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

by Paul Seiple

  "We need to go now," Nick said. "Huntersville is a few hours away."

  Q crawled through the drain. Daria and Nick followed. He popped his head out into the night. Visibility was no better than in the drain. Pitch black surrounded Q. The air was chilly. A soft breeze rattled the leaves.

  "Let me lead," Daria said. "There's a path to the left. It will take us to the jeep."

  A low humming sound came from behind. The noise grew louder.

  "Helicopter," Q said.

  A light beamed from the sky onto the still lake. The light inched toward the shore.

  "Hide," Q said, diving into brush.

  Daria ducked behind a tree. Nick dropped back into the drain. The light grazed the top of the brush shielding Q, and then flashed against the tree Daria hid behind.

  "What if they find the jeep?" Daria asked.

  "Nick, can you hear me?" Q asked.

  "Yeah."

  "Daria, take Nick to the jeep. I'm going to distract them."

  "You'll die," Daria said.

  "Maybe not."

  Q flung himself through the brush directly into the path of the light. He ran away from Daria. A gunshot pierced the night, and then another. The light moved further away from Daria. Nick climbed from the drain. Daria grabbed his hand and headed into the woods.

  "He's not going make it," Daria said.

  "One thing I know about Q is he's a resilient bastard," Nick said.

  Dirt kicked up next to Q's left foot. The bullet barely missed. Another shot sent bark flying from a tree just ahead of him. Q didn't look back. He was a runner. This was a race he was determined to win. He zigzagged down a narrow path. The light disappeared. Q ran on faith into the darkness. He took high steps, hoping the roots below wouldn't snag his feet. His breathing shallowed. A loud pop to his right reminded him there was no time to stop and catch his breath.

  The trees became sparse. Q found himself in an open space. Under the moon's glow, he saw a house and a small shed. It was someone's backyard. He was too vulnerable. The light from the helicopter neared the edge of the woods. Q took a deep breath and sprinted for the shed.

  Please be unlocked, he thought.

  The door to the shed was open. Q made it just as the light hit the open area. He kicked something. Q tripped and fell.

  The hum from the helicopter grew louder, rattling the metal walls of the shed.

  It's landing, Q thought. Think fast.

  Q fumbled through the dark trying to find anything that remotely felt as if it could be used as a weapon. His hand came upon something smooth and round. His fingers fell into two holes. It was a skull. Q got to his knees. His hands glided over the remains that belonged to the skull. He found a ribcage and snapped a rib bone free.

  Footsteps outside the shed caused Q's heart to flutter. He backed against the wall and waited. A small beam of light crept into the shed. It moved toward the back of the building illuminating the skull. Then it bounced over the walls. Q saw the barrel of an assault rifle. The man carrying the gun inched into the shed.

  "We only want to talk. Let's not make this messy," the man said.

  Q's fingernails dug into his palm. His hand cramped from the tight grip he held on to the bone. He only had one shot. When the man lowered his head to eye the skull, Q sprang forward, sinking the bone into the man's neck. Q caught the jugular and blood flowed like a broken water pipe. Sticky wetness slapped Q's face. He wrestled the rifle away and slammed the butt into the back of the man's head several times. Confident the man wouldn't be able to retaliate, Q caught his breath and contemplated his next move.

  "How many are in that helicopter?" he asked himself. "It's pretty small. Maybe a MH-6. Two to four left. The only way out of this is through the helicopter."

  Q took a deep breath, adjusted his grip on the rifle until it felt comfortable, and ran out of the shed toward the chopper. Without hesitation, he lit up the helicopter, catching one man as he tried to exit. The pilot didn't have time to react. Two bullets struck him in the face.

  "That sounds bad," Daria said.

  Nick didn't respond. But from the number of bullets fired in rapid succession, he didn't feel good about Q's chances.

  "Give me the key," Nick said.

  "Are we just going to leave him?" Daria asked.

  Nick turned the ignition. The engine fired.

  "Are you listening to me?" Daria asked.

  Nick rested his head against the back of the seat.

  "You don't think he made it, do you?" Daria asked.

  "I think Q sacrificed himself so we could live and fight this thing. That's what we are going to do."

  Nick grabbed first gear and drove out of the woods. He entered the highway at the Welcome to Black Dog sign. He eyed the gauges. The gas needle was just below the F.

  "We may have enough gas to get us there," Nick said.

  Daria didn't say anything.

  "It sucks, I know. Q was one of my best friends."

  "I should be immune to it. I've lost everyone close to me," Daria said. "I barely knew him."

  "Q was one of the good guys. It was hard not to like h…"

  A shadow on the side of the road stole their attention. The figure was human. It swayed like the infected. Nick hit the high beams, revealing a man. He moved an arm over his face. He held a rifle in his other hand.

  "It's one of those bastards," Daria said. "Run over him."

  The man dropped the gun and waved his arms above his head. The headlight caught his face.

  "It's Q," Nick said.

  "Q," Daria said.

  Q picked up the rifle and ran toward the jeep.

  "Man, she thought you were dead," Nick said.

  "Me? You were giving me his eulogy," Daria said.

  "I'm not dead yet," Q said.

  "But all those gunshots?" Nick asked.

  "I channeled my inner Chuck Norris," Q said.

  "OK, will someone please tell me who the fuck this Chuck Norris is?" Daria asked.

  Nineteen

  "Sir, we lost them."

  "What?"

  "They parked. We parked in the same lot, thinking they were sleeping. But they were gone."

  The pale flesh above Mitchell Ashe’s gray beard reddened. His breathing became noticeably louder.

  "We've asked for video surveillance from the shopping center, sir."

  "Why? To give me video evidence that you've failed at your job?" Mitchell said.

  "Sir, we didn't…"

  "Enough, Barber. You're proven yourself useless to the cause." Ashe picked up a smart phone. "Call Quarantine 7."

  "But, sir…"

  Ashe flipped his jacket lapel and grabbed a 9mm. He pointed at Barber.

  "Unfortunately, we have a soldier displaying symptoms of the virus. We need a quarantine team in office 12 in the C-Wing," Ashe spoke into the phone.

  "Dispatching a team now, sir."

  "Sir, please don't do this. Let me prove my worth," Barber said.

  "You're definitely going to prove your worth to me. You weren't cut out to be a soldier just yet. Think of this next phase as boot camp," Ashe said.

  There was knock at the door.

  "It's Alan."

  Ashe opened the door.

  "Be careful. This soldier is exhibiting symptoms," Mitchell said.

  "He's infected?" Dawson asked.

  "No, incompetent," Ashe said.

  "There's a problem," Dawson said.

  "I already know we lost Emily Morgan."

  "It's bigger than that. There's been an attack in Uptown Charlotte."

  Katie Andrews no longer questioned what was wrong with her. Her speech was gone. Her vision was blurry, but her appetite was strong. An insatiable hunger led her through the back alley of several bars.

  Felicia Randall walked beside Katie. The hunger embedded inside her was just as strong, maybe stronger. Words were no longer a needed form of communication. Both nurses had that same goal——to satisfying the gnawing raging within their bodies.
The need for flesh replaced oxygen as lifeblood. Even with the hunger, they were cautious about how they fed…for the most part. Judas was evolving inside them, training them to survive.

  Brick walls muffled the sirens that grew closer. Before moving to the alley, the nurses grabbed a woman as she came out of a pastry shop. Katie tore at her throat while Felicia ripped flesh away from the woman's forearm. A group of tourists heading the NASCAR Hall of Fame interrupted the attack. Flesh was euphoric. Six more people meant more euphoria, but Judas was in control. Feeding wasn't as high as the need to survive. The girls left the dying woman for the safety of the alley.

  With the taste of flesh still strong, Katie and Felicia approached two guys smoking cigarettes at the back door of a bar.

  "Whoa, looks like you girls had about five too many," one guy said, dropping his smoke to the ground before crushing it underneath his boot.

  "You OK?" The other guy moved closer to Katie, noticing the blood on her face. "Did you fall?"

  Katie nodded.

  "Let me check it out for you."

  The man placed his beer on a stoop and started toward Katie. She moved closer to him.

  "Oh shit," he said before gagging after getting a whiff of stench from Katie's mouth. "Smells like you puked too."

  He took a step back. Katie moved forward. He put his hand on her chest, holding her arm's length away. The smell grew worse.

  "Fuck, Jeff. Smells like something crawled in her and died," the other guy said. "If you can get past the smell, she might be fun."

  Katie grabbed the hand pressing against her chest.

  "Oh, she likes it rough, Jeff. It's your lucky day." The guy reached into his pocket for a pack of gum.

  Felicia latched on to his wrist, bringing his arm to her face. She placed her nose against his forearm.

  "It's your lucky day too," Jeff said, moving his hand onto Katie's breast.

  Katie gurgled. Spittle bubbled from the corner of her mouth.

  "You like that, huh?" Jeff asked.

  Katie pulled Jeff's hand away from her chest and brought his fingers to her lips.

  "Oh, yeah, baby," Jeff said.

  He pressed his finger against her lips. She was so hot to his touch it shocked him. He tried to pull away. Katie dug her nails into his wrists, opened her mouth, and severed Jeff's index finger at the second joint between her teeth.

  "You bitch."

  Felicia sank her teeth into the other guy's wrist. He grabbed a beer bottle and broke it over Felicia's head. Her grip tightened. He punched her, shattering her nose. She pushed him to the ground. Blood flowing from her nose onto his face impaired his vision. He swiped at his face with his free hand. His vision cleared just as Felicia let go of his wrist and bit into his cheek.

  Katie snapped Jeff's middle finger between her teeth. He jerked free and drove his shoulder into Katie, knocking her against a brick wall dividing buildings. Jeff ran down the alley. Katie slid to the ground with her back against the wall. She fell to her knees and crawled toward Felicia. She gnawed at the guy's leg while Felicia tore at his face.

  Jeff Esera started the day distributing beer to local grocery stores. He ended it running through Uptown Charlotte trying to escape the woman who attacked him. He couldn't believe it was happening. But one look at his hand slapped him back to reality.

  "That crazy bitch bit my fingers off."

  Jeff slowed to a steady walk and held his wrist. His hand throbbed like a bad toothache. Blood spurted in unison with his pulse. His head was cloudy, partially from trying to come to terms with the attack, but lightheadedness had invaded. Jeff fought hard not to faint. The feeling was too strong. He dropped to his knees, fell forward, and his face smacked concrete.

  "Hey, over here," a woman shouted.

  Three paramedics raced toward Jeff. He heard them speaking, but their voices were muffled. I can get up, Jeff thought. He willed his mind. His body ignored the plea. Jeff was numb.

  "Were you attacked?" one of the paramedics asked.

  To Jeff's ears, the words were broken. It didn't matter. He couldn't respond if he wanted to. Something was robbing him of his senses. Jeff's vision blurred to the point seeing anything through the cloudy white blob was impossible. The muffled voices dissipated to whispers. He was dying. Jeff wanted to fight, but with every shallow breath, he weakened. He closed his eyes to succumb to death.

  "Relax, you're going to be all right."

  The words were clear and all too familiar. It was his own voice. Jeff opened his eyes. White spots were still there, but he could peer through them. One paramedic hovered over Jeff. He caught a glimpse of the backs of two others as they ran away.

  Most of Jeff's senses were still severely impaired. His body attempted to adjust to what was happening, giving him hope that he might pull through. When the paramedic reached across Jeff to inspect his hand, Jeff's sense of smell intensified. It was a specific odor, one that Jeff couldn't recall smelling before. The smell made his stomach ache. Fast, sharp pains followed by gurgling. How could I be hungry? he thought.

  Jeff wasn't hungry. He was starving. His mouth filled with saliva as the paramedic brought his arm in front of Jeff's face.

  "It's tempting. Don't act. There will be plenty of time to feast."

  Again, it was Jeff's voice, but his mouth hadn't opened.

  "Survival is the most important thing."

  Jeff's limbs began to spasm. The sensation of thousands of ants biting his legs made him feel alive again. The paramedic turned to get something from his bag. Jeff sprang to his feet and ran. His hand no longer throbbed. It was as if his mind had learned to protect his body.

  Twenty

  "How did you sleep?" Marshall asked, leaning through the passenger window after a stretch.

  "I slept in the backseat of a Pinto. How do you think I slept?" Emily said.

  "I told you we should've slept in the barn."

  "With snakes and spiders? No thanks. What time is it?"

  "A little after seven," Marshall said, swiping across the screen on his phone.

  "So, how long should we give them before moving to plan B?" Emily said.

  "There's a plan B?"

  Emily pointed to a tree. "Chop it down, make an oar, and try to paddle up shit creek."

  The sound from a car's engine interrupted Marshall's laughter.

  "Did you hear that?" Emily asked.

  Before Marshall could answer, a green Jeep pulled in behind the Pinto. Nick hopped out, followed by Q and Daria.

  "Thank God," Marshall said. "We were just about to go to plan B, which involved me chopping down a tree."

  "We know how you hate manual labor," Nick said.

  "He hates picking up after himself too, but that's another conversation," Emily said, crawling out of the Pinto. "All right, what have you gotten me into?"

  "You got yourself into it by reporting about…" Q paused. He knew what he was about to say would be ridiculous to someone who hadn't experienced it. "…a zombie attack."

  "Oh, you must be Q. Great way to introduce yourself," Emily said. "Wait, did you say zombie attack?"

  "There's a virus that turns the infected into, for lack of a better word, zombies," Q said.

  Emily fell back against the Pinto. "So, that's what happened at that apartment."

  "Probably. I'm pretty sure Mitchell Ashe is involved."

  "And, he wears Drakkar. Never trust a man that wears that stuff. My high school boyfriend did," Emily said.

  "We have bigger problems than your hatred for cologne," Marshall said. "How do we avoid catching this virus?"

  "I don't know yet," Q said.

  "That's comforting," Emily said.

  "Hey, I spent the last few weeks where the virus originated. I don't have it," Daria said.

  "And who is this?" Emily asked.

  "My name's Daria, ratched Barbie."

  "Enough," Q said. "She saved our lives."

  Daria smirked.

  "She's kind of a brat, though," Nick
said.

  "And you're kind of an ass…"

  Q put his hand over Daria's mouth.

  "OK, I get why they want you. Why do they want Nick?" Emily pointed at Nick. "And don't say your charming personality."

  Q reached into his backpack. He held a tiny bullet-like object between his fingers. "This is one of the projects ARMA was working on. It's a sophisticated smart bomb used to eradicate the virus."

  "What's ARMA?" Marshall asked.

  "A private company that created the virus and the cure, or at least a cure," Q said.

  "They let the virus into the wild?" Emily asked.

  "It was tested in a small town called Black Dog," Q said.

  "Where the fertilizer plant blew up?" Emily asked.

  "That was a cover-up," Q said.

  "But I interviewed survivors," Emily said.

  "You interviewed actors," Nick said. “I knew I saw one of those girls acting on a crime show.”

  "Tom Hendricks ran ARMA. He infected the town to show the government how well this little bomb works," Q said

  "How could they do that to those people?" Emily asked.

  "It gets worse. Once a cure was developed that didn’t involve blowing people up, Hendricks had plans to release the virus and sell the cure to the highest bidder. That's where Mitchell Ashe comes in," Q said.

  "Where's Hendricks now?" Marshall asked.

  "I don't think he made it out of Black Dog. The virus spread faster than ARMA anticipated, but even worse is its evolution. Once it finds a host, it adapts and thrives. The virus ARMA created is not the virus infecting people now," Q said.

  "So, what does that mean?" Emily asked.

  "More than likely, it's resistant to any cure they attempted to develop. First symptoms are more sophisticated now than when the virus was introduced in Black Dog. That tells me it’s found a way to strengthen itself. And I think it may affect people differently, which makes it one hell of a virus."

  "How is that even possible?" Emily asked.

  "It's what happens when man decides to play god," Q said.