BLOODBORNE: THE CHANGED BOOK 1 Page 8

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  DULUTH, MINNESOTA

  Dylan raced out of his house and back to his car. April was still in the car, or what was left of her was still there. If what he witnessed was true, she could change at any moment. He had witnessed two separate people turn into those things right in front of his own eyes. He decided he had to do something with her before that happened. He couldn’t bear the thought of his beloved April becoming one of those ‘things’.

  There was only one thing he could do to ensure she never became one of the Changed. He eventually pulled his car to the side of the road, stepped out, and looked around. He was out of the city now in a more rural, wooded area and there was no traffic in sight. He had no time to deal with locals thinking he was murdering someone. He wanted to make sure some passersby could not see him doing what he was planning and call the cops.

  The road was clear and he went around to the passenger side of the car. He opened it and April’s limp body fell out with a thud. It shattered his heart to see her like this, but better to do what he needed than to let her turn.

  He dragged her off the road and into the tree line. Tears were pouring from his face as he looked at her. She was everything to him, outside of the Corps. He had planned to give up his career for her. Visions of their future life passed through his head as he grabbed the knife from his tac vest.

  It was a standard K-bar, sharp as a razor. He put the knife to the back of her head and hesitated. He fell to his knees and thought, ‘Was this really the way?’ Would she change into one of those things? She showed no signs of life, and her body had turned ice cold and ashen in color. She was gone, but he still asked himself ‘What if?’

  As he sat there, he suddenly noticed that April had started to change color. Her veins were turning green and her eyes were starting to move. He had his answer.

  With a guttural scream, he plunged the knife into her head, ending anything that she might have become. Her eyes stopped moving and the green color slowly faded.

  His head started to spin and a wave of nausea overcame him. Dylan vomited all over the grass they lay on. He looked at her one more time and his very being crumbled into pieces.

  “Why?” he said as he looked up. “Haven’t I been a faithful man? Haven’t I done what you have asked of me?”

  Dylan looked back down at his beloved April. She was so pretty to him, even now. He could remember her smiling and with the sun shining on her hair. How she made the most normal of things seem special. His heart fell to his stomach and the knot in his throat tightened. He did not want to start crying, because if he did, he might never stop. He couldn’t hold back any longer as he embraced her for the last time.

  With his face soaking wet from crying and snot running out of his nose, his heart turned cold. A black, icy rage gripped his heart, and he knew what he must do. These things had to die, all of them. He wouldn’t stop until the job was done.

  Dylan made a quiet vow to his beloved April to avenge her death, he placed her gently on the ground, and headed back to the car. He grabbed the tire iron and started to dig a grave. It took a while, but he finally managed to give April a proper burial. He said goodbye one last time and returned to the car.

  Dylan got in and looked at the blood-soaked passenger seat. It no longer fazed him. He was in a zone that only a special few would ever understand. He was a Force Recon Marine, and a killer. Hard as stone and as lethal as a bullet from a gun.

  He closed the car door and sped off, leaving his future behind him. There were still people he cared about that needed saving. Gunning the old Mustang, he raced to his mom and dad’s house. They would have no clue what was going on, he was sure. They needed to be warned.

  He raced the car down their long driveway and slid to a stop in front of the garage door. He saw his mom in the garden and his dad mowing the lawn.

  “I knew it,” he mumbled to himself. “Mom, Dad, get into the house, now!” He had never ordered his parents to do anything, he had always been an obedient child. They looked at each other and then at Dylan.

  “Guys, in the house, now. We need to talk,” he said again.

  They slowly followed him into the house, taking their time, as older people were wont to do. Dylan was losing patience and barked at them to hurry. He didn’t have a lot of time.

  “What the hell is so important?” his dad asked, looking over his son. Dylan still had blood on him from taking care of April.

  “You two need to listen carefully,” Dylan started. He told them about the incident at the airport, leaving out the part about April. They would not take that news very well.

  “I think you’ve been a Marine too long,” his mother said. “Have you been drinking?”

  “No, I have not. You guys don’t believe me?” Dylan asked.

  “Not really, son. Now tell us what is really going on,” his father demanded.

  “Ok, fine. Watch this,” Dylan said as he went to the family computer. He opened a web browser and typed in a search. It was for the Duluth Canal Park webcam. It was positioned atop the Maritime Visitor Center and Museum and it overlooked the canal that the large ships passed through to get into the harbor. It also showed the lighthouse at the end of the pier and all the people walking along the pier.

  Today’s view was different. No ships were passing through, but people were running around being chased by several other people. The ‘chasers’ were different colors and they were biting and eating people.

  “Now do you believe me?” Dylan asked.

  Dylan’s dad went and turned on the TV to a local news channel. The station was reporting about the weather or sports, everything but what was happening downtown.

  “What the hell?” his dad asked.

  “Media blackout,” Dylan responded. “It’s very typical, and something we used to do overseas. If the government doesn’t want something out, they will force the blackout.”

  “How can they do that?” his mom asked.

  “Mom, they are the United States government. They can do whatever they want,” Dylan told her.

  For the first time since he got there, his parents showed real fear. He could see it in their eyes. His dad was always the stoic one, preferring calm, informed, decision making. Nothing ever rattled him. Right now, he was rattled.

  “What do we do now, son?” his dad asked.

  “Pack up your stuff, and get to the cabin,” he told them. They owned a small cabin near the Canadian border. It was very remote, with the nearest neighbor ten miles away.

  “Pack up everything you will need to survive. Bring all your guns and ammo. After you leave here, don’t stop. Don’t stop for anything, not even the cops. You get there and you hole up. Defend yourselves against everyone and everything. Don’t trust anyone, because very soon it won’t be just these Changed that we have to worry about.”

  “What do you mean by that?” his mom asked.

  “Very soon, society will fall. The illusion of safety that America has right now will start to crumble. The curtain will drop and eventually reveal the true nature of people. Then we will also have to worry about regular citizens. Right now, you have time, but not much.”

  “What are you going to do? Go get April and her family?” his mom asked.

  “Mom, April is dead,” Dylan told her. White-faced shock spread across their faces and their mouths hit the floor. Dylan went on to tell them about the rest of the airport scene and the side of the road.

  “This is her blood on me,” he finished telling them. “I won’t rest until all of these things are gone.”

  “Son, you can’t do that. It’s too much,” his dad said.

  “The hell I can’t,” Dylan barked back. His rage had returned and it turned him into the experienced soldier that he had never shown his parents before. “I will do whatever is necessary to protect you two and that means ending this scourge upon humanity.”

  “What about April’s parents? Do they know?” his mom asked.

  “No. They
are my next stop. I’m going to send them to the cabin as well, so be expecting them,” Dylan said.

  “How will we know if it’s them?” his dad asked.

  “Here,” Dylan said as he produced a small, portable ham radio. “Use this radio and the frequencies programmed into it.”

  He took a few moments to go over the radio with them and how to check the frequencies. “Check them at noon, 3:00 pm and 6:00 pm every day. If they are close, I will tell them to wait until they make contact with you before they approach.”

  “Son, you don’t have to do this,” his dad said. “Come with us.”

  “No, I have to do this for April,” Dylan said.

  He hugged them both goodbye as blackness filled his heart.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHARLESTON, SOUTH CAROLINA

  Mike and Pete were stuck on base. The base was on full lockdown as part of the President’s order to bring all Armed Services to full readiness. Only personnel assigned to essential services were allowed some freedom of movement.

  As airplane mechanics, they were vital to the keeping planes in the air. Especially the C-17s. If the base was over-run, the plan was for the Globemasters to get them all out.

  The fence line was manned by personnel, all armed with M4s. Makeshift towers at strategic points along the fence were built and occupied, each supporting an M2, affectionately called the ‘Ma Deuce’. The base felt as ready as it could be.

  “Any idea what the hell is going on?” Pete asked Mike. They were in the hanger, working hard to get the latest overhaul finished.

  “No clue, but if Silly Putty put us on alert, then we need to be ready,” Mike responded. Silly Putty is what he called the President because he thought the commander in chief didn’t have much more than silly putty for a brain.

  A few seconds later, an alarm rang out and gunfire erupted from the south fence line. It was nothing more than a chain link fence with razor wire at the top. It was a ‘double wall’ design, with a second fence ten yards inside the first, but it would do little to stop what was heading towards them.

  Mike and Pete grabbed their weapons and scurried to the line. They watched in horror as what looked like all of North Charleston was headed towards them. Masses of people were running and stumbling in their direction. The bodies were still too far away to see much detail with the naked eye, but Mike and Pete could clearly see these were the Changed. They were all different, glowing colors.

  “Looks like a Lite Brite convention from hell,” Mike whispered. He was using a pair of binoculars and he could see some of the closer ones in greater detail. They all were covered in blood. Some had missing body parts, others had holes in their stomachs with their entrails hanging out.

  “Give me those,” Pete said as he grabbed the binoculars. He gasped as he watched the group come at them. “Oh my god,” he breathed out.

  The Ma Deuces were ear shattering, as they pounded the Changed relentlessly. The big .50 caliber bullets shredded anything they touched. Soon, a red mist was hanging over the group, but still they charged forward. They were now within three hundred yards of the wire, and the M4s of the soldiers in the watch towers joined the battle. A few watchtowers managed to get SAWs into the action, and the invading group was pushed back to three hundred and fifty yards.

  “Making some headway,” Pete stammered as he loaded a fresh magazine. Behind him, he could hear the massive roar of a Globemaster spinning up.

  “Think they’re getting ready to leave?” Pete asked.

  “Don’t know. Maybe. Keep shooting,” Mike shouted back. Between the gunfire and the planes, it was getting really noisy. Mike did notice that the sounds of the planes starting up sent a renewed energy through the Changed. They doubled their efforts and continued their charge.

  As they approached the two hundred yard mark, Mike could really pick his shots. He watched for a second as bullets continued to pound away as the mass of bodies. Some of the Changed would drop instantly, while others kept coming.

  He continued to watch and noticed that the ones that dropped were due to head shots. Mike thought he had this figured out.

  “Head shots only,” Mike screamed, but only those closest to him could hear. The small group they were in followed his instructions and started aiming for head shots. All of the Changed that took a round to the head dropped.

  Mike got excited until he realized that headshots were extremely difficult on a moving target, especially on those red bastards. They were fast as hell and smaller framed. He noticed some of the Changed were blue and others were purple. The majority were mostly greens, but that portion of the group hadn’t made it to within four hundred yards of the fence line yet. The green ones bumbled about but were still bumbling straight towards them. The purple ones scared Mike. It looked like they were just as fast as the red ones, but they were massive in size. Their bodies screamed power.

  “Pete, shoot the Barneys,” Mike screamed out.

  “What?” Pete yelled back.

  “The purple bastards, shoot the purple ones,” Mike yelled.

  Pete looked around and quickly caught on. The hair on the back of his neck stood straight out and goose bumps covered his body. Pete could see what Mike was saying. The purple ones were huge and fast.

  Pete started showering the nearest one with a full magazine. He had been spooked by the information that Mike had laid on him, indirectly. A torrent of bullets ripped through one of the purples, ripping its chest damn near in two. It kept coming forward but was slowing with every step. Soon, it dropped like a rock, unmoving.

  “Chest shots will work, but it takes a ton to drop them,” Pete reported.

  “I saw that, keep aiming for the heads,” Mike said.

  Another warning alarm sounded, and gunfire started on the north wall. Mike turned to look and saw airmen running for the north wall.

  “They’re getting around us,” Mike informed Pete. “We’re gonna lose the base.”

  “Well, fart in a church. This ain’t good, man,” Pete said. “They got those Globes up yet?”

  “Don’t know. I heard at least three start up,” Mike responded.

  The south grouping had managed to get within one hundred yards of the outer fence before the first wave of air support arrived. It was an A-10 Warthog. It let loose with its massive chain guns, turning the leading edge of the south group into mist.

  “Where the hell did that come from?” Pete yelled out over the din of battle. “We don’t have any of those here.”

  “Don’t know, don’t care,” Mike said as he continued to rain fire on the Changed. His rifle barrel was hot to the touch and starting to glow. “We’re in shit soup if we don’t get out of here soon.”

  A loudspeaker blared as another wave of Warthogs rained fire on the mass of bodies. It was hard to hear, but it was a call to abandon the base.

  “Every third man, get to the planes,” a voice screamed as it went by them. The body belonging to the voice was touching every third person to signify that they were to leave the line.

  Another alarm, and the west wall lit up with gunfire. They were quickly being overrun, and soon would have no place to go but up.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  NORTH LITTLE ROCK, ARKANSAS

  The situation had turned desperate at the hospital. They had been inundated with people coming in with savage injuries. Massive numbers of people with bite marks, torn limbs, rips, and tears. It was ruthless and constant. They just kept coming in.

  The EMTs were reporting that their ambulances were out of supplies and that the cops were being overrun. The gang battles had spilled out of Little Rock and into their part of town. Looting was rampant, as well as shootings.

  The Arkansas National Guard was called out, but it was too little, too late. The ravages of the Changed had taken over and nothing could stop them. Lucy heard stories about changed people being shot, and they kept coming. The Guard had tried to establish order by enacting a curfew that went into effect immediately, but that di
dn’t work. Looters were out in force and didn’t listen to any sort of authority figure. The Changed, as some had started calling them, just rampaged through Little Rock like it was a Sunday morning brunch.

  Not long after it all started, people began to change in the ER. Screams of agony filled the hallways and several hospital staff succumbed to the change after they were bitten by patients. Staff were bitten, torn up and eaten as the patients they were trying to treat turned on them. It was gruesome and unending. After that, anyone coming in with bite marks was escorted to the cafeteria, under armed guard. They were quarantined there with no explanation. Shouts of anger turned to screams of pain as some started to change. Others in the cafeteria, that hadn’t changed, screamed in horror as they watched what was happening to the ones around them.

  Lucy was working on hour twenty-five without a break. She was more than exhausted. Her nerves were fried and all she wanted was for the chaos to end. Greg had come down from Oncology to help in the ER, where it was all hands-on deck.

  “Greg, I can’t do this anymore. Twenty-five hours without a break,” she mumbled at him.

  “It’s getting worse,” Greg replied. “A cop just told me that the Changed are closing in on the university in Little Rock. If they get there, then the hospital in Little Rock will be completely swamped. They are close to filling all beds now and there is no end in sight.”

  “We need to get out of here,” Lucy stammered. She was beyond the point of caring about anything other than a pillow.

  “I know,” Greg said, shocking Lucy awake. In the past, Greg had never spoken a word about giving up on a patient, so for him to do it now meant things were getting bad.

  “There have been no orders yet coming from on high about all emergency services personnel being mandated to report in, but it’s coming,” Greg warned her. “We need to get out before we can’t. Do you have a place to lay low?”

  “Yes, my sister’s place. It’s a farm that’s pretty remote. We could go there,” she answered. “How do we get out without anyone noticing? I’m sure the higher ups won’t like us bailing like this.”