Pandemic: Level 6: A Post Apocalyptic Medical Thriller Fiction Series (The Pandemic Series Book 3)

by Bobby Akart

  Turkey – Several temporary camps for Syrian and Iraqi refugees were created in the western part of the country near Izmir, Turkey. In the surrounding countryside, migrant farms were established to pay the refugees and keep them busy during the day until they could emigrate to Europe.

  Greece – In Athens, Hunter visits with his contemporaries at the Greek National Intelligence Service. By coincidence, Mac is investigating a case at the Hellenic Centre for Disease Control and Prevention. The two cross paths at a hotel and have dinner together. A spark of interest takes place after they overcome their first chance meeting in the jungles of Guatemala.

  CDC – Atlanta – located near Emory University in Atlanta, Georgia.

  White House – Washington, DC. Politics plays a pivotal role in all aspects of our lives and the center of the political universe is the White House.

  Park Place on Peachtree – Mac’s condominium in Buckhead.

  Previously in The Pandemic Series

  Book One: BEGINNINGS

  The Pandemic Series begins with the kidnapping and interrogation of a young French research scientist in a remote biosafety laboratory in Franceville, Gabon. The terrorist cell run by Ali Hassan, the son of a top-level ISIS leader, also established a complex surveillance apparatus of the young scientist’s family.

  Forced to do their bidding in order to save the lives of his family, the French scientist modified the Madagascar strain of the pneumonic plague. His work was groundbreaking, although it was clearly a crime against humanity. In the end, he didn’t save himself, or his family.

  Initially, Hassan used the remote jungles of Guatemala as his testing ground. However, a series of events accelerated his plans as outbreaks of the disease occur in Trinidad and Greece.

  Hassan, his trusted his allies, and thousands of sleeper cells around the world sprang into action. First, they secured their loved ones away from the harmful potential of the disease. Second, they issued a call to action—the flag of Allah and jihad has been raised.

  Hunter and his comrades at the DTRA comprising Project Artemis began to chase leads and search for the bioterrorists. Mac and her fellow disease detectives at the CDC raced to identify the disease, and determine if a vaccine or cure was available.

  As the disease spread and the death toll rose, Mac became increasingly frustrated with the President and his administration for not warning the public. She was admonished to do her job and not approach the media with alarmist statements. However, like her mother, Mac believed in transparency and the ability of the public to make decisions for themselves.

  When the Congress set up special hearings on the Guatemala breakout and its potential impact on the United States, Mac made a decision. Wearing her dress white uniform indicating her status as a Lieutenant Commander in the U.S. Public Health Service, she decided to add to her attire. She added white gloves, an N95 particulate mask, and protective eyewear.

  Her appearance immediately created a ruckus within the large gathering of media covering the hearings. It also raised the ire of the partisan congressman who support the President in his re-election efforts.

  Perhaps it was Mac’s attire, or maybe it was the typical partisan bickering which had consumed Washington, but the hearings immediately turned contentious. With the CSPAN cameras rolling, Mac was grilled with questions and placed under considerable pressure. She was asked to describe how the disease affects the human body and she gladly answered in excruciating detail.

  Unscripted, but as if on cue, a man in the gallery began to cough up blood, causing a panic by all the attendees. During the stampede for the exits, the man vomited up blood, which immediately drew comparisons to plague-like symptoms. Throughout the ordeal, Mac sat silently, alone, staring at the CSPAN cameras which never turned off.

  Meanwhile, in a thousand cities around the world, ISIS operatives continued to relentlessly pursue their Caliphate. As the mayhem took place in Room 2123 of the Rayburn House Office Building, Hassan and his trusted Islamic brothers approached the outskirts of Los Angeles.

  From the final chapter of BEGINNINGS …

  The rental car sped past the sign that read Welcome to Los Angeles, population 3,957,875.

  “We are here, Hassan.”

  Hassan nodded. “We are everywhere, my brothers.”

  Book Two: THE INNOCENTS

  The Pandemic Series continues with the world’s population dwindling. After crisscrossing the planet in search of clues, Mac and Hunter realize this infectious disease is like no other, and with the jihadists implementing the plague as a tool of bioterror, there is not just one Patient Zero, but thousands.

  Mac willingly followed in her mother's footsteps, electing to disregard her orders which came straight from the President of the United States. She rang the clarion bell, a warning to the world, that no one is immune or safe from the perfect killer.

  Her heroic act got her fired but Hunter quickly came up with a viable alternative. Mac came on board with the DTRA and CIA at a covert laboratory located at a former CDC BSL-4 in Fort Collins, Colorado.

  Mac and her family had significant roots there. Her Mom was a resident at Denver Health where Mac was born. The Hagan’s owned a second home at Quandary Peak just south of Breckenridge in the Rocky Mountains.

  While Mac worked on a vaccine and cure, Hunter was reassigned to the Denver field office of the FBI. He spent his working hours tracking the jihadists as they entered America, hoping to find the mastermind of the bioterrorist plot. During his off hours, Hunter was getting prepared for the inevitable — societal and economic collapse.

  Darting around town from Costco to Walmart to REI Sporting Goods, Hunter systematically equipped the Hagan home at Quandary Peak for the impending apocalypse.

  The day came when Hunter was face-to-face with his nemesis, Ali Hassan, the mastermind behind weaponizing the plague and advancing the final jihad. The two men locked eyes and Hunter took care of business. One dead terrorist, but one massive plague was waging the war.

  Across the country, terrorist cells infiltrated airports, sporting events, and shopping malls, spreading the disease and infecting thousands, who in turn infected thousands more. They were winning and our governmental response was weak.

  President Garcia slowly retreated into a bottle of brandy. His cabinet began to lose confidence in his leadership. The nation was a ship without a rudder, helpless to combat the most dangerous disease known to man.

  Mac reached back to her days in college for solutions. She proposed an unproven remedy based upon her college thesis to Janie, who then provided it to her associates at the CDC. Despite Mac’s warnings that the proposed solution was untested, out of desperation, the President and the CDC declared it to be a viable cure and began to inoculate American citizens.

  The BALO vaccine was a bust and mac went back to the drawing board. In the meantime, the United Nations and the World Health Organization threw in the towel. A secretive Security Council meeting directive adopted during the Ebola crisis, and incorporated into law by the President, provided a drastic measure to save humanity.

  From the final chapter of THE INNOCENTS …

  “It’s from Homeland Security. Hunter, my God. They’ve declared a Level 6 Emergency.”

  “Don’t you mean a phase six, based upon the WHO’s pandemic alert system?” asked Hunter.

  “No, read it.” Mac spun the monitor around for Hunter to read the short, two-sentence email. “Phase six is where the WHO considers the overall severity of a pandemic to be moderate to extreme. It’s rarely used, but appropriate now.”

  Mac began to pace and then she got angry. She swept all the stacks of files off her desk and pounded the corner with her fist.

  Hunter tried to console her, but she pulled away. “Mac, we know it’s bad. I don’t under—”

  She threw her arms up and looked toward the ceiling. Then she turned to Hunter, arms crossed. “I thought this was the stuff of urban legend. You know a myth only made up on television.”


  “The situation is grave,” interrupted Hunter. “Why are you so angry at them declaring a phase six pandemic?”

  “No, Hunter. Don’t you see? It didn’t say phase six. They wrote level 6 in the email.”

  “They?”

  “Yes, see the bottom?” asked Mac as she spun the monitor on her desk for them both to see. She angrily tapped the part of the email indicating the signature field. “It’s signed by the DHS and the UN. They’ve given up, Hunter. They know they can’t contain it or stop it. The United Nations and our own government think this is an extinction-level event. It’s over. My God!”

  Mac walked back and forth through the room, hands firmly planted on her hips.

  “Mac, what does level 6 mean?”

  “Eradication, Hunter. Level 6 is their code word for eradication of the diseased members of the species.”

  The saga continues in — LEVEL 6

  Enjoy!

  Epigraph

  I think people get outraged over things. I think what we really need is a borderline extinction level event to get people back to caring about what really matters.

  ~ Maynard James Keenan

  *****

  This is not war, its human extinction.

  ~ Optimus Prime

  *****

  People on the bottom are on top for the first time. I’m not making excuses for their actions but I understand why it’s happened so quickly.

  *****

  Rest satisfied with doing well and leave others to talk of you as they please.

  ~ Pythagoras

  *****

  Do you think prepping is silly? Well, you can hide from reality but you can’t hide from the consequences of hiding from reality.

  ~ Bobby Akart

  Prologue

  There is a fine line between being paranoid and being intuitive.

  Day Fifty

  Denver, Colorado

  As the dual diseases spread across the planet—the pneumonic plague and fear—humanity began to hide within itself. Streets and sidewalks became eerily silent during the middle of the day. Only the hospitals and newly established quarantine centers showed signs of life and death.

  Song Joong Yee knew about life, death, and silence. Song was only nine years old when she was invited to watch her father being shot. As a child, she and her family had witnessed the horrors of life in North Korea. She remembered her mother piggybacking her to the public squares and sports stadiums in Pyongyang to watch the executions carried out by Kim Jong-un’s Worker’s Party to silence even the slightest whisper of contempt or dissent directed toward the authoritarian regime.

  The death of her father, a mid-ranking civil servant who worked in the town hall where her family lived, was lodged in her mind forever. Song watched in horror as the man who raised her was lined up alongside several other convicted dissenters while their sentences were read aloud.

  Her father’s crime? He and three male friends watched a pirated South Korean news documentary on a DVD and then shared it with their friends.

  Her father’s sentence? The judgment dispensed was typical of most paranoid dictatorships—death by firing squad.

  As the executioners raised their weapons, Song covered her face. She whimpered, waiting for the shots to ring out, but they didn’t come until she looked up again just in time to see an explosion of blood and her father’s body crumple to the ground.

  Song stood there in shock, her mouth gaping open in frozen fright, and her eyes filled with the indelible memory of her father’s blood spilling across the pavement. Nine-year-old Song Joong Yee grew up that day and vowed to leave North Korea.

  That night, she comforted her mother and they dreamt of their escape. As a result of her father’s crime, they were forced out of their comfortable home into a miniscule apartment. They were shunned by friends and neighbors, but the isolation allowed them to remain focused on the task at hand—escape to China and, ultimately, to America.

  After four years of saving money and making contacts with smugglers, Song and her mother set out, two women alone, on a perilous trip across three mountains until they finally came to the Yalu River—frozen solid during the cold winter months. It was frightfully cold, and Song, to this day, remembered the terror she felt when they crossed into China, fearful the ice atop the Yalu River might break beneath their feet.

  Mother and daughter stepped onto the snow-covered banks of the Chinese province of Jilin, free from the oppression they’d known all their lives. After sleeping in a barn, they made their way into a small village, where they were confronted by Chinese soldiers.

  The men demanded to have sex with Song, who was now thirteen, but her mother begged the soldiers to take her instead. They did, and then they killed Song’s mother. The soldiers kept their promise and didn’t sexually assault Song, opting to beat her senseless instead.

  Song’s life of freedom began as an orphan in a foreign land, looking for the ultimate dream of living in America.

  Eventually she came to America as a political refugee and discovered her talent for computer programming. Using assistance from Catholic Charities USA, Song got an education and a degree from UCLA. She landed a job with Level 3 Communications, a global network communications provider headquartered in Broomfield, Colorado, a suburb in Northwest Denver.

  Gradually, through the years, Song’s memories of North Korea and the deaths of her parents sank back into the dark reaches of her mind. She became an American, but her innate instincts concerning the government and society still served her well.

  When someone came to the door of her modest condominium and began incessantly pounding, Song withdrew into the world of a child. Some of the best advice she ever received came from her gut. The knocking, loud and authoritative, began to frighten her.

  Was it paranoia, hearkening back to the days when the Ministry of People’s Security took her father away? Was it intuition, the kind one could only learn from the awful experience of witnessing the rape and murder of her mother?

  But America was different. She’d learned not to fear law enforcement or the military. They were ordinary people with families and a job. They didn’t murder and rape the citizens they swore to protect.

  Song gathered herself up and left the closet in her master bedroom. She made her way to the front door, unaware that she was sweating out of fear. Slowly, Song opened the door to view the men in dark uniforms, covered in protective gear.

  A man held a clipboard and shined a flashlight in Song’s face. “State your name and date of birth,” he barked as he glanced between his clipboard and Song’s face.

  Song hesitated, the outside heat forcing more sweat onto her brow. Song couldn’t speak at first, but then she cleared her throat and responded to the officer.

  He studied her for a moment, looked to another man who stood off to the side, and they both nodded. Without saying another word, the man made a mark on the paper next to Song’s name. His associate removed a can of spray paint from a pouch around his waist and began to shake it violently, the metal ball known as the pea bouncing around inside. Then the man took off the cap and he painted a red 6 on the exterior wall of her condo building until the wet paint dripped to the concrete porch.

  At the time, Song didn’t know what this meant, although her gut told her the American government she’d come to trust had become no different than the Worker’s Party of North Korea or the People’s Liberation Army of China.

  While North Korea and China controlled their citizens by creating an atmosphere of fear of government reprisals for not living according to their rules, the United States government and its political leaders were also governed in some respect by the fear of losing power. She’d seen it in their laws and political discourse.

  In this country, Americans had been conditioned to both hate and fear one another. Social media gave everyone a platform to air their opinions without filter. Song had seen the moral decline in social interaction in the twelve years since her initial arrival in San Franc
isco. In her opinion, the interaction between Americans was getting worse, not better.

  The interlude with the officers, the lack of conversation, and the quick decision to label her with a 6 set off alarm bells in a young woman who grew up in an environment of fear. Again, her intuition told her to be wary of being marked in any manner.

  Song scrambled to her bedroom and began to pack her things. She was leaving, although she didn’t know where she’d go. Twice, or maybe it was three times, she stopped and looked in the mirror. She asked herself, Am I being paranoid?

  On the third and final try to talk herself out of fleeing into the unknown, she responded aloud, “I’d rather be paranoid and alive than oblivious and dead.”

  PART ONE

  WEEK EIGHT

  Chapter 1

  Day Fifty-One

  Blue Lakes Road

  Quandary Peak

  “Here’s the way I look at it,” started Tommy as he and Hunter ambled along the one-mile stretch of gravel road leading from Highway 9 westward up the mountain to the Blue Lakes Trailhead. Other than a few small houses at the base of Quandary Peak near the entrance to the old Monte Cristo Mine, Blue Lakes Road was uninhabited except for the Hagans’ place.

  Tommy, feeling philosophical, continued. “An optimist looks through a tunnel and sees the light, firmly believing a sunny day is waiting for him on the other side. However, on the other end of the same tunnel, the pessimist is thoroughly convinced the light emanating from the darkness is an oncoming freight train headed right for him. Hunter, what you have done in getting us prepared simply acknowledges that both possibilities exist. In other words, both the optimist and the pessimist might be right. So you planned accordingly.”