Rating: This chapter is rated PG-13 for course language and some violence. The fic as a whole is rated M.
Genre: Drama/General/ZOMBIES...!
Notes: This is my first time I've ever dipped my toe into creative writing, so any feedback (positive or negative) is welcome. Enjoy!

Major props go out to my beta, ibroketuesday  for putting up with my silly mistakes.

Cross posted to mytwoheroes, matt_mohinder, heroes_fic and, of course, undeadheroes

April 27, 2008

“I told Mohinder people could get rabies!” Molly chirped from beside the television. She used the back of her hand to wipe away the moisture on her cheeks, hoping that she could wipe away the shame of crying in the process. She hated seeming weak in front of Matt and Mohinder because they were always so strong. Even now, Mohinder looked calm and composed in spite of what was being reported on the news.

“Rabies? What do you mean, rabies?” Matt questioned.  To Molly, his voice sounded interested, probing, rather than panicked or scared.

“It's not rabies,” Mohinder replied as he stepped away from the door and into their small kitchen. “And the word 'apocalypse' may be a little dramatic at this point.” He reached into the cupboard above the sink and pulled out a teapot with the image of Kali painted on. “Let me make a pot of tea. It will help calm our nerves so we can discuss what has happened.”

“I don't have time for tea,” Matt cut in. Although there was a certain urgency in his voice, he made no move toward the door. “Estelle needs my help. I'm not going to sit here and have tea if--”

Mohinder help up a hand and fixed Matt with a stern look, demanding silence. “Estelle is beyond help, Matt. There's nothing you can do for her right now. Trust me. Take a seat and let me explain to you what has happened.”

Matt fell silent, offering neither acceptance nor rebuke of Mohinder's offer. He did, however, slowly lower himself into one of the rickety kitchen chairs. His face was a oddly blank and his eyes seemed unfocused, but Molly could almost hear the gears turning in his head. To Molly, it seemed as though he had reached an upsetting conclusion and was trying to sort through the consequences. It was a feeling she was all too familiar with. She padded across the small living room into the adjoining kitchen and wordlessly climbed into his lap, throwing an arm around his neck and resting her head on his shoulder, offering silent comfort. Matt wrapped his arms effortlessly around her small frame and pressed her to his chest.

Mohinder removed the kettle from the stove when it began to whistle and prepared three cups. “Chamomile,” he said, sliding two of the mugs across the table. “It helps calm the nerves.” He waited for a few moments, allowing Matt to take a couple of sips before beginning his report. Preamble was an unneeded distraction so Mohinder dove right into his account. “They're calling it rabies on the news, but I know that to be wrong. While animals can be overly aggressive if they contract rabies, humans don't. It can be fatal if not diagnosed, but the symptoms run along the lines of fever and sore throats.”

“The phones at the station wouldn't stop ringing last night,” Matt added, placing the first piece of the puzzle into position. “Almost every call that I got had to do with some sort of violence.”

“Exactly. I would call the news station and tell them of their mistake, but I have no alternative to give. If not rabies, then what? I've never seen symptoms like this before. I'm not a medical doctor, I know, but I do get a scientific newsletter every week. The people who have this infection have symptoms similar to Pica, but people with Pica aren't known to be aggressive. Moreover, I have never heard of a person with Pica wanting to feed on the flesh of other human beings.”

Molly whimpered into Matt's shoulder and made an effort to hide her left forearm where the teethmarks from Allan Danter were still swollen. Matt gave her an automatic squeeze, but his attention was strictly for Mohinder. “They what?  Eat flesh?”

Perhaps sensing Matt's incredulity at the suggestion, Mohinder posed a question. “You said that when you visited Estelle that morning she attacked you. What did she attack you with? A stick? A pan?”

Matt inhaled sharply and blanched. “Her teeth. She tried to bite me. She got a mouthful of leather, but she was trying to get at my skin. And Mohinder...” He trailed off, a knot developing between his brows. “She didn't have any thoughts.”

Mohinder sat up a little straighter. “She didn't have thoughts? What do you mean?”

“I mean just that. She had no thoughts in her head. When she bit me I tried to get a read on her, but I got nothing. Just silence, like her mind was blank. I didn't really notice at the time, because I was trying to get my arm out of her mouth, but I remember as clear as day now.”

“Nothing?”

“Nothing. I thought maybe she bit me because she thought I was an intruder, but she wasn't panicking, she wasn't crying for help. She didn't even think 'Matt would taste good with meat sauce'. She was blank, hollow."  He paused to add emphasis to his point.   "Mohinder, you should have seen her face. It was empty.” Matt shifted Molly's weight from one knee to the other, his grip on her torso tightening. “She didn't look afraid, she didn't look angry. It was like all she wanted was to take a chunk of my skin and that's it.”

Mohinder's face held a sharp interest. “So...what are you saying?”

Matt spread his hands. “I'm not saying anything. I'm just telling you what happened.” He was about to add more when a deep voice came from the television.

“And now ladies and gentlemen, a representative of New York, Nathan Petrelli.”

The trio turned from the table and looked at the television as the image of Nathan Petrelli faded into view. Molly slid off of Matt's lap and hurried over the the TV, turning up the volume just as Nathan began his speech.

“My fellow Americans,” he began, adopting a presidential tone, “as many of you may already know, there has been a recent increase in the incidents of violence in our city. In the past twelve hours the police have reported a two hundred percent spike in these cases of physical aggression. People who have no prior record of violence, people who have otherwise been peaceful are suddenly lashing out at family, friends and strangers. At first we were confused as to why the good citizens of New York were turning on one another. We have, however, come to understand the reason for this aggression.” Petrelli paused, giving his audience a moment to absorb the information. “They're calling it an infection. A virus that can be transfers from one host to another, resulting in aggressive and violent behavior. The most logical conclusion at this point is the rabies virus. I assure you, though, that there is no need to panic. I've called in specialists from across the country to help us with this situation, and I am confident that it will be resolved soon. Until then I would advise all of you to take extra precautions when outside of your home. Stay tuned to your local station for more information. Thank you.” Petrelli's face faded from view and was replaced by the regular newscasters of that channel.

“How can you have a specialist for something that hasn't been in existence before?” Mohinder asked, his voice thick with disgust. “Petrelli knows just as well as I do that this isn't rabies. I think he knows more than he's letting on.”

“Me too,” Matt agreed, chewing on his thumb with concentration. “Nathan Petrelli doesn't get flustered, ever. He's cool, calm and deals with bad news with practicality.” Matt shook his head slightly, looking disturbed. “But he was sweating like a pig. His eyes, they were darting all over the place, like he was looking for a way out. His voice was a little shaky.  Something bigger is going on.”

Molly was about to add her two cents when the phone began to ring. As was tradition in their household, Molly hurried over and picked it up. “Hello?”

“Hello? I-Is Parkman, erm, is Matt there?” The voice on the other end was panicked, shaky.

“Just a second.” Molly turned to Matt and held the phone out in front of her. “It's for you.”

***

Matt cast a brief look at Mohinder before pushing himself away from the table and walking over to Molly. He took the phone from her and pressed it to his ear. “H'lo?”

“Parkman? Parkman! Fucking...can you believe this shit?” He placed the voice as Holly Chalmers', one of only two female officers at his station. “Listen. I...I need you to come back to the station, okay? Everybody is gone. They're either out dealing with this shit or they're in the hospital because those...fucking...things bit them.” She took a shaky breath in an effort to compose herself. “Can you just come down, please? I'm, like, freaking out a little here and you're the only person who I knew to call.”

“Of course,” Matt replied instantly. He knew Holly well enough to know that she thrived on pressure. She was her best in tense situations. So he knew that if she was panicking she must truly be overwhelmed. “Just sit tight, okay? I'll be there as soon as I can.” He hung up the phone and was immediately met with an accusatory stare from Mohinder.

“You can't leave,” Mohinder said with incredulity, folding his arms across his chest.

“Holly needs my help, of course I can leave,” Matt fired back.

“It's dangerous out there, Matt. You heard what Nathan said, these people are violent in random patterns. You could be injured by one of them. Last the news said, at least twenty-one people have already died because of injuries they've sustained by these people. You could be killed.”

Matt fixed Mohinder with a hard stare.  “Molly, go to your room,” he hissed between his teeth.

“What? What did I do?”

“Nothing. You didn't do anything wrong, I just need to talk with Mohinder for a second,” Matt replied, keeping his gaze locked with Mohinder's.

Molly pouted at not being included in the adult conversations, but obeyed Matt's wishes and disappeared into her bedroom.

Matt approached Mohinder slowly, an annoyed scowl on his face.   “Don't talk like that in front of Molly,” Matt warned with menace. “She doesn't need to hear your doomsday crap.”

“Molly's old enough to hear what the consequences of foolish actions are, however bad they may be,” Mohinder countered, his voice thick with acridity.

“Molly is eleven years old, Mohinder!” Matt whispered fiercely, throwing his arms in the air beside him. “She's scared enough as it is. She doesn't need all your yabber jabber about how I'm going to die. You don't know what kind of thoughts she's having right now.”

“Is that the only way you know Molly, then? By reading her thoughts? She's grown up considerably right before your eyes and you've missed it because you spend all your time inside her head. You don't look at her actions, Matt! Yes, she's scared! Of course she's scared, but look at how she's handling it! How she acts speaks volumes more about her than what she thinks.”

Matt blinked, momentarily dazed by Mohinder's attack. It felt as thought Mohinder had reached into his chest and stuck pins into his heart, sending shocks of painful revelation through his system. “I...” he stumbled for words as he stepped away from Mohinder. “I, uh...”

Mohinder's face grew considerably gentler at the sight of Matt's pain. “The fact is, Matt, that she needs you. I need you. We need you to protect us. I don't know exactly what's happening out there but I think it's safe to assume that it's worse than Nathan says it is. I have a feeling that things are going to get worse before they get better and we need you around if that happens.”

Although his heart suddenly swelled at this admission, Matt's mind was set.  “I'll be careful, I promise. I'll go, see what's up and try to calm her down,” he said as he pulled his pistol from its holster. “I still don't think anything is going to happen, but take this just in case it does. I'll call when I get there.” He pressed the gun into Mohinder's hand and turned away before he could present another argument about the foolishness of his action.

Matt left the apartment in a depressed huff, whatever happiness he had this morning sucked away by Mohinder's scathing words. Was he really so distant with Molly? He had thought he was doing a good job parenting her. Better than what his father gave him, anyways. He chose to descend the stairs rather than take the elevator, hoping the physical activity would help him sort his garbled mind. He stopped on the fourth floor and approached Estelle's apartment, listening intently for her thoughts. He wasn't surprised when he was met with silence.

He continued his descent, offering a friendly greeting to another tenant of the apartment. She seemed to be calm. Maybe she just hadn't heard the news yet; it had all happened so fast. He wouldn't be surprised if half of New York was still asleep, blissfully unaware of the growing epidemic that was consuming their city. He entered the parking garage with caution and walked quickly to his car.

The drive to the station was distinctly uneventful, mostly because the number of people walking the streets grew less and less dense as he drove deeper into Brooklyn. This lack of citizens was the only difference in the familiar drive to work. There was no wreckage, no carnage, no blood. Maybe all of this hullabaloo about infection was just a lot of noise. The news had a strong tendency to sensationalize everything.  Yes, there had been a spike in the amount of violence, but that was surely due to some other variable.  Infection didn't seem entirely plausible to him.  Matt pulled into the parking lot behind the station and found a spot with ease. Everybody was either out dealing with this new situation or, according to Holly, in the hospital getting treatment. It was with a facade of calm that Matt entered the station.

“Parkman! Thank God you're here,” Holly exclaimed the moment he passed through the doorway. She wrung her hands as she approached, her chestnut brown hair flying out of its pins. “I can't fucking believe this shit, Parkman! I'm not even answering the phones anymore. I unplugged them because, I mean, there's no point if nobody is here to respond right? I don't want to be telling people that there is a cruiser coming when there are no cruisers to go because then they would just be sitting on their ass doing nothing waiting for us to come and help them instead of doing something themselves, right? If I tell them that there isn't any police left then--”

“Holly!” Matt said, raising his voice above her frantic ranting. He placed his hands gently on her shoulders and bent down slightly so he could look her in the eyes. “Calm down. You're not making a lot of sense right now.”

“Fuck calm! Fuck calm, Parkman!” She pushed away from him and stepped quickly over to her disorganized desk. “I'm freaking out! Do you even know what's going on?”

“I do. I saw the news this morning.” He conveniently forgot to mention his encounter with Estelle. “Listen, people are making this out to be a lot bigger than it actually is. I just drove all the way here and I didn't see one rioter. There wasn't a single knocked over garbage can or a broken window. The news--”

“Is full of shit!” Holly cut in, rifling through some papers on her desk. She paused a moment and took a calming breath before handing a file to Matt. “Before I yanked the phone out of the wall, I got a call from some military or special ops guy or something. I don't even know and I don't really care right now. He asked to speak to the person of highest authority. I told him that I was the only person at the station. He didn't sound too pleased to hear that. Anyways, he said he was going to fax over some critical information about what was going on. He told me that the city was going under quarantine.”

“Quarantine?” Matt's voice rose with incredulity. “You don't put an entire city under quarantine because of a virus. Especially one the size of New York.”

“Exactly, Parkman. Read the file.”

Matt took a seat at the nearest desk and opened the folder. The first page of the file was a picture of a corpse lying in the grass of what looked like Central Park. It was a man, middle forties perhaps, with a bullet wound in the middle of his forehead. What was strange about the picture was the lack of blood. Even though he would suspect this victim died instantly from the wound, there still should be a pool of blood around his head. There should be splatter on his face and clothes. Instead, there were chunks of what seemed like coagulated blood on the victim's forehead and on the grass.

“Was this guy shot after he was dead?” Matt asked, looking up from the folder.

“Yes,” Holly replied. Her tone implied something more than the simple answer.

“I don't get it.”

“Just read.”

Matt lowered his head to the folder once more and turned the picture over, moving on to the next page. This one was an official looking letter with a crest Matt didn't recognize in the corner. Although his dyslexia hindered him somewhat, Holly was patient as he read.

Detective Bryan Fuller,

    We have been notified of the recent outbreak of violence and have been asked by Representative Petrelli to intervene. After only a few hours of investigation we have decided to put the city of New York under immediate quarantine. An incident with similar incidents of random violence was reported six months ago in Hartford, Connecticut. Find attached a full report of our actions in Hartford. Also find attached a detailed analysis of what we call 'the Infected'.

    What these people are I'm afraid is difficult to both explain and understand. The people who contract this virus will inevitably die from it. Symptoms before death can be described as flu-like. Feeling tired, high temperature, lack of energy. The infected individual will eventually die from this virus. It is only after the victim's death in which they become truly dangerous. This virus remains in the victim's body postmortem and revitalizes certain areas of the brain, as well as the central nervous system. The infected individual returns from the dead, in a sense, but in an altered form. They have virtually no intelligence and function on only one instinct; the need to feed. That is why there has been a violent spike in your rates of violence over the past few hours. These infected individuals have been looking for their next meal, mostly in the form of human flesh, although they have been known to attack animals as well. Why they prefer living flesh, or flesh at all, still remains a mystery.

    From what we have observed, the behavior patterns of the Infected vary greatly. Some are rather docile, simply standing or walking about and are only dangerous if one decides to approach them. These have come to be known as Type III. The other two variants are much more dangerous. Both Type II and Type I infected individuals actively seek out their victims, but Type II individuals are generally slow, moving at no more than a walking pace. A Type I infection is the most dangerous. Like Type II, they actively seek out their next meal, but unlike Type II, they are quick and extremely aggressive. We have yet to understand why there are variants of the infection.

    The most effective way to deal with these individuals is to damage either the spinal cord or brain beyond repair. Let me reassure you that these people are indeed already dead. They are nothing but a corpse who is threatening the lives of others and should be dealt with accordingly. Shooting one, or severing one's spinal cord, should not bring shame or guilt. The Infected have no sense of morality anymore and will stop at nothing to secure their next meal. They are extremely dangerous and should be terminated on sight.

    The mode of contraction is still under investigation but we are led to believe that it is through being bitten or a direct mixing of the bodily fluids that transferrers the virus from host to host. If you know anybody who has been bitten or who is exhibiting these flu-like symptoms, it is in your best interest to lock them in a secure location until it can be determined if they simply have the flu or if they are truly infected.

    All major routes out of the city have been blockaded. Stations have been set up to scan individuals for the virus. If they are healthy then they may leave the city until the situation has been resolved. Needless to say, these blockades will soon be crowded with the entire population of New York trying to escape. As the police, it will be your duty to maintain order among the crowds. Find attached locations of all city blockades.

    I urge you to take immediate and necessary action if you are to encounter infected individuals.

Robert Priestly

Matt lowered the paper, a stupid grin on his lips and a skeptical arch on his eyebrows. “Zombies? You want me to believe that New York City is being overrun by zombies? Holly, I know you're a little overwhelmed, but this is clearly a hoax.” A flash of Estelle in her current state flickered in Matt's mind, but he decided that skepticism was the course of action right now.

Holly nodded briskly and leaned towards him. “That's what I thought at first to. About a half hour before I called you, Palmer radioed in that McGee was being taken to the hospital because one of those fuckers bit him. McGee fucking died, Parkman, from a bite that should have only needed a few stitches.” Seeing the doubtful look on Matt's face, Holly went on the defensive. “I'm not lying, Matt, and I'm not as gullible as you might think I am. I thought this whole living dead thing was a crock, but then Palmer radioed in again. He said that even though all the monitors and shit that were still attached to McGee said he had no pulse or brain activity, McGee got out of bed and started attacking one of the nurses. Doesn't that fit the bill of what this Priestly guy is saying? I mean, how do you explain that?”

Matt spread his hands in front of him, void of any logical answer. Was it really so crazy? A year and a half ago it certainly would have been. Since then, a whole new world of possibilities, or more accurately, impossibilities, was opened to him. Mind reading, radiation emitting, future painting. They all seemed like completely illogical impossibilities, but yet they were true. The world was changing, evolving, and who was to say that this viral outbreak wasn't a quirk in human evolution? The sound of the station door opening tore Matt away from these thoughts.

Both he and Holly looked away from each other and towards the sound of the noise. A man with a blooming bloodstain on his shoulder had entered, a wild look in his eyes. He turned immediately towards Matt and Holly and began approaching. The two officers exchanged apprehensive looks before Holly took the initiative to address the man.

“Sir,” she began tentatively, “your shoulder looks like it's been injured. Did you need a ride to the hospital?”

There was no comprehensible answer, just a gurgling from deep within the man's throat. He continued to ease his way towards them with a distinct limp, offering none of his attention to other distractions.

“Sir, did you need assistance?” Chalmers asked again as she began to back away.

Matt followed suit, standing from the chair and taking a few steps back. The man was still a good twenty five feet away but Matt decided to err on the side of caution. Dead or not dead, this man surely had the virus and therefore posed a threat. He cast a glance over at Chalmers before subtlety trying to read the man's mind. Like Estelle, this man's brain held no thoughts. He wasn't in pain, he wasn't looking for help. He was just a body, moving of its own accord. “Holly, get your gun out.” When she complied, Matt addressed the approaching man. “Sir, don't come any closer. If you do, Officer Chalmers will shoot you. Do you understand me?”

The man continued to approach at an increasingly rapid pace, like an athlete to the finish line. As the goal came closer, motivation grew.

“Do you understand me?” Matt repeated, offering the man ample warning to the consequences of his actions. When he received no response of acknowledgment he turned to Holly. “Shoot him.”

Chalmers raised her gun. "Sir, this is your final warning!  Stop there or I'll shoot!" The man did not comply. She aimed the barrel of her pistol at the man's thigh and fired a single round, the sharp sound of the small explosion echoing through the empty police station. The man's leg buckled somewhat upon impact, but his pace remained the same. Chalmers cast a brief glance over her shoulder and noticed that they were running out of room to back up into.

“Shoot him again!” Matt ordered, growing increasingly frantic. There was no cry of pain at the impact of the bullet. It was as if the man didn't even notice he had been shot. Still, Matt balked at the final step of shooting the man in the head.

Chalmers fired off another round. This time the bullet made a hole in the mans shoulder, sending small chunks of gray flesh and clumpy blood flying into the air. “Parkman, what the fuck!” She was growing frantic now, her thoughts becoming loose and flighty. He could tell that her nerve was flaking.

Sensing his goal was only moments away, the man bared his teeth in a form of snarl and limped forward quickly. The gurgling in his throat transforming into a more threatening noise, like a lion about to make the final pounce on his prey.

“Shoot him in the head!” Matt bellowed.

“I can't! I can't, Parkman! I don't want to kill him!”

“Holly, shoot him!”

“Parkman, I can't!”

The man closed the gap between them with surprising quickness, his fingers grasping for Matt's jacket. Matt cast Holly a final, desperate look. 'Shoot him in the head!'

***

Mohinder paced the apartment frantically, his hand covering his mouth with worry. In his other hand, Matt's pistol rested uncomfortably in his palm.

“Why hasn't Matt called yet?” Molly chirped from the kitchen table.

He turned towards her sharply, as if surprised by her presence. Matt had said he would call as soon as he arrived at the station, just to let them know that he was safe. That was nearly two full hours ago and Mohinder was desperately worried. The information and images on the news had grown increasingly dire in those two hours. The city had been placed under quarantine with only a few select locations available for citizen release. The footage had shown each of those locations to be hopelessly crowded. He had wanted to scoop Molly up and take her away from this situation immediately, but she had insisted on waiting for Matt. Now Mohinder was worried that Matt might never return.

“Mohinder?”

Mohinder turned away from his thoughts and offered Molly a tight smile. “I'm sure things are busy at the station right now, sweetheart. He'll call us when he has a chance.”

“What if he doesn't call?”

“I'm sure he will,” Mohinder lied, “but if he doesn't...” He released a heavy sigh and walked into the kitchen, taking Molly's hands in his own, and squatted down to her level. He truly hated what he was about to say, but he knew it to be necessary. “Molly, if he doesn't call in the next hour, then I'm afraid we will have to leave the city without him.”

“Leave him behind?” Molly gasped, withdrawing her hands from his. “We can't leave him behind! Matt would never leave us behind!”

“I know that, Molly.” He cupped her face in one of his hands. “But we have to be open to the possibility that Matt may not be able to accompany us out of the city. He could be hurt and need medical attention. I don't know. What I do know is that he would want us safe, no matter what. We can wait for him for no longer than an hour more, but then we have to go. Okay?”

“Can't we just call him?” Molly pleaded, tears already beginning to well in her eyes. Mohinder could only imagine what was going through her mind. Fear, confusion, a looming sense of betrayal. Things no eleven year old girl should be feeling.

“I've tried calling. It seems as though the number is out of service at the moment.”

“I can find him! I can see where he is and if he's hurt!”

Mohinder shook his head softly, a gentle denial of permission. He feared what Molly might see if she looked for Matt and he had been injured somehow. He didn't want her to look for Matt and end up finding a corpse. “Let's just wait a while longer. For now, I want you to finish your math equations.”

Molly scowled and turned back to the page before her. “I can't believe you're making me to math right now. I'm pretty sure school is going to be canceled tomorrow. They might be canceled for the rest of the year, even.”

“Well, then you are going to be the smartest pupil when school starts again, aren't you?” Truth be told, Mohinder didn't care much about her math abilities at the moment. He just wanted her to have a distraction so he could begin planning their escape from New York City in peace. Matt was a good and dear friend to Mohinder, but he couldn't wait much longer for him to return. Mohinder began to pace the living room again, casting occasional anxious glances at the phone.

Going unnoticed behind him on the television screen, a splash of blood suddenly obscured one of the news cameras stationed at the Brooklyn Bridge evacuation point.