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

by Seiple, Paul

  Melanie stood up, walked to the porch steps, and watched the copter. "That's military."

  Winston puffed the cigarette. "Yep." He handed the lighter to Melanie.

  Melanie took a seat on the top step and blew a plume of smoke into the air. She watched the orange hue fade in and out as the cigarette burned. "What's the odds that helicopter is here to tell them it's time to go home?"

  Winston laughed. "I'm sure they've figured out this thing has about ran its course in Black Dog, but they aren't leaving. They know we aren't sick. They're not going to walk away with us knowing their secrets."

  "What do you think they are going to do to us? Maybe we'll get captured, and they'll lock us away in cages like research animals. Sounds fun, right?"

  "There is no one out there brave enough to come get us."

  "Well, that's going to make the last days boring." Melanie smiled.

  Winston took another puff and chased it with warm water. "I'm OK with boring right now."

  Melanie stood up and brushed dirt from her butt. She stepped over Georgie Howell's body and walked to the sidewalk before staring into the sky. The first hints of stars could be seen as night crept in. "Beauty has its blinders on."

  "What?"

  "The outside world has no idea what's happening here."

  "That's a good thing. Byrd was right. This cannot get out."

  Meanie turned back to Winston. "They're going to kill us, aren't they?"

  "They'll probably try."

  "I hate to say it, but dying looks like our only way out of this." Melanie dropped the cigarette onto Winston's walkway and crushed it underneath her tennis shoe.

  "You know the one thing a survivor hates?" Winston asked.

  "What's that?"

  Winston smiled. "Dying." He stood up and stretched his arms. "It's going to get chilly tonight. I'm going to try to get the generator working." Winston brushed the cigarette against a glass ashtray. There was half a smoke left, and he was careful not to damage it. Winston picked up the gas can and started down the steps.

  "Hey, Winston, I'm glad I'm here with you. I mean, I'd rather be on a white sand beach gazing at clear blue water while getting drunk on fruity drinks, but since I have to be held prisoner while a deadly virus runs rampant, I'm glad you're here."

  "You're just saying that because your boyfriend turned out to be a mask-wearing serial killer."

  Melanie smiled. "Well, yeah."

  Winston laughed. "Get inside, it's getting dark. I'll be in after I get the generator going."

  Day Five

  Judas Kiss

  We shall draw from the heart of suffering itself the means of inspiration and survival.

  -Winston Churchill

  "This is the end of the world?"

  Dr. James Jones didn't respond to Dr. Carolyn Swann's claim. Instead, he watched Dr. Richie Kincaid scribble something into a notebook. Richie's hand was a blur as he fought to record his thoughts before he lost them.

  "Why isn't he using the radio?" Swann asked.

  "His throat is sore. Last time he spoke, he said it felt like he was chasing razor blades with gasoline."

  "I don't even see how this is possible. He hasn't been close to anyone infected. H1N1 has limited range. There is no way someone coughed in that town and it spread to here."

  "I know how the flu spreads, Carolyn. This has nothing to do with H1N1. It's the Frankenstein virus you created. We have no idea how it spreads," Jones said.

  "It's not possible. It's just not."

  "Well, Richie will call bullshit on that. He is sick, and I'm pretty sure from what he's been telling me, he has the virus. We'll definitely know when the blood comes back."

  Richie stood up. The pain in his joints had subsided. His head still throbbed, but it was more of a dehydration headache than a migraine. The unrelenting hunger numbed his mind leaving only one thought — he had to eat. He walked toward Swann and Jones and slapped the notebook against the glass that separated them from him. Jones put on his glasses and read.

  It's in survival mode. It knows if I die, it dies. It's shutting my body down to save itself. My heart rate is 30 BPM.

  "Hang in there, kid. We're going to kick this thing's ass. Judas doesn't know who it's messing with."

  Richie backed away from the window. His complexion was beyond pale and closer to a light gray. He sat back on the bed and began writing again.

  "In the tests, Judas was weak. A strain of common cold could have immobilized it." Swann shook nervously as she bit her nails.

  "Yeah, well, it's exceptionally good at playing dead." Dr. Robert Salk handed Jones a clipboard. "Richie's infected. It's worse than that. There isn't a trace of white blood cells. It's like Judas is rewiring his body. Without an immune system, there is no chance of a cure."

  "How the hell did he get infected?" Swann asked.

  Jones tapped on the glass to get Richie's attention and motioned for him to pick up the radio.

  "I got some bad news, kid. Tony Romo tripped running onto the field and broke his collarbone again."

  Richie smiled, but it quickly turned into a coughing spell.

  "Sorry. Look, this isn't a surprise, but you're infected. Did you come in contact with anyone presenting? Think hard, kid."

  Richie scribbled something onto the paper and held it up. In huge letters was the word NO.

  "Is it possible there could be carriers who are not infected?" Jones asked.

  "Anything is possible with this virus, but you would still have to come in contact with Judas. No one infected has been in this compound," Salk said.

  "What about that guy who showed up a few days ago with info on Byrd?" Jones asked.

  "He could be a carrier. He didn't present, but I had a containment suit. Mark had a suit. The guards had suits..." Salk paused.

  "What?"

  "Tom wasn't wearing a suit. Richie's had close contact with him."

  "We all have," Swann said.

  "I'm sorry, Carolyn. I need to speak with James alone for a minute. We'll be back."

  Salk grabbed Jones by the elbow and led him away. Swann turned her attention to Richie, who was walking toward the glass again. He held the notebook up for her to read.

  I'm so hungry and you look good enough to eat.

  * * *

  "What's so important you couldn't tell me in front of Carolyn? The secrets have to stop, Bob."

  Salk looked over his left shoulder, then his right. Once he was satisfied they were alone, he pulled a cell phone from his blazer.

  "I didn't think...why haven't you called for help?" Jones asked.

  "One of Tom's henchmen gave it to me. Jim's daughter lives in Black Dog."

  "Melanie?"

  Salk nodded and sent a text. Not thirty seconds later, an armed guard rounded the corner.

  "What's the shit, Bob? Are you setting me up?"

  "Charles will help you save Melanie."

  "Save her? How do you know she's even alive?"

  "She was with that man who knew Byrd. I thought I recognized her, but it wasn't until Jim's call that I put it together."

  "Wait a minute. Why aren't you going to save her?"

  "Because you shouldn't be here. I need you to live and stop Judas."

  "It can't be cured, Bob. You said it yourself."

  "It can be contained."

  "All right, so let's say I find Melanie, what then? Every way out of that town is blocked off."

  "There is a crew on Black Dog Lake. The ones who had the same vision as Hendricks have been disposed of. Those left will help with the escape, but we have to hurry before Hendricks senses something is wrong," Charles said, reaching into a backpack. He handed Jones a containment suit.

  "And what about you, Bob? Carolyn?"

  "We deserve this. I'm going to make sure Tom doesn't realize you're gone. Carolyn will do her best to make sure Richie is cared for."

  "Once this is over, promise me you won't go into hiding. I'm going to need your help. Carolyn's too."


  Salk chuckled and smiled. "James, you know we're not getting out of this alive."

  "Sir, we really need to leave before sunup," Charles said.

  "Bob, you're a high-level turd, but good luck." Jones slipped the containment suit over his legs.

  Salk turned to walk away. Charles grabbed his arm and handed him a Taurus Curve. Salk flipped the small pistol in his palm.

  "Just in case you feel like shooting something." Charles nodded and turned to Jones. "You ready?"

  * * *

  "There's two pieces of bread left. I'll spread some peanut butter on them and we can pretend it's burgers. Big, thick, juicy cheeseburgers." Melanie scooped peanut butter onto a butter knife and spread it over the bread. She was careful not to tear the slice. "This would work so much better if it was toast. How can you not have a toaster?"

  Winston didn't answer. He stood in front of the bathroom mirror and opened his mouth. Last night, his throat started to feel scratchy. Sunlight hadn't found its way to the bathroom window, making it impossible to tell if his throat was red. He didn't really need visual confirmation. The pain when he swallowed told him all he needed to know.

  "Winston? You OK?"

  "Yeah, just a minute."

  "OK. I'm going to be on the porch. I left your double cheeseburger with bacon on the kitchen table."

  Winston waited for the front door to close before leaving the bathroom. "I can't get sick." He sat down beside the door to the spare bedroom that imprisoned his wife. "I think I caught a cold, honey. Can you believe it? With all that's going around and I catch a cold. It's fall, though. I shouldn't be surprised. I always get sick…"

  The bang against the door startled Winston and eased his mind at the same time. The virus hadn't given up on Marianna yet. Neither had Winston. He went to bed last night thinking today would be the day he said his final goodbye to Marianna. He closed his eyes, placed his head against the door, and listened to the faint scratches on the wood. She was weakening more each day. Putting a bullet in her head was the right thing to do. Winston hid two bullets in the drawer of his nightstand. One was for Marianna and the other had his name on it. But that was before he saved Melanie. He felt an obligation to her, to make sure she survived. Winston couldn't save Marianna, but he could save Melanie. He stood up and almost buckled at the knees from joint pain. Winston braced against the wall. "I don't have time for this." He took a deep breath and exhaled in an attempt to scare the pain away. It worked well enough for him to make it to the kitchen. Winston's stomach flipped over the sight of the lone piece of bread covered in peanut butter. The combination was never his favorite, but always a go-to when he needed to curb hunger. But not this time. He felt a slight burning in the back of the throat before several forceful dry-heaves wrenched his body. Once the convulsions ceased, Winston swiped a dishcloth from a hanger, poured a few drops of warm water from a bottle onto it, and wiped his forehead. He looked at the piece of bread again. The nausea crept back into his body. Winston turned away before the wrenching began again.

  "You coming or what? It's actually a nice day today," Melanie said.

  Winston walked by the kitchen table and cleared his throat. "On my way."

  * * *

  Swann studied Richie. His opinion that she looked like she would taste good didn't bother her. The thick glass between them provided enough comfort that her safety was secured. Richie didn't look like a monster with a penchant for human flesh. He looked frail, like a Stage IV cancer patient tired of fighting. But Swann knew if she opened the door, he would be on her like a hungry wolf. Watching Richie added salt to the wound inflicted by her Judas research. Richie was presenting just as the virus did when she introduced H1N1. Or maybe he wasn't. What if Judas was using him just as it did H1N1? Swann had an I.Q. of 172, belonged to the Prometheus Society, and yet she was outsmarted by a virus.

  Swann placed her hands on the glass and whispered, "I'm sorry I did this to you."

  Richie stopped writing and looked in her direction. A thin milky film coated his eyes. He picked up the radio. "Don't apologize. Stop staring at me and get to work. You have to contain this." His voice was raspy like a lifelong smoker.

  "You can hear me?" Swann's voice was softer than the previous whisper.

  "Yes. I'm becoming hypersensitive to all the senses. The pain is coming back. The hunger is unbearable. I know I said I wanted to document this, but it's too much. If you want to help me, then kill me."

  "I..."

  "Is what I'm hearing true? He's infected with Judas?" Tom Hendricks' voice was loud, almost a yell.

  Richie covered his ears with his hands before burying his head under a pillow.

  "Where the hell are Salk and Jones?"

  "Right here," Salk said. "I wanted to check his blood again. I'm afraid it's true."

  "How did he get sick in the safe zone?"

  "We think it's possible to be a carrier without getting sick," Swann said.

  "OK, well, he's sick so…"

  "I believe that man we met with the other day is a carrier," Salk said.

  "Winston? That doesn't explain how Kincaid got sick. He wasn't there, and we took precautions," Hendricks said.

  "You didn't, Tom. You wouldn't wear a containment suit," Salk said.

  "So, you think I infected Kincaid?"

  "Right now, I can't think of a better explanation," Swann said.

  "Tom, I need to get a sample of your blood and we need to quarantine you," Salk said.

  Hendricks pulled his revolver and aimed at Salk. "I don't believe you. This is just your way of incapacitating me."

  "You shouldn't be around others. There's a good chance you hold the key to a vaccine," Swann said.

  Hendricks pointed the gun at Swann. "Move over next to Bob. You're the ones getting quarantined. I'm so close to success. Nothing is going to stop me."

  "You have a misguided definition of success, Tom."

  Hendricks laughed. "Did you really think Judas was my ultimate prize? No offense, Bob, but I didn't put much faith in your ability to create a virus that could turn brother against brother. I banked on you creating a virus without a cure, and you did. The picture is much bigger than Judas. The fact that I now possess a biological weapon that could turn allies against each other is a bonus. It will probably net me half a billion. The weapon to end all wars is my bomb. I call her the Judas Kiss."

  "You asshole," Swann said.

  "Rich beyond your wildest imagination asshole, Carolyn."

  "Judas is just a smokescreen," Salk said.

  "Not true, Bob. Judas plays a key role in my presentation to General Wilkins today. Once he sees the data on how big of a threat Judas is to mankind, I'll have his full attention. And then when my bomb incinerates the threat with zero civilian causalities, he'll open up the United States' checkbook."

  "You're insane. Those people in Black Dog are civilian casualties," Swann said.

  Hendricks smirked. "They are test subjects. That's what you called those twins, isn't it?" He paused to send a text. "The Hiroshima and Nagasaki bombings killed over two hundred thousand people. In today's politically correct world, that would never fly. But imagine a bomb as powerful as Hiroshima that you dial in the exact attack target and once it hits the controlled explosion, envelops its prey just like a Venus Flytrap. Bye bye, bad guys, and no civilian casualties. Not that I give a damn about that, but it'll add a few extra zeroes to the check."

  "You really are a sick bastard," Salk said.

  "You helped me. What does that make you?"

  Two guards interrupted the conversation.

  "Judas is no longer contained. These two could be contaminated. For everyone's safety, escort them away from the safe zone. Then tell General Wilkins the field test will happen at fourteen hundred hours."

  "But taking them to the town will compromise our safety, sir," one of the guards said.

  Hendricks smiled. "The way I see it, you have two choices. You can take your chances and hope you don't get
infected or..." He pointed his revolver at them. "...you can die right here."

  The guard grabbed Salk by the elbow. "Come on."

  The other guard put his rifle in the small of Swann's back and pushed her forward.

  Richie watched in silence. He picked up the radio. "You can't do this. They are the only hope to contain this."

  Hendricks grabbed a radio from a metal chair and walked toward the glass. "Your opinion no longer matters. You're already dead." He turned to the guards. "After you get rid of them, dispose of this one."

  * * *

  Melanie sat on the first step of the porch in awe that Mother Nature could paint such a beautiful canvas over such a shitty situation. The chirping birds had no idea Black Dog was dying. It had no effect on them. The birds could fly away. There were no armed guards holding them prisoner. Melanie took the last puff from the last cigarette. She inhaled, letting the smoke fill her lungs. One way or another, this was going to be her last cigarette. If she survived and found more smokes, she was going to pass them by. This was it and she was going to enjoy it until the very end.

  "You look like someone who died but didn't die," Melanie said as she blew the last bit of smoke through her smile.

  "Woke up with a cold," Winston said as he eased himself into the rocking chair. "I always get a cold this time of the year."

  Melanie nodded. "Me too. But, hey, if you're going to get sick, a cold is better than becoming a flesh eater."

  Winston coughed. "Yeah."

  Melanie turned, sat cross-legged, and faced Winston. "Can I ask you something?"

  "Sure."

  "Does killing even bother you?"

  "What?"

  "In the last three days, I've not seen you hesitate once before pulling the trigger. I talk myself up to be a bad ass chick of the apocalypse, but I'm not sure killing people is the right thing to do. After it's over, I have this guilt, you know."

  Winston thought about how he felt after he put the bullet in the back of Jimbo Brookside's head. The emotional tug-of-war of feeling like a coward for shooting a man from behind pulling against the idea he was turning into a stone-cold killer. There was no comfortable middle ground. Winston had to come to terms with it. This was how the world operated now. It was Melanie's turn to deal with it. "The only thing that matters at this point is your survival. To survive, you're going to have to do things that will probably end up haunting you. But survival is the key."