“It activates, causing some severe symptoms. Not possible without monkeypox.” Byrnes sighed. “Have you come to amaze me with information we already know?”
Joseph took his tablet and handed it to the colonel. “Watch this,” Joseph said. The colonel took the tablet and tapped the screen. He watched, looking over his glasses.
The clip ran. Joseph had memorized the entire thing. “At 1:34, pay close attention. Watch the cell with the parasite virus,” Joseph instructed.
The glare from the video reflected in the colonel’s eyes. His eyes narrowed as he watched the nightmare virus at work modifying the healthy cells genetic material into its own twisted genetic concoction like dark cellular machinery. The man was silent as he watched.
“The infected cell died,” Joseph said. Byrnes’s eyes went from the video to Joseph and back again. He scrolled his finger over the play bar, rewinding the clip, his mouth settling in a frown.
“The cell can’t be dead,” Byrnes said. He rewound the clip again. “It must go into a dormant state.”
“No, see there. The cell has died, but the virus doesn’t become active until after the cell begins to deteriorate.”
“That’s not possible. Viruses require a live organism to reproduce. This is Biology 101.”
“I know, Byrnes, but look at the satellite virus. It only becomes active after death. Monkeypox was only a vector where the satellite virus could only be successful if the patients expired.”
Byrnes took his glasses off and rubbed his eyes. “This cannot be possible. I…I can’t believe this. This goes against everything we know.” Doubt etched his long face.
Joseph shook his head. “I know. I feel the same way, but we’re witnessing a new phase of evolution.”
Byrnes shook his head no and took up the video again. “Has to be an anomaly,” he said under his breath.
“Think about it, Colonel. What is the fastest way to create more dead cells?”
“Hemorrhage.”
“What is the fastest way to get someone to hemorrhage?”
Byrnes locked eyes with Joseph. “Massive trauma. Jesus Christ. The virus is programming dead cellular DNA to rip people apart and in the process spread itself. The hastening of biological death speeds up the spread of infection.” He blinked as his mind attempted to comprehend the information. “This is the first of its kind. Do you realize what this means?”
Joseph knew already. He could hardly accept it. It went against all convention, but now it was reality.
“This is the dawn of a new age in evolution. The discovery of the first dead virus. The rise of the Primus Necrovirus.”
STEELE
Little Sable Point, MI
Wiping his hands on a rag, he walked to the other end of the semi-trailer. He scrubbed blood and vomit off his hands and stuffed a silver cross into his pocket. It hadn’t taken more than an hour after he started, most of the time dedicated to preparing the individual to be psychologically broken.
He pushed the heavy metal door and it creaked open. He peered out to see if anyone had heard what had happened. The calls for help. The cries to stop. Mostly the gasps for air as Peter struggled to breathe. People in the community went about their normal business. Men stood watch atop the lighthouse. A woman stoked a fire. Water was being brought in from the lake in buckets to be purified.
No crowd had gathered to reprimand him or administer vigilante justice for his shadowy actions.
Tossing the blood-soaked rag in the back, he hopped down to the ground. He closed the doors up and latched them closed, looping the padlock back in place and cinching it together.
Gwen’s voice startled him. “What were you doing in there?”
He turned around gathering himself and rested on the trailer away from her. “I thought you were in the lighthouse?” He rubbed his scratched and swelling knuckles. Peter’s face was hard. He supposed everyone’s face was hard but never as hard as when you crushed it with your fist. His head is harder.
“I was, but I saw you go in there awhile ago.” Her eyes weighed him up and down. “How’s the captive?”
He’s lucky to still have most of his teeth. “I don’t want to talk about it.” Her face clouded at the words, and her eyes grew accusing.
“So he didn’t say anything?” she said. She would dig and dig and dig until she uncovered what she wanted.
“He talked, but I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Well, that’s nice. So, you walked in there and he told you everything he knows.” Her eyebrows stayed at the top of her head. “How’d you make him talk?” she said.
“So I guess it’s my turn for interrogation.” He furrowed his brow in defiance. “I don’t have time for this.”
“Make time for me,” she said, her eyes trying to read him. She crossed her hands over her stomach and let her cool eyes judge him. He avoided eye contact with her, focusing on the lighthouse instead.
He put his bruised hands in his pockets. “I made him talk.”
“I asked, how?” she said, looking up at him. Her eyes glistened, afraid of his answer.
She must know deep down that this was necessary. “I used enhanced interrogation methods on him until he told me what I wanted to know.” He looked at her green eyes, watching as salty tears continued to form.
“So you tortured him?” She looked away as she said it, biting her lip as if she couldn’t stand to associate him and that word together.
“Not exactly.” They call it enhanced interrogation for a reason. It’s terrifying and in some instances works. In other instances, it produces a result. That result is more hazy.
“What exactly happened then?”
“What the hell else am I supposed to do? The die is cast. We have a fight on our hands, and it’s win or die, and that includes you and our baby,” he growled and said the last two words as a whisper. He wanted to scream. This mess they put him in. All their lives on his shoulders. “I’m going to do what it takes to win. You don’t know about these people. If half of what Peter said is true, it’s as bad as it gets.”
“It’s always been a mess since the beginning, but there’s one thing that drives you. Your duty. What happened to your duty? What happened to the promise you made yourself in the townhouse in Virginia?” A tear fell down her face as she said it, a tear for his soul that he ignored.
“This is my goddamn duty,” he growled at her. She took a step back from him as if his words had formed a hand and struck her face.
“My duty is to protect you and that baby first. Lead and protect these people, second.”
“Was what you did right?” she asked. Her eyes quizzed him.
He pointed out at the community. “Was it right that we gunned down the pastor’s men? No, but it happened, and now we have a fight on our hands. You have a choice in this Gwen. I give you that choice because I do what needs to be done.” He wouldn’t say evil. It wasn’t evil. He knew it wasn’t good, but he knew it couldn’t be evil if the good guys won.
“I don’t have the luxury of time, manpower, money, technology, fucking anything. Do you want to know what I found out?”
She shook her head no, her chin lowering to her chest, but he told her anyway. If people knew what evil was at work in the world, they would barricade their houses and never come out or steel themselves for the fight.
“This pastor is a nasty dude.” He stopped himself. She needed to know. People can’t live blind to the forces of darkness arrayed against them. They must brace themselves for the upcoming battle. They must see the enemy for what they are. They must build their fortitude for the fight ahead.
“The pastor is insane. Some sort of religious zealot screwhead.” Steele shook his head. “I didn’t understand half the religious bullshit Peter was saying. He kept mentioning the Kingdom of God and his Chosen people. I don’t know what that means, but I understand the numbers. He has over five hundred armed men under his command. Five hundred. I have ten.” Her eyes widened.
“H
e has a safe place. A fortress. Hell, he could sit back and wait for us to starve and then kill us, or he could wait for us to go to him and then he can really torture us, finishing us off with a slow roasting barbecue. They’ve been ‘purifying’ people with fire and I don’t mean singeing a little hair. I mean burning people while they are still alive.”
“How do you know?” She was closed off from him but listening.
“Peter confirmed what I had already seen. Rat-Face had been hung from a tree, doused in gasoline, and burned alive. His mouth was hanging open in a final scream.”
Gwen’s eyes went wide.
“I’m not the bad guy here, far from it. Peter will live. But what options do I have? I either get the intelligence and we have a small chance, or I talk to a fanatic all day, get nothing for it, and our odds of surviving grow even dimmer by the hour.”
“There has to be a better way than this,” she said, spreading her arms quickly and letting them fall back across her stomach, protecting herself from either the wind or his presence.
“There is. I sit and befriend him over a period of months. Give him things. Feed him. Talk to him. Gain his trust. But I don’t have enough time. This is a ticking time-bomb scenario.” He looked down. Peter and I could have been friends. He may even have become an ally over time.
“How do you know these things?” she asked softly, her voice fearing the answer to her question.
“I’ve done this before.” He watched her for a moment and quickly started again. “In the Division.”
“Oh.” Her face grew sad as she read into his eyes.
He looked past her. “It’s more to scare the prisoner than anything else. Aside from some bruises, he won’t be permanently damaged. I’m sure he hates me, but I can live with that.”
“It doesn’t hurt you?”
He wobbled his head, no.
“No, I kind of turn it off. Separate myself from the situation. Kind of the same as when I shoot someone. There is a ‘work me’ and the Mark you know.”
“Sometimes I feel like I don’t even know either of you.” She reached up, touching his face with a gentle hand. It almost felt foreign to him, like he had only ever known the violence of touch. “And who will save you?”
He felt the lump in his throat. Am I doing the right thing? How long before I can’t come back? Have I already gone too far?
“What’s done is done. We can’t look back now.” He took her hand off of his face. “Just accept me.”
She nodded vigorously. “I accept all of you,” she whispered. He stuck out his hand, and she took his fingers into hers. They walked back to their tent hand-in-hand.
THE PASTOR
Temple Energy Plant, MI
The pastor smashed his glass into the wall. It shattered below a bulletin board he was using to pin up maps of the area. Matthew peered at his own feet, brushing his flawless hair back into place with a nervous hand. Paul rubbed his hands together in front of his body as if he couldn’t get whichever sin he was wrestling with off his skin. Even Luke with his greasy long black hair appeared somewhat uncomfortable.
“They haven’t returned? I thought this place was only fifteen miles away,” he said, looking back at his maps as if he didn’t believe anything they would say anyway.
“Maybe they’re running behind?” Paul said, his voice meek from inside his long-limbed frame.
“Peter is not one to be late. He knows better. He had strict instructions to deliver the message and return. No supply runs. No fighting. Straight there and back.” He drummed his fingers on his fake tan wood desk. Peter would not deviate from his task. I shouldn’t have shown such anger in front of my disciples. He took a deep breath. Even Christ showed his anger when the people used his temple as a market. Smoothing his black shirt, he stared at the map on the wall. Faded light blue water pushed up against a jagged lime green coastline. A black marker circle enveloped a single half-inch pink lighthouse near the shore of Lake Michigan.
“I could take a larger group to their camp and purify them if my father wills it,” Luke said, licking his lips. Luke wasn’t a member of his parish before the outbreak. He came upon them, eagerly adopting their ideology and methods.
“No.” The pastor met his disciple’s eyes. Luke was unwavering like an unafraid dog. “You are too eager, Luke.” Your eagerness may be rewarded yet. But I must be patient. I will hold him in reserve.
Luke’s lips twitched. “Your wish is my command.” Luke bowed his head in deference.
Rabid dogs always turn on their masters. Who will watch him now that Peter is gone? Paul? No, he is too timid. Matthew may be sufficient.
The handsome blond man stared right at him as if he could read his mind.
“You may go and bring in our new brother,” the pastor said, waving a hand at them. Luke left the room and returned a moment later followed by a bald-headed man.
“Come in,” the pastor said. The man stood as if he were in the vice principal’s office.
“How are you and your family enjoying our accommodations, Brother Jack?” he said, folding his hands on his desk.
“Very good, pastor. The food has been wonderful. Thank you for accepting us.” The new member towered over the others in the room.
“God’s Kingdom is open to all who are his sons and daughters,” he said.
“Amen,” Jack said, eyes searching the floor for inspiration.
“I need you to deliver a message for me to your-,” the pastor said, stopping to consider his words, “former camp.”
“I don’t know. They weren’t happy about my family leaving. That bastard Steele tried to stop me. Threatened to hurt me and my family.”
“God has no mercy for such roguish men. Fire may purify him of his sins.”
“I…” Jack’s eyes widened. “You would burn him?” His face twisted at the words.
The pastor spread his hands. “Alas, it is not up to me. I am but a vessel of the greater good. It’s apparent that this Steele doesn’t take kindly to my followers, so I will send you instead.”
“But I’m one of your followers now.”
“God has brought you to me for a reason. His will is seen clearly,” the pastor said, raising an eyebrow at the men.
“But I don’t-,” Jack said.
The pastor cut him off. “Your family will be safe. I assure you.” He let his eyes rest on Jack’s ruddy face. Jack gulped.
“Luke,” the Pastor said.
A slick stringy-black-haired man stepped up. “Yes, Pastor,” he said.
“I would like you to put Jack’s family under special watch while he delivers a message for me. I want you to make sure they never leave your sight.” Luke licked his lips.
“As you command,” Luke said with a bow of his head. Luke gave Jack a cruel smile. The pastor waved him out. Luke turned and left the room. Jack watched the twisted man leave, visibly shaken.
The pastor eyed Jack’s troubled face. “You see, they will be safe the entire time. I give you my word.”
KINNICK
Eisenhower Tunnel, CO
The brown land surrounding the highway tunnel entrance was covered with rocks and thin straight pines that covered the mountainous terrain. It looked like a boxy two-lane storage warehouse built into the side of the mountain. A brown base of concrete led up to a block of beige concrete with small windows facing the highway.
The helicopter hovered, the roadway growing closer and closer beneath them. Within moments, the chopper touched the concrete with a bump. Soldiers jumped out. Thick boot treads thudded onto the highway. They dodged chunks of debris and worked around abandoned vehicles.
Kinnick hopped off the helo following Hunter. He kept the back of his senior NCO close.
“I want three-hundred-and sixty-degree coverage,” Hunter called out to the men. First squad, 2nd Platoon spread out in every direction. They weaved into and behind abandoned vehicles. They used the cars as cover. They were the first boots on the ground for Kinnick’s desperate operati
on.
They held their positions as the helicopter ascended and disappeared. The thundering of rotors announced more of their comrades. In one minute, another helicopter set down. Boots pounded the concrete as they raced to fill in gaps within their sectors. This happened four more times until the entirety of the 2nd and 3rd Platoons were on the ground in a circular defensive position. A cache of supplies was set down in the middle.
“That’s all of them,” Hunter said, watching the last helicopter fly away. He spit on the ground. Brown stained the concrete.
“It’ll have to do,” Kinnick said. Hunter nodded his affirmation.
Hunter gestured with his head. “So that’s the fucker we gotta take down?”
Four hundred yards ahead, the Eisenhower Tunnel loomed like a German World War II bunker and Kinnick’s men were the first onto the sandy beaches of Normandy.
“That ugly behemoth is it.” The task of taking it down daunted Kinnick, and dread filled the air as if his men expected to be shredded by bullets at any minute. Not bullets but teeth. Gunfire rattled from its direction.
“Lieutenant Stark, give me a sitrep,” Kinnick shouted. The linebacker of an officer knelt behind a red Ford Taurus.
Stark turned his head to the side as if he were calling a shift in his defensive set. “Sir, we got infected coming out of the tunnel.”
“Leave your 2nd squad in place covering the tunnel. Move 1st squad to our right flank, and you go with them. I want you to take them to the other side of that ridge. I want to know what we are dealing with. Report back as soon as you get eyes on,” Kinnick shouted. The thick-necked man ran to his 1st squad, leading them through the cars. Gunfire popped off from the squad as they moved.
Kinnick turned to his left. Elwood’s 3rd Platoon took cover next to him. “Lieutenant Elwood, I need your 2nd squad to cover our left flank. Leave your 1st squad with me.” The hunched lieutenant nodded his head vigorously as if he just had a winning roll in D&D.
“Sergeant Matthews, stay with the colonel. You are covering the tunnel. Sergeant Putnam, bring 2nd squad up the hill with me,” he shouted. Fourteen men ran for the sides of a hill. Slowly, they scrambled up the hill, taking a flanking position.
The End Time Saga Box Set [Books 1-3] Page 99
