Lima, Peru Hans wasn't thinking when he took off by foot, sneaking out of the lab and walking pretty much through the day, how difficult it would be. Fortunately, a little money went a long way and for fifty bucks he was treated like a king. Although the ride in the back of the truck was no ride in a limo, it was still a ride.

That ride took him to another, then another until finally he arrived. At the airport.

He was surprised no one came for him, or looked for him there. But judging by his phone, people were searching for him.

He didn't care. Luckily he was able to get a flight leaving the country almost immediately for Germany. Germany wasn't bad. He had family there and connections. In fact he called one to get him at the airport when his flight arrived. It wasn't America, his first preference, but it wasn't Peru. He had to get out of Peru, out of the country and away from what he had seen.

It was unnatural. The dementia was frightening, and fearful of not being able to feign off 600 people, Hans left.

He could do more in a safe location.

He was his own best test subject.

His head cocked at the call of his flight number and that they were boarding. With a handkerchief he wiped the sweat from his brow. His was feeling chilled, and not his best. Looking down to his phone he saw he had eight missed calls, three of which from Saul. He vowed to call him as soon as he landed. At that moment, though, he shut off his phone.

He glanced up to the boarding line, and decided to join. Wanting to know the time, he glanced to his phone, and recalled he turned it off. As he stood he looked at his watch. He had been awake nearly 24 hours. In looking at his watch he could see his arm, slightly swollen and the veins seemed like red road maps leading to the small cut that didn't want to heal.

He'd investigate when he got there, test himself. For that moment, he lowered his sleeve, prepared his boarding pass and got in line.

The tubular building was flown in and placed not far from where the Army had its set up. A long tent precluded the entrance, nearly hiding it from view.

"And this is Captain Steven Long," Colonel Manning introduced Saul.

Saul visually gave a once over to the enthusiastic, but tired looking Captain. Young, fit, typical soldier, but didn't look a thing like a scientist. He was average height and looks, probably younger than he appeared.

"Captain Long has been working on our victims and came across something very interesting."

It was about that point in the conversation that Saul withdrew his hand from the introduction. "Is that so?"

"Yes, Sir," Steven replied. "I'm very intrigued by the rate of attack and how it differs in victim to victim. Basically sir, every single victim, initial and secondary has been the same. Delirium, violent, and then I came across this."

Saul just followed.

Colonel Manning led them into the tube building and to the first door. "We have a shoot to kill order out on all infected," he said. "So imagine my surprise when Captain Long brought this one back." He opened the door.

Saul was taken aback. A child, shackled, sat center of the room. He played with a truck. Clearly, he was like the others. "Is he?"

"Yes," Steven answered. "No pulse. No breathing, no blood pressure. Body temperature, sixty-seven degrees. We're still waiting for one of the healthy in town to give us his name. Watch . . ." Steven approached him. "Hey, there."

The boy ignored him.

"Amazing," Saul said. "He's not violent."

"Well, yes, to you, me and others. But . . ." Steve excused himself from the room, and returned with a cage. A chicken inside moved radically around. He set the cage down in front of the boy and no sooner did he open it, the child scurried to the cage, devoured the chicken mercilessly in less than a minute, and bloodied with a few feather, the boy went back to his truck.

Saul cleared his throat. "I guess we can rule out getting him a puppy." Another clearing of his throat to hide his chuckle.

"Thing is," Col. Manning said. "We don't know why he is like this. Why he is not attacking people like the others. He may hold some sort of key."

"We need to find out," Saul said. "But we're not finding out here."

"My thoughts exactly," Col Manning stated. "I think we all can agree on what needs to be done next."

The three men looked at each other and then to the child.

"Helicopter should be here shortly," Col. Manning told Saul. "Captain Long is getting his things ready. Not much. He just got here yesterday."

Like Saul, Captain Long hadn't even unpacked. Hadn't taken a single item from his bag. Saul knew he wasn't going to be in Peru long, but less than a few hours?

But it was vital they both leave and go back to the states, to Washington where the two soldiers who were bitten were quarantined. The chopper would take them to the airstrip where a government jet was already waiting.

"How is the Captain about returning to the states so soon?"

"He thinks it's a big mistake bringing this thing there, but we both know, that it needs to be done."

"I agree with both of you."

"Before you board, take a look at what just came in," Manning pulled Saul's attention toward the computer.

His attention was on the growing noise outside. "I thought you gave the order."

"I did. But I want to wait until the backup troops arrive. Better safe than sorry, it's getting crazy. After that's finished, I already assigned locations for our scouts. But for now, Doctor, please." Col. Manning maneuvered the mouse, and the hiss of the printer started. "I'm making you copies to review fully on the plane. Check this out."

Saul leaned into the monitor.

A picture of an arm with a small red gash appeared. The gash wasn't bad, or deep.

"This was taken one half hour after this soldier was bitten." Col. Manning switched the screen. "Two hours post bite."

A redness appeared around the gash, which also seemed to still look as if it seeped.

Another switch and the arm was swollen and turning dark. The wound looked bigger and open.

"How many hours?" Saul asked.

"This is twelve hours. Taken at the hospital."

"How is the patient?"

"Fevered. Not much. Starting to feel ill."

"The other one?"

"Interesting enough, at a slower rate with a bigger wound."

Saul folded his arms. "Adrenaline enhanced."

"We think," Col. Manning said. "Soldier one; small wound, was very hyper and worried. Soldier two was hit accidentally in the head and knocked unconscious. So therefore all body function slowed."

"As did the rate of the virus."

"Exactly. We're keeping him sedated and his vitals at minimal to see what happen."

"Comparable in time frame?"

"His bigger wound is at maybe soldier one's four hour post."

"Let me ask you this," Saul said. "When you first tested them you said there were no signs of the virus in the blood. Not for thirty minutes. Have you yet experimented with removing the infected area or even amputating?"

"We've theorized that. Perhaps maybe the wound generates the virus and getting rid of the wound may do it, but we've not been fortunate enough to catch it that early."

"If it happens again, evasive wounds . . ."

"Then we will experiment."

"Great."

"I've placed those theories and other data in there for you." Col. Manning grabbed the papers from the printer and placed them in a folder. He extended the folder for Saul as the sound of the helicopter came into earshot.

"Ah, my ride and your backup. Col. Manning, if anything arises, anything of interest before I leave, let me know."

"I will." Col. Manning pointed to the folder. "You can review those on the flight."

"Seven hours," Saul breathed out. "Makes you wonder what I'm gonna face when I land."

Both men turned their heads when the sounds of yelling and moaning, damnation moaning rang out.

"Hopefully," Col. Manning said. "We can do something so that ends here. Tonight."

Saul gave a closed mouth nod. "Let's hope."

"They finished their meal," Specialist Carlson said. "We're the smorgasbord."

"They're not zombies," Jack blasted out.

"Then what are they?"

"I ... I don't know."

From tent two, the couple hundred hands multiplied and the barbed wire, fenced in area was like a corral of wild animals.

They moved slow, rigid, sloppy. Some carried body parts; all had that same dead-eyed look as they locked stares on the soldiers outside the perimeter.

As if they lost all reasoning, they aimed for the fence, reaching out. Some trying to walk through, getting jabbed and stuck. Others tried to climb with the same results. All of them gaping mouths, biting the air as if trying to consume a meal long distance.

Specialist Carlson snickered in a young way. "Dude, oh, my God. Look at that one."

Jack turned to see where he pointed. A woman was diligent in her fence attempt, flesh tore from her with each caught up twisted turn, but she didn't seem to notice.

It was a nightmare Jack had many times. Thought the reasonable man in him, verbally, and outright argued that they weren't zombies, in his mind he couldn't think of anything else they would be.

They looked dead. If they weren't, some sort of nerve disease cut their ability to feel. Some of them had no limbs, no insides, eyes.

Yes, a nightmare he had many times. Every time his wife made him watch a movie, whether scary or lame, he had nightmares about them. The big man's insides shuddered with disgust as his mind raced to comprehend what was happening. He couldn't help but stare at them, watching them, taking relief in the fact that he was safe from them for the time being.

The call of the platoon sergeant, yelling out, "Orders are in. Do it."

Jack knew what that meant.

They were just waiting for the shoot to kill order.

Specialist Carlson chuckled outward before blasting one single shot into the forehead of one of them.

Rapid fire rang out and Jack raised his weapon.

Be smart, he thought, you've seen enough movies. Just like Carlson, you know where to hit. Jack didn't waste time. He performed head shots and that was it.

"Quit wasting ammo," A soldier yelled out. "They aren't going down unless you aim for the head. Aim for the head!"

How right that was. Those who randomly shot only caused the creatures to jolt a few times and keep on in their pursuit. A single shot to the head ended it.

There were hundreds upon hundreds, and maybe thirty soldiers to do the job. Jack knew there were plenty of troops to take them all out, as long as they shot carefully and with precision.

Jack's big concern wasn't in ending the current situation; it was more so on the fact was this it? Or God forbid, were there more out there. Even scarier, if there were, they certainly weren't behind barbed wire fences.

CHAPTER TEN.

May 7th Hans was grateful he was seated in the back of the plane and that the person seated next to him had one too many cocktails before boarding. The overweight man snored loudly as he slept curled to the window, his hard outward breaths caused condensation against the pane of glass. It covered up the sound of regurgitation.

Pretty soon, Hans thought, he would stop throwing up. He didn't drink much, and the amount that spewed forth from his mouth was less and less with each upheaval. He kept his mouth buried to the bag and closed it quickly as to cover the smell. A smell that wasn't normal.

After vomiting, he hid the bag, cleared his throat, sat back and pulled the blanket higher. He was cold.

Feeling as if he could sleep, he closed his eyes.

"Sir, are you ok?" The gentle voice of Marian asked. He gazed upward to the stewardess, a woman considered 'older' for a stewardess. She offered a comforting smile.