure to the cure, really. It was an awesome dream of mine. My wife died of brain cancer twelve years ago. She was only 22. I thought I could make something that could save people from things like that.”

“So you invented a virus?”

“Yes and no. It’s stem cells really, designed to find damaged cells, invade and duplicate them, and heal any damage. I just added a bit more- I made it…aggressive, you could say. I meant for it to spread, from person to person, and heal anyone of anything. The strain I created was meant for brain cells and nervous tissue, but they are stem cells, they can be anything. So I made it a contact-spreading heal-all virus.”

“You mean you didn’t know what you were making?” Roger exclaimed angrily.

 “It mutated, after it spread. It was beyond my control…” Dr. Patcorn stammered. “I never meant for this to happen. Once it came in contact with multiple people, somewhere down the line it changed, and became what it is now. It’s like a cancer; it kills your real brain and takes over. The cells long for growth, that’ why they feed on humans, and just about anything else. It’s also why they’re so smart.”

 “Do you know how to kill them?” Roger asked.

“Not yet, that’s why I asked for the sample.”

“What happened to the others who worked here?”

Patcorn paused. “They didn’t do well in the research. Our early samples got loose and…had to be dealt with.”

“So you killed them all?” Roger yelled, enraged.

Patcorn’s face was white. “They threatened to destroy everything-all our work, our progress…Can you imagine what this place would be like, if we’d let hundreds of scared people into this building? It would be a mad house! But that’s what they threatened to do! You see the logic in my actions, don’t you?”

“That’s why you shot down the helicopter?” Roger inquired, trying to piece everything together.

“I thought the military wanted to kill me.”

“They do now, I bet.”

“I probably deserve it.”

Roger kept talking with Dr. Patcorn; eventually exchanging their past-stories. By the end of their conversation, at almost 11:00 PM, Roger was no longer angry. He still didn’t like the doctor’s actions, but he was able to understand most of his reasons.

When he finally re-entered the overnight lounge everyone else was already sleeping. He lay on his bed, not bothering to change his clothes or get under the covers, and within the minute he fell into the best sleep he’d had in nine days. 

                                                                 . -. -..

On the next Episode:

“What is this?” Richie asked.

“My gift- You guys were right. I should have been looking harder for a cure. That-“(he pointed at the metal box) “-is as close as I could get. I think I modified it so it will only attack the virus, but I can’t be sure. There are only eight syringes, so use them wisely. And if I were you, I wouldn’t use it unless you truly need it, because it will cost you.”

“Time…for… you… to…,” Patcorn stuttered. His face was pale and he was starting to sweat. Before he could swipe his ID again, Mason lunged, grabbing the doctor and throwing him to the floor. Paul jumped out of Mason’s way as he bent over to deliver a punch.

“What the hell are you doing?“ Roger exclaimed. 

“There’s no escaping it…” Patcorn whispered 

Time seemed to slow down for a moment, as their eyes followed the rocketing explosive into the side of the building, which burst apart. No fireball. Not, at least, until after the structure had been blown into millions of pieces. As fast as they could, Roger, Mason, Paul and Richie ducked behind the car, which nearly tipped on its’ side in the oncoming shockwave. Following the pressure blast was a wave of heat, then nothing. Debris fell from high in the air.

“No afterlife for you,” Mason whispered with a smile.