Endemic Rise of the Plague
Endemic
Rise of the Plague
By Jeannie Rae
Published by Cursed Pen Publishing
[email protected]
,
www.cursedpen.com
Copyright © 2013
by Jeannie Rae. All rights reserved.
In accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, the uploading, scanning, emailing, and electronic sharing or reproduction of any part of this book without written permission of the publisher constitutes illegal piracy and theft of the author’s intellectual property. If one would like to use material from this book (other than review purposes), prior permission must be attained by contacting the publisher at [email protected].
Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.
ISBN
978-1-3013-5694-2
Title Page art work by Jeannie Rae © 201
3 Jeannie Rae
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, locations and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
For Steward and Aleana,
my inspiration for everything.
–
JR
Table of Contents
FRIDAY
7:12 pm
Crazy Horse Saloon
Dave
’s eyes parted, inviting the dim lighting from his room to cast its buttery glow across his vision. He listened for his name to be called again, half-wondering if he’d only dreamt of it. Wiping beads of sweat from his face and neck, he discovered that he’d neglected to turn on the air conditioner before he dozed off. Rolling over onto his back, he deliberated whether or not to get up and turn it on. As his eyes drooped back closed, he heard his name being bellowed from downstairs. He vaulted off the mattress to a metal footlocker at the end of his bed.
I’m late.
He buttoned his jeans and pulled on his gray, tee shirt. Running his hands over his short, black hair, he eyed the digital clock on the floor. With nearly an hour until his shift, he left his bed unmade, taking a moment to glance back at the room.
The space exhibited signs that a teenager, having just escaped adolescence, lived in this apartment. His box spring and mattress were on the floor—no bed frame or headboard. A cardboard box beside the bed serves as a nightstand and is only burdened by a 30
-watt lamp and a half-empty water bottle. A footlocker at the foot of the bed holds all of his clothes and belongings, inches away from the alarm clock on the floor. Dave previously had the clock on the box-night stand, but after shutting it off in his sleep, twice, he moved it across the room near the kitchenette.
Snatching his shoes, he headed out the door of his studio apartment, after hearing his name called once more.
“Yeah,” Dave called shoving on his shoes as he stumbled down the stairs. He noticed scattered patrons mingling in the downstairs bar, ready to kick off the weekend.
“Listen bro,” Garrison said filing a pint for a middle aged woman at the bar. “I’m going to need you to start early tonight. I’ve already thrown out two guys.”
“No, shit? Yeah, no problem. Were they drunk?” Dave asked straightening himself out while looking in the mirror behind the bar.
“Might have been, they weren’t here ten minutes, before they started stumbling around ready to pass out,” Garrison scoffed.
Dave dipped his head before heading toward the entrance to the undersized bar. He turned back and examined the current clientele. There were twelve customers—four at the bar, three at the pool table and five seated, using two tables.
The Crazy Horse Saloon is an itty-bitty bar, but usually has a decent turnout each night. Dave stood at the entrance letting his eyes drift across the room. Along the wall to his right—in a staggered formation—are nine, round tables with three chairs at each. At the far end of the room is one pool table, an ancient-looking juke box and an electronic dart board beside the doorway to the stairs. The bar is on the left with twelve stools and eleven, lighted candles on the counter. A wall of liquor is behind the bar and an oversized mirror hangs behind the bottles. The center of this place is often used as a dance floor when it really gets packed—after midnight.
Dave’s shift at the bar usually began at eight, but he didn’t mind starting early tonight. Spending six years in the Marines, Dave came back to his hometown with no real place to go. After meeting up with his high school friend—his first day back, Garrison set him up with a job as a bouncer every night and a studio above the bar. Dave has been at it for nearly four months and for the most part, has liked the routine of it all, until lately.
There haven’t been many times when Dave actually had to bounce somebody out of the bar, so it seemed strange that two had already been kicked to the curb, especially so early in the evening. An
oncoming group caught Dave’s eye. Six women were making their way up the sidewalk toward the bar with three men trailing behind.
The lighting outside the Crazy Horse is sparse at best. With no nearby street lights or bright signs, the sidewalk is cast in red from the neon lights around the bar’s windows. By the light of the neon glow, Dave made a quick check of their IDs—all barely of drinking age—and let them in. After overhearing the first girl declare something about
turning the night around
and
having a super-fun time
, he took particular notice of a fresh medical bandage on a wrist of one of the girls. Oddly, the last guy in their group walked with a pronounced limp.
Nothing can stop a group determined to party.
After a short time, another group of three knockouts—a redhead and two blondes—were approaching the bar. It appeared as if they had come from the hospital, only three blocks down.
As Dave checked their IDs, he noticed one of the blondes had a bandage on her neck and the other had one mid-calf—that closely resembled the one he’d spotted moments ago.
This is too strange. Where are all these injured people coming from? Has there been an accident?
“Did you three come from the hospital?” Dave couldn’t help but ask.
“Yeah,” the redhead said rolling her eyes.
“What happened to you ladies?”
“Well, we were chillin at the Hamburger Shack, when like, this group of total weirdoes started attacking everyone. They were like—biting people. It was so gross! Everyone had their phones out, so it’s probably already on the internet. I’d show you, but wouldn’t you know it, our phones aren’t getting any signals. I’m wondering if like a cell tower is out or something. Anyway, these two were bit, but not that bad. But we had to go get it checked out at the hospital. You know, to like, make sure they don’t have rabies or something,” the redhead said cackling. The trio collected their IDs and went straight for the bar.
Looking back in the bar, Dave tossed around the idea that the limping guy and the girl with the wrapped wrist may have had the same type of encounter.
This is bizarre and disgusting—a group of people attacking others, using their teeth as weapons.
He peered up at the television mounted in the corner of the bar. It displayed the news, with the evening anchor at his desk, speaking to the camera, but the crowd in the bar drowned out the sound.
Chatter from outside, drew Dave’s attention away from the news. Turning toward the entrance, another group neared from the direction of the emergency room, and another—not far behind them and one more from across the street.
Are all these people from the hospital?
“Hey you, let her go! Dave!” Garrison yelled from within the bar.
Dave rushed to the bar, attempting to lay eyes on Garrison, with no luck. The little place swarmed with clusters of people. Garrison had vanished from behind the bar. Dave’s eyes scanned the room with no chance in locating is friend. He turned back to the entrance to see that more bandaged patrons were pushing their way into the bar. There were dressings on shoulders, hands, and arms. The bar began looking more like a medic center.
“Dave!” Garrison’s voice sounded, near the pool table.
Dave rushed toward the voice, when a fight started up between the redheaded knockout and a blonde in her group. Before Dave could make it to the girls, another fight erupted between the guy with the limp and a woman. Dave’s eyes found the bartender at last. With blood splashed all over Garrison, he pinned a man in a football jersey to the floor. The man lunged at the bartender, sinking his teeth into Garrison’s neck. Dave hurried to his friend and nabbed the biting man from his grip. Garrison clutched his bleeding neck, and waved Dave off, adamantly claiming to be fine and to get the crazed man out of the bar.
The guy in the jersey had blood spray all over his hands, face and the front of his shirt. The bloody man wiggled and writhed in an attempt to free his shoulders from Dave’s grasp. Wrapping the guy’s hands behind his back, as they pushed through the crowd, Dave
couldn’t believe the strength of this relatively small man. The man had to be at least a foot shorter than Dave, grunting and chomping his teeth at other bar-goers, as he crossed the bar restrained in Dave’s hold. Once outside, Dave instructed the man to take a seat on the curb. Twisting his body and jerking his arms, the man broke free of Dave’s clasp, stumbling a several feet from the curb into the street.
The guy turned around, staring at Dave—who was slightly taken aback by the sight of the man’s frontal view. The deranged man looked repulsive. Pale skin with a dried out texture and dark veins replaced the natural look of a typical person. His absent black eyes cast off
an other-worldly glare. Not bruised eyes, but the actual whites of his eyes were black, as though he were wearing Halloween contacts. Hunching in the road, he glared at Dave with an animalistic ferocity. The man peeled back his top lip, gurgling. He lowered his head and began growling at a volume that muted all other sounds, before sprinting full speed toward the sidewalk. Dave readied himself to take down this psychotic predator.
An older man, in a leather jacket stepped off the curb, and reached into his jacket. Pulling out a handgun, he shot the jersey-wearing-guy above his left eye. His body toppled over, rolling into the gutter.
Dave stepped back numbed by what his eyes had witnessed. He looked at the man with the gun, not sure what he would do next.
The guy in the jersey was out of his gourd, no doubt. He was likely getting close to a beat down at my hands before getting a free trip to county jail. But this man with the gun is a different kind of crazy. Who walks up to someone and shoots them outside a bar, with so many people around as witnesses?
The man lowered his gun and backed up, adjusting his jacket, “You have to shoot them in the head. Otherwise, they just keep coming. They’re demons, man. Don’t let them bite you or you’ll be one too.”
The man turned on his heal to cross the street, jogging into the road, away from the murder scene. He never saw the old Chevy barreling up the street. When the truck hit him, the gun skidded across the asphalt as the man rolled over the top of the cab. When he finally met the pavement, he laid motionless—and the Chevy had disappeared in the distance.
With his mouth ajar, Dave started toward the man in the street. He tried to make sense of what had just come about.
A guy attacked Garrison. Then, that guy was gunned down in the street by some man in a leather jacket—then a truck ran him down and fled the scene. Did I miss something? What the hell is going on around here? We need to cops here, now.
Screams echoed from within the bar. Dave remembered Garrison
’s serious injury.
“Call 9-1-1,” Dave yelled to the crowds gathering around the two bodies in the street, snapping photos with their cell phones.
Approaching the entrance to the bar, Dave stopped short. The scene inside the bar made even less sense than what had transpired outside. Fleeing victims rushed past Dave in an effort to escape the anarchy within. The entire place had erupted in chaos. There were too many fights to count and in such a tiny space, it made it look as if it were one big brawl.
A few of the brawlers were throwing punches and kicking their attackers, but for the most part, biting was a recurring theme among the fighters. Some were even shredding flesh from their victims with their teeth. Nearly all of the people contained within the bar wore blood on their skin and clothes. Dave didn’t know where to start, in getting these people out of the bar. His eyes made their way to the pool table. Garrison
sat on top of it, straddling another man. As Dave took a step forward, he noticed smeared blood on his friend’s face. Then Garrison buried his teeth into the man on the table and ripped the man’s skin from his throat. Tilting his head back and chewing on the piece of flesh wildly, Garrison dipped his head down once more to the man’s throat.
Shattering glass pulled Dave’s attention from Garrison, shifting it to the bar. A pair of women were fighting—pulling hair and shoving behind the bar. The bottles behind the bar were nearly all broken, when a man stepped in to either join the fight or stop it. He jumped over the counter and knocked over two cand
les. The counter of the bar exploded in flames, with the back of the bar catching just as quickly. The fighting women and the man were all set ablaze. The first girl ran out toward the pool table, igniting the floor with each step. Broken glasses and pitchers littered the hardwood floor, along with the alcohol that had been contained inside the glasses. The layer of alcohol coating floor and tables converted from booze to an accelerant, perpetuating the flames. The man and other woman ablaze scrambled toward the tables, lighting everything and everyone in their path on fire.
Dave remembered the fire extinguishers, but they were on the other side of the flames.
“Out of the bar! Everyone out now!” Dave shouted in a cavernous voice.
The crowd
charged toward door. A small-framed, brunette somewhere in the middle of the crowd tripped. She fell faced-down on the floor. Others raced past her to get out of the flaming bar, making it impossible for her to get to her feet. A black boot struck her in the side of the head from a fleeing patron. Dave rushed in and reached for the woman, finding her unconscious. He scoped her into his brawny arms, turning toward the exit, before being headed off by…Garrison.
Garrison’s blackened eyes seemed to slice through Dave. With only one way out of the inferno, the murderous barkeep blocked the exit. His mouth hung ajar, offering a view into his blackened mouth. Blood saturated his skin as though he had lathered it on. Garrison let out an inhuman roar, before launching himself at Dave. Raising his leg, Dave kicked his friend as hard as he could from his stance, while holding the woman.
The punt thrust Garrison toward the flaming bar. As Garrison bumped the counter, his clothes were ignited by the flames. He twirled around, before falling to his knees and groaning in agony. Dave rushed out the door and down the street, escaping the insanity of the combatants, still battling in the street. He laid the woman on the sidewalk, one block down, around the corner. He sat on the ground beside her breathless and in complete bewilderment.