When the Stars Fell From the Sky Page 3

  "Let me think about it."

  Chuck slid a second manila folder to Andy. "For now, take a look at this. It's the latest intel speculating on the next wave of bio-terror attacks. I'd love for you and Scotty to begin working on some of the leads that are mentioned in there."

  #

  CDC HQ, Wednesday, 1030 hours

  McCain sat at his desk, reading over the latest intel on the zombie virus. It continued to spread up and down the east coast. It was spreading into other parts of the country, as well, but for now, he was concerned with his own areas of responsibility. The pattern seemed to be that the incidents followed the interstates. People were leaving the cities where most of the infections had started. In some cases, however, some of the fleeing people were also infected and turned during their journey.

  Many other people had contracted the bio-terror virus through the tainted medicine that was still floating around. Part of the original attacks from over a month earlier had involved Iranian agents who had managed to get jobs at different drug distribution warehouses. They had been able to add the virus to hundreds of packages of medicines that were sent all over the country. The CDC and the FBI had been able to intercept some of the packages but many others had been received and used by the person who had ordered them.

  Chuck noticed that there had been four zombie infections on the I-85 corridor, between Atlanta and the South Carolina line. The local police had been able to contain each of the incidents. The four infections were spread out and did not seem to be related. In these four situations, thirteen people had been infected and had turned into zombies, including two police officers and three firemen.

  One of the incidents took place near Hartwell, not far from where Melanie was staying. The police had responded to an aggravated domestic call at a home. Two officers had ended up shooting three people who had turned into zombies. They found that three other family members had been ripped apart and eaten. McCain checked the map and saw that was only a few miles from Brian's parent's house.

  He had not talked to his daughter since the weekend. When the attack took place at the university on Saturday, Chuck had barely managed to escape with Melanie, and her boyfriend, Brian. He asked Brian to take her someplace safe. The campus was on the verge of being overrun and he needed to meet up with his team. He could not function if he had to worry about Melanie. Chuck had already lost Rebecca. He wanted to know that Mel was someplace safe.

  Brian's family lived about an hour away, near the South Carolina border. Chuck had called Melanie on Sunday but they weren't able to have much of a conversation. The wound was still too painful. They both just cried into the phone.

  Melanie and Brian had met Rebecca for the first time last Saturday. And, they had watched her die a horrific death. Chuck needed to talk to Mel and make sure she was ok.

  She answered on the first ring.

  "Hey, Daddy. How are you?"

  "Hey, Mel. I'm better. I spent the day with Rebecca's family on Monday. They're great people. I think they comforted me as much as I tried to comfort them. How about you? How are Brian's parents?"

  "They're so sweet and are taking good care of me. His parents are lay pastors at their church and Brian's mom has prayed with me and let me cry on her shoulder."

  "That makes me feel so much better. I've been worried about you. No one should have to see all the terrible things you saw on Saturday."

  "Yeah, but you see it all the time, Daddy. I don't know how you do it."

  "Somebody has to try and stop this, so lucky me," he managed to smile into the phone.

  "How long do you think I should stay here? There hasn't been much on the news about when the university was going to open back up."

  He hesitated. "Honey, it might be six months or a year before the school reopens. The National Guard are pulling their weight on this one but still haven't declared Athens safe."

  Chuck could hear her crying. "I've tried to call or text all my friends," she sobbed. "I've only heard back from three of them. Two were at the game and managed to get out of the stadium and get to their car when things went crazy. They're both married and live off campus. The other one didn't go to the game. She locked herself in her dorm when she heard what was happening. She just got rescued last night by the soldiers."

  "I'm sorry, sweetheart. We were able to rescue some people on Saturday but not many. Did you hear anything about an incident near where you are staying? Some people were infected in Hartwell Monday and the police had to shoot them."

  "Brian's dad, Tommy, told us about it last night. It's all word of mouth. There hasn't been anything on the news. What do you know?"

  Chuck related the little he knew. He understood that news outlets were being asked not to publish every zombie story they came across. The nation had taken several big hits. They did not need any more panic than was already being felt.

  "Mel, listen to me carefully. Do Brian's parents have a fallback plan? Where will they go if this thing spreads up that way?"

  "Brian told me that his grandparents have a farm a couple of hours from here, near Hendersonville, North Carolina."

  "Ok, that's good to hear. I just want to know that you are going to be ok."

  "I'm worried about you, Daddy. I don't want what happened to Rebecca..."

  He heard her crying into the phone and he felt his own emotions coming to the surface again. "I know. I'm going to be careful but you know this is where I need to be."

  Thirty minutes after disconnecting with Melanie, the phone on his desk rang. Chuck was staring at the computer screen and familiarizing himself with some of the administrative duties that came with his new position. He pushed the speaker phone button.

  "McCain."

  "Chuck, you'll want to talk to this young man," his administrative aide, Vanessa, told him. "He said you know him."

  "Thanks, Vanessa. Put him through."

  "This is Chuck McCain."

  "Mr. McCain, this is Terrence Matthews. You may not remember me but..."

  "Of course, I remember you, Terrence. You really helped us out that night at Six Flags. That was when all this craziness started. How's everything going?"

  When the initial bio-terror attacks were launched in Atlanta, one of the targets was the popular Six Flags Over Georgia amusement park. Matthews was a local SWAT officer who volunteered to help Chuck and Luis clear the large park of zombies.

  There was a silence on the other end of the phone after McCain's question. "Are you still there, Terrence?"

  "Yes, sir. I'm sorry. I'm..." he cleared his throat. Chuck realized the young man was crying.

  "What's wrong, Terrence?"

  Matthews took a deep breath. "Its my little sister, sir. She's a freshman at UGA. We haven't heard from her. Nothing. She told us she was going to the game this past Saturday. She even texted me a selfie of her and her friends laughing inside the stadium right before everything happened. That was our last contact with her."

  McCain felt his pain. "I'm sorry, Terrence."

  "Were you guys at UGA on Saturday, Mr. McCain?"

  "We were there. It took us some time to get organized and get everybody out to Athens. The attacks had been going a while by the time we arrived. It was really bad, Terrence."

  "Did y'all go inside the stadium?"

  "We made one trip in and almost got overrun. All together, we managed to rescue about sixty people. That's it. And we lost an officer."

  "I'm sorry," said Matthews.

  "I'm sorry about your sister," said McCain. "I wish I could offer you some better news."

  "Maybe you can," he said softly. "Is that job offer still on the table?"

  "I thought you were happy where you were at?"

  "I've thought about it a lot. This virus has to be stopped. If you guys have an opening, I'd like to do my part to fight this thing."

  They talked a while longer and by the end of the conversation, McCain knew he had found the officer to fill the hole in Team One.

  CHAPTER THREE<
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  Virginia Highlands Hell

  Virginia Highlands, Atlanta, Thursday, 1400 hours

  The Atlanta Police cruiser stopped one house down from the address they were responding to for a 'Make Contact with Resident' call. Rookie Demetrius Howard was driving. He pushed the "Onscene" key on the computer next to him and then pushed the transmit button on his police radio.

  "113 onscene."

  "10-4, 113," the dispatcher acknowledged.

  "You could've gotten us a little closer, Rookie," observed Field Training Officer, Dexter Long.

  "Sorry, sir. They told us in the police academy to not pull right up in front of a location. They said if we stop a house or two down, we can make a more tactical approach."

  "Those clowns in the police academy haven't worked the street since Jesus was a private. They don't know what works in the real world and what doesn't. Well, let's go check on these people and then get caught up on our reports. It's almost time to go home."

  As the two officers walked up the sidewalk in the upscale neighborhood, Long continued to grumble. His shirt tail was untucked and his leather gear looked every bit of its twenty years of age. That was how long Dexter had worked for APD.

  Both men were African-American but the FTO was short and round while the rookie was tall and trim. He had just graduated from the police academy two months before and was still in great shape from the physical training that the recruits had to participate in.

  Long had learned early on in his police career that it was good to be a field training officer. It had nothing to do with him wanting to train young officers and everything to do with having someone who would handle all the paperwork for him. "I have a driver and a secretary," he would joke with other veteran officers.

  In a perfect world, good sergeants and lieutenants would never allow someone like Dexter Long be a field training officer. He had a reputation for being lazy, or the more politically correct version, unmotivated. The problem was that Dexter had been around long enough to know where all the bodies were buried. He had dirt on his sergeants, lieutenants, a few majors, and several other patrolmen. He even had evidence. Long had snapped some photos of cars parked at girlfriend's houses and strip clubs and even had photos of his lieutenant standing in an apartment doorway, kissing his girlfriend goodbye after a little on-duty action.

  Dexter wasn't malicious. He could care less who did what with whom. As long as the brass left him alone and kept giving him rookies to drive him around and do his reports, he would keep his mouth shut and his photos to himself.

  "So, what do you think this call is, Officer Long?" Demetrius asked.

  "Probably nothing. It came in from out of state. Family says they haven't been able to contact them in a week. They probably just don't want to talk. But, sometimes on a call like this you might find a dead body where someone elderly has passed away."

  There were five newer cars in the driveway of the large brick house. Officer Howard saw that neither the glass storm door nor the front door were closed all the way. There have to be people here, he thought. The cars in the driveway and the doors of the residence partially open seemed to say that someone was here. The FTO is probably right and there is nothing to this.

  Demetrius started to ring the doorbell. His FTO waited for him at the bottom of the steps. Make contact with the residents. Make sure they were okay, tell them to contact their concerned relatives, and then go catch up on their reports.

  An odor coming from the partially open doors made the young officer stop, his finger hovering over the door bell. He could not see inside. The front door was only open about three inches. The smell was strong, though. Something rotten. Something...dead? Howard backed up and joined his FTO at the bottom of the steps.

  "Officer Long, there's something going on here. Can you smell that?"

  Dexter sniffed the air. "No, what am I supposed to be smelling?"

  "I don't know, sir. It smells like something bad. You can smell it real strong by the door."

  The FTO took a deep breath. They should have already been done with this call and he should already be holding his afternoon cup of coffee while the rookie typed reports. He pulled his heavy body up the stairs and stood by the door. He smelled something but his twenty-five years of chain smoking had dulled his sense of smell.

  "Let's do it like this," he told the younger police officer.

  Long slowly and quietly pulled open the storm door. He set the catch at the bottom so that it would stay open and not slam into him. Then he eased the front door open, a little at a time. He heard himself gasp when he saw a set of legs stretched out on the floor, just inside the opening. When he realized that the rest of the body was mangled beyond recognition, he recoiled backwards, leaving the front door standing open.

  Dexter drew his Smith & Wesson M & P 9mm pistol and motioned with his head for Recruit Howard to take a look. The FTO turned his back to the door to call the dispatcher. Demetrius also drew his pistol and took a step into the house to get a better look.

  The smell of decaying flesh hit the young officer in the face. "What do you think did this, sir?" he asked the older officer. Officer Long was still talking animatedly on the radio requesting additional officers and a supervisor. This was going to be a crime scene, Howard suddenly realized. I need to get out of here so I don't contaminate it.

  As he turned to exit, he heard footsteps and then the sound of growling coming from down the hallway. We didn't check the house, he suddenly realized. The killer is still here. The stench of death was even stronger inside.

  Demetrius tried to spin and confront the threat but a man and two teenage boy zombies hit him, knocking him out the front door and down the steps, just missing Dexter. The back of Howard's head hit the edge of the bottom step, fracturing his skull and killing him. The zombies began biting and ripping at the police officer's flesh.

  The older officer raised his pistol to shoot but he couldn't fire because he would hit his recruit. Help was on the way but he knew he had to do something now to help Howard. There was a growl from behind him. A teenage girl zombie charged out the front door and grabbed Long and sunk her teeth into the side of his neck, biting and tearing at his flesh.

  The FTO saw his own blood spurting into the air. He fired his pistol point-blank into the girl's body. Once, twice, a third time. The gun fell from his grip and he collapsed onto the front porch.

  #

  CDC HQ, Thursday, 1445 hours

  The offices were quiet. Eddie and his team had left that morning for Virginia. Team Two had a lead on Terrell Hill and Chuck had arranged for them to fly, utilizing the Department of Homeland Security's Lear jet. One of the CDC Response Teams from Washington, D.C., had met them and would be supporting them on this mission.

  Chuck found Andy and Scotty staring at an aerial map on a computer screen.

  "We may have something here, Chuck," said Andy. "There are a few addresses in that intel you gave me. This one might be worth pursuing. It's about two hours from here and looks like it could be an actual terrorist training location."

  "We were just getting ready to head out there and do a little nighttime recon," said Scotty. "The Marine Spec Ops guys aren't quite as good at those as us Rangers, but I think I can bring Andy up to speed."

  McCain smiled at the banter. "Put that on hold and suit up. Atlanta PD just called requesting some help. They have at least four officers down and a minimum of six zombies terrorizing the Virginia Highlands area off of Virginia Avenue. Three of the Zs are cops."

  "No!" said Smith. "That's one of my favorite areas. That's where Emily and I had our first date, at a little pizza place over there."

  "APD has no idea how these people got infected," Chuck continued. "They responded to a 911 call to do a welfare check. It was a two man car. They told the dispatcher they were onscene and a few minutes later, one of the cops called in a possible homicide. He said there was a chewed up body lying inside the house. That was the last contact.

  "When the
sergeant and other backup units got there, they were attacked. It sounds like they were able to put one of the Zs down but the other three attacked the cops and infected two more. One officer managed to survive and watched the three zombies run down towards all the restaurants, bars, and businesses. Then, he saw one of the original officers reanimate and a few minutes later, the sergeant and one of the patrolman turned into Zs, too. Now, they're getting all kinds of 911 calls from down there. And, of course, the responding cops are paranoid since most of them can't shoot. They're throwing up a perimeter and asking for us."

  Both men were on their feet and grabbing for their equipment. Chuck went back to his office to finish getting dressed. The normal uniform for the CDC Enforcement Unit was gray cargo pants and a black polo shirt with "POLICE" in yellow letters across the back and a sewn-on badge on the front. They wore soft body armor under their polo shirts, capable of stopping handgun rounds.

  For incidents like this one, they all put on their black kevlar lined pants. Their nylon duty belts held a 9mm Glock 17 pistol, two extra handgun magazines, handcuffs, a screw-on suppressor for their pistols and a flashlight. They had black kevlar-lined jackets that were also marked "POLICE" on the back. The kevlar lined uniforms would not stop bullets but had protected them more than once from getting infected by zombie teeth.

  Next came their heavy body armor and web gear. This armor would stop rifle rounds and give more protection against zombie bites. Attached to their web gear were pouches of rifle and extra pistol magazines, a first-aid kit, and a radio. When they got to the location, they would be carrying suppressed Colt M4 rifles and would have black kevlar helmets and kevlar lined gloves.

  Chuck sat in the passenger seat of the black Ford Interceptor and Andy sat behind him. Scotty was driving as fast as he could in the Atlanta traffic. Even with the blue lights and siren activated, it was still a slow go. The big, bearded man was munching on a protein bar as he cut around cars and yelled at the ones he couldn't get around.