Am I Dead?: A Post-Apocalyptic Thriller (The Great Dying Book 2)

by Paul Seiple

  He lowered the volume on the television to barely a whisper and picked up his phone. After swiping through a series of apps, Q opened Twitter. His feed was polluted with news of the shooting in North Carolina. He closed the app and placed the phone on an end table before getting up for a glass of water. The protein bar curbed the hunger, but it left Q feeling thirsty.

  Q heard a phone ring when he crossed the archway into the kitchen. The ring wasn't familiar. He ran back and grabbed his iPhone. It wasn't the source of the ringing. Q didn't have a landline phone. He got rid of it years ago. He turned in a circle before realizing the sound came from the delivered package. He took a letter opener from the hallway desk and sawed at the black tape marked with an Amazon label. The ringing stopped as he fished through the packing. There wasn't a modem in the box. There was a prepaid phone still in its packaging. It was nothing fancy. The words 7 MISSED CALLS displayed across the gray screen. Q opened the box and tapped to see the number of the missed call. There were seven different numbers. All called today. The first one a little after four o'clock. That was about the time UPS delivered in Q's neighborhood. He wasn't sure why, but he dialed the number that just called. A robotic voice answered saying the number was not in service. Q called all seven numbers. The same robotic voice answered every time informing him the number was no longer in service.

  "Weird," Q said, tossing the phone back into the box. He figured he received someone else's order by mistake. And with prepaid phones, numbers were constantly recycled.

  As he got to his feet, the phone rang again. Q stared at the screen. Another new number. It rang four times while Q wrestled with the thought of answering it.

  "Hello," he said on the fifth ring.

  "Q?"

  "Who is this?"

  "There’s some bad shit going down, Q."

  "Nick?"

  "Those kids in New York weren't high. They…"

  Q interrupted. "I thought you were dead."

  "There isn't much time. An experimental virus is wild. There is no cure, and it will kill everyone."

  "I know. I'm going to the origin point tomorrow to try to find some answers."

  "You cannot go to Black Dog. You'll die there."

  "I was kind of worried about that." Q chuckled. It was forced. More of a nervous laughter.

  "Look out your window, Q. Peek, do not open the blinds."

  Q did as instructed.

  "See the black SUV across the street? They are watching you."

  "How did you know?" Q asked, easing away from the window.

  "I installed a camera on your porch when I delivered the phone."

  "You died in that helicopter crash…" Q said. His words staggered off when he thought about Carolyn. If Nick was alive, maybe she was too.

  "I wasn't on the chopper. They held me prisoner with Harry and George. I escaped. They weren't so lucky."

  "Carolyn?" Q asked.

  "She went with Hendricks and Bob."

  "Tom Hendricks? Was he in charge of ARMA?"

  "How do you know about ARMA?" Nick asked. "Never mind. If you know about ARMA, you’re already dead to them. What type of SUV is in front of your house?"

  "I don't know. You can see it too."

  "I can't make out the type. Is it an Escalade or Suburban?"

  Q gently pried the blinds. "Suburban. Why?"

  "You know I've always been a stickler for details, Q. Listen, there is an extra SIM card in the box. Take this one from the phone and destroy it. Put the new one in, and do not turn the phone back on. Take it with you tomorrow. When things go south, ditch your iPhone. They will use it to track you. There is a storm drain near the lake in Black Dog. It leads to a field near the highway. All roads are blocked to the town, but if you make it to the field, you can make it to the highway. If you get out alive, call me on this phone. When you turn it on, there will be a text message waiting with a number."

  "What about Carolyn? What happened to her?" Q asked.

  "She's gone, Q. I have to go before they are able to trace this number." Nick hung up.

  Q peeked through the blinds again at the black Suburban. He looked at the phone, and the sinking feeling this could be his last night alive washed over Q, making him feel like throwing up.

  Q flipped on his right side. He had made a similar move to his left only five minutes earlier. It was his attempt to outrun the ever familiar neck pain that chased him since insomnia became his housemate. Sleep abandoned him after Carolyn left. Q used “left” because he couldn't speak the words death and Carolyn in the same sentence. He felt that when he did, he was accepting her death, and that would never happen.

  The dull ache massaged his shoulders in a way that mimicked angry waves crashing onto shore. There was a tingle, almost like a pinprick, that sent a subtle numbness to his elbow. Every few seconds, Q shook his wrist until the numbing dissipated, only to have it return a bit angrier. This pattern repeated until Q flipped back to his left side.

  Insomnia was determined to kick Q out of bed, but he wasn't about to give up easily. Usually, he would follow this song and dance for a couple of hours before falling asleep. He didn't have that luxury tonight. Q looked at the clock. Neon green numbers flashed 2:45, but what the numbers were really saying was Q was fighting a losing battle. Insomnia would win this time. Q had to be a Walter Reed in a few hours to listen to more lies from the government.

  He picked up the burner phone Nick sent and wrestled with turning it on to see if there was a message yet. Nick was his only connection to the truth about Carolyn. Obeying Nick’s order to keep the phone off until after the trip to Black Dog would be difficult. Q already denied Nick's request to avoid the town. There was no doubt in Q's mind that Black Dog was poisoned, and it was leaking into the unsuspecting world. The more time he had to think, the more Q realized he didn’t need to go to Black Dog to find answers. Nick held those answers. Q heard it in his voice——the slight hesitation when Nick talked about Carolyn. He knew more than he told. Maybe it was for the safety of all involved. The black SUV parked outside Q's house was a reminder the virus might not be the most dangerous thing Q was dealing with, and if they found out Nick, or maybe Carolyn, was alive, it could be hazardous to their well-being. Nick was right, Q shouldn’t go to Black Dog, but he had no choice. He couldn’t back out now. Q knew too much.

  He placed the phone on the nightstand and closed his eyes, hoping his mind would shut down for a few moments. Just as his body relaxed, the smell of perfume lingered under Q's nose. He knew the fragrance——Chance by Chanel. It was Carolyn's favorite. Funny, in France, chance means luck. There was nothing lucky about what happened to Carolyn, Q thought.

  "I told you that miracle pillow you bought was going to give you neck pain. There's no support, but you didn't listen."

  Q opened his eyes to see Carolyn lying in bed with her back against two pillows separating her from the headboard. She was tucked under the comforter reading a romance thriller. It was something she used to do every night before bed. The genre helped her forget the stress from the day.

  "Carolyn?"

  Q threw himself against the headboard. Carolyn never took her eyes away from the book.

  "This can't be real," Q said.

  "Don't lose focus of the bigger picture. This isn't about me. This is about saving the world."

  "I miss you so much," Q said.

  Carolyn smiled and closed the book. She removed her reading glasses and placed them on the book on the nightstand. "I miss you too. We will see each other again one day."

  "You're not real."

  Q blinked, and Carolyn was gone. Her nightstand was bare—— no book, no glasses. He got out of bed and walked to the bathroom. Q stood at the sink splashing cold water over his face. He looked into the mirror.

  "How can I save the world when I'm losing my goddamn mind?"

  As he toweled off his face, he thought about the camera Nick hid on his porch to spy on the people who were spying on him. Maybe Nick is watching me too
, Q thought. He tossed the towel onto the side of the tube.

  "Nick, are you watching me?" Q asked, walking to his office. "Why was Carolyn mixed up with Hendricks?" He waited a moment, not expecting an answer, but for the first time, it hit him. Carolyn played a part in whatever this thing was that made people violent. Q sat on the corner of the sofa. What else was she hiding from me? he thought.

  Four

  "Warren is a loose cannon, Bob. We cannot control him. He's more concerned with finding out what happened to Swann than finding a cure. Once he realizes we played a part in her death, revenge will be the only thing on his mind," General Dickson said.

  President McClain paced in front of his desk in the Oval Office. "'The best revenge is to be unlike him who performed the injury."

  "Wishful thinking. Marcus Aurelius would sing a different tune if we murdered his fiancé."

  "He wouldn’t, but we didn't murder anyone, Gerald." FBI Director Turner got off the couch, stretched his legs, and straightened his slacks. "We contained a threat. Isn't that what you told Warren? That's what we do with threats. Do we agree that Warren is a threat?"

  "We need Q," President McClain said. "Our best scientists have tried to figure this thing out for six months to no avail. Anyone who had a shot at it has meet an abrupt end. We need Q to fix this."

  "You're wrong, Bob. We don't need Warren to fix it. Warren cannot be trusted," FBI Director Turner said.

  "James is right. Warren cannot leave Black Dog and we need to make sure he only finds out what this agent is," General Dickson said.

  "Killing people to cover this up has to stop. We all saw what happened in New York and North Carolina. There's been enough death," President McClain said. "Keep Q safe and bring him back with answers. I have faith that his desire to save the sick will outweigh the need for revenge should he find out something about Swann."

  "You put too much faith in mankind, Bob," FBI Director Turner said.

  "And you devalue human life, James."

  "We can discuss this later," FBI Director Turner said. "Warren will be here in less than an hour. We need to go. Is the pop-up containment tent secure?"

  "BSL-4. Broome's body is there waiting," General Dickson said. He turned to the president. "We leave for Black Dog after Warren examines the body. I will keep Warren safe, but I'm going to treat him like a prisoner of war. I do not trust him."

  "Treat him as you wish, just make sure he returns safely," President McClain said.

  "I never wanted it to come to this, but it looks like Bob's going to be a problem too," General Dickson said. "Warren is not stepping foot out of Black Dog."

  "It's unfortunate that it has come to this, but we have to look at the big picture. Once Warren finds the source agent, he's not that important. Neither is Bob, for that matter. I've spoken with Hershel, and he sees things the way we do," FBI Director Turner said.

  "You trust Hershel?" General Dickson asked.

  "He's one of the few vice presidents we've had that I feel is capable of running the country. We will be fine with him at the helm."

  "Is the plan to do it when I get back?" General Dickson asked.

  "I think we should give Bob another chance to change his mind when we inform him that Warren didn't make it back. If he feels the way he does now, that leaves us no choice."

  The men went silent when they saw Q standing beside his Hyundai Sonata. He was early. Dickson expected him to be late. Q had the look of someone who would be late, not because of disorganization, but more out of a desire to piss someone off.

  "If I were a paranoid man, I'd say by the way you two shut your mouths when you saw me that I was the topic of conversation," Q said, moving toward Dickson.

  “Ego is a dangerous thing, Warren,” FBI Director Turner said. “I need to show you something. Follow me.”

  Q put on a containment suit and watched Turner struggle to get suited up. He pushed through a flap in the tent that sealed behind him. It was the third threshold Q crossed since entering the containment area. He looked over his shoulder to see if anyone would be joining him. Turner followed, but no one else.

  Q turned his attention to a six-foot see-through cylinder in the center of the tent. Inside housed the body of Matthew Broome. His five-feet-eleven-inch frame barely fit. Q stuck his arms through thick rubber gloves built into the cylinder and prodded Broome's body.

  "No rigor. That's odd."

  Q ran his hand over Broome's chest, exploring the bullet wounds. One in the shoulder, and one pierced his heart.

  "No doubt. This was a kill shot."

  "What are we dealing with, Dr. Warren?" Turner said.

  "I won't know until I see the blood report."

  Turner handed Q a clipboard. Q studied it for a moment before looking at Broome's body.

  "Are you sure this is Broome's bloodwork? Is there any way there could have been a mix-up?"

  Turner laughed, momentarily fogging up his mask. "Look around, Dr. Warren. We've taken every precaution. There is no mix-up. That report belongs to Broome. What did you find?"

  Q hesitated before answering. He looked at Broome again. The gaping wound in his chest surely pierced the aorta. The right side of Broome's face resembled ground beef.

  "What's in his blood, Dr. Warren?" Turner asked again.

  Q shrugged his shoulders. "Nothing. No abnormalities. On paper, he was healthy."

  "Healthy people do not eat human flesh."

  "I know. That's my line, by the way." Q touched his helmet as if he were rubbing his forehead.

  "Are you telling me this man wasn't infected?"

  "His blood supports that theory. His T-cell and B-cell counts seem to be in the normal range."

  Turner didn't say anything.

  "Low T-cells could mean a virus. Something along the lines of the flu. Low B-cells would point to bacteria. Broome's body wasn't fighting an infection, and there is no trace of it in his system."

  "Maybe drugs? The toxicology report isn't back."

  This time, Q chuckled, fogging up his mask. "Drugs didn't do this. Hendricks and his little team of mad scientists did this."

  "So, what are dealing with, Warren?" Turner dropped the doctor just as his tone had dropped the pleasantries.

  Q placed the clipboard on a metal table beside the cylinder and eyed Turner. "The only people who can answer that question are dead. But it looks like you’ve successfully created a virus that cleans up its mess after killing a host."

  “How is that even possible?” Turner asked.

  “Until five minutes ago, I didn’t think it was possible,” Q said.

  Five

  She stared at the poster, noting the 206 bones in the human body. Katie Andrews closed her eyes and began to dissect the human skeleton one bone at a time. She knocked the major ones out with no problem. The facial bones were a bit trickier. They always stumped her in kinesiology class, and nothing had changed since graduation.

  Usually, Katie was the one asking questions and not sitting on the cold examination table. She was a second-year RN at Carolina Medical. She prided herself on a nearly impenetrable immune system, but something had slipped through her defenses.

  Katie kicked the heels of her Nikes against the leg of the table. It was almost a pout for allowing herself to come down with a bug. She juiced. Her diet was gluten-free. No bacon. No red meat. What good did it do? Here she sat waiting to find out what had invaded her body. It started with a subtle tickle in her throat a few days earlier. Nothing major, and barely above a change of season allergy annoyance. Last night, a dull headache set in and was followed by nausea. She could handle the sick stomach by chewing gum. That always worked in the past, but the headache was nonstop and chewing only made it worse.

  After naming bones, Katie moved on to a poster spelling out, in bright red letters, the warning signs of a stroke——F.A.S.T.——Face drooping, Arm hanging, Speech difficulty, Time to call 911. Next was a chart detailing heart disease. Katie only made it to cardiomyopathy before the
door opened.

  "Fancy meeting you here."

  Katie chuckled, abruptly cutting it off before all out laughter when the headache reminded her it was still there. "Yeah, looks like you get to take care of me today."

  "Only if you promise not to get me sick."

  "I would never do such a thing," Katie said. "Hey, what happened here yesterday? The news said there was an incident with an escaped prisoner or something, but no details."