Izzy was lying there in it. Jesus, what a mess. There was nothing I could do. She said she was sorry. About everything. I told her I was too. I told her to hang in there, that I’d get help, and then she was gone.
I found Birot, at least what was left of him, on the stairs to the roof. There were two more dead monkeys up there. When I got up top, I found a helicopter and one dead chopper pilot. Behind the pilot’s seat was a crate like the one I’d seen in the basement and a couple of suitcases. I headed down to the lobby where I climbed into the SUV and backed out into the parking lot.
Something Izzy said had got me to thinking. Why wasn’t she afraid of catching Ebola? Hell, I was so paranoid I’d burnt my sofa and drown myself in my best liquor after hearing that Billy might, just might, have it. And when I broke into her brother’s car, I was ready to strip right there and take a bath in Clorox, and there she was, cool as a cucumber, making jokes. All that time, I thought it was because she was a hard-ass, a real trooper, not afraid of anything. I’d actually admired her for it. But back there in Birot’s office, when I said something about running from the epidemic, she said, “We won’t have to.” And her father, he’d been with his infected son. He knew François had it, yet he wasn’t afraid either. It didn’t add up.
And then it came to me: the empty rack on S5 in the chilled storage room, the crate marked EB-25, the harvested tobacco plants, the delivery system he’d perfected, it all made sense now. Birot had figured out how to manufacture the antibodies needed to cure Ebola-B, and they’d loaded the crate of it, the EB-25, onto the chopper to take with them.
I pulled out my cell to call in the cavalry. I wasn’t getting a signal, so tried the car radio, but all I got was static. I got out of the car to go back inside to make the call on a hard line. That’s when the building lit up like the finale at the Fourth of July fireworks. It was that son of a bitch Birot’s last shot at a world he hated so much.
As I lay there on the grass, ears ringing, head pounding, I figured that was all she wrote for me. I’d been bitten by one of those damned chimps and had a couple of days before the symptoms started. And once they did, I’d be dead in forty-eight hours. Nobody looking over me in a spacesuit, no ice chips when I was thirsty, no encouraging words when I thought I couldn’t take it anymore, just dead.
I drove back to Jersey. When I pulled into the driveway, Baby was watching me from the kitchen window. Shep met me at the door, happy to see me, like nothing was wrong. I made them bacon and eggs, found a pack of Pall Malls and a bottle of scotch, and went outside to sit on the front step. I drained the bottle and had a cigarette. Then I called Tim, let the phone ring once, and hung up. I waited, but he never called back. I tried again, let it ring for ten minutes, and hung up again. I tried the Six. I tried Jimmy. I tried West Detectives, Tom Stalter, my son, my daughter, my ex. Nobody was home.
I went back inside and turned on the TV. The only stations still broadcasting were the ones where a computer looped through old sitcoms 24/7. I fired up the laptop. Most of my usual haunts on the Internet were already gone. What newsfeeds left were dead, no posts in over a day. Social media was dead. The secure FBI net: dead. I posted messages everywhere I could, hoping someone would answer. The lights were on, but nobody was home.
I kept trying for two days. That’s when I started feeling sick. The thermometer said my temperature was 103°. I felt like I was on fire. I put Shep and Baby out in the yard, closed the windows, and locked the doors. I decided they could fend for themselves. I didn’t want them catching it from me.
I figured I was finished, but I was damn sure not going out the way Billy did. I would have preferred my .38, but it was long gone, and there was no way in hell I was going to end it with the Glock, so I took out my vintage Colt .45, loaded it, set it on the kitchen table, and had another scotch and one last cigarette.
It’s funny the things you think of when you’re getting ready to commit suicide. Some people write a note explaining why. Some make sure their will is in order. I called Tim again. I had to try him one last time, just to hear his voice, just to talk to him without asking him for a favor or to break the law for me. There was no answer. I stared at my phone and at the little red dot next to one of the screen icons, blinking to remind me of the MP3s I’d transferred from Tim’s server to my phone, the copies of Birot’s calls that I had never listened to.
I guess Izzy was right. I am a bulldog. If there was one loose end, I had to tie it up before I was satisfied. I listened to the first call. It was Birot calling for a cab. He had a nice voice, like Izzy’s. I went on to the other one, the one he’d made to his father the morning he died.
“Father, it’s François,” he said.
“Where are you, son?”
“Somewhere in Philadelphia. I don’t know.”
“Did you take the EB-25?”
“No.”
“François, please. Don’t do this.”
“This is a horrible thing I’ve done.”
“It was necessary, my son.”
“This is necessary too.”
“François, please.”
“I don’t deserve to live, Father.”
“Your mother did not deserve to die, and neither do you. Take the shot.”
They began speaking in Dutch, until François said good-bye and hung up.
The little red dot on my phone stopped blinking and turned green. For once, I was home when the light came on. I knew what I had to do.
Chapter 14
Did I mention I’m a packrat? I’m sure I did at some point. I’m the guy who buys the stuff other people throw away. My office at the Six looks like an episode of American Hoarders. My house isn’t much better. You get the idea.
I set the Colt aside and went looking for the only thing that mattered anymore. I thought I’d left it in one of my jackets but it wasn’t there, and it wasn’t on the dresser in my bedroom or on the bookshelf. Those little monkeys were banging their cymbals inside my head so loud I couldn’t think straight. I went back downstairs, figuring maybe I’d left it in the glove compartment of the car, but I never made it that far. When I got to the porch, Shep and Baby were sitting outside the door looking at me. They wanted in. I wanted to throw up. That’s when I reached for the trashcan.
Like I said, only three things in life are guaranteed: you’re born, you die, and somewhere in between, if you keep playing the odds, you’ll get lucky. When I looked down into that trashcan, I saw it — the plastic box with the Research Voorhoede logo on it and the auto-injector inside, loaded with the last dose of EB-25, the one François Birot felt too guilty to take, the one his sister, Isabelle Birot Aimée, had thrown away.
I took the shot and made it as far as the living room floor. That’s when I started recording this. I’m uploading it to the Internet now. I don’t know if anyone’s out there listening, but my name is Bam Matthews, I’m an FBI agent, and in forty-eight hours, give or take, I’ll either be damn lucky or stone-cold dead. Guaranteed.
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Four Years from Home is the story of Tom Ryan, the firstborn of five in an Irish Catholic family. Smart and acerbic, he called himself the future king of the Ryans. Harry, the youngest, was the family’s shining star. Sensitive, and caring, he was destined for the priesthood until something changed, and he abandoned his vocation. When he left for college, he left for good. He never called. He rarely wrote. It was as if he had ceased to exist and the shining star had been but a passing comet in the night sky.
The story begins on Christmas during Harry’s senior year at college. The Ryans have gathered for another bittersweet holiday without Harry. When an unexpected gift arrives, Tom must make a reluctant journey of discovery a
nd self-discovery into a mystery that can only end in tragedy. Four Years from Home defines brotherly love in a darkly humorous and poignant tale told by an unlikable skeptic, Tom Ryan.
A Cape May Diamond was the recipient of a 2013 Independent Publishers Book Award in eBook fiction. Sequel to the best seller, Four Years from Home,it picks up the Tom Ryan story two years after its tragic ending in the discovery of the fate of Tom’s youngest brother, Harry. It is not required that you first read Four Years from Home before A Cape May Diamond, since it is recapped in brief in the first chapter of the sequel.
The result of a chance encounter, A Cape May Diamond can best be described as a story of life, love, and a journey of a thousand years.
This is a story of how things never quite work out the way you think. You might find a love story in here somewhere. You might not. You might find a message hidden in one of the nickel pop bottles collected by the beachcombers from some of the most beautiful white sand beaches in the world. You might even find a little mystery, but life is a mystery, isn’t it?
A King in a Court of Fools begins with a book — The Book of Tom — a journal writing assignment from Tom Ryan’s sixth-grade teacher, Sister Jeanne Lorette. That’s what she called it. Tom called it punishment. In it, he chronicles the adventures of the Caswell Gang, a group of siblings and friends with two things in common — their love of adventure and their allegiance to Tom, their king.
The 1950s book was misplaced a long time ago, and all the children have since grown up, but Harry, Tom’s youngest brother, still remembers it and retells for us one of its stories in a nostalgic, heartwarming, and humorous way that will have you wishing for adventure, too.
Buffalo Nickel Christmas is the story of a special day. It begins with an ordinary boy in an ordinary world, but as a monster storm approaches, and Christmas Eve finally arrives, the boy discovers that he is anything but ordinary, and that the world is a very magical place indeed.
You will meet some unusual people and hear unbelievable things. You might even see a wizard and a king or two. Sixteen forevers will pass in this book. That’s a very long time, and many magical things can happen when it’s sixteen forevers and still no Christmas. Whatever you do, don’t listen to that little voice inside your head that tells you it’s illogical, that it doesn’t make sense. Listen for the whistling teakettle and be ready with your wish.
12|21|12 - The world ends for someone every day. One day it will end for everyone.
Walter Stickle and the Galactic Rangers
One ordinary man, one extraordinary adventure...
Universal Encyclopedia (713th edition, page 32,603 - Galactic History)
On Sidereal 1031.42, as time came to be measured, our galaxy's five central worlds formed the first Congress of Planets. Headquartered in the city of Jandu on the planet Argon, they were tasked with governing relations between the known worlds.
Walter Stickle knows all about this.
(entry continued...)
On that date, Congress enacted the Articles, a comprehensive system of laws regulating trade, civil, and interplanetary matters. These Articles have existed for over a thousand sidereals.
And though Walter could recite many of these Articles from memory, he feels no particular compunction to obey any of them.
(entry continued...)
To uphold these laws, the First Congress of Planets formed the Galactic Rangers, guardians of peace in the galaxy. (See related entry, page 45,984 - Galactic Rangers)
Walter could also tell you that, for over a thousand sidereals, the Galactic Rangers have faithfully carried out their mission to maintain order throughout the known systems. Their deeds are legendary and their devotion to duty and the law unshakable. He knows this because it's his favorite comic strip. It’s science fiction. It isn’t real.
Universal Encyclopedia (713th edition, page 158,129 - Classified Mission Logs)
Location - Beta Sector, Sol System, Third Planet
Entry date - Sidereal 2153.65
Scout Ship - Iota
Mission - Planetary Survey
Disposition - Unknown
Report - Redacted
Or is it?
Walter Stickle's story begins with an ordinary man, a pair of mismatched socks, a woman with the ugliest glasses on Earth, and a comic strip. When a series of unusual events blurs the line between the normal and the extraordinary, between the real and the unreal, and between science fiction and science fact, it ends with the adventure of a lifetime.
Walter Stickle and the Goldotti of Deamus
The parasitic, mind-controlling Goldotti, the most feared creatures in the galaxy, have broken through the containment zone surrounding their home world of Deamus, threatening to spread across the stars like an incurable disease. They will stop at nothing in their mad quest for total domination of all intelligent life.
Only two things stand in their way. One is the most powerful force in the galaxy, a group of soldiers from the planet Argon who will journey to the ends of the universe and back to protect us all. They are the Galactic Rangers. The other is some guy from Pitville, New Jersey, who doesn’t even own a car and who thinks it’s an adventure to order something other than pancakes at the diner. He is Walter Stickle.
Follow the Galactic Rangers in their latest adventure as they battle the Goldotti and search for lost comrades on the hostile alien world of Gin-Vedra. Follow Walter in his continuing misadventures as he battles his annoying neighbor, Steve “Floodlight” Williams, and searches for better cell phone reception in the most normal town in America. Enjoy the twists, turns, and the surprising conclusion when their worlds collide.
Walter Stickle and the Hole in the Universe
The evil Goldotti are gone. The Earth is saved. Walter is a hero. So why is he not living happily ever after? Because the Galactic Rangers, the most powerful force in the galaxy, have been unwittingly creating holes in the very fabric of the universe as their ships travel through the dark space beneath it. Until now, these holes have been too small to have any effect, but an engine malfunction on Scout Ship Gamma has ripped a massive hole in space and time that threatens to destroy the Earth. So once again, the world needs a hero, but has to settle for an ordinary man — Walter Stickle. Follow his adventures in this latest episode as he travels through the hole in the universe to save the world from certain doom.
The Blacker Death: An Ebola Thriller Page 19
