The Infected: An H1-2M1 Chronicle

By L.M. Lee

The H1-2M1 virus has plagued the world. The infected are mad with hysteria and aggression. They feed on their neighbors and spread their virus through violent outbursts. A young woman must decide whether she wants to continue to survive alone or trust a stranger in order to begin living again. Unfortunately, she has learned the hard way that strangers are dangerous, and there are no good people left in the world.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Mar 31, 2016
• ISBN: 9781365001833

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The Infected: An H1-2M1 Chronicle

The Infected:

An H1-2M1 Chronicle

Copyright

This book is a work of fiction. The characters, events, and dialogue only took place in the author’s imagination, and should not be viewed as ever happening in real life. Any resemblance to events, people, or conversations is a mere coincidence that the author would love to hear about if you meet her. 

The Infected: An H1-2M1 Chronicle Copyright © 2016 L.M. Lee. All rights reserved. Printed in the United States of America. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner without written permission from the author.

Cover designed by L.M. Lee

Edited by L.M. Lee

ISBN: 978-1-365-00183-3

Chapter 1

Once upon a time I was a good person. At least, I think I was a good person. No, I know I was a good person. I am a good person. I AM a good person. I AM! Even as I sit here covered in someone else’s blood, I know I am a good person. If you would have told me ten years ago I would be here, I wouldn’t have believed you. Actually, I didn’t believe the one person that tried to warn me, back when it was starting.

The end of the world didn’t happen overnight. There was no zombie apocalypse that ended humanity. The saved didn’t disappear and leave the rest of us behind. No, it happened in stages. But when the world fell apart, it happened quickly, not over night, but quickly.

First the American Dollar fell. I don’t know why. I simply don’t remember. It happened years before the true end. Some of the older ones might remember if you can find one; most of them are dead. I was just a kid when the dollar fell. At first it wasn’t a big deal. People were poor. People are always poor. No one really knew how bad things were. The government tried their best to cover up the disaster we were in. The media was so obsessed with celebrities that they forgot what true journalism was.

Mom and Pop stores shut down all the time. This was nothing new, but when McDonalds and Wal*Mart closed its doors people noticed. They were the richest companies in America, and they filed for bankruptcy. It was big news, but people still didn’t understand what was happening. After that, small businesses began re-emerging. People saw it as a return to better times. It was the end of big business and the start of what made America great. They thought it would turn the economy around. But then, the banks started foreclosures on properties. They called it another housing crisis. The government tried to help. New laws were passed that allowed people to stay in their homes, to rent them from the bank, until they were re-sold. That sounded great, but no one was buying. Eventually, people stopped paying rent and became squatters in their own homes. There was nothing the banks could do. It was bad for business, but a block of empty homes wasn’t going to sell.

The banks tried to recover, but no one had money to put into the bank. Those that did started buying gold and silver instead of trusting the banks. Almost the entire country was homeless…and hungry. The government tried to help, but that help never ventured out of the city. What was once known as Urban Jungles became Urban Deserts. A movement began that turned empty lots, parks, even roof tops, into gardens, but it wasn’t enough. In rural America the farmers were on their own. From what I could tell, those of us that lived outside of the major cities were better off. We knew how to be self-sufficient. From our perspective we didn’t need big government.

Mom and Pop stores understood what this Depression meant. Money was no longer our number one currency. We exchanged goods for goods. My father was a doctor. After the fall he went back to working for the hospital, but he kept his private-practice open. He treated everyone. Not just those who could afford it. He was a pediatrician, but became a general practitioner when he found out he was the only doctor willing to take an apple pie as payment. We received many different forms of payments; homemade dinners, handmade clothes, shoes, jewelry, lawn service, car repairs. A woman cleaned our house for a week to pay for her son’s exam. I didn’t even know you could move a fridge to clean behind it before she arrived. When my brother and I were both young he would mostly trade time. My mother passed away when I was still an infant. My brother and I spent a lot of time with various families in the community while my father was away at the hospital.

But that wasn’t the end of the world. That we could have recovered from, eventually. We did it before, but…the last time we fell into a Great Depression, we didn’t pull the rest of the world with us. When big business fell, a lot of people in third world countries lost their jobs. The big American Companies that had grown rich shipping jobs overseas were gone. The end of the world came with the sickness, Human Mentis—Morbum or H1-2M1. My father called them the infected; I just call them sickos now. Everyone seems to have a different name for them. I think it truly started before the fall of the dollar, but we had resources back then. Resources used to cover it up. If we still had those resources after the fall, then maybe the sickness wouldn’t have spread the way it did. Maybe we could have found a cure. 

I remember my father telling me about a guy in Miami who ate another man’s face off. The police shot him but that didn’t stop him. He growled at them like a rabid animal, not like a human being. Finally, a single shot to the head put the guy out of his misery. The second guy, the one he was eating, passed away due to injuries sustained in the attack. At least, that’s what the official story was. I saw the pictures. The injuries he received were not life threatening. He lost his nose and some cheek tissue, but he should have lived. That was the start of the sickness, in my opinion. They blamed it on synthetic drugs but that wasn’t it. The details are too close with the H1-2M1 virus for it to be just a coincidence.

When it started, the news threw the word zombies around, but they’re not zombies. They’re not the walking dead. They are NOT dead. They ARE alive! That’s not me being a bleeding heart hoping we’ll find a cure. I’m not one of those. H1-2M1 isn’t supernatural. My father compared it to Rabies. The sick are aggressive, angry. They lash out at anyone and anything they can get ahold of. If there’s nothing around to attack they will self-harm.  If that wasn’t bad enough, they laugh the whole time. They can still talk and think, but it’s not coherent. They feel no pain; or rather, pain doesn’t affect them the way it does us. What would cause us to scream in agony will cause the infected to erupt in a fit of laughter. They used to say laughter was the best medicine. A contagious social phenomenon that everyone enjoyed, everyone needed. Now, it is the sound that haunts my nightmares and makes my blood run cold.

They’re attracted to sound and light. The cold does affect them. They will freeze, and there’s no coming back from it. But they’re not stupid. They seek shelter in large groups to keep warm during the freeze. They may not be stupid but they do lack the thinking capacity to change their clothes or participate in any hygiene rituals. Those that get sick during the summer are still wearing their summer clothes during the freeze. It’s not uncommon to find a sicko with fingers or noses that have turned black from frost bite.

There’s something about the virus that makes the human body process fuel differently. If they don’t eat they will eventually starve, but where it only takes twenty four days for us, it’ll take months for them. If they don’t drink they’ll dehydrate. It’ll take them a week longer, but they HAVE to drink, because they are ALIVE. They don’t starve or dehydrate though. Not if they’re free to roam. They’ll eat human flesh and drink human blood. They don’t care if it’s human, deer, cow, or rat. They’ll attack it and they’ll eat it. I’ve seen them eat dirt before. They’ll eat anything to stay alive. They will NOT attack each other. It’s like they can smell the infection. I have learned to take notes on survival from the infected. If they won’t eat it neither should I. I have never tested the theory, but it doesn’t take a rocket scientist. If THEY think the meat is bad. Or the plant poisonous, why should it be any different for me? We are after all both human.

They spread the virus through their violent outbursts. A bite or a scratch can infect you. The human body has been designed to do one thing, survive. If infected, the body will try to fight off the infection. I have been infected but I recovered. Recovering from a bite once doesn’t mean you’re cured. The sickness is a virus that changes with every person it infects, like the Flu. There is no cure and there is no immunity. You are never safe from it. I’ve been infected more than once. Each time I wished for death, but I survived. I’m still not sure if that makes me lucky or unfortunate.

That is how the world ended. That is how I eventually ended up here in this hole. How I ended up with sticky blood covering me from head to toe. As disgusting as it was, the blood had been warm as it covered me. It felt kind of nice to be warm again, but now it was starting to cool. I pulled my legs tighter to my chest as I tried to disappear into the wall. There was a small hole in the drywall of this room. It wasn’t large, but neither was I. I was of average height for an American female, but my hollow stomach, lean arms and legs made it easy to squeeze into tights spaces. If the sickos saw or heard me they would rip the drywall apart to get to me. They would claw my eyes out or go for my gut. It depended on how hungry they were. If they weren’t hungry they would just attack me. Beat me until I stopped moving for the sheer joy of it.

I’m you gonna get! You Gonna I’m get! Gonna get get get get get get you!! AHAHAHAHAHAHA! He cackled as he tore the cabinet doors off their hinges. I closed my eyes tightly. His words still made sense. He was newly infected. That’s how the virus stayed alive. It could lie dormant for several days before attacking its host. The virus would die down as the number of infected decreased, but out of nowhere some cocky sap would get infected, not tell his village thinking he could beat it, and the virus would be alive and well once more. I only needed another minute or two before the sicko died. He would go until his body ran dry. The virus kept the body from going into shock. I wasn’t even sure if he knew he had been sliced and was bleeding out.

My fingers tightened over the hilt of my dagger. I had already sliced him pretty good while he tried to bash my head in. That was my specialty. Thanks to my father I had an excellent knowledge of human anatomy. He would bleed out eventually. It was just a matter of when. I could feel a tickle in my throat threatening to betray me. If I coughed now it would be the end of me. I buried my face in my knees as my eyes started to water. I had to stay absolutely silent.

Hey ugly!

My ears perked up. 

Why don’t you just die?

Get get get get get get you!!! AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA The sicko chanted as he charged whoever was speaking.

I jumped as a gun went off. The other sickos would hear that. I hated guns. They were the most dangerous weapon you could have on you. This guy either didn’t see the nest of sickos or he was the luckiest man alive, because he was a complete idiot.

You can come out! the voice said.

I stayed put.

I know you’re still in here. We should probably move.

So he did know there were more of them out there, and he fired his gun anyway. I couldn’t hold it in anymore. My whole body shook as I coughed. I sat back in my hole and listened. There was silence. The man was either gone or he was waiting for me to come out.

You’re sick? he asked cautiously.

I didn’t speak.

I’m from a community. We have supplies and medicine. He was standing next to the hole. He had found me. The tone of his voice was taunting not sympathetic. I knew the voice of a man wanting to help. This man wanted me to come out. He had no intention of helping me. I would have rather faced the sicko than face this man. Sickos I could kill. I wasn’t so great with uninfected people who could strategize.

I didn’t speak or move for nearly an hour. The man didn’t try to get me out of my hole. I didn’t hear him leave either. The blood that covered me was now dry and crusty. The smell of it made me want to vomit. I pulled myself out of the hole cautiously. The man was sitting on the counter. His back was too me. I could have easily snuck out the window, but my cough betrayed me. It was just a little cough but it was enough to