No Way Out Read online

  FRACTURED

  No Way Out

  Marie Lanza

  FRACTURED

  NO WAY OUT

  Copyright © 2019 by Marie Lanza

  http://www.MarieLanza.com

  Marie Lanza holds the sole rights to all characters and concepts herein.

  All rights are reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author. Fractured: No Way Out, is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are productions of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  ISBN: 978-1-693179-51-8

  All rights are reserved.

  Edited by: Matthew Hollis Damon

  It was once a drug den in the basement of an abandoned building – Now, a nest for the infected, eating each other, lying among carcasses, piling on one another, waiting for the next victim to wander in and never leave again.

  It’s coming…

  THE BEGINNING

  Fort Mesa, just outside of Los Angeles, California

  She sat at a station wearing an air-supplied body suit that offered full coverage, including respiratory protection. A coiled red hose hung from the ceiling and attached to the back of her suit, providing oxygen. She was working under a ventilation hood, delicately placing samples of hazardous materials from vials into dishes, sealing them shut. Then the doctor stacked the dishes and swiveled her chair over to a microscope. Placing one of the samples down, she leaned over the microscope for a few moments. Satisfied, she placed a second sample into view, then a third. The doctor scooted back from the table and took in a deep breath. She went back in for another look and adjusted the settings on her scope like it might give her a different result.

  “Shit,” she whispered to herself.

  Dr. Karen Jaxon, a Virologist, had been sitting like this for so many hours, testing and re-testing, she lost track of time. She looked at a clock that read: 4:30 PM. Dr. Jaxon jotted down a few notes onto a pad sitting next to her microscope.

  There was a quiet urgency in Dr. Jaxon’s movement through the facility. She was wearing a white lab coat over what looked like casual business attire. What was probably a put together bun, holding back her hair from falling in her face, was now loosely hanging on the top of her head. She carried a folder, several papers, and a half-finished cup of coffee with a hint of her lipstick stuck to the side. Dr. Jaxon glanced to her coffee but at this point it was probably cold. As she walked past a trash bin, she tossed her cup in.

  It was an open floor plan with tables holding computers and lab equipment. There was a handful of other scientists at various stations, each lifting their eyes as Dr. Jaxon walked through the room. She didn’t acknowledge anyone - she didn’t have time to.

  Dr. Jaxon had only been at this facility for a few weeks. She was brought in to investigate a virus that seemed to be spreading in the Skid Row population of Los Angeles. It took about a hundred people to fall ill when the County of Los Angeles asked for federal help with a Tuberculosis scare. However, when the government stepped in, it wasn’t TB at all. It was an unknown fast acting killer… then re-animator.

  At the back of the unit was a glass office where a man was sitting at his desk. He wore a white lab coat over camouflage BDUs, and his glasses made him appear more scholarly than your average officer.

  Dr. Jaxon entered the office and closed the door.

  “We have a big problem.” It was straight to business, as she delivered the papers on top of her file, “All new candidates, same symptoms. Chills, Fever, cough…”

  “Hi.” Colonel Leonard Dean was one of those men who seemed to have a constant grimace on his face. The frown lines between his eyes were deep and looked muppet-like with his weather-hardened skin. He took the papers and began sorting through them. “We’re still hoping to get ahead of this. Track down those infected. I think what you’ll find is we’ve pointed to the hot spots, we pick them up, quick thorough testing and those positive we remove. Those negative, they’re put right back where we found them. No harm done.

  “We need to keep them here. This virus…” Dr. Jaxon wasn’t able to finish.

  “We’re not a hospital facility Doctor Jaxon, we’re a lab. Right now the message to the public is working. Los Angeles has a TB scare. We’re sticking with that. We test and release. No wide-spread panic.”

  “I think it’s a big mistake. The incubation period hasn’t been accounted for. Your team missed some. And by some, I mean, a lot. And a lot could be thousands.” Dr. Jaxon exclaimed with growing urgency.

  “What are you talking about?” He took a better look at the papers.

  Dr. Jaxon placed the file of additional information down on his desk. “My specimens from LA, San Francisco, Chicago, New Orleans, New York, and DC – All came down with the virus. All tested negative in initial labs. They also showed no symptoms for days. Not only is it incubating, it’s hiding.”

  “We don’t know anything about this virus. How’s it spreading? Is it airborne?” Colonel Dean tossed the papers on his desk like they were yesterday’s trash.

  “I just need a couple more days. A week. Until then, may I suggest a mass quarantine effort? People with flu-like symptoms – headache, chills, fever. A lot of the same as TB. People relate to the flu better, call it that if you don’t like TB. It’s something they already know. Less scary. Less panic. If you have those symptoms self-quarantine and call authorities.” Dr. Jaxon paced around the room as she brainstormed.

  “This is going to cause wide-spread chaos. Self-quarantine, my ass.” Colonel Dean slapped at the papers on his desk. “When’s the last time you took a sick day?”

  “There’s something else you should know. If the patient is alive, they could go days without any symptoms. If the patient dies, it’s a matter of minutes…”

  “What’s a matter of minutes?” Colonel Dean asked.

  “The patients come back.”

  “Come back to wh--”, started Colonel Dean before he stopped mid-thought. He slowly took off his glasses as he contemplated those words, the patients come back. He stood up slowly. “Show me.”

  * * *

  The laboratory was a controlled room with all the conditions heavily monitored. Dr. Jaxon sat on a stool at a large lab table. She wore a mask over her face as she jotted down notes on a pad.

  She picked up the phone, dialed an extension number, and waited.

  “This is Paul.”

  “Hey Paul, this is Doctor Jaxon. Is Casey around?”

  “No Ma’am. He’s out on a run. Anything I can help you with?”

  “We’ve got a couple of cases at County with our TB symptoms. I need a pickup. When will he be returning?”

  “I don’t know Ma’am, but I’m happy to make the run.”

  “That would be great. I’ll message you over the details.” She hung up the phone.

  Dr. Jaxon stood up and turned around. Behind her was a long wall of six plexiglass cells that held beds and patients inside, along with medical equipment monitoring vitals. Each patient was in a different stage of decay. On the doors of each cell, large banners were posted reading city names – Los Angeles, San Francisco, Chicago, New Orleans, New York, and Washington DC.

  Dr. Jaxon walked over to the glass of the patient in the Los Angeles cell. The person was out of the bed, fully infected, pacing along the glass. It looked like a middle-aged man, his eyes glazed over with a white film, his skin gray. It pawed against the barrier smearing a black coagulated blood from stubs where its hands should have been. Its hands were attached to the restraints still hanging on the bed.

  Fort Mesa, just outsi
de of Los Angeles, Officer Quarters

  Smack, the leather glove did little to dampen the backhand of Colonel Dean as his wife tumbled to the ground. The starched creases of his Army Service Uniform left no memory of the movement as he stared down at Janice Dean, a small smirk barely touching the corner of his mouth.

  Janice stared defiantly up at the monster she had married. Her cheek smarted but it was nothing next to the pain in her heart, which broke more today than usual. She wanted to hate him, or at least be numb, but somewhere inside her she still wanted to find him beautiful.

  “I’m not your goddamn subordinate, Leonard. How dare you raise your hand to me!” This wasn’t the time for emotions, she decided, although she wanted to sob and beg that soft piece of her husband to come back and hold her.

  “You were getting hysterical,” he said simply.

  “Get my sister out of your fucking lab, Leo. I will go public with this shit you’re into if you don’t release her.”

  Colonel Dean looked down at his wife the way a cat looks at a human; as if she were some mere curiosity who inhabited his daily world. “It’s for her own safety, and all of our safety. Orders are orders, Janice.”

  “My sister is not an animal to be experimented on in a laboratory, do you hear me?” Janice rose to her feet, her body trembling from the adrenaline. The corner of her husband’s mouth twitched like he wanted to hit her again. It sent her into an immediate rage, and she swung her hand as hard as she could at his face.

  Colonel Dean’s hand appeared out of nowhere, catching her in a vicelike grip. Janice’s eyes flashed and she swung her other arm, only to find herself wrenched off balance as her husband twisted his grip and locked her arm into an arm bar. “You can’t hurt me,” he said.

  “Oh yes I can!” Janice cried.

  Her husband yanked her up in one quick motion, his hands gripping the front of her blouse as he stuck his face two inches from hers. His icy blues impaled her with their lifeless lack of feeling. “Out of the respect we once had for each other, I’m going to give you one warning, Jan; don’t make yourself a liability.” He stared at her eyes like she wasn’t even there, and he was just looking at the two circles on her face because he knew he was supposed to. “I will have you sedated and quarantined alongside her if you so much as breathe a word to anyone about this. My duty is to my country first, and to my wife second.”

  These words hit her harder than anything. She knew years ago something had gone wrong in their marriage. But also, something had gone terribly wrong in him. It was impossible to locate what exactly had changed inside her husband, but Leonard had stopped kissing her. When they went out to dinner, they talked like acquaintances would discuss their work day, all polite and neutral. When he wanted sex, he took it, almost always from behind. No emotion, no thought for her, just a piston pumping away until it finished, sometimes gripping her flesh so hard his fingers left bruises for days.

  “Who are you, Leo?” She asked, holding it together even though she wanted to sob beneath his terrible lifeless eyes. “I don’t even know you at all anymore. 30 years later. I don’t know you!”

  He blinked, which seemed almost human. “You don’t want to know me,” he said. “I… I still love you, if that helps.”

  “What does that even mean?”

  He stared blankly, some syntax error glitching his brain. “I have more responsibility now. So much responsibility.”

  Anguish flickered across his face, flashing for just a moment before it fled. There was the young Lieutenant she had met, fresh out of West Point graduating in the top five percent of his class and ready to take on the world. What had happened to that man? Janice reached a tentative hand up and her husband flinched but then allowed her to cup his face tenderly.

  “Leo, come back to me,” she said.

  His eyes seemed to focus for a moment, but then he was staring through her again.

  “She’s my sister. I need to know she is safe, and I need her out of that lab.” She paused, letting her fingers trace the shape of his cheek.

  Leonard Dean flinched like a spider was crawling on his face. “Your sister is receiving the best care possible,” he said. “I’ll see if I can… if I can have her transferred to the civilian hospital. We have orders to commandeer a facility in the city.”

  County Hospital, Downtown Los Angeles

  A middle-aged woman sat on a hospital bed as a light passed from one eye to another. She looked like she had seen better days, but not for many years. Her hair was a matted mess and needed to be washed. She was rail thin, her skin sagged off the bones and she lacked her front two teeth.

  Dr. Thomas turned off her slit lamp and slid it into her coat chest pocket. “Lexi, I know you told the nurses you weren’t spending time in the shelters, but I have a couple of other questions, OK?”

  Lexi shook her head.

  “And, I want you to know you’re not in any trouble. I don’t want you to be afraid to answer honestly.” Dr. Thomas already knew the answers but she was going to ask anyway. “Are you using drugs?” There were clear track marks on her arms.

  Lexi struggled to make direct eye contact. “Yes.” She took in a deep breath.

  “OK. Where did you get your last hit? Do you remember where that came from?”

  The woman took in a deep breath, “I took them off some dead guy. He overdosed and I took the drugs before his body was picked up.” Lexi almost sounded ashamed.

  “Good. Thank you, Lexi. I’m going to file a request to get some blood work done, so sit tight for me.”

  Dr. Thomas was greeted by a nurse in the doorway and they exited the examining room together. “Let’s do a blood panel, skin test, and chest x-ray.”

  “Do you think this is TB?” The nurse asked.

  “Well, we can’t let her leave here until we know for sure.”

  “You got it. Also, 140’s results came in. He’s back in his room.” The nurse pointed in the direction of the other patient’s room down the hall.

  “Thanks.”

  Dr. Thomas walked down the hallway and into room 140 – empty. She looked around for a moment and even took a step out to double check she was in the correct room. After noticing she was right, Dr. Thomas re-entered the room and opened the bathroom door only to find that empty as well.

  Dr. Thomas rushed over to the station nurse located just outside the room. “Where’s my patient in 140?”

  The nurse reacted as if Dr. Thomas should know the answer. “That patient was transferred.”

  “Transferred? To where?”

  The nurse became frazzled and fumbled through the files to find the answer. She handed the sheet to Dr. Thomas who read - Chad Rogers - Orphic Corp.

  CHAPTER 1

  Skid Row – Where the forgotten lived in downtown Los Angeles. The area spanned over 50 blocks in the center of the city, with a population of almost twenty thousand residents.

  Tent City, as people called it, a section of the Skid Row area, was jammed with over half its residents’ homeless, drug addicted, or mentally ill - A place where human misery was on full display.

  The breeze circulated a mixture of smells that included shit, sweat, blood, and vomit. Battered tents and cardboard boxes lined the sidewalks, while garbage filled everything in between. Residents lay out in their lawn chairs, sleeping bags, or passed out on the pavement. Street fights were the norm, drug use out in the open was common, and death was part of everyday life. A modern-day wasteland, some people called it, others called it home.

  An older man with thick leathery skin, sat on the side of the road in his raggy lawn chair. His face was stoned and his eyes were glassed over while he enjoyed a cigarette staring off into the nothing of what was Skid Row. This was his spot. Sitting on the sidewalk, with his only belongings stuffed in a shopping cart, parked to the side of his one-person camping tent.

  His name was Joseph.

  There wasn't a single building open for business on the block - all were boarded up or taped off.

/>   With the sound of a large engine and tires screeching to a halt, Joseph's gaze re-focused and his attention was on a white van with no back or side windows, that pulled up along the curb directly in front of him.

  Two men, dressed in hospital scrubs, hopped out and walked around to the back double doors of the van, neither giving Joseph a second look. When they opened the doors, each reached in and pulled out a man barely conscious.

  The man was dumped at Joseph's feet, who was still enjoying his cigarette, minding his own business. Joseph took in a deep drag, inhaling as much smoke as his lungs could take before a slow exhale. He leaned in, looking over the man who groaned softly and slowly rolled onto his back.

  The two men in scrubs returned to their unmarked van and drove away.

  Patient dumping.

  It was the brutal hour of 4 AM, when a crackle of the radio brought Sergeant Sean Peters’ eyes down; waiting for the voice to come through. He sat back in the patrol car with his partner, Officer Jeff Wilson, sipping on their coffees from the convenient store.

  Sean had been on this beat for over fifteen years. He was well known on these streets by all walks of life - The citizens respected him and the criminals feared him. He never wanted or had the need to transfer from Skid Row, which seemed to age him around the eyes. Sean grew up only a few blocks away from these streets, in a rough neighborhood, with blue collar parents that did everything to keep him out of trouble.

  Jeff, on the other hand, was newer to this unit. He was only in his late twenties – a clean-shaven greenie. Jeff still hadn't developed a stomach to handle the daily tragedy he experienced working these streets. Although he was from this city, he grew up in a very different, privileged neighborhood. He was biding his time on this beat as a recruit; ready to move on and into a better unit as soon as possible.