by Joseph Souza
Tag quickly clicked off the menu in disgust. Cussing, he clicked back to the photos icon, and when he turned it on he saw the .jpg photos vanishing from the screen one by one. He clicked frantically, trying to keep the photos from being deleted but couldn’t override the built-in software that had been programmed to erase them. Once they disappeared, a video of Versa popped up on the screen, and on either side of her were the two police officers he’d encountered on Cooke’s Island. He felt like such a fool! They weren’t Portland police officers after all, but terrorists imitating two bumbling cops. They’d been assigned to keep their eyes on him, and had probably directed all those people down to his house. Versa stared into the camera, arms around the two impostors, and waved. “Keep this phone on you in case I ever need to contact you, Tag,” she said. She started to take off her wig before the video ended and started to replay. He studied it closely as it replayed over and over. After the seventh playing, the screen faded and the video shattered like an imploding star. The screen returned to its generic menu, and he knew instantly that all the video evidence had disappeared forever.
“You okay, Tag?” Fez asked.
“Worried about my family is all.”
“I know what you mean. At least you got a family to worry about.”
“Sorry about that insensitive remark, kid. I wasn’t thinking when I said it.”
“Not your fault. I blame the dude who did this to us.”
“I think Versa was responsible for releasing that virus onto Cooke’s Island. She had some partners in crime too.”
“Something about that old bag didn’t seem right, especially when she didn’t know who Cooper was. Everyone who lived on the island knew that old lobsterman.”
Tag punched the dirt. “I need to somehow get word back to the mainland and let those government officials know who Versa really is.”
“Who is she?”
Tag paused. “That’s a good question. I’m not really sure.”
“Won’t matter one iota,” Oggy said, chewing his jerky. “That government of ours is all in cahoots with each other. The common man is screwed.”
“Tag, they’ll find you if you call them right now. I hate to say it, but it’s way too late to save your wife and daughter. If Versa wanted to kill them, then she probably already would have done it by now.”
“You’re right, Fez, but whoever unleashed this virus might do it somewhere else. We could be saving more lives.”
“I think it’s better you wait and see what happens. You piss that terrorist dude off, then he might want to do it again as soon as possible. Besides, you live to fight another day and maybe save even more lives.”
“Smart thinking, kid,” he said, thinking about the fate of his family. “Thanks. I need to listen to you more.”
“That’s what I been saying all along.” Fez flashed him a big smile.
The scene on the television transitioned to a group of civilians being escorted out of the cruise terminal. Hundreds of reporters mobbed around the place, trying to get an interview with one of them. The newscaster reported that these lucky people had managed to survive the terrorist attack on Cooke’s and come out the other side, unharmed and pox free. An advance report from the CDC, FBI and Homeland Security had been distributed to every reporter covering the event, stating that these lucky people had somehow been able to hide out and survive on the island without becoming infected. Exhausting tests would be run on them to determine if any trace of the virus had entered their bloodstreams.
Tag was shocked to see Versa stepping up to the microphone and answering reporters’ questions. She claimed to have survived by hiding in the basement of her house during the worst of the crisis. As for Colonel Winters, she said she’d talked to him briefly during the crisis and that as far as she knew, he hadn’t become infected. She claimed that he’d asked as a favor to take his family to the mainland and deliver them safely to the Coast Guard. When they asked if she knew he was a suspect in the case, her expression changed, and she seem surprised by this assertion. They asked how she had managed to stay healthy, and she replied that it was her clean lifestyle, belief in God and solid Maine genes that had kept her protected.
Tag’s spirits momentarily soared. Monica and Taylor were safe after all. Versa had managed to carry them to safety. But why?
“I have to get some fresh air,” he said, unable to watch anymore of the broadcast.
“Suit yourself, guy, just stay off the beach so no one sees you,” Oggy said. “I’m going to catch me a couple of them plump bunnies soon and grill them up. Got the fishing poles out on the other side of the island. Hoping to catch me a big fat striper for dinner. Got some pickled pinwheels to go along with them too. You guys hungry?”
Tag and Fez nodded their heads.
Tag crouched down and walked up the tunnel. Once he reached the top, he climbed the ladder out of the hole and stood underneath the dense thicket of trees. Fez emerged out of the hole behind him. The two of them walked through woods until they emerged onto the southern end of the island, giving them an unhindered view of Cooke’s Island two miles away. They sat on the cliff with their backs up against some pine trees, taking it all in. The surf pounded the rocks twenty feet below. From where he sat, Tag could see the choppers still buzzing over the quarantine zone.
“What do you think they’ll do to Cooke’s Island?”
“I won’t lie to you, Fez. I think they’re going to turn it into a parking lot.”
“That’s what I was afraid of.”
Tag stared ahead and watched with interest as a gentle wind blew off the ocean. The sun shone brightly and warmed their faces. In a matter of minutes Fez was sound asleep, his head resting in the crook of Tag’s arm. It reminded Tag of when his own kids fell asleep in his lap after he’d read them a bedtime story. He said a quick prayer to God to keep them safe and then put his head back against the tree and closed his eyes.
Someone shook his shoulder, causing him to jump up. He grabbed the man’s hand and pulled in defense, and found himself staring into the crazed eyes of Oggy.
“Chill, bro, I just wanted to let you know that chow’s ready.”
Tag dropped his fist and released his grip on the man’s hand. Waking Fez, he helped the kid up, and the two of them followed Oggy through the woods and back to his camp. Rather than return to the man’s cave, they walked to the western end of the island. Oggy had set up a small grill and a couple of fold-out chairs on a small knoll overlooking a narrow strip of beach. The sweet smell of meat barbecuing enticed him, and he stared out over the water and the silhouette of the Portland skyline.
“Sit down, man. You too, little dude,” Oggy said, flipping the charred rabbit over the grill. “Nothing quite as tasty as fresh barbecued bunny. Had a bad day fishing, so I ain’t got no striper filets. Maybe tomorrow I’ll catch me a bluefish.”
“Smells good,” Fez said, licking his lips.
“Got all the bunny meat I can eat out here,” Oggy said, standing up to take in the full panorama of the Portland skyline. “Check out my million-dollar view. Can’t beat it with a stick. Nice and peaceful out here, boys.”
Tag realized that he could still see most of Cooke’s Island from where they sat.
“Sometimes I sleep out here under the stars when the weather gets really hot. Always catch a cool breeze even on the hottest of days.”
Oggy placed the strips of meat in some tin plates and then added some edible plants, seaweeds and dandelions and arranged them into a salad. He poured some mackerel oil into the greens and mixed them up. Tag took his tin and bit into the rabbit. It actually tasted surprisingly good, especially with the sea salt rubbed into it. Even the salty, oily greens were edible, if a little bitter.
After dinner they sat quietly on some rocks and watched Oggy meditate. He formed his forefinger and thumbs into tiny okay signs while resting his wrists on his knees. He chanted over the intermittent sound of the waves coming ashore. The waves exploded like detonation devices agai
nst the buoys and rocks protruding out of the ocean. Now that Tag knew Monica and Taylor were safe and getting proper medical treatment, he could breathe a little easier.
The sun set magnificently behind the city before disappearing altogether. Tag stood and faced his chair toward Cooke’s Island. Only the lights from the Coast Guard boats and choppers could be seen amidst the dark shadow of land. Nothing seemed to be happening, and he wondered if they’d already transported everyone off the island. There were probably many corpses to recover, and the team of Navy Seals would have to wrap each one up in a special hazmat bag before transporting them off the place. Oggy sat next to him, smoking a fat joint of marijuana that he’d grown in abundance on the island. He kept asking Tag if he wanted a hit, but Tag politely refused. He wished he could have the drug of his choice, a large tumbler of single malt scotch on the rocks.
A series of lights appeared in the southern sky. He stood as they approached. Because of the dark, he couldn’t make out what kind of aircraft they were, so he watched closely as they approached Cooke’s Island. Once his eyes focused, he was shocked to see that they’d sent three B-2 Spirits. It made obvious sense. The B-2’s low-observable technologies would render it almost invisible to anyone watching from the mainland. The B-2s soared over the island and then turned north and toward them. The ground suddenly shook and bursts of light rose up over Cooke’s. Tag held onto the tree as the earth rumbled beneath him. The ocean around them seemed to rise and fall, and for a second he feared a tsunami might overtake them. He gazed up and watched the B-2s soar directly overhead before disappearing behind the grove of trees and vanishing out to sea.
“Holy crap!” Fez said, standing up.
Tears fell from Fez’s eyes watching his island home blown to pieces. Balls of flames continued to rise up as more explosions went off. Each bomber carried forty thousand pounds of conventional weapons: one hundred and twenty thousand pounds of explosives. Debris sailed into the air and crashed into the ocean. The explosions went on for the next five minutes before beginning to subside. Then everything went quiet. The large plumes of flames and smoke continued to rise up off the island.
Fez sat down on the edge of the cliff, sobbing into his hands. Tag dropped down next to him and tried to give comfort. Yet what kind of comfort could he provide the kid? His home and entire family had been taken from him, and all his friends were gone. He put his arm around the boy’s shoulder and watched the whorls of smoke rise up into the night sky. Flames engulfed the various structures and spread throughout the parks and wooded areas. Small explosions sounded, and the island staggered and died, withering amongst the hellish fires.
He wondered where he would go now and what he would do next. The worst part of it all was that the culprit was still out there and most likely wouldn’t stop until he was either thwarted or he’d achieved his endgame. Whatever happened, Tag knew he couldn’t stay on this island for long. He’d have to return to the mainland eventually and track down this madman. He hoped his name would eventually be cleared, but if not, he’d work behind the scenes to track down this bastard. More importantly, he needed to reconnect with his family.
Tag pressed the kid into his sore ribs, hugging him as if he was his own child. Soon the sun would come up, and everything would return to normal, and people throughout America would get caught up in their daily routine, forgetting the tragedy of these last few days. Someday, maybe, they’d even start to rebuild Cooke’s Island, putting up new houses and encouraging businesses to start up there. The world was not a safe place anymore, and he’d worked diligently throughout his career to ensure that America remained that way, free from the terror that afflicted so many other countries.
The liger had escaped captivity and now ran free, albeit on a long leash held by the persons responsible for this tragedy, threatening not only the United States but the health of every single person on the planet.
He sat back and closed his eyes. Tomorrow would be another day. The kid would need to be looked after, and that would be his other priority in the days to come. He drifted off, dreaming of better days with his family, hoping one day the world might be safe again.
END OF BOOK ONE
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About the author
Joseph Souza’s award-winning short stories have been published in various literary journals throughout the country. Winner of the 2004 Andre Dubus Award for short fiction, he also won Honorable Mention for the Al Blanchard award in crime fiction. His novel The Reawakening was the 2013 Maine Literary Award for Speculative Fiction. He currently lives near Portland, Maine with his wife and kids. Visit JosephSouza.net for more information.
Joseph Souza – Horror & Crime novelist
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Preview and purchase the Living Dead series on Amazon:
The Reawakening: The Living Dead Trilogy, Book I
Darpocalypse: The Living Dead Trilogy, Book II
Go back to Contents
Table of Contents
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
About the author
