The Last Five Days: The Complete Novel: A Post-Apocalyptic Thriller

by Seiple, Paul

  "Here's one thing I don't get," Richie said. "Judas isn't airborne, right? Why bother with putting out the fires? It only spreads through human to human contact, right?"

  Salk didn't answer. His flesh paled as if he had seen a ghost. Hendricks walked into the mess hall with Dr. Carolyn Swann.

  "Is that Swann?" Jones asked.

  "Yeah," Salk paused. "And she's supposed to be dead."

  "Gentlemen, I take it you all know Dr. Swann." Hendricks pulled out a chair for Swann. "She's joining the team today."

  "Funny, I thought you were dead," Salk said.

  Swann looked at Hendricks. "Dead? Locked in a jail cell for two weeks? What's the difference?"

  "Listen, I've done things none of you will agree with, but everything I've done has been for the advancement of peace," Hendricks said.

  Jones laughed. "Do you know the meaning of peace? Creating an unstable virus with the goal of turning people against each other is not the definition of peace."

  "It's the definition of annihilation," Richie said.

  "I'm not here to debate Judas. Neither are you. We must find a semblance of a cure."

  "To get the government off your back?" Jones said. "Yeah, Bob told us you're about to be grounded by Daddy."

  "That's not going to happen. I've sacrificed everything to ensure that ARMA succeeds. This experiment is not going to derail that."

  "Do you even hear yourself? This wasn't an experiment. It was genocide. The blood of Black Dog is on your hands."

  Hendricks smiled. "And you are the soap that's going to wash my hands clean."

  "And what if we don't?" Richie asked.

  "If ARMA dies, you die." Hendricks stood up. "Now, if you will excuse me, you've got work to do." Hendricks walked away and stopped at the door. He turned back. "Your lives depend on it."

  "That guy is the Mount Everest of assholes," Jones said.

  "But he is no liar," Swann said. "He will kill every one of us if we don't find a way to appease the government."

  Salk turned to Swann. "What did he have you working on?"

  Swann hesitated. "I developed a mutation of the virus that made airborne transmission possible."

  "You're telling me this thing you infected that town with is airborne?" Richie asked.

  Jones lowered his head. "How can brilliant people be so fucking stupid?"

  "Tom said he wasn't going to use the airborne mutation," Swann said.

  "This was never meant to be airborne. Tom knew the dangers," Salk said.

  Jones got up and dumped his tray into a trash can. "Yeah, well, it looks like the prick is a liar after all."

  Richie stood up. Dizziness punched the side of his head, sending the room into a downward spiral. He reached for the table, but his depth perception was off. Richie slammed face first into the table and crumbled to the ground before going into convulsions.

  * * *

  Melanie placed a white towel over a puddle of blood. Some of the crimson liquid spread across the floor, but the towel soaked up a good portion. Winston walked back into the house after tossing Georgie off the porch. He grabbed Kenneth by the ankles and pulled him out of the house.

  "How can you do this like you're just taking out the garbage?" Fisher asked.

  In a way, I am, Winston thought. He decided against saying that out loud. "I've shot my best friend in the head. Poked the eyes out of one my oldest friends. My wife is dead and locked in our bedroom. You have to desensitize yourself to these things in order to survive." Winston tossed Kenneth's body next to Georgie.

  Melanie stuffed the towel, which was now pink, into a trash bag. She grabbed another to soak up the remaining blood. Without water, there would be a stain, but at least the pools of red would be gone.

  "You shouldn't be touching that with your hands," Fisher said. "There's no way of knowing how the virus spreads."

  Melanie looked at her hands. Her palms were a faint pink from the blood seeping through the fabric. She smiled. "I haven't caught it yet."

  "You're playing roulette," Fisher said. He leaned back on the couch. A grimace rushed over his face. Yesterday's wound was a through and through with no organ damage, but it still hurt like hell.

  "Do you think we are immune?" Winston asked, walking back into the house.

  "Hard to say without being able to do tests. You've been living in this house with someone infected and haven't caught it. She's mopping up infected blood..." Fisher pointed at Melanie. "...like it’s harmless water. I'd say there is a good chance you may be immune. Either that or you're the luckiest people alive. Or you really want to die. I'm not sure."

  "Hey, Winston, maybe we should ditch this town and hit Vegas." Melanie pushed the towel into the trash bag.

  Winston smiled. "Hell, I'd go to Vegas now just for a big steak."

  "With mashed potatoes," Melanie said.

  "And cheesecake," Fisher said. He pointed to his stomach. "If you can't already tell, I'm a sucker for sweets."

  Melanie walked by Winston to the kitchen. She filled her palm with foaming soap and instinctively turned on the faucet. Nothing. "Shit."

  Melanie grabbed a bottle of water and poured it over her hands. Winston watched from the living room.

  "What? I had to get the soap off my hands," Melanie said.

  Fisher laughed and then moaned. "You're worried about soap on your hand but not infected blood."

  "OK, I'm going to head out and see if I can find a gas can and some gas to get the generator going. I guess I'll look for water too since some of us think we have an endless supply." Winston smiled at Melanie.

  "I'm coming with you," Melanie said.

  "Me too." Fisher tried to sit up, but the pain held him down. He took a deep breath and forced himself up.

  "You’re not in any condition to be out there," Winston said.

  "I'll be fine. I'm like a classic Ford Maverick. A bitch to get started, but once I've been running for a bit, it's a smooth ride."

  Winston smiled and shook his head.

  "Are you sure?" Melanie asked, grabbing one of Marianna's jackets from the closet. "It's dangerous out there."

  "Not an hour ago, there were three guys standing right here with guns pointed at us. I'm pretty sure one of them wanted to eat you. I'll take my chances with you out there."

  "All right, but understand if things get crazy, we're all on our own," Winston said.

  "Understood, captain," Fisher said.

  Winston picked up the shotgun that Brandon was wielding earlier. "Who wants this beauty?"

  Melanie grabbed Kenneth's pistol as if it was the last hot donut.

  "I guess I'm the proud owner." Fisher took the shotgun from Winston. He inspected the gun. "Nice. A Winchester 1912. It's a classic."

  Winston handed Fisher three shotgun shells. "These were in his pocket." He turned to Melanie. "Sorry. Kenneth wasn't carrying anything extra."

  Fisher took the pistol from Melanie. "Smith & Wesson M&P22. Not the best, but not the worst." Fisher popped the clip. "Only four bullets."

  "Shoot smart," Winston said, smiling.

  Melanie packed a bottle of water and a small bag of pretzels into a backpack. She flung it over her shoulder.

  "Those pretzels are going to make you thirsty," Fisher said.

  "Yeah, well, my options are limited, Mr. Picky."

  Fisher chuckled. "No need to worry. She's smart. I was hoping she'd leave those pretzels so I could have them."

  Melanie reached into her backpack, pulled out the pretzels, and smiled. She put them back in the bag and grabbed a bottle of Ibuprofen. She tossed it to Fisher. "Here; you need this more than pretzels."

  Winston checked his backpack and stepped onto the porch. Melanie followed with Fisher lagging behind.

  "Watch your step," Winston said, stepping over Brandon's lifeless body at the bottom step.

  "Geez, Winston, the least you could've done was put him in the yard," Melanie said.

  "There are more important things right now. Focus,
" Winston said. "OK, I think we should head towards the hardware store. We haven't been there."

  The air was cool. The silence would have been disturbing if they had a chance to listen. All three were tense as if they were walking through a haunted house, waiting for someone to jump out from behind a door to scare them. The scenery looked like a backdrop for a Halloween scare — bodies strewn over lawns and in the streets. At least there was no one to cause the fright. After about ten minutes and no signs of life or infected, Winston eased up.

  "Art's Hardware has to have gas cans. It's only a few minutes away. How ya holding up, Mark?"

  Fisher coughed. The pain wasn't too bad. It was the walking that put a hurt on him. Fisher was overweight and out of shape. Even though they were moving barely about a snail's pace, he felt like he was running a 5k. "I'm good." He barely had enough oxygen to get the words out. "I take it you don't have a hospital here."

  "Nope, just Doc Barnard's office," Melanie said.

  "Is it near here?" Fisher asked.

  "Not far. Why?" Winston asked.

  "Maybe I can get a sample of your blood to see why you're not infected."

  "That would be nice, but Doc didn't have a generator."

  "But you do. There has to be some type of microscope at the school. They do teach chemistry here, right?"

  "Failed it twice," Winston said.

  All the talking was too much for Fisher. He stopped to catch his breath. Melanie called for Winston to wait. The silence overwhelmed them when they stood still. A muffled squeak broke through the quiet.

  "What was that?" Melanie asked.

  Another squeak.

  "It's coming from over there," Fisher said.

  Winston walked toward the noise. Fisher and Melanie followed a few feet behind. The sound grew louder. Winston froze when he saw the woman pushing a child on a swing in Black Dog Community Park. Melanie put her hand on Fisher's chest to stop him. The woman kept pushing the swing. She sang the nursery rhyme "Are You Sleeping?" as she pushed the child.

  Fisher handed Melanie the shotgun and headed toward the woman.

  "What are you doing?" Winston whispered.

  "She has a kid. We have to help them," Fisher said.

  "Mark, don't," Melanie said.

  The woman stopped singing and turned toward Fisher. "Oh, thank god. My baby is sick. Can you help him?"

  "I can try," Fisher said.

  "Mark, be careful," Melanie said.

  Fisher turned to Melanie. "It's a kid. I have to he..."

  The woman lunged at Fisher, knocking him to the ground. The back of his head smacked against the cold ground, leaving him no chance to fight her off. She latched on to his shoulder, gnawing at flesh. Her teeth sank deeper to bone. She moved her head side-to-side like a shark ripping at chum. Fisher screamed. The woman let go of his shoulder only to gain more force with the next bite. Melanie aimed the pistol and ran toward the woman. She fired. The bullet missed the woman, but it was enough to get her attention. The woman stood up and smiled. Her teeth were red from Fisher's blood. A trickle ran down the corner of her mouth.

  Winston's hand was shaky. His mind was unsure of what was happening. Shock clouded his thoughts. He pointed the Colt at the woman, but the gun bounced in his grasp like a boat on choppy waters. He grabbed his wrist with his other hand. Just as he steadied his aim, another shot rang out, followed by a thud on the pavement. To Winston's left lay Art's son, Jeremy. His body was less than a foot from Winston, who didn't have time to reflect on how close he had been to death. Melanie stood frozen with the gun still aimed in Winston's direction.

  "Watch out, Melanie." Fisher barely got the words out as red spittle launched from his mouth, landing on his face.

  Melanie turned back as the woman reached for her. There was just enough space to extend her arm. Melanie placed the barrel of the M&P22 against the woman's forehead and pulled the trigger. Shards of flesh and blood splattered Melanie as the woman fell back on the asphalt. Melanie wiped her face with her forearm, smearing the woman's remains on the sleeve of the jacket Winston had bought his wife for Christmas last year. She ran to Fisher. Winston gained his composure and headed toward Fisher. He stopped at the woman's body. Winston knew her. Melanie knew her. The woman was Jeremy's wife, Alex. And if there was a child in the swing, it had to be their son, Ricky.

  "Good shot. You had me worried for a minute." Fisher tried to laugh but could only muster a gasp, followed by a cough that sent more blood in the air. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the bottle of ibuprofen. "I know, you're not a doctor, but think this will help?" He tried to smile, but it came across as a distorted grimace.

  A tear trailed down Melanie's cheek. "I'm so sorry."

  "For what? I should have listened to you, but the doctor in me just has to help people."

  Winston stopped beside Melanie.

  "Oh, hey, Winston. Yeah, about helping people, I'd probably advise against that in the future."

  "She wasn't a person any longer. Neither was he." Winston pointed to Jeremy.

  "We have to get him back to the house. Can you carry him, Winston?"

  Fisher looked at Winston. "Did she just call me fat? I'll have you know I'm big-boned."

  "There's no time for joking. We have to get you back to the house."

  Fisher exhaled. It led to a cough and more blood on his face. "I'm not going anywhere. This is the end of the road for me."

  "We can help you." Melanie bent down, but Winston stopped her. She jerked free. "I'm not going to leave him here."

  "Yes, you are," Fisher said. "You're going to be that woman I saw at the house cleaning up blood. This is about your survival, not mine. You are the cure to this. I have a gut feeling you're immune. And my gut never lies."

  "Do you want me to end it?" Winston asked.

  "I can't believe you're being so cold, Winston. End it? Jesus. He is a survivor. We need to help each other," Melanie said.

  "I'm not a survivor. Look at me. I'm already dead," Fisher said.

  Tears streamed down Melanie's cheeks. "I don't want to live in a world where people stop giving a shit about each other."

  "Winston cares. Or else he wouldn't have asked me. He would have just shot me. And no, I don't want you to end it. I want her to."

  Melanie took a step back.

  "You have to do this. You have to be tough. Be the woman that jammed the knife into that guy. You have to survive."

  "You're not like Georgie. I'm not going to shoot you."

  "He's right," Winston said. He paused, thinking back to his kills. The people he called friends. "The world has been turned upside down. Killing someone you care about is actually saving them."

  "Then why do you have Marianna locked up in a bedroom?" Melanie asked.

  Winston didn't have an answer. He knew it was wrong. Marianna was gone. He had no other choice but to save her.

  "Remember when Winston said shoot smart?" Fisher paused to gasp for air. "This is the smartest shot you can take."

  Melanie exhaled. She looked to Winston for guidance, but he was lost in guilt for not doing the right thing with his wife. Melanie eyed Fisher. A film was forming on his eyes. Fisher was right. She had to be the woman who stabbed Georgie. She pointed the pistol at Fisher.

  "I'm sorry."

  Fisher smiled. "Don't be sorry. Get your ass out there and save the world."

  Melanie closed her eyes and pulled the trigger. The bang jarred Winston from his daze. A slight motion stole his attention. The swing, which was designed to look like a racecar, was still moving. He walked to it and almost vomited when he saw the child. Ricky's eyes were cloudy. He lay still, but the eyes told Winston everything he needed to know. He pointed the Colt and pulled the trigger before his conscience could convince him otherwise.

  "Was that Ricky?" Melanie asked.

  "No. Ricky's dead."

  * * *

  "What's wrong with him?"

  "Hard to say. He seems OK now. I'm going to let him rest awhi
le before asking any more questions," Salk said as he walked by Hendricks.

  Hendricks grabbed Salk's arm. "There is no chance he's infected, right?"

  Salk looked back at Jones, who was sitting beside Richie's bed. "James said Richie suffers from insomnia. It's probably exhaustion."

  "To be safe, let's quarantine him."

  "And what about James? Are we locking him in there with Richie?"

  Hendricks smirked. "Couldn't hurt."

  "And you?"

  "What?"

  "You were with him at lunch. If he is infected, you've been exposed. Are we going to lock you up too? Me? Swann?"

  "Get James out of there. Make sure no one else interacts with him until he wakes up. And then only through two-way radio."

  Hendricks walked away. Salk tapped on a window of the mobile care unit. He had to tap several times to get Jones’ attention. He motioned for Jones.

  "He wanted me to lock you in there with him," Salk said, stepping away from the unit.

  "It's probably a hell of a lot safer in there with Richie," Jones said, walking behind Salk.

  "He suffers from insomnia. Any other health problems you're aware of?"

  "Hell, Bob, I don't know the kid. I read that from an article in Science News."

  Salk stopped just out of earshot of two soldiers standing near a jeep. "You're the king of virology. What are the odds of him being infected?"

  "Slim to none," Swann said, walking up behind Jones. "I don't like to use the word impossible. But if I did, I'd say it's pretty much impossible."

  "You made this airborne? What the hell were you thinking?" Jones asked.

  "I wasn't. I let the money blind me. Come on; we've got to get to work."

  Swann started toward the pop-up lab. Salk and Jones followed behind.

  "And before you accuse me of being a greedy bitch, I needed the money for my parents. Being head of Biological Sciences at John Hopkins pays well, but not well enough to provide the best Alzheimer's care. Both of my parents have it. Their care is close to three hundred thousand a year." Swann stopped and looked at Jones. "Do you have that kind of money?"

  Jones didn't answer.

  "I know joining ARMA was stupid. Making the virus airborne was incredibly stupid. There is no amount of apologies that can save Black Dog. Right now, you're going to have to put your feelings for Bob and me to the side and concentrate on saving the world. There is no other option. If this gets out, it's over."