Inoculation Zero: Welcome to the Age of War

by S. Ison

  INOCULATION ZERO

  WELCOME TO THE AGE OF WAR

  Book Two

  S.A. ISON

  Inoculation Zero Welcome to the Age of War

  Copyright © 2017 by S.A. Ison. All rights reserved.

  Book Design by Elizabeth Mackey

  Book Edited by Laurel C. Kriegler of Kriegler Editing Service

  All rights reserved. Except as under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without prior written permission of S.A.Ison

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the production of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously, and any resemblance to locales, events, business establishments, or actual persons – living or dead – is entirely coincidental.

  OTHER BOOKS BY S.A. ISON

  BLACK SOUL RISING

  INOCULATION ZERO WELCOME TO THE STONE AGE Book One

  FUTURE RELEASES

  THE HIVE

  SMOKEHOUSE SMILES

  FOR ANASTASIA AISLYN

  ♥

  Prologue

  Time never stops; it slips and flows like an unstoppable river. Winter slows that flow in some places, and virtually stops it in others. Human suffering, like time, never stops.

  People usually never change; they adapt, but it is rare that they change. The lazy are still lazy and seek the easier ways to live – usually at the expense of others. They are parasitic worms that wind and twist their way into trouble, causing wrack and ruin.

  The industrious, by contrast, find ways to exist and thrive. Some find and build a community, while others find a sense of peace. Some reinvent themselves.

  Whatever the case, warmer weather is coming and, like the river, things will move faster, perhaps faster than life. When the lazy meet the industrious, the trouble starts, and as night turns to day, so comes war.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Topsfield, Maine

  Small pinging noises drew Kelly’s attention away from the paper she was working on. It was a calendar, of sorts. Time was no longer relevant in the normal sense, but it was necessary to keep track of the passage of time. It was mid-February, and a blizzard was blowing outside, dumping copious amounts of snow on the world around. The sound that had caught her attention were small ice pellets being blown against the large double-paned living room window.

  During these times, she felt as though they lived inside a snow globe. She could see nothing beyond the swirling white, and though the wind blew fiercely without, there were no inordinately loud sounds within. Inside was warm and snug, with the fire in the wood stove popping merrily. The cabin had been well built by the Amish.

  She often wondered if that simple folk had survived. She thought that perhaps they had. They, more than most, lived off the land, without power or computers. Kelly thought they’d had it right the first time: don’t pin all your hopes on modern comforts and technologies.

  She was also fairly sure that the people who lived subsistence lifestyles in isolated areas around the world may well have survived. Many regions of the globe may have been left untouched by either the EVD1-0 virus or the computer virus. Having all the modern conveniences and far-reaching technologies had precipitated the long fall down to the rudiments of a painful survival. It had been seven long months since their world had changed.

  She had never lived a subsistence lifestyle, but she had been working her way toward one. The ability to live free of grid power, using wind turbines and solar power instead, had been very appealing. She had wanted to leave a smaller toxic footprint on the planet. Now, it no longer mattered. Everyone was being forced to live more simply, whether they wanted to or not. She didn’t mind that too much, though, she had to admit, she was profoundly grateful she had a toilet.

  Looking over at Tim, who was lying on the floor with the dogs, asleep, she smiled softly. His normally hard face was softened in slumber, and his long blond hair lay in braids about his head. It still amused her that he let her braid his hair, and his beard, from time to time. He looked like a large sleeping Viking.

  The two puppies were curled into his chest, and Schrodinger’s Cat had her massive head resting on his feet. At about five months old, the puppies were growing fast. She was sure they weighed at least forty pounds each now. They had Schrodinger’s Cat’s fawn coloring, but Chance’s rough fur – though not quite as long as his had been. Their thick undercoats were well suited for outdoor adventures in winter.

  A smile twitched at Kelly’s lip. She wished she could take a picture. Though she had a camera, she had no way of printing any pictures, and while she could download them to her computer, at some point, when the computer died, any pictures would go right along with it.

  When the computer virus struck eight months prior, her laptop had been turned off and disconnected from the internet, so the catastrophic virus hadn’t been able to infiltrate it. Her phone had been affected, and she had destroyed it. It seemed like a lifetime ago now.

  These days, life was slower and simpler. There was nowhere to go and nowhere to be. They would travel when the snow melted, but that would be only to trade with Kenny Summers and his people. There was no reason to go farther afield. To do so was looking for trouble.

  They’d heard there had been sporadic outbreaks of the EVD1-0 virus, and once the temperatures rose and people started foraging once more, it was sure to reemerge, find a body, and pass right along, restarting the outbreak all over again.

  Kelly didn’t know how long the virus could survive. Perhaps, up north here, with the subzero temperatures, the virus would die out. Down south would be a different matter, however. Kelly wondered if the warmer climes, perhaps near the equator, were keeping the EVD1-0 virus alive and killing every human in its path.

  How many humans are left in the world? She assumed that small pockets, like Kenny and his extended family and friends – and themselves – had survived. Beyond that, she didn’t know, and more than likely would never know. Communications and intel were difficult to come by, and, depending on the source, questionable. For now, she knew only her own little world, and for now, it was enough.

  The calendar was for marking time. She would start her seedlings in the greenhouse in mid-March. They would have to place a small brazier in the greenhouse to keep it at a steady temperature during the cold nights. This way, they’d be able to fit two growing seasons into the already short summers in Maine. This would be their first spring and summer with no backup. They couldn’t go to the store and buy food if they didn’t get it right. That thought sent a small frisson of fear through her.

  Tim was a wonderful hunter, and she knew they would always have meat, but they also needed the vitamins from fruit and veggies. There were the apple trees that dotted her property, and countless others throughout Maine. It seemed like Johnny Appleseed had run amok in Maine.

  She’d also planted pear trees and Asian pear trees on her property, but those were a few years out from producing. There was a small blood orange tree in the living room, strategically placed by the large front window to catch as much sunlight as possible.

  Getting up from the couch, she walked over to the tree; it was over five feet now, and had about twenty oranges on it. She estimated they’d be ripe by March. They weren’t large, but would be sweet and delicious. A good source of vitamin C. She had babied it for two years, and it had started producing last winter. She’d been thrilled with all the orange blossoms. Unfortunately, only three oranges had developed.

  The basement still had plenty of dried goods. Lining the basement walls were shelves, five
high. On each of the long shelves were hundreds of canned veggies and fruits. She enjoyed the process of canning, and found great satisfaction in storing her own food. Now, she was profoundly grateful. Who would have known that it would have meant the difference between life and death?

  And should they ever lose the food in the basement to theft or fire, they had backup. In late fall, she and Tim had spent a week digging several deep pits into the ground some distance from the cabin. Lining the walls first with plastic, and then with tongue and groove boards they’d scavenged from abandoned properties nearby, they had made two concealed root cellars and an ammunition’s cache.

  The thick, heavy doors to the cellars had dense insulation sandwiched between the boards. They had camouflaged the openings, sealed them, and placed heavy grade plastic sheeting over the doors before covering them with dirt. Grass would eventually grow over them, and they could then lift the sheet of grass to access the root cellars.

  They wouldn’t touch those stores unless absolutely necessary, though. They would live off what they could grow and catch, and, if it was a bad year, they could dip into the stored goods.

  Besides storing the bulk of their long term dry food there, the cellars also housed most of the jars of food she had processed. They were deep enough below the frost line that the jars wouldn’t freeze during the long winter.

  Their lives now depended on well thought out strategies; there was little to no room for error. Life gave no second chances.

  At least, while it was winter, they felt fairly safe and remote. Movement through snow was slow and deadly. Not many people knew where they lived, and traveling to unknown and remote areas was a gamble. Those that did know of her and Tim didn’t know what supplies they had stored away. She’d certainly never spoken to anyone of what she did or didn’t have.

  The one thing they no longer had was dog food; they’d run out of that two weeks previously. Now Tim went out daily with Schrodinger’s Cat and hunted squirrels or anything else he could shoot with a gun or catch with a snare. On returning to the homestead, he would butcher the animals, and the dogs would get some of the raw meat. On bitterly cold days, he’d do it out in the barn. Butter, their horse, wasn’t thrilled with that. But the meat had to stay cold or frozen until needed. Kelly had started canning the meat. With limited room in the small fridge, it was necessary to keep meat from spoiling. Kelly was glad that bears hibernated during the long subzero winter.

  Come the springtime, however, they wouldn’t have the luxury of the lower temps. This way, were Tim to become injured, they would have plenty of protein for themselves and the dogs for a good while. He planned to train the pups to hunt for themselves.

  For now, the dogs ate well, between the hunting and receiving some of their leftover dinners, as Kelly thought they might need the extra vitamins.

  They hoped that next fall they might hunt moose, deer, and bear. That would ensure plenty of meat all around. They’d been unsuccessful this past autumn, and had been so strapped for time to get things done before the first snow that they’d had to prioritize. The hours had been long, and it sometimes seemed to her that when something was completed, something else came up and had to be resolved. Hunting big game had been last on the list.

  Getting the long-term food stuffs and ammunition hidden safely had been critical. With the attack on their cabin the previous summer, they’d both wanted to be better prepared. It had taken time to accomplish each task, and both had felt the pressure of the weather cooling.

  They had used a lot of their fuel going between abandoned farms looking for grain and hay. They’d also sought any other useful items. They’d only come across one homestead permeated by the stench of death, and had bypassed that one. By the end of October, they’d found enough grain and hay for Butter and Lonesome to last the winter.

  During the first few weeks of snow, Tim had drawn up plans to build a smoke shed. He would start building it in the spring, so whatever he caught could be smoked and stored. Kelly had also started to save chicken eggs when the snow arrived. She’d coated the fresh eggs in mineral oil, then put them in the basement for storage. Patsy had shared that bit of important information with her. She’d said the eggs could last up to a year and still be usable. Kelly had collected twelve dozen in the basement, and had started tapping into them the previous month when the hens had finally quit laying reliably. Most didn’t lay during the long brutal winter months, though they received a stray egg from time to time, so it was important to have that extra bit of protein set aside.

  The other reason Kelly wanted to start the paper calendar: she was late on her period. In May she would be forty-three, and she was sure she was past childbearing age. Back in January, during the thaw, she and Tim had been outside enjoying some warm sunshine. They’d started throwing snowballs at each other, and that turned into chasing each other about. Tim had grabbed her around the waist, trying to stave off a large wet snowball, and held her tightly to him. She had been laughing and had looked up into his face, when he’d bent his head and kissed her gently.

  They’d both been surprised, and she’d pulled back a little and looked into his sky-blue eyes. Then she’d dropped the snowball and wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling his face to hers, and kissed him with pent-up passion. He’d removed his gloves and twined his fingers into her hair as they kissed their way into the house, stripping off outerwear and clothing as they went. It had been like a whirlwind, and quite wonderful. Kelly’s cheeks pinked at the remembrance.

  Her last period had been at the end of the year, in late December. Going back to her calendar, she knew she was already late by nearly three weeks. She’d not even thought about the possibility of getting pregnant, since she was over forty, and her mother had started menopause at forty-five.

  Tears pricked at her eyes. Her mother had been killed by a drunk driver four years previously. She’d only been sixty. It had happened just outside New York City. The drunk driver had been a rich man, and had gone voluntarily to rehab within hours of the accident, trying to avoid jail time, and had attempted to appear remorseful. With his money and expensive lawyers, he’d got off with no jail time, and Kelly could see he was not even ashamed. In fact, he’d seemed very smug. She’d later found out it wasn’t his first DUI.

  Over the years, she’d kept track of him: he was easy to track using Google. She wasn’t stalking him, per se, but had wanted to see if he killed anyone else. Just before all hell broke loose and the world went to hell, he’d gotten married to some Swedish model. They’d been on their honeymoon in Hawaii on some cruise ship, the Aloha Pearl, she believed.

  With all his money, she wondered if he had survived the fall of humankind. Many hadn’t, and those in Hawaii perhaps had a chance, what with their fertile land and warm climate. There would be no telling, and she’d never know. A small, angry part of her hoped he hadn’t made it. He’d taken her mother from her, and she hoped he’d been paid back in kind.

  Looking over at Tim, still asleep with the dogs, she didn’t know whether to be happy or scared as hell. She could be starting menopause, but she was fairly sure she was pregnant. There were no doctors, no immunizations, no pampers, no bottles, no nothing for a baby.

  She almost started to cry, again, but bit down on it, angry that it might be hormones making her cry, confirming pregnancy. If she were pregnant, the baby would come in September, and snow wouldn’t be far behind.

  One of the puppies groaned, stretched, and a staccato of puppy farts filled the quiet space. Both puppies jerked up simultaneously, looked around suspiciously, and then fell back to sleep. Kelly pulled her shirt up over the bridge of her nose. Tim remained asleep, unaware of the deadly gas permeating his space.

  Kelly smiled and shook her head. He was sound asleep. Perhaps that was a good idea. She’d curl up on the couch and take a nap, put this baby business out of her mind for a while. It did no good to worry now. The barn door had been left open and all the little sperms had gotten in.

  San
Gabriel Mountains, California

  Larry woke to the sound of blue jays fighting in the trees near his window. Frost edged the window on the outside, but the air around him was warm. The wood stove below put out a tremendous amount of heat, which rose to the upper levels of the home.

  Dappled light danced through the branches, making lacy wavering lights move around the room as a gentle breeze wafted the leaves on the trees. It was dawn, and nearly time to get up.

  He shifted and felt Kaluchia, Charmain’s cat, on his legs, her body heavy on him. She usually slept with him these days. A cross between a Maine Coon and a Ragdoll, her long silky fur was thick and luxurious. She had a broad head with large, intelligent golden eyes.

  The rich dark aroma of coffee brewing drew him up from the bed like a compass to true north. Sitting up, he scrubbed his fingers through his hair. It was getting longer. He already hadn’t cut it in nearly a year, before everything went to hell.

  Charmain was an early riser and liked her coffee hot and fresh. She made enough for them to each have one cup, no more. And if he wasn’t down to get his, she’d drink it for him. Though he didn’t mind most of the time, today he felt like some.

  He thought of Jake, and sorrow filled him. Kaluchia came up to him and rammed her large head into his chest, purring loudly. Larry was bemused that she always seemed to know when he felt melancholy. Absently, he scratched her head.

  He and Jake had lived in a wonderful bubble, partying, meeting girls, and doing all the things young men did. After they’d left Los Angeles, their struggle to survive had taken up every thought and every action as they made their way through the forest. There’d been no time to realize that those were to be their last days together.

  His previous life now seemed like a dream.