Ωmega Virus
Revisited
Copyright ©2015
D. Manuel Mendona, All Rights Reserved.
Omega virus revisited.
ISBN-13:
978-1508995043
ISBN-10:
1508995044
Published by Createspace and Archer publications
Edited by Cynthia McGrail.
Cover designed by Fayefayedesign
For more information contact [email protected]
This book is dedicated to all my friends. You’ve all been in my corner, cheering me on
And supporting me no matter how crazy I’ve been. Life would be a lot less fun
Without any of you. You have all been like family to me and there is nothing I wouldn’t do for any
Of you.
"The more we exploit nature, the more our options are reduced, until we have only one: to fight for survival." Morris K. Udall
Quick shout out to my aunt Cynthia who dedicated her time and energy to help me make this book all it can be.
Chapter 1
It’s been years since the world has been safe. And for those like me, growing up knowing how to protect myself was a necessity. Hunting, cooking, anything to help me survive, all drilled into my head since birth. Hell I was taught how to handle a gun before I was even able to walk. You see years ago a virus mutated and brought about the end of the world, as it was known. I was born here on this island, one of the first since Armageddon. My parents have long told me of how the world used to be, before those creatures rose up and attacked. They told me about how they would leave the house without fear of death. How they would go out and have fun. Sometimes I just wish that I could go out, feel the breeze blowing through my hair, then lay on a hill with the hot summer sun warming my face. I guess that’s just a fool’s dream though.
“Hope!” a male voice calls from behind a closed door.
“Yeah?” She calls back, closing the small pink book.
The door opens and a man stands in the doorway. He is in his late forties, the sides of his hair gray with dark brown on top. His face is sad and wrinkled, a tired look in his eyes. It’s Damian one of the few survivors. “Hey honey are you ready for tonight?”
“Almost,” she says getting onto her feet. “I just need a few more minutes.”
“Alright. I’ll be downstairs waiting,” Damian says forcing a smile.
“Ok,” She says walking him back to the door her hand waiting on the doorknob as she readies to close it.
“And happy birthday,” he says as he backs out of her room. Hope closes the door behind him, her back resting against it as she lets out a deep sigh.
She walks over to a small mirror resting on an old wooden bureau. She picks up the mirror carefully with both hands and examines herself. She looks to be pretty young, around sixteenish. Her hair is long, flowing down toward her lower back. The sandy blonde color compliments her soft brown eyes. She has on a faded blue t-shirt that is at least two sizes too big. The lower part of the shirt flows over the torn jeans that fit tightly around her legs and waist. Black army boots wrap up around her legs, the laces bound around the leather multiple times. She brushes the few stray hairs that run down the front of her face before placing the mirror back on the bureau. She closes her eyes and lets out a deep sigh. She regains her composure and grabs her pink book off her bed, folding it and placing it in her pocket before she walks out of the room. The hallway outside her bedroom is dimly lit with just the few stray beams of sunlight shining in through the windows. She walks slowly down the hall, stopping at a random picture hanging crookedly on the wall. She gazes at the old picture, Damian and Woman beside him and a small group of survivors behind them.
“I remember the day that photo was taken,” a soft-spoken female voice calls out from the stairway behind her, “that was the first happy day I can remember from this Hell stricken world.”
Hope turns around, a smile growing slowly on her face since she heard the voice, “Fanny!” she says excitedly embracing her tightly almost knocking them both down the stairs, “I didn’t know you were going to be here.”
“I wouldn’t miss the big day of my favorite little muffin,” Fanny replies with a wink. Fanny is roughly twenty-eight with bright hazel eyes that almost seem to reflect Hope’s face back to her. She has shoulder length blonde hair that rests softly on the worn out pink sweater that she fills out perfectly. Her gray jeans with worn down spots and tears, stays on, thanks to a black belt.
“Fanny, I’m sixteen today,” Hope says pushing away, a look of contempt on her face.
“I know,” Fanny says with a huff. “It’s just so hard thinking of you all grown up.”
“It’s not so hard for my father,” She huffs. “He’s been reminding me of this for the last month.”
“Don’t be too hard on him,” Fanny says her hand resting on her young friend’s shoulder, “he has a lot to deal with you know.”
“Now you’re going to lecture me?” Hope whines.
“No I’m not going to lecture you,” Fanny reassures, “trust me, there are plenty of people who are willing to do that. I just want to be that friend who gives you gentle reminders.”
“Thanks,” Hope replies with a smirk.
“Now come on, we don’t want to be late right?” Fanny says tugging her arm.
“Well seeing as how they can’t start without me, there is no way I could be late,” Hope laughs.
Fanny gives her an unimpressed look as she urges her down the flight of stairs. She turns back taking in one last look at the picture before following Hope down the stairs. The first floor of the house is full of a lot of hustle and bustle with several different people standing around talking to each other. Each one stops what they are doing to wish Hope a ‘happy birthday’. She smiles back halfheartedly nodding or just mouthing ‘thanks’. The two girls make it through the crowd into the quiet retreat of the dining room. In the center of the room there is a long rectangular wooden table with twelve high back chairs around it. Most of the seats are filled with familiar faces. Fanny takes a seat close to where they stood while Hope stands in place with an uneasy look on her face.
“Please, have a seat,” Damian says near the head of the table.
Hope walks slowly around the table, butterflies fluttering heavily in her stomach. She pulls out the seat to the left of Damian. Her mother and Penelope are on her right. Penelope looks to be a few years younger than Damian, her skin pale white with cuts and bruises across her face. She has on a gray sweatshirt, her brittle hands lowering the hood as her daughter flashes her a smile.
“Happy birthday baby,” Penelope says holding her hands.
“Thanks momma,” Hope says with a teary eyed smile.
A large male stands at the other end of the table, clearing his throat and gaining the attention of the others. He has snow white hair that is starting to thin in the middle. His face is clearly defined by the wrinkles that give away his advanced age. Despite his age he still commands a sense of importance inside the room.
“I’d like to start by wishing Hope a very happy birthday,” the man says. “This is a proud day for our little community. While she may not have been the first to reach our legal age of sixteen on this island, she is the first to arrive at that age after being born here. As leader of this small society, I, Joshua Rigor, would like to take a moment of silence to reflect on this day.”
A hush falls over the small crowd. Hope rolls her eyes and lets out a sigh. Penelope slaps her arm softly, her eyes still closed. Hope closes her eyes reluctantly, waiting for Joshua to speak again.
“Thank you,” he says. He clears his throat before he speaks again, “no
w Hope, I assume you have been debriefed as to what is going to happen today?”
Hope is caught off guard, unaware that she was going to be singled out. “Uh, yes sir,” she begins catching herself, “my parents have informed me.”
“And what exactly have you been told?” Joshua asks with a sly grin. “Enlighten me.”
Hope forces herself to contain her resentment toward Joshua. “I was told that on the day of my sixteenth birthday, today, I would become what our society deems legal age. With that I would have to choose a career that best suits my abilities. I would also be expected to fulfill my job and earn my keep. If I am not able to fulfill my duties, barring medical or conditional reasons, then I shall be disowned by the members of this island, an outcast.”
Joshua looks at the small family, his eyes stopping at Damian’s before he offers a slight nod. “I’m glad to see you understand our ways.”
Damian and Penelope smile and nod as they listen to their leader.
“And we thank you for taking us in and making us a part of your family,” Damian speaks up, raising his glass to his older friend.
“It’s the least we could do.” Joshua replies raising his glass back. “The least we could do for what could possibly be the last of the human race. But here we are. We may only have a small island, but we are thriving. And while it is true that the first few years were tough, and scary at times, we proved that we were not ready to back down, not ready to give up. We as a race will find a way to thrive, to work our way back to the top, to be the dominate ones once again!” He slowly makes his way around the table, stopping behind Hope’s chair, his hands massaging her shoulders. “This right here, is what we strive for. Hope. Literal hope. Proof that we will continue on because we are survivors.”
“Amen,” Penelope speaks.
“Now child, tell us,” Joshua says walking back to his seat, “what career path have you chosen?”
Hope takes a staggered breathe before rising slowly to her feet, “well, I, uh…” she stammers unsure how to answer.
“Sir, I have news,” a small man shouts bursting through the door stopping only to catch his breath.
“Stan!” Joshua says getting to his feet and rushing over to the man, “what’s happened?”
“The radio,” Stan says between gasps.
“What about the radio?” Connor asks getting to his feet. Connor stands in front of his seat, his left arm missing, and his dark, wrinkled skin is all marked up.
“Communication came in,” Stan says after taking in a deep breath, “from the main land.”
“What?” Fanny gasps.
“That’s impossible,” Damian adds.
“No one has made contact with us in years,” Joshua says.
“Could it be possible?” Natalie asks. Natalie looks to have barely aged over the last few years. Her black hair still shines, her face free of wrinkles.
“I’m not sure,” Joshua says taking his seat once more. “I mean, there is still a chance that somebody survived. Impossible as it may seem, we do have a duty to our fellow humans to at least try.”
“That’s suicide,” Penelope says rising up out of her seat.
Damian looks at her and nods, lowering her back into her seat. “She’s right. As much as it pains me to say, I don’t think it’s worth it unless we have definitive proof.”
Joshua looks down at the table, thoughts of what to do racing through his head, “We try to make contact. If we get a response then we know that the crusade will be worth our time.” He rises to his feet, “Hope, I’m sorry to ruin your big day.”
“Its ok,” she responds, “I understand.”
“Thank you,” Joshua says with a smile, “Damian, Connor, if you wouldn’t mind joining me?”
“But sir it’s my daughter’s birthday,” Damian says in protest.
“Its ok dad,” Hope says with a forced smile, “go, save the human race. I’ll be in my room.”
“But Hope, what about your dinner?” Penelope calls out.
“I’m not hungry,” she calls out as she walks out of the room.
“Want me to check on her?” Fanny asks after a moment of silence.
“Please,” Penelope replies with a sigh, “you seem to be the only one she’ll listen to.”
Fanny smiles as she gets up out of her seat. She backs away out the door and back through the crowd of people. She catches a glimpse of Hope quickly making her way up the stairs quickly. Fanny pushes her way through the crowd before finally making it to the stairs. She walks down the hallway and knocks lightly on Hope’s door.
“Go away,” Hope calls.
“It’s me, Fanny.”
“I don’t want to talk,” Hope calls back.
“Are you sure? You seemed pretty upset downstairs,” Fanny asks.
Silence comes from the room before the door slowly creeks open, Hope’s puffy red eyes peering through the crack. “I’m fine.”
“You’re lying,” Fanny says. A sly grin on her face as she pushes the door open, “talk to me. Is it because of your father? Because if it is…”
“It’s not him,” Hope says interrupting her friend.
“Then what is it?” Fanny interrogates.
“It’s everything Ok!” Hope yells. “I have no idea what I want to do for the rest of my life. And everyone keeps pressuring me, telling me that being born was an honor. Well, I didn’t ask for this ‘honor’.”
Fanny pushes her way into Hope’s room and closes the door behind her. “I get that. I really do. I can see the pressure they keep placing on you. It can’t be healthy.”
“I know and now I have to figure out what I want to do for the rest of my life or I’ll be exiled from the island,” Hope exclaims as she drops to her bed. “How did you decide that you wanted to be a teacher?”
“I don’t know honestly. I mean when I got here there was only about four or five of us that were underage. Actually I was one of the youngest, me and Lucas,” Fanny says, her face losing all expression and color.
“You’ve never talked about Lucas before,” Hope says sitting up, “is he cute?”
“Yeah he was. Actually I started seeing a lot of him and we got close. But one day he got really sick. I still remember visiting him that last time. He was in bed and he took my hand and told me he loved me. He even gave me this.” Fanny pulls a necklace out of her pocket and shows it to Hope. “He said it was the last thing he had from his mother and he wanted me to have it. He died later that night. I never stop thinking of him.”
“I’m so sorry,” Hope says handing the necklace back, “but what does that have to do with being a teacher?”
“After Lucas’ death I felt a void, like part of me was missing. So I started looking for ways to ease that pain. Eventually I started to stay late with Mr. Rains, the man who was my teacher. He let me help him, plan classes and be his aide. Eventually I found that helped ease the pain I felt from losing Lucas. That’s what I wanted. It’s what I needed.” Fanny squeezes the necklace tightly in her hand.
“So teaching was like a passion that you needed,” Hope examines.
“Everything in life is passion that you need. If you never find that passion then what’s the point in anything?” Fanny says with a smile, putting the necklace back in her pocket. “So tell me what your passion is.”
Hope blushes slightly, “It’s kind of weird.”
“If it means something to you then it can never be weird.”
“Well I like to write,” Hope responds getting up from her bed and walking over to her desk, grabbing her pink notebook and handing it over to Fanny. She flips through the pages, skimming through the words. “This is amazing. Have you told your parents about this?”
“No they wouldn’t care,” Hope says taking the book back.
“Your father never told you?” Fanny asks with amazement.
“Told me what?”
“He liked to write too. He kept a journal of our journey. It’s in the library,” Fanny explains. “He
even told me once that before the world ended, he wrote in his free time. That it was his passion.”
“I never knew that,” Hope says with a sad look on her face, “I guess he never thought it was important enough to tell me.”
“Actually,” Damian says from the doorway, “After you were born I never thought that writing was important.”
“Dad!”
“Sorry for listening in, but I was worried about you,” Damian says. “Hope, you have to know that I love you. And I’m sorry if I ever pressured you, or kept you out of my life. I didn’t do it on purpose. I guess after spending a year of your life trying to survive, it’s hard to open up. I guess I never noticed how much you act like me.”
“I don’t know what I want to do with my life,” Hope blurts out.
“I see,” he says pulling out the desk chair, “but writing is a passion for you?”
“Yes,” Hope nods.
“Then do that,” Damian says, “express that to Joshua.”
“But what good is writing?” Hope asks.
“Writing is good for everyone involved. For the writer it’s a means for escape, a way to express ones deepest desires. For the reader it’s a chance to let go, to visit a world that one could never imagine,” Damian smiles.
“Now that’s passion,” Fanny says.
“That’s all it takes to make it in this world,” Damian says getting back to his feet. “I hope I was able to help.”
Damian runs his hand across her head before leaning in and giving it a kiss. Hope grabs his hand and rubs it across her face.
“Sir,” Stan calls out from the hallway, “they’re waiting for you in the tower.”
“Leave,” Damian says.
“B…b…but sir,” Stan stutters.
“I am with my daughter,” Damian yells, “the others will do fine without me.”
“No,” Hope says tugging on his arm, “go with him. I’m better now, I promise.”
“Are you sure?” Damian asks still unsure.
“Yeah,” Hope smiles, “besides, I’ve got a lot to think about.”
Omega Virus (Book 2): Revisited Page 1
