


Contamination

by Gamov



Category: Quarantine
Genre: Horror
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2009-09-11
Updated: 2009-10-20
Packaged: 2013-09-18 05:57:20
Rating: T
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,688
Publisher: www.fanfiction.net
Story URL: http://www.fanfiction.net/s/5370577/1/
Author URL: http://www.fanfiction.net/u/1672618/Gamov
Summary: They thought they had done their job. They thought it had worked.... But they would soon be proven horribly wrong.





	1. Chapter 1

Okay, a brief note to this before reading. I recently decided that it would be fun to write a zombie horror/survival type thing. But Resident Evil has been done to death and Dawn of the Dead is too linear for my tastes, then I remembered Quarantine. Okay movie with a strange plot that was only sort of explained (ala Cloverfield style, which is a touch annoying). So, I thought I'd challenge myself and try to expand on a back story that really didn't exist in any tangible form in the movie. This picks up, more or less, where the movie ends (with some twists thrown in for good measure). Now, that being said, I'm a bit rusty at writing full out fanfic type things. So I can't really promise stellar quality for the first few installments. lol.

In any event, hope you enjoy it and reviews are welcomed (as usual).

* * *

Outbreak

Part 1:

0300 Hours:

The door to the front lobby swung open slowly, its hinges creaking as the muzzle of a rifle protruded from behind the solid oak paneled door. Outside, flashing lights tinged the face of the apartment complex in various hues of red and blue as the strobing lights from several rescue vehicles flickered in the streets. The front entrance was suddenly bathed in a piercing white-blue light as a helicopter made a low pass over the roof of the building, its rotors clearly audible on the ground level, disturbing the protective plastic sheeting that draped the apartment from top to bottom, causing it to flutter in the wake of the down draft caused by its passing. The chopper soon continued on, circling the structure and flooding the windows on each floor with its searchlights, looking for any signs that the quarantine may have been breached before the hazmat teams were sent in. The helicopter hovered for a moment near the front right corner of the building before the pilot opened his communication channel.

"_We have no signs of movement. Bravo Two-Zero, you are clear to proceed."_

The message crackled over the radio to the ground team, and they responded in kind. Clicking on the light to his tac-rail mounted flashlight, the first soldier took a few tentative steps through the open door and into the darkened interior. He advanced cautiously, breathing steadily from behind his gas mask as he used the light from his rifle to illuminate his surroundings, scanning the lobby and flooding a small periphery of the dim room with light before he began to sweep it across the vestibule, passing over the tiled floor to the nearby wall housing the mailboxes. Holding the stalk of his rifle close to his shoulder and gripping the fore grip tightly in hand, his index finger resting gently on the trigger as he moves his thumb upwards slightly, deactivating the safety, he passed his light towards the stairwell, finding the deceased body of a woman who had been cuffed to the banister. Her limp, motionless body sprawled out on the steps, her skin and clothes soaked in blood that had poured from deep wounds on her neck. Taking only a moment to eye the sight, he scanned back to the left towards a vacant elevator, the floor stained by a large pool of blood that emanated from the corpse of a dog, its head appearing to have been smashed in with a blunt object of some kind. Silently, he gives a hand signal to someone behind him, waving his hand forward, instructing them to follow.

Instantly, eight more soldiers move in, single file, their guns at the ready as their lights dart about the room, searching every darkened corner for any sign of movement or life.

The lead soldier scans a doorway at the back of the room beyond the stairs with his rifle, finding a minuscule smear of blood on the floor just in front of a large metal door that separated the rear of the building from the front. He reaches a hand up to the radio on his shoulder and depresses the push to talk button. Speaking into the mic, his voice somewhat muffled from behind his mask. "This is Bravo Two-Zero. We've entered the apartment building, no signs of life on the ground floor." He said, his words doing little to paint the truly grizzly nature of the scene in full for the biohazard teams that were waiting in the wings behind he and his men. But now was not the time for detail, his mission was specific, secure the building and prepare it for decontamination.

Looking back at the rest of his men who had entered just behind him, he issued his directive. "Richards."

"Sir?"

"Set up a perimeter, secure this floor and call in the hazmat teams for clean up."

"Yes, sir."

"The rest of you, sweep and clear this place floor by floor. Keep it tight and don't go anywhere alone. Understood?"

His commands were met with a mixed reaction of nods and "yes, sirs" before a small group of men brushed past him and proceeded towards the rear of the building as the remainder of his men fell in line behind their commander and prepared to follow him.

With his men in action and doing what was needed, he continues forward, approaching the stairs, keeping his eyes and rifle trained on the woman, stepping over her and on to the first step, cautiously making his way to the first landing where he aimed his attention up the next flight, sweeping the walls and floor with his flashlight. Everything was dark outside of the influence of his light, coupled with the low peripheral he had inside the stifling mask, it was damn near impossible to make anything out until you were right on top of it. "_Damn quarantine regulations. Who's bright idea was it to cut the power in here anyways?_" He thought, irked at the dismal situation into which they had been placed.

Squinting through his goggles and focusing his vision into the center of his light, the soldier moved forward and raised his foot, planting it firmly on the next step up before he glanced back down into the lobby towards the others.

The two men who were supposed to be covering his back were busy gawking over the sight of a dead body and had lost all focus. Speaking harshly, he brought them back in line. "Park! Newman! Get your heads out of your asses and focus damn it!!" His stern order was again baffled by the mask, but it made its point, catching the attention of the two soldiers and calling them to the first landing.

Hurrying to his position, Park apologized. "Sorry, Captain." He said in a low voice.

The Captain sighed in frustration. "Don't be sorry, be alert and do your job." He said over his shoulder before resuming his climb up the staircase, the others close at his back as they neared the top.

Taking that final step up to the landing on the second floor, the Captain did a quick recon of the open apartment door to his right, peering into the darkened room for a moment, shining his light down the main corridor into the living room. Finding it seemingly empty, he shifted his attention left, giving another hand signal to the soldiers behind him to continue their advance as he maintained his active sweep of the floor in front of them, running his light over the line of doors on the right hand side of the corridor as the men behind him filed up the steps onto the second floor landing. As the Captain led the way towards the stairs leading to the third floor, a loud crash was heard emanating from somewhere above their position.

Reacting in an instant, the Captain's hand shot up, his fist clenched in the standard "hold position" signal, bringing an abrupt halt to the advancing line of soldiers. They held their ground, waiting for something, anything, a myriad of lights suddenly focused on the stairwell leading to the third floor.

Anxiety built in the cramped hallways of the building as the commotion above increased and seemed to be moving in their general direction. The Captain gripped his rifle tightly in his hands as his pulse raced. He fought to calm his breathing and hold his nerves steady to ensure that his aim would be true should a hostile entity show itself. His mouth felt dry and his heart seemed to be beating out a deafening rhythm in his head as beads of sweat formed on his brow and palms. His knees felt weak, almost as if they could give out at any second. Yet, in spite of all of the physical maladies assailing him, the adrenaline coursing through his veins negated his conscious recognition of his anxieties. Instead, it gave rise in him to an unparalleled sensation of invulnerability and awareness. He somehow felt connected to every one and everything in the room. He could read the actions of his men with exceptional clarity as they waited at his side with bated breath for whatever was coming their way. His rifle felt as if though it was not a tool, but an extension of his person. The adrenaline was slowly, but surely, altering his mental state. In place of his trepidations was an almost fearless intrepidity and sense of security.

Suddenly, an inhuman shriek pierced the silence, drawing everyone's attention upwards in time to catch the rapid movement of a figure as it rounded the first turn on the way down from the top story to the third floor landing between floors. It was too fast for anyone to comprehend at first, but once the thing came into full view on the landing, several dozen flashlights suddenly converged on its form in the darkness, it became obvious what it was. The tattered remains of an L.A.P.D. Officers uniform identified them with clarity as one of the officers who had first responded to the disturbance over five hours ago. If he had been human once, there was little indication of that now outside of his still human form. Foam built up on the person's mouth and lips, their pupils tightly constricted, flinching at the sudden introduction of light into the dank conditions they had become accustomed to over the hours here. Blood seeped out from deep neck wounds and stained the normally white T-shirt beneath the black uniform shirt a deep sanguine red. For all intents and purposes, there was little reason to believe this thing was even human anymore.

The Captain stared back at the creature for a moment, his mind wracked with disbelief at what he had come face to face with. The officer stood at the top of the stairs for a moment, equally stunned by the presence of the soldiers, before it let out another scream and advanced on the small squad, hurling itself down the stairs towards the first solider to come within arms reach.

Reacting to the threat without a moments pause, the Captain gave his orders, squeezing his trigger first and letting a controlled burst of the 5.56mm rounds from his M16-A2 penetrate the thing's chest. "Fire!!"

Soon, the entire squad followed suit, unleashing an obnoxious cacophony of noise inside the building, their combined efforts bringing a quick end to the grotesque creature's existence as it fell short of the squad and crumpled up in a lifeless heap near the bottom step, its chest riddled with multiple entry wounds from several dozen direct hits.

It took a moment for the events to sink in and process inside the Captain's mind, but he finally came back around, the radio on his shoulder snapping with static as a frantic tone kept calling out for a report.

"_Report! Captain, report!.... Report now!! What is the situation?_"

Reaching a hand up, he keyed the mic and replied. "We encountered a.... A...." His mind struggled to cobble together a viable response. They had been sent here under the assumption that this was a terrorist attack of some sort. But terrorists don't turn people into ravenous zombies that attack other people on sign for no reason. Capitulating to that one thought, the only thought that fit at the moment and answered the question. "It was a zombie, sir." Releasing the button on his radio he almost couldn't believe that word had slipped out of his own mouth.

"Zombie". That was just a scary creature made up by Hollywood so they had an excuse to make movies. At least, that's what he thought they were. They didn't actually seem plausible.

An eerie silence filled the second floor hallway as a pause overtook the radio waves for a moment, all communications seemed to cease as a new plan was, presumably, being formulated by the CDC. And, on many levels, the Captain hoped that they were going to order them back outside to seal the place back up. Hell, at this point, if their new plan was to bomb the place to rubble, he would be all for it. This place gave him the creeps and set his mind ill at ease, even more so now that he had encountered what they were truly up against. He eyed the dead officer on the bottom step, wondering what kind of disease or biological weapon could do this to a normal human being. Turn them from a docile person into a violent maniac with a blood lust. It didn't make sense, and, maybe, in a lot of ways, he didn't want it to make sense. Perhaps the truth behind the matter could be more terrifying than whatever was going on here in this little corner of the world.

Suddenly, a voice crackled over the radio into his ear, startling him at first and causing his pulse to momentarily rise before he calmed himself upon realizing what it was.

"_The plan proceeds as usual, Captain. Clear that building and prepare it for decontamination._"

He was just about ready to reply to the voice when it interrupted him again.

"_And, Captain.... There were no survivors. Understood?_"

The order stunned him and took him by complete surprise. Murder survivors? What the hell kind of mess had been unleashed here that would warrant that kind of call? Just to be sure he got that right and it wasn't a figment of his imagination, the Captain clicked his mic on. "Sir?"

The voice repeated the ultimatum again, a harsh, cold disposition to it that defined the order in no uncertain terms. "_There were no survivors, Captain Masterson.... Are we clear?_"

Masterson swallowed hard when the words were repeated to him. Much to his chagrin, he had not misheard them. His superiors were actually ordering him to shoot survivors on sight to keep a lid on things. Responding as steadily as he could, he confirmed that he had received the orders clearly. "Understood, sir. Bravo Two-Zero out."

Turning back to his squad, Captain Masterson could hardly believe the order he was about to relay to his men. It took a second for the words to form, but he finally forced them out. "We proceed as planned.... Survivors are to be treated as liabilities. Shoot everything on sight."

Simply reiterating those chilling words was enough to deliver a twinge of sickness to his gut, and he could tell by the body language exhibited amongst the men of his squad that the order had not landed well with them either. But they were soldiers, trained to follow orders. And he was their leader, trained to set the example. Turning his attention back up the stairs, he led his men forward once more into the breach, where their resolve and mettle would undoubtedly be tested to near its limit.


	2. Chapter 2

Outbreak

Part 2:

Darkness. That's what everything was in those few seemingly eternal minutes before Angela's eyes suddenly snapped open as a low monotonous thumping suddenly rose up from some unknown location, bleeding into her perceptions before it abruptly stopped and faded out again. Her eyes scanned the blackened room, quickly darting around, trying to find any visible shape to help guide her. Her vision was bleary at first, her surroundings composed of little more than vague, hazy shapes in her oddly horizontal perspective. She closed her eyes tight to refocus them, letting out an acute grunt of pain before reopening them. Her whole body seemed to ache from fatigue after hours of running and being relentlessly hounded by those things.

She slowly re-opened her eyes, this time finding the barely identifiable silhouette of her left hand, laying flat on its palm a foot from her face, its form obscured by the darkness. As her strength and senses began to costively return, she twitched she fingers slightly as a tiny sliver of pale white light pulsed up and washed over the floor, briefly illuminating the room in front of her before vanishing as quickly as it had appeared. The sudden flare of light caught her attention, flashing in her eyes and causing her to briefly shy away from its intense glare, her vision having been deprived of light for hours since the lock down had been implemented. As the light faded and eventually dissipated, Angela cautiously returned her attention to the direction from which it had emanated, moving slowly as she pushed herself up from the floor, fixing her eyes towards the location from which the light had come. In this dark abyss, it was impossible to tell where she was or what was going on for sure, but the momentary flash of light had given her a little sense of direction. She cautiously worked herself to her knees, swallowing hard before reaching out slowly with a trembling hand to feel her way around her unfamiliar surroundings. Her breathing was shallow and rapid, her pulse racing, her throat felt dry and her palms seemed to be drenched in sweat while her heart beat out a hectic rhythm in her chest as every nerve in her body seemed to be paralyzed with fear. She inched forward slightly from where she knelt, moving her other hand over the floor and quietly brushing aside some old papers before she dragged her leg forward, tentatively crawling across the floor on her hands and knees, trying to stifle her own noise output as much as possible by meticulously picking her way towards where she thought the door to the room was.

For a moment, her progress was steady, her movements guarded and reserved as she continued to blindly feel her way through the room. Suddenly, her finger tips touched the edge of something, brushing over the smooth plastic object. She paused as her hand felt the shape of whatever it was she had found. In her mind, she was trying to place an image to whatever it was she thought it was she was touching, but nothing came to mind immediately until her fingers skimmed over the unmistakable profile of a camera lens.

"_Oh thank god._" She though as she eagerly grabbed the camera with her hands, fumbling it around at first as she attempted to right it in her grip. Eventually, she found the eye-piece. From there, it was just a simple matter of taking a look through it with the night vision mode, assuming the battery still had enough juice to provide her with it. As she brought the camera to her eye, she prayed that the night vision was still working, if only to give her a slight level of comfort and security in being able to see again. But a part of her was apprehensive at first, her mind, working almost against her own will, was continually conjuring up a brutal imagination of what horrors the darkness hid that she had been oblivious to thus far. She partially expected to find herself surrounded by a horde of infected people and half prayed, and half hoped, that the camera had been broken, just so she wouldn't have to see it, to know how hopeless her situation truly was.

Angela drew in a few deep breaths in an attempt to calm her frayed nerves and stifle her trepidations as she carefully moved to her feet, standing slowly as she brought the camera to her eye and panned it around the room. To her complete shock, the night vision mode was still functioning with clarity and precision, painting the environment in a green tinted hue, amplifying what scarce light there was to give her a clearer picture of her surroundings.

She did a quick scan of the room from her position, finding it completely deserted, much to her great satisfaction and relief. The picture in the camera lens trembled slightly, her hands still shaking as the fight to keep her nerves under control was turning out to be a continual competition for her. She inhaled a couple of deep, calming breaths, which really did not help much at all to quell the overwhelming sense of anxiety in her. The perpetual knowledge and panic of realizing that she was completely alone in the dark relentlessly assaulted her, chipping away at her will and her resolve. For a moment, she remained perfectly still, unwilling to move from her spot as she tried to work up the nerve to move forward. But, try as she might, her mind seemed to be crippling her body with fear, playing out every possible scenario as ending in her slow, painful death if she were to move from this place.

Suddenly, an unexpected crash drew her attention towards the left side of the room. Reacting with a sharp gasp of mixed shock and horror, Angela froze in place and snapped her attention in the same direction, focusing the camera on an empty doorway. At first, there was nothing, only a disorganized mess of tables, chairs and random boxes littering the room. There were no other sounds, no visible signs of anyone or anything, it was just her.... her and something else. Something that was creeping through the shadows, unaware of her presence. She did her best to maintain her composure as she peered out into the next room through the camera, hoping that whatever it was wasn't heading in her direction.

There was an eerie silence for another moment or two, when a figure gradually materialized out of the darkness in the adjacent room.

Angela clasped a hand tightly over her mouth, fighting to suppress the urge to gag and scream at the grotesque sight of an emaciated man shambling about randomly in the next room, his frail looking, almost spider-like, fingers wrapped around what appeared to be the remains of a human forearm as he shuffled around the room, tossing objects from desks and tables at random in search of something. His twitching, sporadic movements let no indication of where he planned to move next, or even if he had a slight idea of where he was going.

Angela backed away slowly from the door until she felt her back press against a wall. Despondent thoughts racing in her head again, she sank to the floor, lowering the camera from her eye. Clenching her eyes tightly shut, she lowered her head as she struggled not to let the flood of emotions over come her, holding her breath deep in her chest and breathing slowly through her nostrils. Her mind wrestled with an incomprehensible multitude of thoughts and feelings ranging from anger, to sorrow, to out right disgust, to crippling fear.

Alone, cut off from the outside and sealed inside a building full of ravenous, blood thirsty tenants. If her chances of rescue were slim before, they were non-existent now. No one from the outside would be coming to the rescue, like the CDC agent said, they were just going to let them all die and let things run their course. The only certain thing left for her to cling to, the only distressing truth that she could now accept, was the painful fact that she was completely and utterly alone. The only one she could rely on was herself and all she could do was hope to survive, and pray she could live long enough to see the light of day again, then she might have a shot at getting out. But, realistically, her mind betrayed any hope of such an escape as that task seemed to be an ever growing impossibility as the seconds bled into minutes, minutes to hours. Soon, hours would be days, and if they hadn't gotten to her by then.... well, she had no intention of living out her final hours cowering in the corner of a condemned apartment like a frightened animal.

She had never thought about it before now. There was never really a reason to. But now that she had been trapped here, facing death for hours on end, her mind had little else to focus itself on aside from survival. For the first time in her life, Angela found herself asking that morbid question – how did she wanted to go? Quick and painless was the best way anyone could hope for, maybe even being unaware of it would help. Seeing it coming might make it harder to accept, force her to lose the stomach for it, leaving her at the mercy of those.... things. Something she had no intention of allowing to happen.

Jumping from a window might work. But, it ran the risk of leaving her alive in terrible pain, even from the fourth floor of an apartment. She had heard of it happening before. But at least then she'd be out of this building, away from those things. What then, though? Does she get rushed to a hospital and saved? She doubted it. More than likely there was the chance that they'd put a bullet in her head, tying up their loose ends and erasing all witnesses to their actions. The thought hit her at that moment, that was how she could do it. Those snipers outside, the ones who shot that guy who tried to cut his way out of the apartment through the plastic sheeting. It was over for him before he knew it. One shot, clean and precise. Done in a second, no pain, no suffering. If she could find an open window, maybe, if she could work up the nerve to stare death in the eye, this would all be over quickly. But she still needed to get out of this room in order to do that, an objective that she began to consider as not even being remotely possible. So what if she managed to get by this one guy? What then? There was a whole apartment full of things just like him, waiting, hungering. They wouldn't stop if they found her, and she knew it. There was almost no hope of her getting out of this the easy way.

A lone tear managed to bead up a the corner of her eye and roll down her cheek, tracing its path on her skin as Angela resigned herself to a potentially horrifying death, when another series of frantic thuds emanated from within the next room, each one growing more and more powerful as they became louder and more frequent. She responded to the noise with a knee jerk response, raising her head and placing the camera to her eye again to look towards the door again as the sound repeated twice more until an unpleasant crack split through the air as the door at the far end of the room was violently forced from its hinges.

The ear-piercing snap of wood splintering echoed through the room, and for a moment, the thought crossed Angela's mind to just run, take the camera in run in whatever direction those things weren't in. But, even as she processed the though in her mind, the room was immediately bathed in a piercing white light, flooding the camera lens and blinding her, forcing her to throw her hands up in front of her eyes and scream in sheer terror as the infected man in front of her let out a sickening screech and charged towards her, the light giving it the first real indication that she was sitting in the opposite corner of the next room.

"Over there!" A voice shouted into the commotion. "Drop it!"

The unexpected introduction of other voices caught both Angela and the creature's attention, temporarily halting its advance before the deafening sound of gun fire filled the small room as muzzle flares lit up the area in an orangeish-red display, bullets whizzing through the air just over Angela's head, burying themselves in the wall behind her as she dove for the floor, tossing the camera aside and covering her ears with her hands, keeping her eyes shut tightly the whole time, the only thing she could manage to do successfully at the moment was let out a mortified scream as the thought hit her – this is finally it.

* * *

"How bad is it?" He asked, his gaze fixed on the streets and the glowing cityscape outside as rain pelted against the window, rapping out a steady rhythm as his steely grey-colored eyes caught the reflection of Director Hammond in the glass pane.

Director Hammond didn't immediately answer, swallowing uncomfortably. His red silk neck tie suddenly felt like an ever tightening noose around his neck. How could he possibly deliver this report? Not only had this situation turned out to be a breach of national security on an immense scale, but the problem seemed to be growing beyond their control into a global pandemic. He nervously thumbed through the dossier in his hands, each pristine white page within the manila colored envelope telling the same horrific story, each one with the same ending unless they could do something quickly. But what could they do? They had no contingency plans that were adapted to deal with this kind of scenario, at least not on the federal level anyways. Global policy was going to be needed here, and even then their best efforts seemed to be ill designed to combat this level of contamination. In all of his years as the Director of the CDC, he had heard of the "worst case scenario" on multiple occasions, and, frankly, it sounded like something out of a horror movie more than a probable eventuality. Plenty of his colleagues, himself included, laughed off the possibility and made light of it. And now, they were paying for their arrogance..... Dearly.

Finally summoning the courage to speak, he answered, his voice shaking as he read the lists off. "It's uh.... It's worse than we thought."

The man at the window lowered his eyelids and shook his head slowly. Somehow he knew that the news wasn't good, but he held out for the best. Against all of his instincts, against all of his gut feelings, he went against all of it and traveled down that path. A path that seemed so easy to begin with, but was quickly turning out to be one of no return.

"Moscow, Rome, Paris, London, Beijing, Tokyo..... The list is nearly endless. We have confirmed cases in every major city on just about every continent." Hammond said, anxiously thumbing through the papers, his expression mirroring his own concern and worry as sweat beaded up on his brow. "We never should have done this. It never should have gone this far." He protested, becoming enraged now at the information.

The man spun suddenly, facing the Director, his eyes glaring at him as he placed his hands on his desk and leaned forward. "I had nothing to do with this! Your damn egg-head scientists at the CDC said it would work!" He spat. "Your signature was on the god damned documents authorizing this! You are at fault, not me!"

"I'm at fault!? Who's the one who wanted.... No, "needed", this weapons program!?" Hammond fired back. "It sure as hell wasn't me! I knew the risks. But you were so.... Persistent...." He became ever more frustrated with the situation, crumpling the papers in his hands as he clenched his fists and grit his teeth.

"We DO need this!" He sternly asserted, slamming his fist on his desk. "Do you have any idea how many lives could be saved if this had followed through as planned?"

Hammond stared back furiously at the man, fire in his eyes. Even now in the face of complete annihilation, he defends his little project as if it was still in their hands to direct and control at their discretion. Clearly, that had stopped being the case. " If.... And that is a big IF.... If this had worked as planned...."

"Millions, Hammond. Millions." The man interrupted him mid sentence as he stood straight again and walked around his desk to stand in front of the Director.

"But the plan ceased to exist about five hours ago, so I guess millions are going to be lost now thanks to your arrogant ass!" Hammond shot, tossing the papers in the man's face as he turned and started out of his office.

A confident smirk crept to the man's face as the Director headed towards the door. He knew all too well what his plans were, the Director was a fairly transparent man. "Of course you know that if you rat me out, your finger prints are all over the documents authorizing this. You'll be implicated as well and convicted in a federal court, stripped of your position and thrown in jail.... Probably for the rest of your natural born life." He said, moving back around his desk and sinking into the plush leather chair as he placed his elbows on the desktop and clasped together his hands in front of him.

Hammond stopped abruptly in his tracks. He knew there was absolute truth in that statement. They would both be spending their remaining days in prison if any bit of this information leaked out. It was bad enough that news of the global epidemic had already reached the White House, but if that could be in any way traced back to either of them.... The thought of being blackmailed into silence infuriated the Director, but he ultimately had no choice, he was a goner either way. Hart was a manipulative man in every sense of the word, always getting what he wanted by throwing everyone else to the wolves. If he walked out now, it was over. One call was all Hart had to make and then the blame fell completely on the CDC's shoulders, inevitably pointing to the Director of the agency for being at fault for a lack of oversight.

"Then what do you suggest we do?" Hammond asked, turning slowly to face Hart.

A confident expression played on Hart's face, a thin smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "We do nothing with this information. We let the media tell whatever story it is they wish to tell. Unless we are directly confronted with this ourselves, we keep our mouths shut.... Understood?" He asked, raising his eyebrows as he eyed the Director, fully expecting his compliance.

Hammond gave a heavy sigh and a meek nod to the question. "Alright, alright." He rubbed his temples in aggravation for a moment, the effects of the recent events beginning to give him a headache. "In the man time, I have to meet with the president. We've got to oversee containing this thing here before we can worry about the rest of the world."

"Do what you have to do." Hart said, dismissing the Director as he spun back around in his chair to face the bustling city streets outside his office.


	3. Chapter 3

There is just a brief AN at the end of this chapter that I would like you (the reader) to read and respond to. Other than that, not much to say here. Hope you enjoy this latest installment.

* * *

Outbreak

Part 3:

A seemingly endless deluge of frantic administrators and advisers bombarded President Foster, flooding his perceptions with an annoying cacophony of what had basically degenerated into mere noise in his head over the past ten minutes. Everyone had something to say, a report to deliver, or a suggestion to give or a request to be made, their relentless pursuit for his attention only compounded by the ever growing realization that the national media was watching his every move with a microscope, scrutinizing his every thought and action with extreme prejudice. Some had even gone so far as to accuse him directly of orchestrating the act in order to draw attention away from other national tribulations.

Shaking his head in frustration at the constant flood of information coming at him, Foster tossed a recently delivered report aside and removed his glasses, discarding them to his desk as he drew his hands down his tired face before speaking over the commotion in his office. "Everyone, shut the hell up!!"

His outburst succeeded in bringing an abrupt halt to the maelstrom of government officials that had come to populate the Oval Office, freezing everyone in stunned silence.

Foster eyed the crowd for a moment, his weary gaze flitting between the various department representatives that had been heckling him for favors only seconds ago. "Now, will someone just tell me, in plain goddamn English, what is the situation is and what our options are?"

General Jonathan Winters, who had been sitting patiently on a couch in the office amid the hustle and confusion, a single folder held neatly in place on his lap, spoke from his seat, the leather furniture squeaking as he stood from his position and presented the President with his plan.

"Mister President, I think we should fully consider the fact that we have lost control of the situation. If we don't act quickly and decisively, we risk losing more than Los Angeles. If this thing is not contained.... We are putting the entire nation at risk." General Winters delivered his words with pointed conviction and confidence as he tossed the folder to the Presidents desk, stacking it high atop the other papers and documents that had accumulated there over the past few moments.

All of the other suits and officials stacked up behind him in the office were too cowardly to face down the president directly, side stepping any real answers and hiding behind documents, procedure, protocol or whatever other useless ideas they had built up in their minds to distance themselves from having to be part of the solution. They all lacked the balls to say what was really on their minds and admit the truth, even to themselves. They all spent their days behind a desk approving memos and stamping seals on papers that said this, that or the other thing, but hell if any of them actually knew what they were approving, or even if they were directly involved with their department beyond showing up long enough to get a paycheck. But not Winters. Having payed his dues in the Army, working his way up through the ranks since he joined at sixteen, he was trained to see every situation from a tactical point, to react as if every encounter, every scenario in his life were a matter of life and death, the outcome of which was almost entirely reliant on his ability to make the right call when it needed to be made and not a second later. And in the face of a situation such as this, there was little time for bureaucratic posturing or politically correct ideals bound in red tape. Now more than ever, the country was in need of decisive, effective leaders who would not shy away from the ugly facts when they came barreling at them a dozen at a time.

President Foster shot a bemused glance to the General. Winters stood towering over him, a confident air surrounding him as his resolute gaze fell to the Commander in Chief. Looking back to the document, the President lifted it from his desk and read the header printed in large black letters across the top:

_N.D.R.P._

"What is this, General?" He finally managed, his tired eyes flitting between the military adviser and the folder in his grasp. Consciously, he was aware what the "N.D.R.P." encompassed, his question was more so aimed at probing the depths of the General's sincerity regarding the matter.

"That, sir, is our only viable option for containing this threat before it can spread beyond our control." Johnathan answered, pointing quickly to the document. "If you authorize this, I guarantee we can have the situation well in hand within hours."

The President allowed his eyes to traverse once more between Winters and the folder, giving its contents a thoughtful look before fixing his stare on the General. "How long will it take? How soon can you have this in effect?"

The General seemed to do a quick mental calculation of sorts, almost as if he were working out the details in his mind before he answered, straightening out his posture and exuding an air of confidence. "My best estimation.... Two hours, maximum."

"And survivors?" Foster plied further, trying to extract as many precise details as he could from the General's plan of action.

"We declare Los Angeles a "no go zone" and once the city is secured, we can then work at extracting any survivors on a case by case basis at our own discretion."

Director Hammond blanched as he overheard what the two were speaking of, and sharply interjected himself into the conversation. "Sir, are you actually considering sealing off the entire city of Los Angeles?" He stuttered as finding the words to describe his disapproval was proving to be somewhat troublesome. "Its.... Insane. At the rate this thing is capable of spreading, sealing off a major metropolitan area of the country like that.... You're creating a powder keg that is just waiting to explode."

"And what do you suggest we do, Director?" Winters cut in, displaying his incredulous sentiments towards any possible scenario the CDC could bring to bear on this situation. "The population of that city is becoming more and more hostile by the minute. A military solution is our only solution."

Hammond remained dumbstruck by the suggestion of effecting a quarantine of the entire Los Angeles area. "Think about the scale you are dealing with, General. You're talking about containing a population of almost four million people in a five hundred square mile area. How the hell do you propose we do that when we can't even keep the boarder between Mexico and Texas secure?"

General Winters tried to rebut the Director, but was halted in mid thought as Hammond continued his pessimistic tirade.

"The CDC only employs 15,000 people, and you want them to simply waltz into a cordoned off Los Angeles and test four million people for this thing?" Hammond could not help but allow for a slightly ridiculous chuckle to escape as he continued speaking. "No, that will never work. We need to target specific areas and focus our attention there, keep our assets where they can be of the most use to us. The CDC has counter measures specifically designed to combat this kind of attack. And I think the CDC is a bit more well trained and well equipped to dealing with this than than the Army." He finished, his tone becoming increasingly condescending.

Winters huffed an indignant breath at the Director's words and unleashed his own smarmy remarks. Typically he wouldn't have two words to say to the man, but if he wanted to go down this path, it suited him just fine at the moment. Maybe humiliating the Director in front of the President would work to his ends in getting his own plan approved for use. "That's debatable. You couldn't even quarantine an apartment. I cringe at what your attempt at a major U.S. City would look like."

Hammond retorted with sarcasm, his personal opinion of the General had never been all that high to begin with, so it meant nothing for him to berate the man and undermine his bravado wherever it was possible. "Yes, because the Army ideal of "maintaining order" is to kill everyone that isn't you. Oh yes, things are much more orderly now that there's no one left to fight you." He fired back.

Winters tightened his jaw and exhaled a frustrated breath through his nostrils. Normally it was not in is nature to walk away from a fight, but he had to make an exception in this case. Bickering would get them nowhere, and every second they spent debating and exchanging vicious comments was one second closer to them losing the entire state of California, if not the country.

Turning his focus back to the President, Johnathan addressed him once more. "Sir, we need to act now and seal off that city. The director said it himself, four million people, there is no way to check all of that out in time to signal an all clear, even by sweeping selected neighborhoods. The process would take hours to complete, and the whole time we run the risk of someone with this disease escaping the city limits and taking it God knows where in the country. At least if we keep the city contained, we can proceed with sterilization procedure in a much more orderly fashion."

"You wouldn't call it "orderly" if you saw how thousands of people get when they are trapped in a situation beyond their control, General." Hammond snidely interrupted, unwilling to let his personal grudge against Winters fall to the wayside. "You are taking four million average citizens, trapping them in their own homes and telling them to wait while you test them for an infectious disease that is running rampant in their streets? I don't think it would stay calm for long. Your men would be overwhelmed by a flood of petrified civilians clamoring for the nearest boarder crossing."

General Winters shot a disgusted look to the Director. "Listen here you little prick, I've seen what its like when thirty people are stuck in a situation beyond their control, I know that things turn into a shit storm, and they do in a hurry. At least with my plan, we have a chance to contain this thing and preventing the nation from breaking out into mass panic."

Hammond opened his mouth in preparation to retort the General's condescending remarks, but President Forster quickly intervened.

"Enough, both of you!!" His eyes shot back and forth between the CDC Director and General Winters. "I think we can all agree that we are facing a crisis the likes of which the country has never seen. But the last thing I need to be worried about is my advisers being at each others throats over who is right and who is wrong." He sternly asserted, allowing the tense silence to hang in the air for a moment before he continued. "Director, given the magnitude of the situation, I see no other alternative. We need to contain the threat before it can proliferate beyond our control. I am approving General Winter's plan of action. We seal off the city, effect a travel ban and blockade all routes leading to and from the Los Angeles area. Then, once we have secured a perimeter, we can proceed with the matter of evacuation and sterilization."

Winters flashed a triumphant smile at the President's approval and shot a smug look to the Director as President Foster took up his pen and signed the executive order to initiate the General's plan. "Thank you, Mister

President."

* * *

"Spread out, clear this room!" Masterson managed to deliver his orders to the rest of his squad through his stifling mask as the gunfire dissipated into the air as the gruesome creature before them toppled to the floor of the room in a motionless pile, its body torn up by a hail of lethal A.P. rounds.

He hated wearing these masks, they were always so damn restricting. You couldn't see two feet in front of your own face to shoot anything, at least not with any great deal of accuracy. And in these low light conditions, armed with only a flashlight, well, it felt like being in the dark ages to him. He would much rather prefer some NVGs, hell even thermal. Anything that would give him a clearer picture of his surroundings without having to aim and guess at every tiny movement in his narrow peripheral.

The soldiers behind him forced their way into the confines of the decrepit pent house, fanning out to the left and right of their C.O. as their lights darted anxiously around the room.

The Captain maintained his tense posture, holding his rifle tight to his shoulder, his fingers wrapped firmly around both grips as his right index finger rested comfortably on the trigger. His reflexes were ready for anything, but mentally he kept them in check. Though his orders from the field were to terminate survivors with prejudice, he simply couldn't shake the years of learning he had taken from his father. Although boot camp drilled him at how to become proficient with a rifle, how to shoot straight and never miss his mark, their curriculum was somewhat lacking in the "morality and responsibility" department. At least it was in his day when he first joined the service. With the new politics and ideals ensnaring the countries most recent engagement on the world stage, there may have been some changes, maybe the introduction of some P.C. ideals here and there, but then again, it didn't really matter. All Masterson knew was what his father had taught him, his words still as fresh in his mind now as they were five years ago:

"_As a soldier, you are a defender first and a fighter second. Don't let anyone tell you differently. I don't care what they say in the training camps these days. People look up to that uniform, they expect things from it. And what they expect is for it to defend them and protect them in their hour of need._"

Of course, his father was from a different generation of people who had a different generation of thought far removed from where the rest of the country stood today. Even so, the years separating their service to the country did not dilute the meaning or truth behind those words to him.

As the members of his squad spread out behind him, Masterson worked his way forwards, inching closer towards the mangled corpse in front of them, his light shining brightly on the tattered body when a sudden noise abruptly drew his attention upwards again. Reacting on instinct, he brought the muzzle of his rifle to bear on a small annex in front of him, illuminating the darkened interior of the room with his light as his finger simultaneously began to apply a gentle pressure to the trigger.

However, as his light caught the motion in the back room, he allowed for his grip on his rifle to relax slightly, slowly lifting his finger from the trigger as he took a cautious step forwards towards the doorway of the room. Part of him told him to just fire, fire and forget. Follow orders like he had been told to do. But his gut instinct overpowered whatever conscious, subservient mindset he may have been in and urged him to act against his field commands. His mind, as it had always done either upon his command or on a more sub-conscious level, had done a rather quick calculation of the scenario before him, applying attained knowledge to sort out what his response should inevitably be. And in those few split seconds it took for him to comprehend, compile and analyze the information in his mind, it just simply hadn't added up for him. If she was one of them, she would have attacked with the other one, oblivious to her surroundings or even what was happening. But she wasn't exhibiting behavior like the others. She was almost docile in appearance, huddled on her knees next to the wall with her hands pressed tightly against the sides of her head, covering her ears as she seemed to sob quietly.

Taking one more careful step forward, he spoke out to her. "Miss?" His voice was muffled by the mask, his words met in silence as the woman seemed to have no idea they were here, or even that he had spoken to her. He raised his voice slightly and spoke again.

"Miss, are you alright?! Have you been infected?!" He allowed for the muzzle of his rifle to drop somewhat as he relaxed his finger on the trigger and took one more step towards her, coming to stand in the doorway to the room as he awaited a reply. He hoped that she would say something, just to prove that she wasn't one of them. But then again, he partially hoped that she wasn't an actual survivor, his ultimatum from his superiors clear in stating that she needed to be treated as an expendable liability if she had actually managed to come this far without making contact with any of the infectious people.

Angela's mind hadn't yet come to grips with the situation. Her body was still frozen in place, paralyzed by the pure dread that had come to engulf her senses. That creature, the sound of gun fire, it was all coming together for her. Her luck was out, her life was going to end in this place, the final chapter in her existence played out beyond her control by a dozen others as she hid in a darkened corner, consumed by grief and lamenting the life she would never get to lead.... So why hadn't it happened yet? Why did she still feel like she was in this?

Slowly, she opened her eyes and looked to the floor in front of her as a beam of radiant white light passed over her knees before flickering in her left peripheral, forcing her to throw up a hand in front of her face to blot out the harsh light as she turned her attention towards a voice.

"_Are you alright?_"

The voice seemed somewhat agitated as she stared into the harsh glare of the light through her fingers, her eyes making out only a dim figure a few feet from her.

"_Have you been infected?!_" It repeated.

Angela finally pieced it all together, or at least thought she had. Reacting with a mixture of excitement and apprehension, she finally managed to shake her head slowly and lower her hand as her eyes finally acclimated to the sudden flare of light. "No...."

Internally, Masterson breathed a sigh of relief when she finally answered. But as quickly as he was allayed they had found a living person in the middle of this hell hole, his joy was short lived as he struggled with his personal feelings. His moral compass and sense of decency was clashing violently with his sense of duty and obligation to his post. Now it seemed to be his turn to freeze in place, his body motionless as he wrestled with the choice he had to make. How did he do it if he was going to do it? The merciful way to do it would be to just take aim and squeeze the trigger without giving it a second thought. Making it quick for her was the best he could do. Approaching her would give her hope, and he couldn't deal with that, especially if it meant he had to betray the hope she would be entrusting him with in the next instant of their meeting.

As Masterson tried to decide just what he was going to do, his mind racing with indecision, the woman gasped sharply and pointed behind him, screaming to him.

"Behind you!!"

Quickly he spun, bringing his rifle to the ready in the process. But, as he whirled around to investigate, he felt something slam into his side and tackle him to the ground. He let out a sharp grunt of pain from behind his mask as he fell helplessly to the floor under he weight of the impact, his rifle sliding free of his grip as he finally managed to twist about, finally managing to catch a glimpse of what had hit him. Much to his shock, it was that same man they had shot down when they entered. Why the hell hadn't he stayed dead like the other one? Frantically, he tried to hold off the creature with his arms and hands as it clawed viciously at him, screeching and flailing at him, trying to scratch through his protective face mask and attack his face.

"God dammit! Get it off me!" He shouted to someone, anyone as he fought to keep the thing at bay and reach for his sidearm at the same time. But his struggle for his weapon was allowing the thing to land hits on him as his upper body strength, burdened by the weight of his combat uniform and the infected man, was proving too little to keep the savage assault away as the man used his bare hands in an attempt to gouge at the Captain's face, punching at him violently.

Instantly, three other soldiers rushed into the room, their weapons drawn and at the ready.

"_Don't shoot! You'll hit the Captain!_" Newman barked, training his rifle on the man as he attempted to line up a clear shot.

"Just shoot the fucker, Corporal!" Masterson shouted.

"Sir, I...."

"DO IT!!"

Newman and the others were motionless for a moment, when a sudden voice rose up over the commotion.

"Hey!!"

A sudden flicker of light pierced into Masterson's peripheral as the creature inadvertently stopped its attack and looked up from its position above him.

Its horrid visage was illuminated only for a second, its pupils retracting as the light flooded its eyes as it released a hellish scream before a loud crack sounded out in the room, followed by a sudden explosion of flesh, bone and brain matter as a single bullet smashed through its skull, penetrating its face at the bridge of the nose and forcing its way out the back of its head, dislodging a large chunk of the skull in the process as viscera trailed from the exit wound and the man fell to the floor in a motionless heap.

Masterson reacted quickly, scrambling to his feet and rolling the lifeless corpse off of him as he stood. He eyed the mangled body for a moment before looking back to where the shot had come from.

Angela held the rifle in her hands, her breathing rapid, her eyes wide in astonishment, the palms of her hands sweating as it seemed like every nerve in her body was trembling as she tried to comprehend what she had just done. She had just shot a man in the face and killed him without so much as even flinching or pausing. She had fired guns before, on a few occasions, but it was always a some paper target, it was never anything living, she could never do that. But apparently she was wrong.... Because she just did.

"I'll take that back now...." Masterson calmly interrupted, approaching her and reaching his hand out for the rifle.

Angela shot one more glance at the crumpled remains of the withered old man on the floor in front of her before she turned her attention to the Captain. She looked to him, then to his outstretched hand, then to the rifle in her grasp. Suddenly realizing the full gravity of what she had done, she handed the rifle over, treating it now as if it were some kind of awful relic of death that made her physically ill to hold.

As Masterson wrapped his fingers back around the rifle, he gave her a nod of approval before placing a gentle hand on her shoulder, recognizing the mental struggle she was going through. He had seen that look on the faces of recruits more times than he could remember, that look of uncertainty and disbelief upon realizing that they had just been responsible for taking their first life. "Hey, you did good. It was me or him.... Frankly, I'm glad you chose me." He said, adding a vague smile to his expression, which he quickly retracted upon remembering that she couldn't see it through his mask.

Angela gave him a vacant stare, his words failing to register at the moment, but she felt like she deserved to give him some kind of response, even if it was a silent nod. And that is what she settled for, simply because it was all she could manage right now. She felt like any attempt for words would be useless. What could she say? There wasn't much to say. She killed him. It was kill or be killed.... Simple as that, or so she hoped.

As Masterson turned his attention back to his men, his radio clicked on in his ear.

"_Bravo Two-Zero, do you copy?_"

Reaching a free hand to his mic, the Captain responded. "This is Bravo Two-Zero, go ahead."

"_Pull out and regroup at Hotel Bravo, designation grid Kilo Two-Three._"

At first, the coordinates stunned him. The designated rally point was well beyond the city limits. Why would they make that kind of call? Unless.... A slow realization dawned on him. This thing must be happening somewhere else inside the city. And if that was true.... He couldn't even imagine trying to contain an entire populace of a major American city being effected by a biological attack, much less the fact that this thing seemed to be turning out to be a full scale attack instead of an isolated incident. Whatever the case, he was just relived to be given the order to pull back. "Affirmative. Bravo Two-Zero out."

Turning back to his men he relayed the command. "Pack it up! We're Oscar Mike!" He reached back to his mic and contacted Richards. "Richards, secure the entrance, we're leaving."

"_Sir?_"

"Orders from the top. We're done here. Have our men extracted and ready to roll in five, Sergeant."

"_Yes, sir._"

* * *

**AN: **Okay, to the readers of this story, you now have a choice to make concerning the future of this. Do you want me to maintain Angela as a regular character through out the rest of the story? If the route is chosen where she remains part of the plot, my options for providing entertaining/exciting and suspenseful reading are somewhat greater. However, that is prone to meaning less frequent updates as I have to build a series of belivable scenarios, ways out, how they tie into the main plot, etc.... Contrariwise, if you chose the route of not having her continue to be a part of the story, then updates will probably be more frequent as I am much more adept at writing about military scenarios as opposed to age old frame work of a set number of survivors who get picked off one by one until the last three either make it out or die trying. So, what say you, reader? Feel free to say so in your review what your opinion is on this choice.


End file.
