Chapter 4: The Calm
The hospital cafeteria coffee tasted like burnt rubber, but I drank it anyway. Tuesday morning, six AM, start of another shift. My third in four days. The timer in my vision read 44:17:33.
I'd gone home after leaving Nick's hospital, slept for maybe three hours, then dragged myself back to work. Staying busy kept my mind off the countdown. Kept me from thinking about what I'd have to do when the numbers hit zero.
The ER was chaos.
A man in his fifties sat in the waiting room, skin gray and clammy, pressing a blood-soaked towel to his arm. Bite marks visible through the fabric. A woman paced nearby, clutching her purse, mascara streaked down her cheeks.
"He says a homeless man attacked him," she told the triage nurse. "Just... bit him. For no reason."
The nurse took down the information, professional and calm, but I saw the tension in her shoulders. She'd heard this story before. Three times in the last twelve hours, according to the shift notes.
I took the patient to an exam room. Harold Chen, accountant, bit on the left forearm while walking to his car in a parking garage downtown. The wound was deep, jagged, already showing signs of infection despite being less than six hours old.
"Did the attacker say anything?" I asked while cleaning the wound.
"He just... moaned. Like he was in pain." Harold's voice shook. "His eyes were wrong. Cloudy. And he smelled like death."
Already turned. Already spreading.
"I'm going to prescribe strong antibiotics and a tetanus shot." I wrapped the wound carefully, knowing it wouldn't matter. "But I need you to monitor yourself closely. If you develop a fever, confusion, aggression—come back immediately."
"Aggression?" Harold laughed nervously. "I'm an accountant. I don't do aggression."
"Just watch for symptoms."
He left with his wife, prescription in hand, dead man walking. He'd turn in the next eight to twelve hours. Maybe less.
[ INFECTION DETECTED: EARLY STAGE OUTBREAK ]
[ ESTIMATED TIME TO FULL SATURATION: 48-72 HOURS ]
I blinked the text away and moved to the next patient.
The pattern repeated throughout the day. Bite victims. "Random" attacks. Patients with flu symptoms and behavioral changes. Two died on my shift—one from blood loss, one from cardiac arrest. Both bodies were tagged and moved to the morgue before I could see if they'd reanimate.
The hospital administrators held an emergency meeting at noon. I wasn't invited, but I heard the aftermath—confusion, fear barely masked by professional language. They were talking about infectious disease protocols, quarantine procedures, calling in the CDC.
Too late. All of it too late.
My supervisor caught me in the supply hallway around two PM. Dr. Reeves, fifty-something, exhausted, smart enough to recognize patterns.
"Mercer. You've been on the floor during most of these bite cases."
I kept my expression neutral. "Yeah. Bad timing."
"You notice anything unusual? Beyond the obvious?"
Everything. "They're all similar. Unprovoked attacks, cloudy eyes in the assailants, rapid infection progression. It's not rabies—rabies takes longer. This is something else."
"You sound like you've been researching."
"I'm a medical resident. Research is what I do."
She studied me for a long moment. "The inventory discrepancies. That was you, wasn't it?"
No point lying. She already knew. "Yes."
"Why?"
"Because I'm not an idiot." I met her gaze. "You've seen the same patients I have. Whatever this is, it's spreading fast. The hospital's going to be overwhelmed within days. I wanted supplies for my family."
"That's theft."
"Fire me." I kept my voice flat. "Or don't. Won't matter soon anyway."
She opened her mouth, closed it. Then: "How bad do you think this gets?"
"Worse than anything we're prepared for."
She turned and walked away without another word. I didn't know if I still had a job. Didn't particularly care. The apocalypse was a great performance review equalizer.
My shift ended at six. I changed out of my scrubs in the locker room, checked my phone. Three texts from Nick, all sent within the last hour.
They released me
Calvin wants to meet. Says he needs to talk.
Something feels wrong
I called him immediately. He answered on the first ring.
"Where are you?"
"Home. With my mom." His voice was low, probably didn't want to be overheard. "Calvin texted me an hour ago. Wants to meet at the river basin tonight."
"Don't go."
"I have to. He's—look, he's the only one who might believe me about Gloria. He was supposed to meet her that night. If I can get him to back up my story—"
"Nick. Calvin doesn't want to talk. He wants to make sure you stay quiet."
Silence. Then: "You think he'll try to kill me."
"I think he's scared, and scared people do stupid things." I grabbed my keys, already moving toward my car. "If you're going to meet him, I'm coming too."
"He said alone."
"Then I'll stay out of sight. But I'm not letting you walk into an ambush."
"You barely know me. Why do you care?"
Because I know what's coming. Because your family matters. Because I need allies who trust me.
"Because you're one of the only people who's seen the truth and not pretended it's something else."
He exhaled slowly. "Okay. He wants to meet at nine. Drainage tunnel near the 6th Street bridge."
"I'll be there at eight-thirty. Don't mention me."
I hung up and drove home, mind racing. This was happening sooner than the show's timeline. Calvin was moving fast, probably panicked after hearing about Gloria through the dealer network. He knew Nick had been at the church. He knew Nick was talking.
Dead men told no tales. Calvin was going to try to make Nick a dead man.
Which solved one of my problems. The timer was at 42:08:19 and counting. I needed a target. Calvin was volunteering.
At home, I loaded the Glock and tucked it in my waistband. Added a knife to my boot. Checked the time—seven PM. Two hours until the meet.
My phone rang. Unknown number.
"Yeah?"
"It's Nick. Can we meet first? Before Calvin?" He sounded young and scared. "I just... I need to talk to someone who isn't going to tell me I'm crazy."
"Where?"
"There's a diner on 7th. Maria's. I can be there in twenty minutes."
"See you there."
The diner was the kind of place that had been serving the same menu since 1975—cracked vinyl booths, laminated menus, a waitress who looked like she'd been there since opening day. Nick sat in a corner booth, stirring coffee he wasn't drinking.
I slid in across from him. He looked worse than he had in the hospital—hollow-eyed, twitchy, dressed in clothes that hung off his frame.
"You look like hell," I said.
"Thanks. Really helps." He tried for sarcasm but his heart wasn't in it. "My mom thinks I'm relapsing. Travis wants me in intensive rehab. Alicia won't even look at me."
"They saw Gloria?"
"On the news. 'Violent assault, suspect deceased, investigation ongoing.'" He made air quotes. "They think I had a drug-induced hallucination about a totally normal attack."
"What do you think?"
"I think I saw a dead woman walking." His hands shook around the coffee cup. "I think Calvin saw her too, and now he wants to kill me for knowing. I think the world is ending and nobody believes me."
The waitress appeared. I ordered coffee I didn't want, waited until she left.
"It's not ending," I said quietly. "It's already ended. We just haven't noticed yet."
Nick's laugh was broken glass. "That's comforting."
"You want comfort or truth?"
"Truth. I'm done with comfort."
I leaned forward, keeping my voice low. "At the hospital, I've seen three patients today with bite wounds from 'random attacks.' Same pattern as Gloria—unprovoked, the attackers had cloudy eyes and didn't respond to pain. Two of those patients died. Their bodies were moved to the morgue before I could see what happened next."
"But you know."
"Yeah. I know. They'll reanimate. Probably already have. And everyone they bite will turn too."
"How long do we have?"
"Days. Maybe less."
He absorbed that, nodding slowly like I'd confirmed something he'd already suspected. "What do we do?"
"You survive. You get your family to safety. You stop meeting with people who want to kill you."
"Calvin—"
"Calvin's already decided. You saw something you weren't supposed to see. He's cutting loose ends." I held his gaze. "But if you want proof for your family, if you need them to see the truth... maybe Calvin can provide that."
Understanding dawned in his eyes. "You want to let him turn."
"I want your family to believe you. Before it's too late."
The coffee arrived. We both ignored it.
"This is insane," Nick said finally. "We're talking about killing someone and letting them become a zombie just to prove a point."
"We're talking about surviving." I took a sip of the terrible coffee. "Calvin made his choice when he decided to kill you. I'm just... managing the outcome."
"You're scary, you know that?" But he wasn't backing away. If anything, he looked relieved to have someone who understood the math of the new world.
"Not as scary as what's coming."
We sat in silence for a while. The diner was mostly empty—a couple of truckers at the counter, a teenager in a booth texting. Normal people having a normal evening, unaware that normal had died three days ago.
"My family," Nick said eventually. "If this is real. If it's happening. How do I protect them?"
"You need supplies. Water, food, medicine. Weapons would help. And you need to be ready to leave LA when the city falls."
"When, not if."
"When."
He pulled out a cigarette, remembered he was inside, put it back. "You have supplies."
"Some. Not enough."
"Can I buy from you? Trade? I don't know how this works."
"I'll give them to you."
"Why?"
Because I need you to trust me. Because your sister is going to matter more than I can explain. Because I'm playing a long game and you're a key piece.
"Because good people are going to die, and I'm trying to make sure your family isn't one of them."
[ TIMER: 41:19:47 ]
The numbers glowed in my peripheral vision. Forty-one hours. Less than two days.
"We should go," I said. "Calvin's meet is in an hour. I want to scout the location first."
Nick nodded, threw money on the table without counting it. We walked out into the warm LA evening. Traffic hummed on the nearby freeway. Streetlights flickered on as the sun set.
"You really think he'll try to kill me?" Nick asked as we reached our cars.
"Yeah. I do."
"And you're going to stop him."
"If I have to."
He studied me for a long moment. "I don't know if I should be grateful or terrified."
"Be both. It's appropriate."
I drove to the river basin alone, parking three blocks away and approaching on foot. The drainage tunnels under the 6th Street bridge were a maze of concrete channels and graffiti-covered walls. Drug deals happened here. Bodies got dumped here. It was the perfect place for a murder.
I found a vantage point behind a support pillar that gave me a clear view of the main tunnel entrance. Then I waited, Glock resting against my thigh, watching the sun sink below the horizon.
Nick arrived at eight fifty-five, right on time. He stood near the entrance, hands in his pockets, trying to look casual and failing. Every few seconds he'd glance around, looking for me or for Calvin, I couldn't tell which.
Calvin showed up ten minutes later.
Even from a distance, I could read his body language—tense, determined, one hand in his jacket pocket. He approached Nick with false friendliness, all smiles and casual greetings, but his eyes were flat and calculating.
They talked. I couldn't hear the words, but I watched Calvin maneuver Nick deeper into the tunnel, away from the street, away from witnesses. Nick followed, either trusting or playing along, I wasn't sure.
The gun came out when they were fifty feet into the tunnel.
Calvin pulled it smooth and fast, pointed it at Nick's chest. Nick's hands went up. I moved.
Silent steps on concrete. Calvin was focused on Nick, didn't hear me until I was five feet away. He started to turn—
I hit him at a dead run, shoulder driving into his ribs. The gun went off, deafening in the enclosed space, the bullet sparking off concrete somewhere to our left. We crashed to the ground in a tangle of limbs.
Calvin was stronger than he looked. He got an elbow into my jaw, stars exploding across my vision. I rolled, he followed, the gun still clutched in his hand. He was trying to bring it around—
My hand found his wrist. We wrestled for control, grunting and cursing. Nick stood frozen, eyes wide.
Calvin's finger was on the trigger. He was going to get a shot off. I couldn't overpower him fast enough.
So I bit him.
Not hard. Just enough to break skin on his forearm. Blood welled up, and I tasted copper.
[ INFECTION INITIATED ]
[ TIMER RESET: 72:00:00 ]
The relief was instantaneous. The pressure in my veins released. The hunger faded. I could breathe again.
And Calvin was dead, he just didn't know it yet.
I twisted his wrist until something cracked. The gun clattered away. Then I got him in a chokehold, proper technique, cutting off blood flow to the brain. He thrashed for fifteen seconds, then went limp.
I held the position for another thirty seconds, making sure. When I released him, he didn't move. Didn't breathe.
Nick stumbled forward, staring at Calvin's body. "Is he—"
"Yeah."
"You killed him."
"He was going to kill you." I stood, checking myself for injuries. Bruised ribs, split lip, but nothing serious. "Help me move him."
"Move him where?"
"His car. We need to get him off the street."
Nick looked like he might vomit, but he helped. We dragged Calvin's body to his beat-up Civic parked nearby, loaded him into the back seat. His skin was already cooling, joints stiffening.
"What now?" Nick's voice cracked.
"Now we wait."
"For what?"
I checked my watch. Eight minutes since death. "You'll see."
We sat in Calvin's car, Nick in the driver's seat, me in the passenger seat, Calvin's corpse sprawled across the back. The minutes crawled by. Nick kept checking the rearview mirror, looking at the body, then looking away.
"This is fucked up," he muttered. "This is so fucked up."
"Yeah."
"You bit him. I saw you bite him."
"I did."
"Why?"
Because I'm infected. Because I had to. Because the timer was running out and he was convenient and guilty and now I get seventy-two more hours of being human.
"Seemed appropriate. He was trying to kill you."
Nick didn't buy it, but he didn't push. We sat in tense silence.
Fourteen minutes after death, Calvin's fingers twitched.
Nick saw it. "What the—"
Calvin's eyes opened. Milky, unfocused, dead. A low moan rattled from his throat. Then he lunged forward, grabbing for Nick's neck.
Nick screamed, threw himself against the driver's door. Calvin's teeth snapped inches from his shoulder. Dead hands clawed at the headrest, the seat, anything in reach.
"Drive!" I shouted. "Just drive!"
Nick fumbled the keys into the ignition, engine roaring to life. Calvin was fully animated now, snarling and grabbing, trapped in the back seat by his seatbelt. Nick stomped the accelerator. The car lurched forward.
"Where am I going?!"
"Anywhere! Just keep him contained!"
Nick drove like a maniac, swerving through empty streets. Calvin threw himself against the seats, moaning, reaching. Dead eyes fixed on us with hungry focus.
"This isn't happening," Nick chanted. "This isn't happening."
"It's happening. This is what Gloria was. This is what's coming for everyone."
Nick ran a red light, nearly hit a parked car. Calvin didn't care. Calvin didn't feel fear or pain or anything except the need to feed.
"We have to stop him!"
"Yeah. We do."
Nick slammed the brakes. We were in an alley behind a closed auto shop. Calvin lurched forward, hitting the back of Nick's seat. I opened my door, grabbed the tire iron from the trunk—had spotted it earlier when we loaded the body—and came around to the passenger side.
"Open his door."
"Are you insane?"
"Open it. I'll handle him."
Nick reached back with shaking hands, unlocked the rear door. I yanked it open. Calvin tumbled out, still tangled in the seatbelt, snarling and snapping. I brought the tire iron down on his skull.
The first hit dazed him. The second cracked bone. The third caved in his skull, and he went still.
I stood there breathing hard, tire iron dripping. Nick leaned against the car, bent over, dry heaving.
"Now you know," I said. "This is what's coming for everyone."
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