Infection / Destruction / Hope

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Last Man on Earth Syndrome

“Please state your name for the record.” The woman’s voice with soft and feminine.

“Bernard Fitzgerald.” The man was shackled to the chair on the other side of the stainless steel table, a tape recorder sat in the middle the record light on. 

“Mr. Fitzgearld, what year were you born?” The woman asked a file open in front of her, rested on her knee.

“1980.” He answered in a monotone voice.

“That would make you 32 would it not?” The woman lifted her pale blue eyes to look at him over her glasses.

“Yes it would.” He answered rough green eyes staring back at her.

“When were you rescued by the United States Armed Forces?” She continued.

“Rescued? Well I met the Armed Forces 3 months ago, in July of 2012. Not much of a rescue really.” He answered with a frown.

“When the soldiers rescued you, were you hostile in any way toward them?” The woman continued, ignoring his comments.

“Yes, yes I was. When you spend the most of 5 years not seeing another living human being I guess you forget what they look like. I shot three soldiers in the head before I was subdued.” The man answered.

“You killed three soldiers then? And injured another two, correct?” The woman adjusted her legs in front of herself slightly.

“Yes, that would be correct.”

“You were the only living person in the town of Oswalt for how long?

“I would say a little over 3 and a half years.”

“What was your first contact with the undead plague?”

“May 12th, 2007. My wife and I were on our way home from he sisters birthday party. I was driving, she was about to burst with our first child, a girl, we were going to name her Annabelle Marie. We had heard of the virus, what you were calling rabies.”

“I’m sorry, you?”

“The government, Uncle Sam, whatever you all want to call yourselves who knew what was going on but refused to acknowledge it or tell anyone about.” He was getting agitated, ready to burst.

“Please continue..”

A truck clipped  the car and spun it one hundred and eighty degrees. The truck came to a stop thirty feet away against a telephone pole. Bernard looked to the right at his wife, who was breathing, heavy, hands against the ceiling but alright. “I am going to check on the other driver.” She nodded.

Bernard opened his door, looking back at the rear of his car where the damage was and swore under his breath, the tire was destroyed. He ran to the truck, “Are you alright?” He came to the drivers door and looked inside, and threw up.

Inside a woman was chewing on a mans legs, blood pooling on the pedals. The woman looked up with a mouthful of meat and snarled smacking at the window. He backed up when he heard the scream and looked back at his car. Four people surrounded it pounding on the windows, one found his open door and fell into it.

“Veronica!” He yelled feet pounding pavement, blood rushing in his ears. He didn’t see or hear the ambulance as it flew by, its large side mirror smacking his back.

“I don’t know how I didn’t get torn to pieces while I was out, maybe none saw me in the ditch.” He said looking at the stainless steel table, its reflective surface putting the light back into his eyes.

The sun was setting, when he pulled himself out of the ditch. He couldn’t see anyone and looked at his car, still sitting there, the inside of the windshield splashed with blood. He pulled himself up, his left shoulder was hurting from where the ambulance hit him. He ran across the street toward the car without thinking, he almost didn’t dare look. 

“Veronica!” He swung around his door, and felt bile rise up in his throat again. She was ripped apart. Her stomach was open, the womb ripped apart, the baby hung from the umbilical cord in her lap, chunks torn from its tiny body, it‘s right arm and leg both missing. She reacted to his voice and the sound by turning her face, lifeless eyes staring through him as she moaned and lifted her arms, still restrained by the seatbelt. The baby opened its eyes, and lifted its intact left arm toward him, its toothless mouth opening.

“Your child was undead?”

“That’s what I just fucking told you didn’t I?”

“No need to get hostile Mr, Fitzgerald.” She quipped writing something on the file in front of her.

“Like you know anything. Where were you? Cheyenne Mountain? Maybe already behind the Rockies in the safe zone? Or maybe, a hundred feet underground in some government funded lab studying the virus you created?” He pulled his arms against the shackles, “While the rest of the world fell apart where were you? Where the fuck was the warnings for all the people who had nothing to protect themselves with?!”

The woman motioned to the two way glass on the wall behind Bernard. She closed the folder. “Perhaps we should continue this some other time Mr. Fitzgerald.”

“Yeah go ahead hide behind your bosses and your guards. The world knows what you’ve done, it won’t go unpunished. You think you can keep all of us here to question and analyze? You are all the directly responsible for the deaths of millions if not billions and yet you rescued us!?” His head bounced off the table as the sedative was applied and the two M.Ps  unshackled his body and dragged him to his cell throwing him in.

Christine O’Connell removed her glasses and rubbed her eyes. Bernard Fitzgerald was the most intriguing case of self-survival in the entire complex. Yes they had their ferals and their other survivors but Bernard Fitzgerald was the only one to survive the entire 5 year epidemic without outside help, a fortress and any prior training. Some would call it luck, Christine O’Connell called it something else, basic instinct. His blood was already being studied and compared to other survivors to figure out what made him tic so it could be duplicated and placed in others for the next disaster such as this. 

She slid his file in the cabinet behind all the other Last Man on Earth Syndrome patients and sat at her desk. The Necrosis Virus had been found under the Antarctic ice in the 1990’s, since then it’d been experimented on and tested with surprising results. They loved it because it brought dead cells back to life, they kept trying to synthesis it to make it more medically viable to help hell patients and help people live longer. Of course the virus was unstable and once it made it’s way into a hosts system was irremovable and incurable. It somehow escaped quarantine on the ice, and spread from South Africa and South America, spreading across the globe. 

The United States had the highest population of Last Man on Earth Syndromes, they needed to study them, O’Connell predicted that the Necrosis virus was mutating as they spoke and it would only be a matter of time before it started appearing again, they hadn’t rid the world of the virus just as much of the undead that they could.

Don't ever wake up. -28 Days Later
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