Joshua Schuffler

shiningfist@gmail.com

Chapter Excerpts of Quarantine

Chapter 1

Infectious Disease Research Facility

Username: Victor

Password: ******

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--Welcome Victor--

Please State Business:

Research and test current main priority virus, codenamed: ZOMBIE…

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==Access Granted==

            "I'm the friggen' leader of the team for ZOMBIE! What else would I be doing?!" The man at the control panel named Victor shouted angrily. He personally hated technology, his job, and the entire Infectious Disease Research Facility. Looking back, he had no idea why he even majored in medicine at college.

            He was old, with a balding head and a permanently tired look on his face. His hours were ridiculous, and he didn't get paid nearly enough. But it didn't really matter, because due to the newly discovered virus, he had to stay within the facility.

            He entered the room as the door beside the control panel slid open with a puff of white smoke. Inside the room where three doctors with clipboards, scratching down notes as they looked amazed at a cage. Inside the cage though, was something no human had ever seen before. Inside, was a dead man…walking. Blood, dripping slowly from its missing arm, small sections of its skull showing, and horrid, bloody roars.

            "So, what's special today?" the scratchy and irritating voice of Victor said. He walked in, his hands shoved inside the pockets of his white, doctor's coat.

            "This time….it is more active. It runs at a slow pace, instead of the limp he had yesterday. And he appears to have all around aggression towards us…" said the first doctor, writing down more notes in horrid hand writing. He quickly pushed up his glasses and continued to stare, shaken at the thing inside the cage.

            "So….today it's angry. That's all we need, an angry dead guy! Anyways, did Richard manage to name this virus yet?" Victor asked as he looked closely, face to face with the creature behind the bars. He was rubbing his chin as he narrowed his eyes. A young man in a similar coat, and shaggy brown hair stepped beside Victor.

            "Nope…" said the young man. He looked calmly at the man inside the cage, unlike the two other men near Victor. It was odd, but no one paid mind to it…

            "HOLY CRAP, RICHARD! I'm freaking tired of calling this thing codename: ZOMBIE! When are you going to think of something?! It brings the dead to life! Use that as a basis!" Victor shouted as he looked angry at the man with the shaggy hair. As the tension grew the dead man inside the cage began to roar louder and started banging against the bars.

            "Well….since this is seemingly IMPOSSIBLE, it's kinda' HARD!!! So shut your trap and stop being such an old fart!!!" the shaggy haired Richard shouted as he came face to face with a steaming expression with Victor.

            "I SWEAR! I AM GOING TO REMOVE FROM THIS TEAM AND LEAVE YOU WITH TRUMAN, SO YOU CAN RESEARCH THE FREAKING COMMON COLD!!!! NOW WHICH DO YOU WANT BETTER?!!! THIS, OR SOME PANSY LITTLE SNEEZING CRAP?!!" Victor shouted at the top of his lungs. It wouldn't be impossible that the entire facility could hear him. The creature began to roar. Then it threw up an unidentifiable black substance. After rising from the floor, it began beating loudly on the bars as it vomited more of the goop. Some of it landed on Victor's coat.

               "What the fu-? What is it doing?!" Victor shouted as he put two fingers into the black vomit and looked skeptically at it. The two doctors with the clipboards stared frightened at it.

            "I'm…I'm not sure...it hasn't done this before…" the doctor with the glasses said as he wrote swiftly into the paper on the clipboard. His eyes widened, as he grew more afraid and interested.

            "Wonderful, simply wonderful! Michael, put it under the microscope, find out what this is," Victor said as Richard began to open his mouth to same something, when Victor cut him off saying, "And it's definitely NOT vomit!" Richard then closed his mouth and walked over to the counter nearby, where the doctor named Michael was looking carefully into a microscope, placing a sample of the black substance underneath.

            "Um…sir…this is vomit…it's in an odd color…but its vomit…" Michael said, looking deeper into the microscope, to check if he missed anything.

            "What? Wait….you said earlier that it had a sudden burst of aggression…right?" Victor asked with a slightly shaken voice.

            "Yeah…what of it?" Michael said, turning the spinning chair away from the microscope.

            "If this hasn't happened before…then…" Victor muttered to himself, then said in an extremely worried voice, "oh, dear God!" The creature then, suddenly, burst through the bars and ran after Victor. Victor, hesitating, grabbed a chair and smashed it over the dead man's head. It then turned around and bit Richard on the shoulder. He screamed and the screamed turned into a choke, and the choke….turned into a roar. Richard's eyes rolled into the back of his head, as they turned into an odd yellow tint. Then…

Screams…

Roars…

Blood…

Death…

…Infection…

Chapter 2

Lockdown

            Eventually, the virus spread across the entire facility. Every doctor, security guard, janitor, and maintenance repair man was infected, and turned into a zombie. An elite spec ops team then arrived. They entered the building and began a massive lockdown. The team leader was Lance Creed; his teammates were Gordon Shnar, Carl Edman, Laurence Redz, and Robert Vindel.

            "Alright, we're finally here. Apparently, this is some sort of outbreak of an infectious virus that originated with a living dead guy….a zombie. Then it spread, turning everybody within the facility into a zombie," Lance explained to his team. They all wore gas-masks, and special blue camouflage, and dark body armor.

            "This is something that we, clearly, haven't handled before. Oh, and remember, DO NOT, I repeat, DO NOT LET THEM GET NEAR YOU! They will bite you, and you will become one of them. Also, I have news that if they throw up a black substance, that means that they're gonna come after you, so watch out for that. This is a complete sweep of the building so keep an eye out, and be careful. We need to kill ALL OF THEM! Got it?" Lance said, with his fully automatic M4 assault rifle in his hands. He paced back and forth in front of the team as he talked. Then the team shouted in unison,

"SIR, YES, SIR!"

            The five of them entered the building, slightly crouched, and aiming steadily and carefully with their weapons. Robert, the last in their tactical line, pressed a large, red button on a control panel near the door that set off red alarms as large metal gates covered al exits, and gas was sprayed out of small guns that ascended from the floor. The alarm stopped, there was silence…then all hell broke loose.

            Zombies burst through doors by the dozens. The team backed up shooting them as fast as they could. There was no need for aim, they were everywhere. Bullet after bullet burst with a blam out of each gun. With a zip and splat undead fell as their blood littered the floor. It was chaos.

            Hours later, the team rested in a room, blood splattered across their masks. Gordon was breathing the hardest… he had been bitten. Carl was searching the room for any kind of cure. His search ended without luck, as he punched the walls, cursing under his breath.

            "Look, Carl, why would there be a lockdown, and why would we be here if there was a cure?! Gordon is going to die!! Then he's going to come for us…but we'll make sure he holds out for as long as he can!" Lance shouted, as he sat down, leaning on the counter.

            "N-no…I ca-can't die. I-I'm gonna live…I w-wanna l-live…" Gordon managed to mutter as he used his own blood to draw a cross on the door of the counter. He quickly muttered as he looked at the cross, "I-I'm, s-sorry." Then… he fell silent. Lance pointed pistol at Gordon's head, and with a shaky voice, he said, "I'm sorry too…"

Blam!

            "That son of a—We're gonna end up just like him…we're screwed!" Carl started shouting. He pounded his fist with extreme force on the counter, and knocked a couple of needles and scalpels off it. 

            "Didn't they train you not to panic in situations like this?!!" Lance shouted back at him, as he stood up.

            "There are friggen zombies out there! When did they tell me not to panic over the walking friggen dead?!!" Carl argued. The tension grew and then Laurence found a scrap of paper, with a small trickle of blood spilled on it.

            "To the person who finds this,

            “The day is upon us. We are truth. Stopping them is no use; they are at legions. The quarantine, I know the special operatives will commence, will fail miserably. I am not a tehporP, but I am the true chronicle of what happened here today. tneconni era ohw esoht nwod ekirts llahs ti dnA.

            “-ThE-tRuE-cHrOnIcLe," Laurence read aloud, holding the scrap tightly.

            "What are you babbling about, Laurence?" Lance asked, as he turned away from his argument with Carl. He walked over and looked at the scrap. He read it carefully.

            "This…must be a survivor…But what does this incoherent rambling mean? And what is a tehporP?" Lance asked himself as he read it a couple of more times to confirm what he was really reading. Robert then grabbed the scrap and read it carefully.

            "tehporP is Prophet backwards. As for the rest of it…I can try…not sure it will be accurate though…" Robert continued to scan the page. His eyes raced across the blood stained, torn, and crumpled scrap quite a few times.

            "And it shall strike down those who are innocent," Robert confirmed.

            "What does that mean?" Laurence said, scratching his head.

            "Beats me…" Lance said, as he shrugged. Then an odd message was heard on the intercom. It was a scratchy, raspy, and all around elderly sounding voice. It also had a hint of fear. It was shaky, and included many stutters.

            The message said, "L-Lift thine w-weapon in an effort to defeat it. B-But it w-will n-not f-fall; it is immortal. Tis the e-embodiment of your s-sorrows, y-your h-hatred, your g-greed, e-envy, lust. S-Something that y-you c-created, f-for inside thine a-are n-not h-human. Thine are a s-savage b-beast, s-stopping a-at nothing to d-devour a-and destroy a-another's h-happiness, l-life…soul! I-I w-will live! I-I w-will PROSPER! I a-am The True Chronicle. S-salvation i-is ahead of m-me! But y-your f-futures h-hold darkness."

            Lance lifted his gun. He took off his gas mask, revealing messing, shaggy, and un-combed blond hair. He had an extremely stone-like and serious look on his face.

            Thump.

            His mask hit the floor. He took a small glance at his teammates, an even smaller one at the dead one. Then he said, in a firm, stern, and serious voice, "We need to find that survivor…"

            "No freakin' way! He calls himself 'The True Chronicle'! He's a psycho!" Carl objected. Lance gave an intimidating look towards Carl. There was tension. Lance tore Carl's mask off, threw it against the wall, and gave a firm look, face to face with Carl.

            "Fine…you find him…" Lance suggested. A small smirk flashed across his face, but then swiftly disappeared. Carl then began to sweat. It was almost unnatural how much sweat was running down his cheeks.

            "N-no way I'm going back out t-there!" he said, backing up slightly away from Lance. Lance then stood up straight and gave a devious smile.

            "Then this Quarantine was all for nothing…" Lance said, the smile was gone, as he approached Carl. Lance clearly had no caring for Carl, because at this point… he clearly deserved death.

            "Alright…are we all clear on who's going to lead this search?" Lance asked his team as he turned away from Carl, and towards his team.

            "W-who?" Carl asked from behind Lance. Lance spun around with another devious smile painted across his face.

            "…You…" The smile, once again, had left. Lance grabbed his gun, and opened the door, to meet a zombie. He pulled the trigger, and the zombie's head was pasted across the wall behind it in bits and pieces. Lance signaled for Carl to take the lead, and he did hesitantly. The rest followed, including Lance. They passed hoard after hoard, firing their weapons, but extremely close to running out of ammo. They went through twists and turns, finding some locked doors, more dead ends, and of course…many….many….zombies.  They reached two doors along the same wall. One labeled "Staircase A," the other labeled "Staircase B".

            "Alright, since Carl and the rest of us made it. Good job by the way Carl. Then I'll take leadership back. We'll split up. Robert and I will take staircase A. Carl and Laurence, you take staircase B. We'll communicate through these radios," Lance began to explain as he passed out rectangular, walky-talky like devices. "We will give a report on the situation every five minutes, if you don't respond to me, or I don't respond to you….then it's likely that one of us is dead." Lance said grimly. He pressed a button on his gun and the clip slid out. With a soft click Lance snapped in another, full clip. He put his fingers up and counted down from three to one, and then kicked open the door. He carefully pointed his gun forward and looked cautiously for zombies.

            … Nothing.

            Lance and Robert walked carefully forward and turned to meet a staircase. They went up. It was silent. The only thing that could be heard was their boots clashing with the tiled steps. They, then, reached the top. There was a door. Behind the small, square window with the graph-like lining was a dark figure. Neither Lance, nor Robert could make out whether or not it was a zombie or this so called “True Chronicle.” Then, it began to speak:

            "Hello. Let it be known….I am not a tehporP! I am The True Chronicle! Bringing my recordings, and dairy passages to you, spread across this desolate, lifeless wasteland of a research facility. Ever since the first attack, that spread this horrid plague, I cannot remember my true name. But I can tell you, that it is not important now. For the truth may or may not be revealed, either way, we are doomed to the end. This plague will spread beyond this facility, and this quarantine will have done nothing! Your purpose will be useless, and no one will care for what efforts you put up in here, for they will only care for their survival! Then, I will spread to foreign lands! It will be chaos…no one will be spared! For it does not have the knowledge to do anything but devour and kill. This now is being recorded. All of our movements are being recorded. They have cameras in here! They do not care for whether or not you have destroyed it. For this place shall perish in the end, and they will think it is over. They will be wrong…" The figure behind the door started rambling. It was senseless prophecies of a madman, a madman that claims that he is not a prophet. Or, a tehporp, so to speak. Why he said, and spelled prophet backwards is unknown to Lance and Robert, but they proceed to try and open the door.

            "Sir, you have to open this door! We can help you! We can save you!" Lance started to say. Then the figure began to speak once again.

            "I will not need a savior. In the end, whether or not I escape this horrid place is not important, for me, you, all of us, will be dead in the end. Everything will be gone, and we will walk the earth as a servant of it…" the man said. His madness was revealing itself slowly to Lance and Robert. Then, there was a crackle from the device at Lance and Robert's sides.

            "What's…like on your…nothing…us...hello? La…bert!?" Carl's voice said. The static cut out small portions of his sentences, but the words could easily have been guessed.  Lance picked up his radio and pressed a small button on its side. He then spoke into it: "Yeah, um, we're fine over here. But I think we found this Chronicle guy. But he refuses to let us in the door he's behind."

            Then Carl's voice responded, with some static again, "Well can you…a face. We can at least…ntify him."

            Lance responded again, "Nope, no face can be seen. He's behind a door, and all we can see through the window is a silhouette."

            "Well should…ome over there? It…help."

            "Not necessary. We got this covered; you keep searching for other possible survivors." Then Lance flicked off his communications momentarily, and began to speak with the shadow behind the door.

            "Alright, sir, if we don't get you out of there, you will die…" Lance explained as he began to type random usernames and passwords into the control panel next to the door.

            "I explained before. A savior will not be necessary! We will all die in this horrid day. So what is the use?" the man told Lance. Lance lifted his eyebrow, this man clearly did not care much for his life.

            "Look, nothing is going to spread beyond this facility! We have this covered! No one is going to die!" Lance tried to persuade him. There was no answer. Then, oddly…the shadow had walked away. It returned, but holding some sort of scroll. It was taped to the window. And from Lance's side, it was barely readable. But he could make it out.

            It read: “ThE-tRuE-cHrOnIcLe mustn't die now. His warnings have not been heard. You will find him lurking around the halls, standing in rooms, giving more messages. But for now….he is a mere thought in the back of your head. Continue the voyage. It cannot be stopped but you may carry on.

“-He is not a tehporP.”

            Lance read it carefully. It was speaking in the third person, which then confirmed to Lance that this man was 100% insane. The horrors he saw must have driven him to madness. Lance walked away. It was clear that this man was not coming out under his orders. They went down the stairs, and radioed in Carl and Laurence.

            "Alright, given up hope on getting survivor out of room, meet up at the doors leading to staircase A and B," Lance said over the radio.

            "Ro…er that."

            Lance walked through the open door and waited, tapping his foot for Carl and Laurence.

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    Dan Neumann (Editor): I can tell that you are improving. The following quoted paragraph caught my attention as excellent prose: "Zombies burst through doors by the dozens. The team backed up shooting them as fast as they could. There was no need for aim; they were everywhere. Bullet after bullet burst with a blam out of each gun. With a zip and splat, undead fell as their blood littered the floor. It was chaos." In addition, I only had to correct a few small typos, and your habit of neglecting the comma before said. The only major problem that I'd suggest you work on is writing a sentence like this: "Roger, would you stop tapping me on the shoulder!" the orange-tinted man said, as he removed Roger's hand from his shoulder. Do you see what I mean? You can assume that the reader knows who is talking, and what way they may be saying it, without the author writing it all out. It becomes a bit repetitive. Other than that, this is looking to be an amazing manuscript you're cooking up! I can see parallels to Mary Shelly's Frankenstein.