The Death: Extinction

by John W. Vance

  “When will you have a viable vaccine that can be dispersed?” Travis asked.

  “My team is saying a week or two.”

  “Let me think about what I’m going to do. I won’t keep you hanging, I promise.”

  “Very well,” the magistrate said.

  “I have to go. I’ll catch up with you later,” Travis said and strutted off.

  The magistrate watched him go. He wanted Travis to stay around, but if he decided to leave, it wasn’t a game-changer for his operation. The main mission he was hoping to get him to accept was to personally go and find Horton. Martin had told him what had occurred in Denver and how Travis reacted to finding Lori. He found it odd that a man who proclaimed his love for someone and watched them die horribly wouldn’t want to exact retribution, but maybe Travis was one of those men who found solace from his pain differently. The magistrate wanted nothing more than to find and personally kill Horton. If Horton had done what he did to someone the magistrate loved, he’d want nothing more than vengeance.

  Travis got behind the wheel of his truck and sat for a moment before starting it. The magistrate was still standing on the sidewalk, looking at him. He stewed on everything that had just been said. He felt lost and he wasn’t sure if he’d ever feel whole again. He started the truck and pulled away; then the thought came that he needed Cassidy more than she needed him.

  Dulce, New Mexico

  Horton stared at the gray and dingy walls of his new office. His new accommodations were unlike the lavish life he had created for himself. He missed the luxuries of the DIA and had become spoiled in many ways to living nicely. Dulce was an old secret U.S. military base buried in the rugged desert mountains of north central New Mexico, just three miles south of the Colorado border. It had always been earmarked as a fallback location for Horton in the event the DIA became compromised. The base was old and hadn’t been used in decades. Its age showed, but for all its faults, it was secure and secret, even from the other members of the Order. It was a place that only he knew about and he intended on keeping it that way.

  Since the loss of the DIA, he had also kept his head down and hadn’t yet communicated with the others in the Order. He knew who was behind the attack, but he wasn’t quite sure if Calvin had received assistance from other chancellors or members of the council. If Calvin had been helped, he couldn’t blame him. He always did whatever it took to become successful, so if Calvin found a weakness and exploited it, then good for him. However, he was frustrated for allowing it to happen right underneath his nose. What he wanted to focus on was how it could have happened. Deep down his focus was somewhere else, mainly on Lori. His personal life had almost killed him.

  Horton had one last mission to complete and that was to get the second virus created and mass produced. He had Mueller working nonstop in the makeshift labs at Dulce. After several major miscalculations and mistakes, Mueller’s value would come to an end when he finished the job. Horton considered Mueller’s errors unforgivable; after the first Death virus killed thousands of different animal species, he wanted to take him out, but only kept him around because he knew the virus better than anyone and there wasn’t anyone else he could trust. The question was how he would get rid of him once he was done.

  When the more advanced virus was completed, he’d be ready to make his big reveal. In the meantime, he had dispatched what military assets he had to destroy the Scraps and find Calvin. In his absence from the spotlight, he had put Wendell in charge but had given him strict instructions to keep Dulce secret and to act as chancellor, even going as far as telling him to use the title. Wendell and his forces were operating out of various forward operating bases and kept mobile as often as possible. Horton had done this for two reasons: he wanted to destroy the Scraps, and secondly, he didn’t want Wendell’s forces exposed and centralized just in case Calvin was being aided by someone on the council.

  Being tucked away in the mountains of Dulce also gave him the time to reflect on his own personal decisions that almost jeopardized his entire plan. Normally a man who kept his cool, he had allowed his emotions to run wild when it pertained to Lori. He wasn’t used to having people say no to him, especially women. Her refusal to accept him hit his ego so much that even having her killed didn’t bring peace. The pleasure he received from her horrible death was temporary. In fact, many nights afterward he had questioned his decision and wondered if she would have joined him if given more time to be persuaded, but he dashed those fantasies and decided he would find a mate after he had fulfilled his destiny and took over the world.

  An old black push-button phone on his desk rang. He looked at it and wanted to ignore it. It rang loudly again. He took the glass of whiskey he had been nursing and tossed it back with a grimace. He slammed the glass down, snatched the phone from the receiver and asked, “Yes, what is it?”

  “Chancellor, this is Dr. Mueller. You wanted me to tell you when I had synthesized a new virus.”

  “And?”

  “It’s done, sir.”

  “Good.”

  “So is that it?”

  “Is what it?”

  “Do you need me further?”

  “I need enough for widespread dispersal, so get—”

  “Done, sir.”

  “You’ve made enough?”

  “I took the liberty, it’s ready to go and there’s enough for the desired worldwide effect.”

  “Then your job is done, Doctor,” Horton snarled.

  “Are you upset about something?”

  “I’ll send a team down to the labs to get the virus.”

  Mueller could hear the alcohol-tinged anger in Horton’s voice. This was becoming common and it made him nervous about his own well-being. He knew Abert wanted him dead, and after his past failures, he wondered if Horton had the same fate in mind for him.

  “I’ll let you go. Just let me know what the next move is,” Mueller said and hung up.

  Horton looked at the phone and placed it back. He didn’t mean to be upset, he just hated waiting, and Mueller’s past mistakes had cost them time. He poured another tall glass of whiskey and quickly drank it. He picked the phone back up and dialed out. After several clicks and several tones a voice answered.

  “Hello?”

  “This is Chancellor Horton. We are a go.”

  “Are we sticking with the aerial assault?”

  “Of course, if we move overland, it could give away the element of surprise. I don’t want them to know we’re coming until they hear the helicopters; then it will be too late. I want to see panic and fear, but whatever you do, I want him alive. Do I make myself clear?”

  “Sir, everyone down to the lowest private has a picture of him. We’ll get him.”

  “Then execute the raid first thing tomorrow morning and something else, I’ll be joining you. I won’t be in the initial assault but following just behind.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Horton placed the phone down. He again looked at the dull gray walls. If all went according to plan, he wouldn’t be looking at them for too much longer. He then looked at an unopened bottle of Maker's Mark. He loved whiskey but his obsession lately for the brown liquor had become habitual. Not a day had gone since Lori's death that he didn't begin drinking minutes from waking. In the deep recesses of his mind he knew he was having a hard time coping, but admitting he might be developing a problem was worse than the alcohol could ever make him feel. He chalked up his time hidden in the bowels of Dulce as a bit of rest and relaxation. Soon he'd emerge to a new world where he would rule with a iron fist.

  Mueller fell into his desk chair, not only exhausted from the endless hours of work but from the constant fear that his life hung in the balance. He had begun his work on this project years ago, and just when he thought he’d received the recognition he deserved, he was told once again that he was a failure. Like a dark cloud that followed him throughout his life, he couldn’t go far or get away from it. He had moments of happiness, but those always ended up
in failure too. When Horton approached him years ago, he’d jumped at the chance to be a part of history and change the course of mankind. Horton had actually made him feel that he’d be a part of a team. What he had come to find out was he was nothing more than a tool, an expendable tool. He wasn’t a team member at all, but now it was too late, he was in too deep. The beliefs he’d held early on vaporized once he saw his creation destroy lives, but there wasn’t a thing he could do about it. Play along and hope that he’d be able to slip out one day unnoticed.

  Loud laughter from his two lab assistants caught his attention. He exited the small windowless office and saw them prodding a test patient with a broomstick.

  The makeshift laboratory had once been a commercial-sized kitchen. It was massive, over two thousand square feet of space. Though not ideal, it worked well enough.

  The woman had been given the latest virus the day before and was fully symptomatic. Like the earlier virus, the woman was bleeding from her eyes, mouth, ears and anus. Delirium accompanied by a high fever made her act crazy. Slobbering and begging unintelligibly, she reached for the assistants through the thin bars of the small cage in the hopes they’d save her, but all she received was torment.

  Normally, Mueller was able to separate humanity from his test subjects, but now he just couldn’t. “Stop that!”

  The two lab assistants, both young men, craned their heads towards Mueller. Both had confused expressions on their faces. What they were doing wasn’t new; they often took liberties with the subjects and never a word was muttered from Mueller.

  “Give me the broom!” Mueller ordered, his hand stretched out.

  Hesitantly, the man holding the broom gave it to Mueller.

  Mueller snatched it aggressively and barked, “Get out of here. We’re done; go and find something else to do!”

  They both looked strangely at Mueller then at each other.

  “Get out!” Mueller screamed.

  Seeing Mueller’s reaction and unsure of what could happen next, they rushed off.

  Two large metal doors separated the lab from a large concrete corridor. When the heavy door closed behind them, it echoed through the lab and hallway.

  Mueller held the broomstick firmly, almost white-knuckling it. A range of emotions had come over him. He knew in his core that his life was hanging in a balance. When he was needed to create the virus he had leverage, he had purpose and was an asset. Now, the virus was complete and so was his necessity. He not only didn’t trust Horton, he had grown to hate him. He was aware that Horton had kept him alive, but it wasn’t out of kindness. Horton had needed something.

  “Help,” the woman moaned. Her blood-covered arm dangled from the cage.

  Mueller looked at her and for once a tinge of regret and empathy struck him. He threw the broom across the room, smashing beakers, vials, and other lab equipment.

  He squatted down just inches from the woman’s reach and said, “I’m sorry.”

  With all her might she stretched her arm to touch Mueller, but he was just too far. “Puh, puh, please.”

  Mueller bowed his head; the woman’s pleas were hitting him emotionally like never before.

  She mumbled again and coughed.

  Mueller looked up and stared into the intensely deep red eyes of the woman. Tears of blood streamed down her face and from the sides of her gaping mouth. “Help.”

  A cough from behind Mueller startled him. He stood and looked to find two guards. Fear gripped him as he wondered if this was it. Were they sent here to kill him?

  “Excuse me, sir,” one guard said.

  Mueller nervously stepped away from them and closer to the cage.

  The woman grabbed his leg and sobbed.

  “What do you want?” Mueller asked, his voice cracking.

  The guard who had spoken was large, nearly six foot five. He had broad shoulders and a massive barrel chest. He wore the standard black uniform, tactical vest with body armor, and hanging from a two-point sling was an M4 carbine. “The chancellor sent us here to get some vials.”

  Mueller gulped. His temples were throbbing and several beads of sweat streamed down the sides of his face. “Oh, yes.”

  The second guard cocked his head and asked, “Doctor, are you all right?”

  Mueller was so frightened that he didn’t notice that the woman was clinging to his legs and sobbing.

  “Yeah, I’m fine. Let me go get you the vials,” Mueller said and marched off towards a large commercial refrigerator at the far end of the room. When he came out, the two guards were staring at the woman and chuckling.

  Not once but now twice two groups of men had proven they were nothing more than animals. He felt disgusted by it but stopped short of telling them to cease their teasing. “Here,” he said, handing them a small black case.

  “This is it?” the first guard asked.

  “Yes.”

  “What the hell are you going to do with her?” the second guard asked.

  Mueller looked at her. His regret had now reached a precipice. He was disgusted by his assistants and the guards, but this woman was in her condition because of him. How hypocritical was it for him to pass judgment when he had presided over so many deaths?

  The woman sat in a large pool of thick blood and sobbed. Her naked body was covered in a layer of partially dry and fresh blood, making it seem as if she was wearing clothes.

  “How about putting her out of her misery, Doc?” the first guard said.

  “Is that it, gentlemen?” Mueller asked.

  “Yes, sir,” the first guard said. He looked at his comrade and nodded. They both turned and left.

  Mueller followed them to the exit, and when the door closed, he locked it. He rushed back to the cage and looked at the woman.

  Barely able to lift her head, she cried out, “Help.”

  “There’s nothing I can do for you,” Mueller said flatly.

  She attempted to squeeze her lean body through the bars as she continued to retch.

  Mueller raised his eyebrows and shifted his eyes. “There is something I can do. I’ll be right back.” He rushed off and entered the walk-in refrigerator. Seconds later he emerged with a small vial and syringe. He filled the syringe and ordered, “Hold still. This might work, but then again it may not.”

  With her eyes begging, she was cognizant enough to understand and shifted her body so her shoulder was exposed.

  Mueller jabbed the needle into her arm and pressed the plunger down slowly. “This is the vaccine; it might work, but no promises.”

  When Mueller pulled the syringe from her arm, she sank into her cage and curled up on the floor.

  He looked at her; the sorrow that had filled him was now replaced with hope. He pulled a set of keys from his pocket and unlocked the cage. Showing no concern for himself, he bent over and picked her slight and bloodied body off the floor and carried her to a set of bunk beds in the far corner of the laboratory, the beds he and his two lab assistants had been calling home since they arrived at Dulce. Unconcerned that her blood was getting everywhere, he gently placed her on the lower bed.

  She groaned and twisted from the uncontrollable spasms, a symptom of the virus. Unable to control her bodily functions, she vomited on his arm. They hadn’t fed her in days, so all that came up was bile and blood.

  He didn’t pay any attention to it as he rushed to the bathroom. He came back with a bucket and several washcloths. “Please just try to lay flat; I’m going to clean you off.”

  She heard him, but the pain was intense. She rolled onto her side and brought her knees to her chest.

  Gently he bathed her with the washcloth. The water in the bucket turned a deeper and darker red each time he rinsed it. With each swipe of the warm wet cloth, her skin began to appear.

  Either the vaccine was working quickly, which he doubted, or his gentle touch was soothing her.

  When he got to her feet, he noticed a small tattoo of a dove on her ankle. He hadn’t noticed it before and stopped when
he discovered it. He looked up her youthful, lean and naked body. If he were to guess, he’d say she was in her mid twenties. Where she came from was unknown and he never took the time nor cared before about where his test patients had originated. He again wiped the tattoo and found himself curious as to why she had it. Each person had a story and he now wanted to know hers.

  Reed, Illinois

  Daryl was happy to be back at his house. It had taken weeks, but he had finally found Hudson. Getting him back wasn’t easy, but he accomplished what many would have said was impossible. Being home would give him the break he needed. He didn’t know if his legs and back were aching from sitting or from the fight with the cannibals days before.

  Surviving the ordeal was a miracle, so when he had seen the sun that morning, he said a quick prayer. Each day he was above ground was a good one.

  It felt good to be somewhere familiar, but the house also brought back many bad memories he wanted to forget.

  He thought about the last time he’d been in the house. He had made a nice dinner for Devin, Tess and Brianna to distract them long enough until he managed to leave. He couldn’t in good conscience put their lives in danger for his son; it was a job he and he alone had to do.

  He walked the rooms of the house like he was a buyer walking through an open house. In the kitchen he saw that all the dishes from that last night were cleaned and put away. A large grin graced his face when he imagined them taking the time and making the effort.

  Passing through the dining room, he saw an envelope with his name on it on the dining table. He picked it up and tore it open. Inside was a handwritten note from Tess. She thanked him for his hospitality and finished with an invitation to come to North Carolina. At the bottom was her address. The letter made him feel good and something he hadn’t felt in a while—wanted. He folded it up, slid it back into the envelope and placed it back on the table.

  Taking another trip was something he had zero desire to do, but to be around others did sound inviting and the old house wasn’t the same anymore. He liked having options, and if the need arose, he’d fly there instead of driving.