The End Time Saga (Book 5): The Holding

by Greene, Daniel

  “Georgia, Georgia,” the old woman moaned, cradling the girl’s body.

  Manuel’s eyes shook. “I have a family.”

  Harsh air exited the pastor’s nose. “God will protect you, but you must do this.”

  Manuel’s eyes veered downward in shame. “Yes, Father.”

  “Peter, come.” He stormed out of the cabin and was met by the cool fresh air the opposite of the stale corrupted air of the inside.

  The pastor breathed it in, trying to calm himself. His blood boiled in anger.

  “Father?”

  The pastor collected himself, clenching his fists then letting them go. “Tell War Child we meet tonight. I will not take no for an answer.”

  “But he wanted to wait three days.”

  The pastor leered at his staunchest supporter, his voice unswerving. “Tonight.”

  JOSPEH

  Cheyenne Mountain Complex, CO

  Soldiers flooded into Dr. Nguyen’s small office. The lead soldier drove his forearm into Joseph’s neck. Joseph’s feet forcibly reversed, and his back banged the wall. The soldier’s meaty forearm threatened to cut off his air supply, and he pointed the short barrel of an MP5 submachine gun within an inch of Joseph’s face.

  The back of Joseph’s head touched the wall as he tried to stay away from the end that brought death. Desai shrieked as another soldier shoved her backwards, driving her neck first to her knees. In a fraction of a second, the soldiers controlled all points of the small room.

  A soldier bent down and roughly touched Nguyen’s neck.

  “He’s dead.”

  The soldier scrutinized Joseph from behind his faceless mask, only his eyes readable. “What did he tell you?”

  “Nothing, I swear,” Joseph whined.

  The soldier walked to where Joseph was held incapacitated, threatened by an expedient death at the end of a bullet. He reached an ungloved hand and squeezed Joseph’s cheeks like he was trying to extract every last drop of juice from a lemon.

  “Why are you here?”

  Joseph blinked in painful terror. “We work together. We’re doctors.”

  “What happened?”

  “He mumbled something about not enough time and pulled a gun from his drawer and shot himself. I swear it.”

  The soldier’s head twisted toward Dr. Desai. “Is this true?”

  “Yes. Let us go. We’re doctors.”

  The soldier’s hazel eyes regarded Joseph with suspected scrutiny. “I don’t give a shit who you are,” he said, only his mask moving. “I’m sure we’ll be talking soon.”

  The soldier pinning Joseph removed his forearm and took a step back.

  Another soldier gestured at the door. “Get ’em out of here.”

  With military fervor, the doctors were escorted into the hallway. Joseph brought a hand to his neck and rubbed blood back into his flesh.

  The soldiers began the process of tossing Nguyen’s room with blatant disregard for the scientific material that they may be destroying or disorganizing in a fashion that would make continued research difficult.

  “We need his documents for our research,” Joseph called inside the room from the doorway.

  “Get out of here!” A soldier pointed down the hall with his hand off his gun.

  Wrapping an arm around Desai, Joseph led her away. Her eyes were unblinking, she muttered, “He . . . he shot himself.”

  Joseph chanced a glance down the hall. Medics rolled a stretcher toward the room. Binders were tossed into a haphazard pile in the hallway. A soldier set his laptop to the side. They’re probably looking for the flash drive.

  The flash drive seemed to burn a hole in his pocket now that he knew it was the object of such malicious pursuit.

  He mumbled over his shoulder as he walked. “I know he did. Here.” They stopped at his room. He grabbed the door handle. It jiggled but stood its ground. He pulled out his keys and unlocked the door. He ushered Dr. Desai inside and closed the door behind him. He twisted the lock and exhaled. “What’s going on?”

  She dropped down into his single chair next to his desk. “He shot himself in the head and blew his brains out,” Desai said to herself.

  “He’d rather die than get caught.” Joseph sat on his bed across from her.

  Her rich brown eyes regarded him for a moment. “What was he caught up in?” She propped her head up with her fists.

  “You mean what are we caught up in?”

  Her eyes turned upright with worry. “I’m scared.”

  “Me too,” he said. “If Nguyen killed himself for it, then it must be important. He was one of us. He wanted to save people’s lives.” He nudged his glasses back up his nose. He carefully placed his hand in his pocket and felt the cool rectangular flash drive in his hand. His palm started to sweat as it wrapped around the object of harm. He carefully removed it from his pocket, like it was a bomb that could go off and kill them at a moment’s notice.

  Her brow raised. “No, Joseph. Put that away.”

  He extended his hand and let his fingers gradually expand, revealing the drive. She peeked away at the wall in fear and back at him. Her voice dropped low. “Those soldiers were looking for that.”

  “And Nguyen didn’t want them to find it.”

  “And now we have it.”

  Joseph stared at the drive. Men disappeared and men died because of this tiny little portable drive sitting in his hand. His heart drummed inside his rib cage. I should get rid of it. Smash it. Dump it in the biowaste bin and be done with it. Never happened. His mind was ever the devil’s advocate. Dr. Nguyen’s brains splattering the walls never happened? Byrnes imprisoned never happened?

  He glanced at his silver laptop sitting on his desk. The screen was black. His eyes read hers. “I could smash it and dump it in a biowaste bin. It will get incinerated. No evidence. Never happened.”

  Fear dripped from her, but she reeled herself in. “Don’t you want to know?”

  Joseph brushed his hair behind his ear. “If we know, then we are implicated in the whole thing. We’re no different than Byrnes and Nguyen.”

  “If they did something illegal, they wouldn’t have done so lightly.”

  “Neither would I,” Joseph said. The contorted face of the bleeding-out soldier clutching his neck stared up at Joseph with wide accusing eyes. The murder he’d committed in his quest to find Patient Zero. The soldier probably wasn’t innocent under Jackson’s command, but Joseph had stabbed him over and over in the neck anyway, fear driving him onward. But it wasn’t just fear, it was his obligation to defeat the virus.

  A knock resounded off the door, and Joseph almost pissed himself. His gut did a full adrenaline dump, and he shot to his feet. His bodily systems were in total fight or flight. Desai’s chair screeched along the hard floor. Her eyes widened with fright. Joseph held the guilty piece of evidence out in his hand. Her head quivered in fear. The outsider knocked again louder. Thump, thump, thump.

  She snatched the flash drive in her hands and worked it quickly into the bun of her hair. She finished by smoothing her shirt and gave him a nervous nod.

  “Who is it?” Joseph called out. He timidly walked to the door his feet fighting him on every step.

  “It’s Dr. Hollis. Open up.”

  Joseph stepped closer, listening intently for additional parties on the other side. “Is it just you?”

  Hollis grunted on the other side in dissatisfaction. “Yes, of course.”

  He twisted the lock vertical and turned the knob, opening the door. The heavy doctor stood in the hallway, his lab coat making him look like a white tent. Joseph peered at him through the crack.

  Hollis’s eyes narrowed. “What are you doing? Open your door.” He put a hand on the door handle.

  “Why are you here?” Joseph put some weight behind the door, preparing to physically bar his entrance.

  It was as if Joseph’s words were a stinging glove strike to Hollis’s cheek. “To talk to my colleague. Must I have any other reason? I mu
st say you are being quite rude.”

  “Get in.” Joseph opened the door further making room.

  The wide doctor ambled inside. “Oh, Dr. Desai, I’m glad you’re here. I was looking for you too.”

  Joseph closed the door behind him and slid the lock into place. Click. Hollis gave him a curious look. His eyes darted back at Dr. Desai and then to Joseph.

  “What’s going on here?” His eyes went back to Desai and tapered in scrutiny. “Why are you sitting in your room with the door locked?”

  Desai blurted out, “It’s Dr. Nguyen.”

  Hollis’s eyes grew wider. “No. What happened?” He looked back at Joseph for confirmation.

  “He’s dead.”

  Hollis made a throaty noise like a piece of meat was caught inside. “No. Ridiculous.”

  “We saw him do it.”

  “What do you mean saw him do it?”

  Joseph rubbed his forehead. “He shot himself in front of us.”

  “What? This . . . this is terrible.” Hollis clapped his hands together and began rubbing them. “First Byrnes and now Nguyen.” His eyes glanced at Joseph with beady nervous energy, a pig stuck with his head through the fence. “We could be next.”

  Joseph nodded. “There’s more.”

  Hollis held up a hand. “No more. I’ve heard enough.”

  Joseph wouldn’t let him escape without sharing his burden with the man. “He gave us something.”

  “Nope. Nope. Nope. Get out of the way, I’m leaving.”

  Joseph blocked the door with his body. “Can’t let you leave. You’re on our team. We need you.”

  Hollis’s eyebrows raised and his jaw set in a determined manner. “Need I tell you I played prop on my prep school rugby team. With a twist of his neck, he said, “I’ll smash you into oblivion if you don’t remove yourself from my egress.”

  “Wait.” She dug her hands into her hair, fishing out the flash drive. “This is it.” She held it out in Hollis’s direction.

  He squeezed his eyes closed. “I can’t unsee that.”

  “Nguyen gave it to us, right before he shot himself. He said we must protect whatever’s on here.”

  Hollis round head wavered from side to side. “No. No. I don’t want to be a part of this. I want to be safe and sound in a giant mountain fortress surrounded by the might of the U.S. Military, not whatever this is.” He pointed a finger at it. “This . . . this thing that is killing some of the last remaining brilliant minds on the planet.”

  “You are one of us. You’re part of MIM. Just like the other two.” Desai brought it closer to him. “We owe it to them to see this through.”

  “Do we?” Hollis cocked his head. “I owe it to myself to forget this ever happened.”

  Joseph placed a hand on Hollis’s shoulder. “We need you.”

  “For what? You both are very capable doctors. Step aside, my good sir.”

  “You’re not even curious as to what’s on it?”

  “Not in the least bit.”

  Desai chimed in. “Dr. Nguyen died for this. We owe it to him to at least see what he died for.”

  Hollis growled like a dog his fat wriggling in frustration. “Fine. I’ll look at it, but then I leave, and we never talk about this again.”

  Desai gave a timid smile and a nod. “Agreed.”

  Joseph grinned. “Agreed.” He went to his computer and moved the mouse. The screen lit up. He scrolled to the top of the monitor. He clicked the Wi-Fi and scrolled down to the off button and clicked it. The four Wi-Fi lines disappeared and left only a pie slice outline in its place. Desai handed him the flash drive and connected it to the computer.

  After a second, an ejectable drive folder popped up on his desktop. He rolled the mouse toward it.

  “Do you have anything to eat?” Hollis asked worriedly behind him.

  Joseph motioned blindly to a drawer. “Crackers in there.”

  The drawer opened and closed followed by the crinkling of a plastic bag. Joseph’s cursor hovered over the folder. He looked over his shoulder to Desai. She nodded. Hollis munched food over his other shoulder.

  Crumbs fell from his mouth. “Just do it. I don’t know if my heart can handle the stress of waiting any longer.” He finished by shoving his hand back into the bag.

  Joseph double-clicked and the folder opened. A single document and video appeared inside. That was all. Men were killing themselves over this. He moved his cursor to the video, hesitant to discover the contents. His finger smashed the button, and the video started.

  TESS

  Camp Forge, IA

  Tess rolled her neck out. She hopped on her feet and hugged herself, trying to stretch her back. The scarred skin covering her shoulders was rigid as if someone had tightened her skin into taut leather. She ran a hand over her short hair letting the unwashed grease keep it in place.

  She wrinkled her nose in response to the onslaught of odor. Too many people too close together minus sufficient bathing equaled a distinctly human stench. She didn’t know which was worse: the smell of piss coming from her neighbors’ stall or the family of six wedged into a space no bigger than her own.

  Her little corner of the barn was dark, the only light coming from the firepit built into the center. It filled the barn with a permanent smoky haze, but it was better than freezing to death.

  She slipped her arms through her shoulder harness, sliding her Colt .45 1911 into its well-worn holster. Grooves and dents encased the leather along with sweat that had been ground in drop by drop over time, some of it hers, most of it from a Grand Rapids detective. She’d heard some of the survivors naming their weapons, but she’d never named hers. It was only the gun to her, an effective tool of survival passed from the lifeless hand of a detective into hers.

  Its weight rested comfortably into the crease of her armpit just like it had for its previous owner. The gun carried more than its physical weight; it also carried an air of responsibility as if only the righteous could wield it. Not that she was righteous, not in the fashion that society would have shoved her into. She embodied her own form of rough righteousness, a dusky dying light fending off the darkness instead of a shining star.

  She shouldered a heavy drab green winter coat. She shoved the tarp open that hardly covered her sliver of space, no more than four by six feet.

  Quietly, she stepped along the wood floor. The boards groaned beneath her soft feet. She had fewer bodies to dodge as the morning sun was already making its assault upon the nighttime sky.

  She kicked a lying form by accident.

  “Hey,” a voice came from beneath a mound of blankets.

  “Sorry.” Her feet weaved successfully past a few others.

  Tony and Margie tended the fire in the middle of the barn. The motherly woman regarded Tess with kindness, and Tony smiled beneath black-rimmed glasses, his forehead almost too big for his receding flipped back hair.

  The IT programmer in his early forties had been inseparable from Margie since Pentwater. The two did every patrol, every mundane tasking, including bedding down, together. Even with a substantial age gap, the two acted like inseparable teenage lovers.

  Margie was the most relaxed Tess had seen her since Sable and outwardly showed happiness, but it was only a shroud over the stab of sorrow inside Tess’s heart. Pagan’s perpetually smiling face flashed before her eyes. His smile would then turn to screams and melt away into orange flames.

  “Morning,” Margie said. When she noticed Tess’s face, her eyebrows narrowed in worry.

  “Morning, Margie. Tony.”

  “Should have some coffee for you in a few minutes,” Tony said. He knelt next to the fire and put a kettle of water on a stand over the flames. He had all the hallmarks of a man who would take his time brewing the best coffee, one of those people that hand ground their own beans. He would ensure it was all perfect, even knowing that this would be a weak cup at its finest.

  “That’d be great.” She squatted down atop a wooden crate.

&n
bsp; Margie’s voice dipped down. “I still can’t believe he let them go.”

  Tess snorted. “Who? The Chosen or the Legion?”

  Tony stirred the contents of the open coffeepot, studying the grounds swirling inside. “You think they’ll come back?”

  “I think a lot of things.”

  “But you know him best. What does he say?”

  “He’s got his reasons. But what I don’t like is us doing all the fighting and dying only to let the pricks go at the end of the day.”

  Margie’s eyebrows slanted higher making her appear even more worried. “Every day the dead gather along the river. Why add to their number when we’re the ones dwindling?”

  With a rag, Tony handled the coffeepot. He poured the hot liquid into a tin for Tess. She raised her mug to him in a gesture of thanks. His smile was slim.

  “The Chosen fight with us after they fought against us. Now the soldiers are here. Why wouldn’t they do the same?” he said, handing a cup to Margie.

  The woman, edging up on her sixties, rubbed her arm while drinking her coffee. “Well, I trust the captain’s leading us in the right direction. He’s gotten us through tough times, and I’m not going to lie.” She gave Tony a sly glance. “These last few months, while lean, have been the best since the outbreak.”

  “It could be a lot worse.” Tess slurped her drink, eyeing a curly-headed man coming their way. He took a seat.

  “Hey, Rick,” Margie said.

  Tony stood and handed Rick a cup of coffee over the fire. “Take this.”

  “Not today. I’ve got a prayer meeting this morning.”

  Tess glared at him. Rick scratched his head with a nervous finger. “See you later.”

  She watched him go in disgust. “Brazen motherfucker, isn’t he?”

  Margie turned her head to the side. “He’s not a bad guy. He’s fought with us all over the country.”

  “Yeah, and he goes and plays patty-cake with those Chosen sons of bitches.” She’d never forget the looks of exultant glee on their faces as the flames engulfed Pagan’s body.