I shake my head. “Well, that was him, you can’t tell—”
“I believe you, Remy, you have no reason to lie to me. He was a tool anyway. I merely used him to set up the ruse of the virus originating in Chile.”
“What about his wife?” I asked. “Was she a tool for you as well?”
“She was not even his wife, in the truest sense. Together they looked the part, and from the beginning it was a business merger more than a marriage. Her impeccable credentials, looks, and pedigree made the political package complete. She left Michael as soon as the virus got out of control. With no need to be a power couple, she was gone almost instantly, Riley lamented to me.”
No wonder he was out on the roof drinking crappy whiskey. Michael had been alone. No wife and no Emily.
After getting another beer, this time just for me, I walk back toward the doctor and sit opposite him in the chair. I point the gun at him as I sit down.
“So you were going to come in, save the day with your serum, and be the hero, is that it?” I ask.
“That would have been nice, but to be honest, I just wanted to kick the shit out of this world, especially our government, because it was fast becoming a society without morals and repercussions. Nature sent me to Yucatan to find this force, and it was not an accident. I am helping break society down so it can rebuild itself through kindness, honor, and morality.”
Yep, he is certifiable. I crack open my beer.
“Look around you, Remy, have you observed the people who are still alive and fighting? The mighty have been humbled, our President and the majority of his moribund administration are dead. I made sure the President got his vaccination, gave it to him myself,” he admits with a sheepish smile. “He had three days before his capsules dissolved. Morality eventually usurps power, and it is happening right before your eyes, Remy.”
Talk about a mad scientist. This guy is good; I think he actually believes his own bullshit. No wonder we haven’t heard from President Atkins. My God, Evans cleaned house before the voters had a chance to do it. But maybe there is actually a scintilla of truth to what he is saying. The amount of philanthropy and camaraderie I have seen has indeed surprised me. Not to mention the fact that apparently at least two of the assholes on this globe, Riley and this guy, are not long for it. Wait, is this guy trying to recruit me? Is there some truth, or method to his madness?
“It is going to purge the world of at least one more asshole that I know of,” I say, using my gun for emphasis.
“Selfish politicians from both sides of the aisle, those who attempted to take care of themselves first, are now deceased. Republicans, Democrats alike, the majority of those self-serving, immoral bastards are gone. I saw to this personally,” Evans continues. “What is left is the best of the human race, the humble and giving will replace the selfish and arrogant. When you lift weights to get stronger, you have to tear down the muscle, so it can rebuild itself stronger than before. It was time to rebuild, Remy. Those who are working together, looking out for each other, will win the day, and whoever survives will again have the sense of true community—”
“Stop talking!” I yell as I fire the gun to the right of his torso. The bullet lodges itself in the wall with a small puff of Sheetrock less than a foot from his left shoulder.
Dr. Evans hardly moves. It’s quite impressive actually. In Dr. Evans’s judgment, the plan is going to come to fruition whether he lives or dies. Therefore it doesn’t really matter which he does. He has a look of inner peace that kind of freaks me out. Imagine this, Dr. Evans has probably infected half the population with a virus that causes cannibalism, and manifested a worldwide pandemic, he also knows he will certainly die himself, yet he looks like he just finished a New York Times crossword puzzle.
Okay, I’m impressed.
“How did you get the senator to go along with this? He was on a path to possibly become President one day, and he didn’t need your help for shit, did he?” I ask.
Evans nods toward the beer bottle I have on the counter. I am not going soft, but I want more, so I oblige him.
“I told Michael the virus was going to be on a much smaller scale. True, he had an outside shot at being President, but keep in mind the corrupt administration we have now wasn’t doing his party any favors. It was unlikely he would have won, and the next set of pillagers was already licking their chops at the opportunity to pull the strings.”
This much is true, I don’t follow politics closely, but a regime change seemed likely, and his window was closing. But at the very least he had a chance to be Secretary of State even if he did not win his primary. He’d had a lot to gain here.
“I made him an offer to be the hero along with myself. He had aspirations to be a major player in the party if not President, so this solidified his tenuous goal. After all, he thought we were going to go down to Chile and cure this with the serum I had here. Then we would return triumphant. He had no idea where this was headed. He was a fool. That idiot Michael Riley could not possibly have been the next President of the United States. Do you see my point, Remy? You see how fucked up we are as a society when Riley could have been the leader of the free world?”
I shrug, walk to the refrigerator, and grab another beer before sitting down.
“Your taste in beer is not exactly sophisticated,” I say as I put the bottle to my mouth.
“Have you been listening to a word I have said, Remy? It is time to pare down. The universe does not need ten dollar six packs of fancy bullshit beer.”
I guess he is consistent if nothing else.
“I still can’t believe Riley would risk his current position—”
“You are a shrewd man, Remy,” the doctor interrupts. “He did need a little push. So I hired an accomplice to help me convince him.”
“Who?” I say, fearing the answer as I feel the bile rise in my throat.
“I blackmailed him, Remy. He was a married man, as you know. A scandal would ruin him politically, so I hired a money hungry whore to seduce—”
I pull the trigger.
Epilogue
It’s been a little over a month since the last time I wrote something regarding my account of the early days of The Outbreak. I banged out what I could remember about my encounter with Dr. Evans before I left the lab, while it was still fresh in my mind. I stayed there another two days, showered and ate a shit-ton of food to get my strength up. I then took some produce out, as well as other assorted goodies and placed them by the two empty mac ’n’ cheese trays by the door. I also took Dr. Evans’s rice bag anchor and placed it by the water tray. I said my goodbyes to Speedy, who was not present, but I am sure heard me.
I went back into the cellar to retrieve Remy’s leathers as well as my story. Walking into that little room was bittersweet. While I hated that fucking place, I stopped for a moment to contemplate how it kept me safe. I realized that with all the torture of being trapped, the discomfort and the claustrophobia, I never felt like my fort would be compromised. I did feel safe there.
Weird.
I took my musings to a copy machine in the corner of the lab, and ran off a few copies while drinking what seemed like gallons of water. I hope someone finds it, and gets some utility out of it. I sure as hell did. I kept the original and I’ve read it back a few times, it helps me put things in perspective. It grounded me, and I am appreciative of that.
I watched the lab monitors covering the parking lot for my chance. When the coast was mostly clear, I found my way out via the sewers and I played a human version of Whack-a-Mole with the manhole covers in the parking lot to get close to the KLR. Using the two walkie-talkies donated by Riley, I created a diversion to get back to my motorcycle. I set one radio on the ground outside a manhole cover and did my best impersonation of Max attracting zombies through the other walkie-talkie. This afforded me enough time to get to the bike by popping out through the closest manhole to the KLR and making a dash for it. Though she suffered cosmetic damage from the trampling of t
he aggressors, she started right up with the push of a button.
Was there ever a doubt?
For the record, they never stopped pounding on the warehouse door above my cellar home. Right up to the time I left, there were dozens still milling right there, trampling Riley into a bloodier pulp with each step.
I made it to the home of the monster who threw a monkey wrench (he actually threw himself) into our original plans by nightfall, hoping they hadn’t yet left. Buell answered the door with Jordan at his hip. Max was up and around gingerly as a week’s rest had done wonders for his sprained, not broken, ankle. Needless to say, there were tears that flowed, and not just Jordan’s.
Buell informed me my attempt at being a C.S.I. Santa Cruz investigator, regarding the jumper crime scene, was pretty close to being accurate. One caveat, before the uncle put his family out of their misery and jumped, he placed Jordan, who had not had the vaccination, in the closet and told her under no circumstances was she to come out unless she heard human voices. Apparently, Jordan’s parents were on vacation and her uncle’s family was looking after her. Buell can make anyone talk about anything, but from what he said, she wanted to tell him.
Max and Buell decided to hole up there to see if the parents would show and rest Max’s ankle. They decided not to head back to Lexington until they absolutely had to. While they held out hope her folks and I would return, Buell admitted feeling horrible about not going with me. After a few days, Buell had even wanted to come look for me. Cooler heads prevailed, and they both decided that leaving Max alone with Jordan was not the prudent thing to do. Buell later told me in confidence he had just hoped I killed Riley before the monsters got to me. He said Max had mentioned going to look for me after his ankle was better. I was glad it never came to that.
I told them my account of what happened and they were pretty impressed with my bullshit, and, reading back over this story, I guess I am too. I explained the settling of all matters concerning Riley and Dr. Evans, as well as shared the discovery of the antidote. It felt good to talk to anyone, but sitting in a living room with my boys, sipping bourbon, was almost heaven on earth.
After a few more days of rest and rehab for me and Max, we safely returned to the Lexington Dam, riding pillion on the two remaining bikes. Jordan enjoyed the ride, and Buell slowed his pace a bit for her sake. Like I said, at least once a day he surprises me. Oh, and of course we didn’t leave Jordan’s uncle’s home until after Andy hugged Red on the beach in Zihuatanejo. It seems everyone possesses The Shawshank Redemption among their DVD collection. That was okay though, because it afforded a bit more time to chat with Jordan. While Buell watched the end of the movie, Jordan finished her tour of her cousin’s room, a tour I had cut short earlier when I left for Monterey.
After Max procured a new Ducati from a dealership in Los Gatos (we got a fantastic deal, it was literally a steal), Max found his place in this new world; going on raids with the recovery and reconnaissance army led by Augie. They had become fast friends and made quite the team. Fortunately for Max, it turned out Augie’s girlfriend had a sister as well as a brother and a cat. I am presently at Lexington Reservoir, visiting Katie and Jordan. For now, Katie refuses to leave this camp as she doesn’t want to leave her father or those she bonded with just yet. However, I have asked her to come with me many times, and I will every time I have to leave.
I learned my lesson.
Buell and Max left a detailed note and directions for Jordan’s parents at Farmer Ted’s, and Katie is going to give them a chance to find her here if at all possible. I hope they are alive, but if not, Katie and I will be there for Jordan. For now, the occasional visit to the compound to see Katie and Max and Jordan will have to suffice. We have settled in well as a family unit, and Jordan has taught me quite a bit more about Justin Bieber than I genuinely care to know. Katie’s and my first date consisted of a small rowboat and a picnic. Our trip included sandwiches and Miller High Life, which has become my current adult beverage of choice.
Go figure.
My buddy Rich made it to his son’s home, and Buell and I stopped by to vaccinate his family and everyone on their street. Rich is going to stay with them for now.
Soon after I abruptly ended Dr. Evans’s ability to breathe, I rifled through his files and paperwork and found the instructions he mentioned. The son of a bitch was telling the truth, the whole time. To the word. I was looking for notes regarding the implementation of the antivirus and found them, just like he’d said. After locating the chemical compound and literature on administration of the serum, my mission in life became evident. Among Dr. Evans’s files, I also found a sealed manila envelope filled with incriminating photos of the money hungry whore Dr. Evans had referred to, along with a copy of the original blackmail note. Although she was a beauty in her own right, she was not Emily. I felt guilty for even entertaining the idea. Emily could not be bought. She may have been guilty of being the other woman from a loveless marriage, but she did not sell her body to the highest bidder, and there was some consolation in this.
After many hard hours, Augie, Max, and twenty others cleared the strip mall and made it safely accessible, then kept it that way until the military arrived. Max had gone back with Augie to find Uncle Frank, who was still holed up in his clubhouse. He was doing well, and had even taken in a few lost souls. We rode to a military base (only Frank knew of) and spread the word. Now you can’t get close to that strip mall without credentials, or a scratched up KLR.
As I spread the word and the vaccine, I found two pharmacists to come back to the basement with me to attempt to replicate the vaccine. The last time I visited, they hadn’t figured it out completely. Dr. Evans was no joke. Fortunately there are numerous other locations with additional vials of the antidote. They were marked by G.P.S. coordinates, not locations by name. So I have some math to do. Fuck, I hate math. I left science to the professionals.
A twist of irony though. Dr. Evans left a list of all the people who had participated in his plan. He also left an explanation of how they blew the grid, and shut down the satellites, etc. Why would he do that? They were his allies, I thought. His name was on the list too?
It hit me like a ton of bricks. He and his merry men were also part of the problem. He needed to be purged, as did any man who could be bought. The people he bought to take down the status quo were no better than the powerful who bought and sold others. I will say that at least Dr. Evans knew he was no better. That was why he was not at all uncomfortable with his mortality, and seemed only too happy to monologue right to the end.
Unfortunately, the mess he left behind has spread exponentially. There does not seem to be a corner of the earth that has not been reached. The world is now left with a daunting task.
What is left to me, personally, is a lifelong purpose to ride. Not a house, or fuck you money, but a purpose to ride, and to help rebuild this mess.
As of now, the aforementioned antidote has already treated thousands. It does not cure the virus, but it does make us immune to the bite. However, it does not prevent you from being eaten, so there is that. Unfortunately, we are running low, and as I said, replication attempts have so far been fruitless. There is much work to be done, and G.P.S. coordinates have revealed more supplies, but more are still desperately needed.
I often think of Emily. Not too often of her smile, her brown hair, or even her sexy body; I think of her fearless effort to reach me that sparked the possible recovery of the human race. After the egregious attempt of one man to eradicate as many people from this earth as he possibly could, Emily turned the tide. She started movement back toward reclaiming this country, as well as the rest of the world. I tell Emily’s story often, because I want to be sure Emily is remembered as a hero, not the monster she became. I didn’t get the chance to hear of Emily’s hair-raising journey to save me after leaving her office in the Corvette. Hell, even without the monsters, her driving could be terrifying. I can only imagine the journey.
A new group of
leaders has emerged, consisting of the most capable and philanthropic people the United States has left to offer. Dr. Evans was right about that, the people of the highest character rose to the top when money and power were not the most valuable prizes. The war to reclaim the United States and the rest of the world has begun.
I wish Dr. Evans with all of his brilliance could have figured out a way to bring out the best in people without so much death and destruction. But he had no illusions of himself. He knew who he was.
I am no longer content with relaxation therapy. Buell and I travel together and have added a few fellow riders along the way. We spread the word and vaccine as best we can, mixing in the occasional spirited ride through the hills and back roads. I still haven’t passed Buell yet, but it’s the dawn of a new world, and anything is possible.
Acknowledgements
First I would like to thank Agustin Sanchez for being the sacrificial lamb who was the first to read my rough draft and encourage me to finish it. Also, thanks to Maxine Schiller, Richard Poczulp, Charles Esler, Madeline Hopkins, and my mother-in-law, Carol George (I have a good mother-in-law) who all read the entire rough draft, and gave me notes and support. I would also like to thank my wife, Jule, daughter, Jordan, and my son, Jacob, for putting up with the late nights and missed family time so I could write when the ideas were fresh. Special thanks to my dad, Frank Ignagni Jr., for giving me the work ethic to finish what I start, as well as the WWII information. I would also like to thank Greg Martin for the original cover photo. He does amazing work, you can see his photos at www.artofgregmartin.com, or on Twitter Greg Martin@sirgerg.
I was recently diagnosed with a severe health issue, and the sudden deluge of time on my hands afforded me the opportunity to do something I have always wanted to do; write a book. This is my way of showing when life hands you a bad break, you can still accomplish goals. I am in no way thankful for my recent diagnosis, but if not for my current struggles, I may have never written this book. You never know what you are capable of doing, until the situation shows itself.
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