Episode 104 It Will Rain Fire

On the last Episode of Dead Limit:

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

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

 

             “We got your Mocker, in good condition!” Mason yelled.

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

=====

There was shouting and screaming from all directions. A mass of hundreds of people were banging relentlessly on the perimeter fence of the Stem Genetics facility. Dr. Patcorn himself had just finished setting up the remote sentry guns by the front gate. Even with the threat of being shot, everyone in the crowd continued to plea for entry.

“Oh my god!” someone yelled from the back, “Those things are coming!”

Patcorn could only watch in horror; once he reached the front doors, as over twenty of the terrible creatures attacked the crowd, spraying blood everywhere. A few people tried to rescue the ones being killed, but got bit in the process. A chainsaw roared to life somewhere in the midst of the crowd. He couldn’t watch any longer, and with regret closed and locked the doors. He then used a remote to automate the sentries, allowing them to shoot anything that moves on-sight. Rapid fire shots and horrific screams came through the doors, walls, everywhere; and all Dr. James Patcorn could do is lean against the door, slide to the floor, then helplessly listen to the nightmare he had created…

 · · · — — — · · ·

Day 9 of infection:

Roger awoke to sirens, blaring from all directions, coming from outside. He heard distant booms, and far away jet engines roaring. It’s a total warzone out there, he thought. Opening the blinds of his small window, letting in the mid-morning light fill the cramped bedroom, he beheld a horrific view. Planes were flying high above the city, dropping bomb after bomb. Massive fireballs flared, huge clouds of dust and concrete erupted…and the bomb sirens continued to wail, nonstop, as tools of destruction fell from the sky…

 

They sat eating in silence, savoring every bite as if it was the last food they would ever taste. After watching the military pound the streets of Denver for two hours, they decided to take a quick break- and eat breakfast. It seemed as if the military was taking a break too; for it had been quite for almost fifteen minutes.

“Probably restocking on bombs,” Richie noted. They continued eating their breakfast: waffles, eggs, bacon, and pastries; until they heard a sharp knock at the lounge door. Roger got up and answered it.

“Good morning,” said Dr. Patcorn, who looked incredibly tired. Dark circles encompassed his slightly bloodshot eyes, and he appeared to have difficulty standing straight. “I thought you four were still sleeping; I couldn’t hear you at all.”

“We’ve just been busy enjoying the show,” Mason joked. After taking a big gulp of orange juice he added, “What have you been doing-drinking?”

              Patcorn forced a smile. “Actually, no. After my conversation with Mr. Torrens, I spent the whole night studying the specimen you brought me. I’m truly grateful you did that, because I discovered a lot about it.”

“How could you concentrate with all the explosions?” Paul complained, whining more about the bombs than asking a question.

“I told the military to let the area go. I called a few hours ago, and informed them that napalm would work best. Fire should wipe out the infected, or at least do more than anything else we’ve tried.”

“But the infection has spread past Denver!” Mason exclaimed, “What’s the point in wasting time and ammunition here when-"

“Denver’s at least a start,” Richie intervened. He gave Patcorn a reassuring nod; only he and Roger really understood the man.

“Listen,” Patcorn began, “I know you went through a lot to get here, and just settled in, but-“

“Please,” Roger interrupted, “Let us stay. At least one more night. We did what you asked, and nearly died in the process. It’s not safe out there.”

“Well, I…” the doctor stammered, then nodded. “Alright, fine. One more night…”  Everyone sighed in relief, “If…”

“If what?” Mason demanded. “Giving us another death mission, are you?”

“A few more specimens would help,” Patcorn replied, “It could help with my research.”

“If you want to catch Mockers so bad why don’t you do it yourself.” Everyone except Roger gave Mason a funny look. “What?!” He exclaimed when he noticed. Richie burst out laughing. “You are such a moron,” he told Mason, who looked completely confused.

“The undead are called ‘Seekers’, Mr. Barres.” Paul informed him. Roger looked at them, just as confused, remembering what Mason had told him:

“Their called Mockers, because they learn.”

He looked at Dr. Patcorn, who was leaning against the fridge and listening intently.

“Nobody ever told me that,” Mason defended.” In my town the name caught on. So what?”

Richie shook his head. “Listen, Seekers are the normal ones. The dumb ones that wander and eat and attack. Mockers mimic sounds and actions that they either see or just retain in memory. There are more kinds too; I can’t remember all the names.”

“Different breeds; mutations,” Patcorn muttered. They looked at him, expecting a longer explaination. He sigh, “My team took a sort of census based on the rumors and intel we got when there were still people around to report to us. At day four there was an infected population of over one-point-seven million. Of that number around two hundred thousand had considerable intelligence—the ones you call ‘Mockers.’ That’s one in every ten reanimates. Another five thousand had extreme mutations.”

“Zombie warriors,” Tyrone pitched in as a joke.

The numbers shocked Roger-he hadn’t been around to witness the spreading of the infection, and couldn’t believe what he was hearing. At least four million Mockers. Of course, out of seven billion the number seemed extremely small. But he, along with all the survivors in Colorado, knew that if the infection escaped the state, it could easily spread to the rest of the world.

There was a moment of silence, which Roger used to an advantage. Standing up he said, “We only just got comfortable. Please, don’t send us back out there. Not yet, even to gather more of those things for your research.”

Dr. Patcorn took a deep breath, then said; “I need two more before dusk. You can get the job over with now or wait until later, but it must be done today, or this day is wasted.” He left the room briskly, leaving Roger feeling hopeless.

“Nice try, buddy,” Mason comforted. “It shouldn’t be that hard anyways, right? We’ve done it once—“

“We can’t do it again,” Roger sighed. Paul and Richie looked at them expectantly; and Tyrone peered out the window. “Hey, guys…” he said in a worried tone, “If capturing’s what you got to do I don’t think you have to go very far…”

Richie shot out of his seat and dashed to the window. “They sure get around, don’t they?” he wondered aloud. Roger approached the window, and gasped. On the other side of the high chain-link fence, like water building up behind a dam, were hundreds of the undead.

Mason glanced at the sentry guns. “Security’s down,” he observed.

“If they break through…” Paul began.

“They will not,” Patcorn said behind them. They looked at the remote in his hand. “As soon as you get out there I will open the gates. Take the first two you reach, I don’t care about the condition. I won’t keep the gate open long, but I’ll have control of the crows so they shoot the infected. Whenever you feel ready—“

“What the hell are we waiting for?” Mason demanded. He went into his room and returned with his axe. “Get that gun you salvaged from the wreck,” he told Roger. For a second Roger forgot what Mason was talking about. “What g—oh…” now remembered- among the debris floating near the shore after the helicopter crash had been an automatic rifle. He got up to go fetch it. Tyrone remained at the window. Richie cracked his knuckles, muttering under his breath. Paul noticed and shook his head. “Don’t go out there,” he told his friend. “You… still injured…” he wanted to avoid using the word ‘weak’, knowing it would offend Richie. He knew that his friend wanted nothing more than to go outside and slaughter all the undead. They both knew that was impossible.

“I’ll be fine,” Richie assured him, rubbing his cast, “I still have one good arm.”

Tyrone looked at him like he was insane. “You think you can take fifty at once? ‘Cause there’s at least that many just at the gate!” They heard the dorm door close down the hall.

“Those guys are doomed. It’s a trap,” Tyrone went on.

“It’s not a trap,” Richie snapped. “It’s just a death sentence, that’s all…” He and Paul burst out laughing. Tyrone rolled his eyes and watched as the Roger and Mason walked down the sidewalk path to the gate. As they reached it the gate slid open a few feet. The infected burst single-file through the opening. Mason ran at them, brandishing his axe and yelling. Roger stood back, shooting at the ones coming through the gate while Mason knocked three to the ground. He began dragging the flailing corpses to the door.

Paul noticed the gate was still open as Mason and roger pulled the creatures into the building, one of them leaving a trail of red on the white sidewalk.

“Its not closing!” he pointed out. All three of them held their breath when they saw the creatures pull the gate open further.

“Oh, crap!” Tyrone yelled. Suddenly the sentry guns revved up, swiveled on their bases, and opened fire. A line of bullets sliced across the courtyard, mowing down everthing that moved. bodies exploded everywhere, sending up a cloud of red. Paul and Richie cheered, throwing high-fives and whooping in joy. Tyrone sighed in relief. "I'm going back to bed," he umbled.

 

Day Ten of Infection:

“I took the liberty of preparing ‘survival packs’ for you,” Patcorn was saying, “each contains two weeks’ worth of MREs, some medical supplies, a switchblade, a water filter-bottle, a 10 millimeter pistol with 40 rounds, and cigarette lighters.”

“Lighters?” Paul questioned, “But aren’t those things attracted to fire?”

“Just so you know, none of us smoke,” Mason added. The evening had gone buy with few events; after he and Roger dragged three struggling Seekers into Dr. Patcorn's lab they'd returned to the dorm to rest. Nobody felt like doing anything that day. Now their time was up, Dr. Patcorn was kicking them out. Mason knew Roger wanted to stay longer, but he didn't trust the place, or the doctor. He wanted to leave.

“Well, we could start campfires and stuff with them…” Richie defended.

“That’s one use,” Patcorn explained, “but last night I tried a little…test and found out those things are flammable, literally. They burn more readily than oil. Or at least the subjects you gave me did. No assurances for the rest, but you can take the lighters as a precaution or just for convenience if you like.”

“How do they burn? So easily, I mean?” Paul asked.

“I think it’s some kind of secretion from their pores, maybe the same stuff they use to identify each other as infected hosts.” Patcorn shrugged.

“Burnable sweat,” Mason joked.

“More like waste that is liquefied and expelled from the skin.” Patcorn replied.

“Gross,” Paul muttered. However it did sort of make sense- he’d seen Mockers eating person after person but not growing much. He had wondered where the zombies’ food went.

“It is, I believe, the quickest, cleanest, and easiest way of destroying them.”

“You’re probably right!” Mason suddenly exclaimed, with a look of sudden realization... He understood exactly what Patcorn meant. The only way he knew how to ‘permanently’ disable a Mocker was to cut off its arms and legs, leaving it immobile and defenseless. Since the virus grew into a sort of second ‘brain’ and nervous system, and spread throughout the host body. Each part, once cut off, actually had a still-working ‘mind’ of its’ own. The Mockers could live without a head, but burning the creatures would kill the virus and destroy the host body completely!

“Man, if your fire-theory is right, I’ll take back everything I said about you yesterday,” Mason said excitedly. He looked impatiently at the nearest window. From across the table, Roger could practically see burning zombies in Mason’s eyes.

“Come to my lab when you’re done eating, so you can get your packs. I also made a….gift for you. Not much of an apology, but I hope it was worth making.”

Roger took a last swig of orange juice and got up. “I’ll come now, if you’d like.” Paul and Richie got up as well, but Mason remained at the table, saying, “I’d like to finish what might be my last meal, thank you.”

The three men followed the doctor down the hallway, around a corner, and entered the first door, marked Genetics Research.

Patcorn took an employee ID card out and swiped the scanner. The door unlocked and they excitedly entered. Bright lights instantly turned on, giving them a good look at the lab. A counter with a sink and many cupboards containing who knew what, stretching around three sides of the 400 square-foot space, was covered in a clutter of bottles and boxes and other containers. In the center of the room was blackened gurney, with the ashes, bones, and burned flesh remains of the Mocker they had brought in last night.

Patcorn walked across the messy room to a big cupboard on the far side. He opened it and brought out four backpacks, and a small metal container covered in various warning signs. Roger and Paul each took two, and Richie took the container.

“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.”

“What’s it made from?” Roger asked, slightly suspicious. Tyrone leaned against a counter, looking intently at the container.

Patcorn sighed. “Modified HIV virus, designed to attack the stem cells instead of T-blood cells. It’s the best I could think of, and there’s no guarantee it will work."

"Aw, man," Tyrone shook his head. Paul hung his head in dissapointment.

“It’s the thought that counts.” Richie mumbled. Roger, however, had a different opinion.

“HIV? That’s it? So we have to like with-a life with either one virus, or the other?”

"You trying to make us sick?" Tyrone exclaimed.

“Human Immunodeficiency Virus takes years to take effect. If, by chance, the HIV strain reverts to normal form, you would at least stay alive a lot longer than you would with the alternative.” Patcorn suddenly winced and grabbed his left arm, for just a second, then continued,  “You should leave soon. I scheduled a military lift to pick you up in thirty minutes.”

            He went over to the door and reopened it with his ID, just as Mason burst in.

“I thought you guys were in here!’ He gasped. “I’ve been running down every hall trying to find you but these walls are freaking sound-proof!”

“Sorry about that,” Patcorn replied, then rubbed his arm.

“We thought you were stuffing your face.” Richie retorted. Tyrone luaghed.

“Yeah, well, I got full.” Mason snapped.

“Time for you to go,” Patcorn reminded them. Mason stepped forward and took one of the backpacks. “What’s in the box?” he asked, seeing the container in Richie’s arms. Paul heard Tyrone whisper something like "STD". he looked at the teenager and held a finger to his lips.

“A cure, maybe.” Roger answered, then to Patcorn he asked, “Could you unlock the door for us, again?”

“Sorry about that,” Patcorn replied, and again rubbed his arm. He winced for a moment and stepped towards the door. “The outer doors open from my computer, so…” he seemed to lose his train of thought for a moment. Looking confused he looked at the others, who were now watching him intently.

“Time for you to go,” Patcorn mumbled. He took a swipe at the door lock, but missed. Paul’s eyes suddenly widened, and Mason gave Patcorn a look of strong hate.

“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.

“He’s infected! This damn murderer is infected!” Mason yelled, punching Patcorn right in the ribs. The doctor winced but did not cry out. Roger managed to pull the fuming Mason away from Patcorn, who was wheezing on the floor.

“Goddamn it, Mason, we need him, so he can unlock the door!”

“Oops,” Mason grunted, not taking his eyes off Patcorn.

“There’s no escaping it…” Patcorn whispered, “The military will level this building in about five minutes. Even if you make it out, they will get you, like they got me.” He laughed for a moment, then gave them a sorrowful look. “No...Escape…” A memory flashed through his mind, over and over: the creature he had just set on fire, waking up and lunging, biting his arm and then releasing him as the rest of its’ neck burned away…

Mason moved forward to hit the dying doctor again, but Roger stopped him, unzipping his backpack and bringing out a pistol. To Mason’s delight it was loaded, and he tried to grab it. Roger pushed him aside and aimed carefully at the doctor’s head. Patcorn’s eyes, no longer bloodshot, widened. “I’m coming, Nora,” he muttered. Richie stared in shock at his savior, dying before him. He looked at Roger, then at the gun. Roger understood and handed the weapon over.

            Taking aim, Richie said sadly; “Humanity forgives you,” and fired.

 

“Who’s Nora?” Tyrone asked after a few minutes of shocked silence. Mason stood sulking by the door, having wanted to be the one to make the shot.

“His wife- She died of brain cancer a few years ago.” Roger explained.

“Not to upset you or anything, but I think I heard the man mention something about this place being leveled.” Mason said impatiently.

“How do we get out? The outer doors will still be locked!” Paul cried.

“The computer isn’t logged in; we’ll have to break out.” Roger replied. He walked over to the far corner, where a monitor sat waiting. A loud boom suddenly caught their attention, sounding near.

“Military’s at it again.” Mason muttered.

Roger was at the computer, trying to remember any keywords Patcorn might have mentioned.

“Try Nora,” Paul told him.

Roger typed NoraPatcorn in the password bar. He thanked the doctor for not requiring a username.

Another, louder boom sounded through the room.

“They’re getting closer!” Mason shouted.

 

They made it out with seconds to spare. After succeeding in unlocking the exterior doors and shutting down the sentry turrets, they used Patcorn’s ID to open the lab door. Taking their backpack, the ‘cure’ container, and retrieving their guns (and mason’s axe) from their bedrooms, they ran to and out the front doors. Just in time. After throwing open the front gate and dashing to the car, they turned and watched as and F-35 approached and launched a missile directly at the Stem Genetics building.

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, Tyrone 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.

They stared at the burning remains of the infamous lab for a minute, and then solemnly got in the car after placing most of their supplies in the trunk. Roger was glad he’d left the tents in the car.

“Here comes our ride!” Richie announced, pointing towards the freeway. A helicopter was descending towards the shopping lot.

 

Four minutes later, tires screeching on asphalt, Mason brought the car to a stop forty feet from the chopper. A bleeding soldier approached them, holding an M16. There were several Seekers closing in around him.

“You Patcorn’s survivors?” he shouted over the spinning blades as the four men got out.

“Yes,” Roger answered while getting the supplies out of the trunk.

Mason eyed the soldier suspiciously, but helped Roger with the tents and weapons.

“Who are you, sir?” Paul asked as he and the others followed the soldier to the waiting helicopter.

 “Sergeant Rudolph. Former Sergeant, I mean. The pilot and I have gone AWOL. Hope you don’t mind flying to Colorado Springs.”

They boarded the helicopter, which began lift off. Suddenly one of the Seekers below jumped, eight feet straight up, somehow grabbing Tyrone's leg. "Shit!" he screamed as he tried to kick the creature away. Rudolph aimed his gun, but Tyrone lost balance and fell in the way of the first bullet, which peirced his shoulder. He screamed as he was pulled out of the rising helicopter, hitting the pavement head-first with a sickening splat. The Seeker that fell with him, along with several others close by, began tearing the teenager's back into fleshy shreds.

They looked away in disgust as one of the monsters tore open the rib cage and pulled out Tyrone's heart.

Once they reached a hundred feet the pilot accelerated forward, flying south as quickly as he could. Everyone strapped into the row of seats except Rudolph, who due to no room had to stand and hold on to the cabin frame.

"Where are we going?" Richie hollered over the wind and rotors. "I thought you'd be taking us back to base!"

"Can't," Rudolph told him,"they evacuated last night. Should see why any minute now. Just watch!"
Richie looked back at downtown. A B-2 was flying four miles above. As they reached the edge of the urban sprawl, everyone watched as the B-2 dropped a large object (small to their eyes). Another minute later, they covered their faces as a bright flash all but blinded them. A sound like ampliefied thunder hit their ears, a deafening blast that drowned out the other noise. They could only watch in horror as a mushroom cloud rose up from the no longer existing area that was downtown Denver.

. -. -..

On the Next Episode:

“I can’t believe they nuked it,” Paul muttered.

”Probably killed thousands of mockers though” Mason remarked.

 

“We’re looking for any fortified places flying a white flag,” the pilot reminded them.

“Why are we looking for people here? Why can’t we just fly as far away as possible?”

“Because the military isn’t allowing anyone else to cross the state border, that’s why” the pilot snapped. “They’ll shoot us down on sight. No chance that infection can escape, they said. Right. That’s why they ended up nuking Denver. Stupid politics.”

“Looking for a camp? ‘Cause NORAD is not the way to go.” the old man told them.

“We assumed so, but we thought there’d at least be people outside and in the area.”

“Not since Tuesday. They left in a hurry, most of the folks still alive in the city did. Headed for the border.”

 

 

Then Roger noticed someone in the crowd, recognized immediately the woman’s face. He stopped walking, and stared, in awe and disbelief, wondering what evil force had twisted his luck this far. For there she stood, alive and well, not five yards away...