Blood Agent – this one is a bit gruesome

Blood Agent

Making a Biological weapon is incredibly difficult. Making a Chemical weapon is easy…..

“Run”, he said. “Hold your breath and run for the car”. Pat looked at Terry in horror. They were in the Mall shopping. It was crowded because of the impending holiday. Muzak was tinkling around them from the speakers and shoppers were going about their business. There was a large group of people coming towards them – something different, out of kilter, about them. They were hunched over and there was a strange noise above the muzak, a sort of discordant wailing. They all looked red and she suddenly realised that they were bleeding – from the mouth, nose, ears, DEAR GOD the eyes. She saw a little girl grimly protecting her doll while she gushed onto it, a middle aged woman staggering, falling to her knees. “Help me” she said and a spurt of bright red blood shot out of her mouth and splashed onto the tiles near Pat’s feet. The woman fell forward, her head connecting with the floor with a distinct “thonk”. Others began tripping over her.
Terry said “Take a deep breath, hold it and run for the car. Don’t breathe until we are outside.” He began dragging her towards an Emergency Exit sign. Mentally Pat was rooted to the spot but somehow her feet were moving towards the exit. Terry hit the panic bar and the door flew open, its alarm shrieking. A long concrete corridor leading to another set of doors. They ran along it. Terry was over six feet and athletic, Pat was five feet two and dumpy. She was struggling to keep up and, despite her efforts, beginning to gasp for breath as they burst into the open air. Behind them the screaming was starting but in the car park no one seemed to realise that anything was wrong. Weaving through shoppers they reached their car. “Dump your coat and shoes” Terry said. She watched as he cast the leather jacket she had bought him onto the tarmac. “Do it – they might be contaminated. Hurry.” He had the car open and the engine started as she piled in and somehow they were out of the car park without hitting anything, up the slip road and onto the motorway. Terry drove grimly, way over the speed limit. “Got to get home and wash,” he said. “They’ll be cordoning that lot off any minute now.” As he spoke she saw a convoy of Fire Appliances on the opposite carriageway heading towards the stricken Mall, their crews suiting up as they rushed along. Pat put her head in her hands, trying to blot out the awful images. She wasn’t sure what had just happened. They should have stayed, perhaps they could have helped. Running like that seemed so cowardly. She began to cry. Terry ignored her, concentrating on getting through the traffic.
Home was fifteen minutes away and Terry made it in ten, the hot engine running on slightly as he switched it off and came round to pull her out of the car. As soon as the front door closed behind them he told her to strip off, doing the same himself, then rushed her upstairs and into the shower. After they had both scrubbed Terry declared them “Probably Ok”. Still badly shaken they came back downstairs and Pat walked across the lounge and switched on the TV News channel. There were aerial shots of the Mall showing emergency vehicles and large inflatable tents in the car park. The strap line running beneath the images was talking about a terrorist attack with over one hundred dead. Pat turned to Terry to speak to him, to thank him for his actions, but he hadn’t followed her into the room. Perhaps he was dealing with their abandoned clothes. She stepped into the hall.
The End