Rise of the Plague (Book 1): Endemic

by Jeannie Rae

“You see those helicopters over there, by the shoreline? They are evacuating people too. Your family will be on one of those,” James began.

  Kate looked at the helicopters then shook her head in disbelief. She looked more infuriated than any child he’d ever seen. In fact, James couldn’t even think of an adult that had shown such blatant distrust for him.

  “Shotgun is one of my men. He knows what time our last helicopters are leaving, where the evacuation points are located and where we are going. The only difference is our flight is going directly to our headquarters. Those ones are taking a different route. That’s why it will take a few days. You met Shotgun, he doesn’t give up. He will get your family out and back to you. I guarantee it,” James lied with an empathetic tone.

  Kate looked at him, pursing her lips. She defiantly turned away, her posturing then changing, seeming to give thought to what he’d explained.

  She bought it. He was sure of it. It would take her a few minutes to digest it all, but she would believe him. It sounded plausible from the prospective of someone that didn’t quite understand the situation. It was like being a magician, with the slight of the hand—you could make people think that they saw anything.

  Just seeing those helicopters in the distance—really sold the story to her. They would be well out of view before she thought to look back at them again. She would never realize that those choppers weren’t landing, but preventing anyone from leaving Port Steward tonight. Their spotlights shining down looking for anyone attempting to escape the quarantine area would be lost on her anyway. At this point, Kate would think that they were looking for survivors. James sat back and marveled at himself.

  “Kathryn, did Mara explain why you’re here?” James asked.

  “To keep me safe. And it was the only way out of The Port,” she said dryly.

  “Do you know why she rescued you?” He probed.

  She furrowed her brow at him in confusion at the question.

  “Your blood is very special. Your sister has been helping us to try to find a cure for the infected people. We are pretty sure that you have that same special blood. You could help all these people. Do you think you might want to help Dr. Mara find a cure?” James asked.

  Kate looked down at the veins in her wrist and then up at Mara. “I dunno, maybe. Roxy is really helping you?”

  “She sure is,” Mara said softly.

  James smiled to himself. A few days ago he thought he had this whole plan figured out. While he had Dr. Staton fooled as to his role in the Project Phoenix disaster, that rebellious scientist thought that he could call the shots.

  Yes, Dr. Staton had proved to just as unreliable and useless as his father in the end, and well, they both deserved what fate had bestowed upon them, thanks to Randy in both instances.

  Staton was supposed to deliver the serum as planned to Mara’s lab, and also send a separate delivery of the retro-virus to me directly, via his assistant Haley. I could see to it that the serum would be administered to a few patients, and that they would be brought back to Angora for treatment. Angora would save the day on a new epidemiological outbreak. Not to mention that the patients would unwittingly become the human test trials for the retro-virus. Angora could release the findings and announce a new viral threat with the potential to spread to epidemic proportions. With the retro-virus and soon after, a cure within Angora’s grasp, millions of lives could be saved—for the right price.

  After funding all of Dr. Staton’s research and a payout to of four million dollars to Dr. Staton, himself, it would be a steal for Angora and for me. Edward must have suspected my grander strategy and decided against sending the retro-virus. While he adamantly insisted that Haley was on the way with the retro-virus, he emailed the formula to Mara along with the other data relating to the serum. By the time I realized that the Edward was playing games, I already had the injections administered, leaving me no other choice than to sick Randy on him.

  While obviously, I wanted the world to see what was happening, I never realized how fast our little endemic would spread. But now, with it contained and the world watching, Angora will be the savior after all. And now that I have Mara back on my side, a new plan is underway.

  Although his original plan didn’t go quite as expected, James was convinced that this next phase would likely be just the boost that he needed to cause Angora’s stocks to soar and to make him a political front runner. He took one last glimpse back at the town as the helicopter carried them off into the distance.

  CHAPTER EIGHTY-FIVE

  The dark tunnels beneath Port Steward were warm and damp—like the passageway itself, was sweating. Aside from the grime caked walls that oozed as though they were a decomposing intestine, the quarter inch of sludge settled on the floor of the tunnel and pulled on every footstep that the men made, as if the tunnel itself did not want them to escape. Having an equally difficult time, Rogue, yanked each one of her paws out of the mud-like substance with every step and shook it off before taking another. The stench underground could have been strong enough to make a rhino faint. Like an invisible smoke, the stink lingered in the air, seeping into their pores and saturating their garments. The men moved through the passage without complaint, trying to keep pace to make it out in time.

  After taking the right tunnel at the fork and having walked at least two or three miles in the drain system, Dave’s legs burned with tenderness. The work out on their legs, over the last several minutes, had left it’s soreness behind. The sludge in the bottom of the tunnel became thinner, with each footstep. As they moved forward, concrete began to appear through the grime. The tunnel became cleaner and cleaner the further they progressed.

  Hank led the way down the damp blackened tunnel, his flashlight shining the way. They had lost their ability to smell the nose burning stench after the first mile or so. Shotgun was grunting in pain with each hobble on his good leg.

  “We’re almost there,” Dave said looking at the walls.

  “You sure, it feels like we’ve gone more than two miles since the fork, doesn’t it?” Hank called back over his shoulder.

  “No, it just seems like that because I’m slowing you guys down,” Shotgun said between twinges of pain. “I don’t know that I can keep going guys.”

  “Look at the tagging, we’re almost there. It’s a few feet down the tunnel,” Dave said, ignoring Shotgun’s comments.

  A squirrel hanging off a ladder, while smoking a cigarette, was painted in graffiti on the wall alongside bubble letters that spelled EXIT.

  “I guess they don’t make it down here often to clean up graffiti that no one will ever see,” Joe said.

  “I’ve got a ladder about twenty feet down,” Hank announced.

  As they approached the ladder, Dave pulled himself out from under Shogun’s shoulder. He grasped the ladder and looked back at Hank.

  “What time is it?” Dave asked.

  “Eleven thirty-six,” Hank said, pulling out his pocket watch.

  “I’m going to check it out first. If it’s clear I’ll signal you to send up Shotgun first, then we’ll get out of here. Hank, you still have that small flashlight?” Dave asked.

  Hank gave a quick nod and fished the light out of his pocket, handing it over.

  Dave pocketed the light and ascended the ladder. He could see the starry night through the metal grate at the top of the ladder. When he reached the top, he pressed the grate upward. This one didn’t weigh as much as the other. He was able to lift it out of the lip to get it ajar. He pushed, as it slowly slid over to the side.

  Taking a deep breath, he popped his head out of the hole above. He quickly turned his head, looking in all directions.

  CHAPTER EIGHTY-SIX

  As Roxy ran through the streets of Port Steward toward the cape, she was thankful for the crap job she had as a scuba instructor for the past three summers. Finally, working for Austin, that tyrant of a boss of hers, would pay off.

  Roxy ran as fast as her legs would carry her, cutting th
rough alleys, parking lots and across fields. With an estimated four miles from the video store to the cape, she needed to shave off as much distance and time as possible. She had eaten a three candy bars from the snack area in the video store and shoved two more in her pockets before leaving, as a ravenous hunger plagued her body. The black backpack was secured so tightly to her shoulders that it barely jostled as she ran.

  She wouldn’t be taking Gypsy on Austin’s boat with her. While a backyard burial, under the old apricot tree, was really what a good dog like her deserved, a shallow beachside burial would be all that time would allow right now. With time quickly evaporating, she had no time to try to track everyone down. She only hoped that her family and friends made it out of Port Steward. Even if they had, where would I find them? She shook the thought away. That thought would have to be revisited once she made it out.

  As she approached the pier, she could see two helicopters overhead. Their spotlights swept the beach and shallows. Disappointment hit Roxy like a punch in the gut. There were no boats docked at the pier. Ordinarily, there were close to forty boats docked—at any given time, but now, they had all vanished. Every last one. Trying to collect her thoughts while she snuck close to the Scuba Cabana building, she needed to come up with another plan.

  She would have really loved working at this place if it hadn’t been for Austin, the owner. He had always been a royal jerk, always giving his three employees a hard time whenever they would ask for time off. If he found a mistake someone had made, he’d hold a staff meeting and berate them in front of the crew and any customers, if present.

  Just as the light swept by again, she saw a man race out to the other side of the dock. She watched as he ran with all his might, sand spitting upward from the foot holes his feet dug into the beach. She saw him disappear behind the dock. Then she heard a familiar sound that reminded her normal, everyday, summer life in The Port. It was a Jet Ski ripping to life. He tore off into the water, leaving foamy white waves in his wake. It wasn’t long before the helicopters caught him in their beams of light.

  “Return to the beach or you will be shot!” A loud voice echoed from above.

  Roxy’s peeled-open eyes watched in shock as the man ignored the warning and continued to head toward Bayberry Hollow. Within seconds, several rapid shots were fired down at the man. Water exploded into the air as the bullets slashed into the water first, then drew closer to the Jet Ski, as the gunners aimed more accurately. The man fell from the Jet Ski just before it exploded in a bright orange fireball. The flames plumed up twenty feet, before turning to black smoke in the night sky. All that remained were a few spots burning the remaining oil and gasoline that floated atop the water.

  Roxy had planned on taking Austin’s boat out of here. His boat is long gone, probably shared the same fate as the Jet Ski out there. Could it be possible that those helicopters sank all the boats that were here?

  Reaching into her jeans pocket, Roxy pulled out her keys. Her plain key ring only held her car key, house key and the key to this shack. She unlocked the door to the Scuba Cabana and called out to Austin. She hoped he wasn’t hiding inside. He would never let her take the equipment that she needed to get out of here. Relief in finding no answer, allowed her shoulders to loosen up.

  Gently setting the backpack on the counter, she quickly passed through the beaded curtain behind the front counter to the employee area and flicked on the light switch. No power. Opening her locker, she quickly undressed in the shadows of the darkened storefront. There were three bikinis, a couple shirts and two pairs of shorts in her locker. She grabbed a navy blue bikini with white trim, a plain white tee and a faded pair of cut-off denim shorts, and swiftly dressed herself. A twenty-four inch ball-chain necklace hung on a hook in the back with a spare house key on it and thick, two-inch stainless steel cross. Pulling it from the hook, she put it in the pocket of her shorts. She scooped the contents from the pockets of her jeans, which included—Gypsy’s dog tag, the cork from the alley, two candy bars and forty dollars—and shoved them into the pockets of her shorts, without a second thought. Grabbing her wetsuit off a hanger, just beside her locker, it took seconds for her to pull it on.

  Racing back to the front of the store, she gently slid the backpack on. A wide array of equipment hung on the wall adjacent to the front counter. She grabbed a pair of fins, a scuba mask, and an aluminum oxygen tank attached to a buoyancy device to regulate her depth. Checking the gauge, she could see that it had three hours of air left and with a check of the watch attached to the strap, she knew that time would soon run out for anyone left in The Port. As she approached the door to leave, she carefully peered out to see where the helicopters where located.

  After they had swept buy once more, she made her way around the shack to the back side. She set the backpack and equipment down on the sand against the wall. On her knees, Roxy began to dig feverishly with her hands in the sand. She hoisted the sand out of the hole creating a mound the size of a beach ball beside the hole. Once the hole about two feet deep, she began to widen it. As sweat poured down her face and neck, she grabbed for the backpack.

  She unzipped it and carefully pulled out Gypsy. Pulling the hoodie cloaked dog out of the plastic liner, she hugged her tightly, then laid her friend to rest in the sand. Roxy kissed Gypsy on the forehead and tucked the hoodie tightly around her befallen dog. She didn’t want to get sand in Gypsy’s eyes or mouth. While she knew that her protective dog was gone, she couldn’t bear the thought of sand sticking to Gypsy’s face. After a brief moment of reflection: discovering this dog at the shelter, her first day home, snuggling up to her on the couch and how she saved her human’s life, Roxy began to push the mound of sand over the hole.

  When she finished covering the hole, she smoothed the sand and wrote RIP GYPSY with her finger in the moist sand. Roxy wished she could have done more for her loyal friend as she wicked away tears from her face. Looking down at the watch attached to the buoyancy vest, the time read eleven forty-seven. With no time to truly memorialize her trusted friend, she picked up the equipment and dashed to the end of the building, leaving the liner and backpack behind. She watched as the helicopters overhead swept their spotlights across the beach, and counted. After three passes, she thought she had the timing down.

  As the light swept by, she ran out on the open beach toward the dock. She needed to get underneath the dock before the helicopters lights swept by again. She had nearly made it, when two jets ripped by overhead, sounding as if they tore a hole in the night sky. She stopped for just a second. They are bombing now. I’m too late. But no rockets fell from above. She quickly continued toward the dock. The second helicopter’s light was sweeping straight for her. She had hesitated too long when the jets went by. She pushed herself to run as fast as she could through the sand, as the spotlight drew closer and closer. Her thigh and calf muscles burned in pain. Just as the light touched the dock, she leapt forward diving under it. She crouched underneath and held her breath for a moment, unsure if the helicopter had spotted her. The light paused, then went back over the dock. Streaks of light stabbed through the slats of wood that made up the dock. The light seemed to stay there for an eternity as Roxy hunkered down in silence. The light floated away from the dock, allowing Roxy to finally exhale.

  Pulling on the fins and slinging on the gear at a feverish pace, she moved waist deep in the icy water. The helicopter engines began to fade away in the distance. It sounded as though they were leaving. Pulling her mask on and popping her neck, she submerged herself into the water. This is it. Everyone better be okay, and I hope I make it out of this.

  CHAPTER EIGHTY-SEVEN

  Dave carefully climbed out of the drain, stepping in a shallow, v-shaped, concrete gutter. Although the night air felt hot and humid, amidst this almond orchard in Bayberry Hollow, it gave him a temporary cooling sensation. The air in the tunnel had been several degrees hotter than the warm orchard breeze. As sweat dripped down Dave’s temples and neck, he wiped his forearm ac
ross his brow and chin, while taking in a deep breath of fresh air.

  Scanning the orchard, a nearby house could not be seen from his vantage point. Row upon row of trees, and between them, were small lines of almonds hulls, dirt and debris, as far as his eyes could see in the darkness. The trees themselves were nearly bare, having been shaken for the upcoming harvest season. Although trees were all Dave could see, he knew his exact location. An old, unlit road would only be about thirty yards to the north, and the turn-of-the-century ranch that owned this acreage, should be about a football field to the southwest. As Dave stood silently, he listened for any disturbance in the orchard. He couldn’t see anyone nearby—under the cover of darkness. The orchard remained quiet, save for the insects.

  Dave thought of Roxy and her heightened senses, as he listened. She should be here to listen for us. After going so long without having a stake in anything and being on his own for the longest time—as a teen, in the Marines, and while working at The Crazy Horse, he felt overcome with emotion. He had come alive with feeling. His mind and heart pulled him in so many different directions in this moment. It felt good to help Roxy out, purposeful. Then, somewhere between meeting Mattie and thinking that she was infected and going to turn, it became more than good. It was something more. And now, Mattie and Lynn are dead. Gypsy is dead, Roxy… is dead. Kate’s been kidnapped, it’s all fallen apart.

  But I still have purpose, which has been one of the many gifts Roxy left me with. I can help Joe get one of his daughters back and I can settle up some unfinished business with Randy and Rhino. Yes, I still have a purpose.

  He pulled out the little flashlight and shined it in the opening, flicking his wrist back and forth.

  He shone the light down as Shotgun struggled up the rungs. Shotgun climbed up an enthusiastic pace. Dave lent his arm to assist Shotgun up and out of the drain and helped him take a seat on the dirt-covered, orchard floor. Dave assisted Joe once again in getting Rogue out of the tunnel, then Joe and Hank swiftly emerged after. Joe promptly covered the opening with the metal grate as if fearful that somehow the runners might have made it into the tunnel.