by K. S. Black
He set the rifle down and stuffed as many magazines as he could into a small shooter’s bag. Then he scanned the vault for the gun case containing a Smith & Wesson M&P .45, a reliable weapon even a newbie could handle. Within seconds, he found the pistol. He made sure it was ready to fire and checked the two extra magazines before he closed the case. He squeezed another box of ammo into one of the large front pockets on shooter’s bag and slung the bag and the Tavor over his shoulder. He carried the armaments into the living room and put everything on the floor.
Inside the closet for a second time, he went straight for his two custom-made Kimber Master Carry 1911 pistols in the smaller vault. Both pistols had solid sterling silver grips with an image of the Grim Reaper embossed on one side. In remembrance of his parents, he had each engraved with their names, birth dates, and the date they died on the other side. One for his mom and one for his dad. He picked up the holster next to the guns and buckled it around his hips. The pistols were designed to be drawn with both hands so the holster held the Kimbers side by side at the small of his back. He grabbed the two matching pouches that contained four magazines and attached them to his belt.
He and his father had talked about custom ordering the guns. They were the first thing Cooper had bought with the settlement money he had received from his parents’ wrongful death lawsuit against the San Diego County Sheriff’s Department.
He holstered the guns and pushed away the memories of the day that almost put an end to him five years earlier.
CHAPTER 2
May 4 – Tucson, AZ
With the guns and ammo in his jeep, Cooper drove to Baja Motorsports, a local specialty shop that contracted with select clientele. He had called the owner, Jeff Stillson, a half hour earlier to let him know he was on his way. He and his team converted pickups and Volkswagen bugs into highly sought after Baja racers. They also took on special projects like his.
The shop looked empty. Cooper tried the door. Locked. He pounded on the glass. Then he cupped his hands around his eyes to peer inside.
“Hang on! I’m coming.”
The giant Norwegian’s booming voice arrived before made his way to the door. Jeff walked as if he might be nursing a hangover. He was a big drinker but not a drunk. At least Cooper didn’t think he was. Maybe he wasn’t feeling well. Either way, he couldn’t tell.
Squinting into the sunlight, Jeff unlocked the door and let him inside. Cooper tilted his head upward to look him in the eye. At six foot four, this was rare.
“Damn. You look like hell.”
“I’ll be fine in a couple of hours.” Grimacing, Jeff put the palm of his hand to his temple.
Cooper caught a whiff of stale whiskey on his breath.
“She’s all set to go. Wanna see her?” Jeff retained a hint of a Scandinavian accent even after living in the U.S. for over twenty-five years.
“I’m anxious to see what you’ve done with her. It’s got to get me to California ASAP. You’ve heard what’s going on, right?”
“I’ve been listening to the radio. Hard to believe it happened again.”
“Trust me, this is much worse, and it’s not over. So keep your eyes open.”
Several months prior, Cooper had hired Jeff to build a prepper’s “dream” vehicle. He had found two beat up military Humvees through an acquaintance who knew a private dealer with the ability to purchase the Humvees from the military.
The vehicles had been stripped of their engines and tires. But they had retained their composite armor. This resulted in an exterior that was super strong, ultralight, and bullet proof. Military budget cuts had halted the project so the Humvee prototypes sat abandoned. After handing over a tidy sum of cash to a purchasing agent and completing a stack of paperwork, they were his. He couldn’t believe his good fortune.
Jeff had called while he was preparing for a tactical shooting course in South Florida. The Humvee was done. He said he’d pick up the vehicle when he got back from Florida, a trip that wasn’t going to happen now.
He followed Jeff down a hallway that led to a large, well-lit body shop. And there it was. His Humvee looked like something from a zombie hunter’s wet dream. At a loss for words, his eyes scanned every inch of the vehicle. It was painted flat tan with black accents. Zombie Response Team was splashed underneath the doors.
“Hmmm.” He almost said something about the decal. But he had more important things to stress about.
The Humvee was equipped with the latest in light weight armor plates around the passenger compartment. It also sported custom suspension coils, the latest in airless tires with a honeycomb design, and gun ports on all the passenger doors.
The vehicle’s new five hundred horse power engine ran on propane instead of gasoline. Over time, propane didn’t deteriorate like gasoline, although running the vehicle on propane reduced the horse power.
“She’s the best fucking machine I’ve ever made for anyone. There’s no place you can’t go with her. With all the composite armor she already came with, plus the armor plates we added, she’ll get you through a war safely.” Jeff walked him around to the driver’s side and turned to him with a proud grin. He looked like the hung-over cat that ate the canary.
“That’s what I’m counting on.”
A decal with Reaper 1 occupied the space forward of the driver’s door. Cooper raised his eyebrows. “This thing already sticks out like a sore thumb.”
“You should have picked it up when I called you. The guys decided she needed a name.”
Cooper got in, examined the dashboard, and took a good look around the interior before he started the engine. It roared like a hot rod. “I wasn’t expecting it to be so loud.” He had to yell to be heard.
Jeff reached in and pulled a lever under the dash near the steering wheel. After a couple of seconds, the Humvee idled with hardly a sound. “With the exhaust selector lever, you can run on open pipes for more horse power and better gas mileage, or you can switch it to ultra-quiet mufflers. My team based the design on a gun silencer. You can also use the snorkel if you hit any deep water.”
Before Cooper could comment, Jeff’s face lit up. “It took four attempts and a few design tweaks. But by damn, the Tom Ogle Black Box to works!”
The device injected pressurized fuel vapor, not liquid, directly into the engine’s firing chambers. “You should get well over a hundred to a hundred and fifteen miles per gallon.”
“This is better than I imagined.”
Cooper learned about Tom Ogle and his Black box when he first started researching government conspiracies. In 1977, Tom Ogle built the Oglemobile using an old Ford. The vehicle got over one hundred miles per gallon. He had read everything he could find about it and even found a copy of the patent. He took what information he had to a few top mechanics who all said that the design was flawed and wouldn’t work. They all told him that Tom Ogle’s Black Box must have been a hoax.
They were wrong. He remembered a story his father told him about a man who had made a lawnmower that ran all day and night with very little gas. The story made national news. Then it was gone. He sought out people who knew Tom Ogle, but none of them would talk to him, except one—he was ill and needed money to help his daughter. He told Cooper that they all had been afraid to talk to anyone because Tom and another associate were murdered when they refused to stop working on the Black Box.
The man had surprised him by giving him a metal lockbox that had been hidden in his attic for over thirty years. Tom’s original notes plus the first prototype were in the box. He paid the man one hundred thousand dollars and eventually gave the metal lockbox to Jeff along with all the other information he collected about the design.
Jeff leaned in again and pointed to a small compartment door next to Cooper’s right leg and said, “Open that. I’ve got a surprise for you.”
He opened it. Inside was red valve.
“If you pull that valve up and out of the slot, it’ll engage. When you turn the valve, it’ll inject nitrous
oxide into the mix for ten seconds. So, if you ever need to get the hell out of Dodge, you have the horsepower. Above that valve is a small gauge letting you know how much you have.” He pointed to the gauge. “See. It’s full now. You should be able to use the nitrous twenty times per cylinder.”
Jeff opened the door, motioned for Cooper to get out and directed him to the front of the vehicle. He opened the hood, pointed to an eight inch by six inch by two-inch aluminum component with rounded corners—the black box. It was sandwiched between two turbo chargers and connected to them with flexible metal hoses. Another hose connected the component to a six-inch nitrous oxide cylinder off to the side. There were numerous other hoses going into and coming out of it.
Jeff’s version looked nothing like the prototype or the patent of the original Tom Ogle Black Box. It wasn’t even black or shaped anything like a box and was made from CNC machined aluminum; it looked like a futuristic work of art. Cooper was in awe.
After Jeff finished showing him how to operate all of the features installed on the Humvee, including the hands-free cellphone feature, Cooper transferred his weapons and ammo from the Jeep into his new vehicle and threw Jeff the keys.
“It’ll only take a week to drop in the new propane engine with the Tom Ogle Black Box and add the bullet proof body panels and glass.” Jeff said.
“We’ll see, especially with everything that’s going on. As soon as I get back, I’m going to need my Jeep. I can’t drive this monstrosity everywhere. It’s too damn big.”
“I’m not going anywhere. It’ll get done.”
Cooper reached in the back of the Humvee, grabbed the case that held the Smith & Wesson M&P .45 and opened it so Jeff could see what was inside. “Here, you might need this.” He closed the case and tried to hand it to Jeff who shook his hands at him.
“Oh, no man, I’m not into guns. I’d rather use these or this.” He held up his fists. Then he picked up a crowbar sitting on a stack of tires.
“Please, I want you to take it. Things might get bad. Just trust me. I know you can figure out how to use it. I suggest you do some practicing today. Also, make sure you have an adequate supply of food and water. If you’re thinking this is going to blow over soon, trust me, it’s not.” He handed the case and the box of .45 rounds to Jeff who frowned but took the ammo and the gun.
“You’ll thank me later,” he said and climbed into the Humvee.
* * *
After he returned home, he posted a notice on his website for everyone to get to a safe place, keep their eyes and ears open, and make sure they had all their preps in order. He would be in contact when he had more information.
For the next several hours, he loaded his new vehicle with supplies and installed radios, a laptop, and other equipment. Jeff had already installed all the brackets and power cables on the inside and two small antennas on the roof at the rear of the Humvee. All he needed to do was connect the equipment.
He switched on the small television he had set up in the garage and put his laptop on his workbench so he wouldn’t miss anything. He tried calling Shannon and Hayley every half hour with no luck.
He was inserting the last of the three custom AK-47s with built in suppressors into the gun brackets above the passenger doors when his cell phone rang. Finally! “Hayley?”
“Daddy! Are you ok? We’ve been so scared. We’ve been trying to call you all day. Mom wants to talk to you.”
He could hear Shannon’s voice muffled in the background.
“Cooper, thank god. I was afraid we wouldn’t be able to reach you. Hayley was worried sick. Traffic is horrible. Everyone’s trying to stock up on supplies. There was a convoy of black armored trucks on 101 when we were on the overpass on our way to the grocery store. And for the past few weeks, we’ve had a hard time trying to get in some of our usual supplies at the hospital. Do you know what’s going on?”
“I’m not sure yet, but it doesn’t look good. Be careful. Stay home if you can. I’m going to send you an email with emergency info that I want you to read.
“I’ll check my email. We’ll be fine. I’m not an idiot. But I do have to go into the hospital for a short early shift. My neighbor, Emma, is going to spend the night here since her husband’s out of town. She’s going to stay until I get home at around noon. I’m keeping Hayley home from school even if it’s open. I’ll try and give you a call tomorrow when I get home.”
Her voice took on that familiar tone of irritation, but he knew it was fueled by anxiety.
“Okay.” He held his tongue and asked to speak with Hayley again.
“Daddy?”
“Sweetheart, make sure you keep your phone charged and try to keep it near you at all times. Don’t leave the house.”
“Okay. Okay. Geesh. You sound like Mom. Can I call you when she’s at work?”
“Call me anytime you need to, honey, but don’t be upset if you can’t get through. When you get off the phone, tell your mom that I’m coming to Rohnert Park. I’m leaving this afternoon.”
“I was hoping you’d come.”
He heard the relief in her voice. “I better go now. I need to finish packing for the trip. Help your mom. And don’t argue. Do what she says. I love you.”
“I will. Love you too, Daddy.”
She sent a kiss over the phone before she hung up. Worry put a significant damper on the strange excitement he had felt earlier.
CHAPTER 3
May 4 – Tucson, AZ
Most of the northeast was without power as well as many other areas across America. According to news reports broadcasted on the major network and cable news affiliate stations, it would take weeks before power could be restored to those areas. Cooper figured it would be more like months or even a year and wondered if Canada and Mexico had suffered the same fate.
Although martial law wasn’t formally declared, curfews were enforced in all blacked out areas and in many densely populated cities and towns. The Department of Homeland Security (DHS) had dispatched troops dressed in black riot gear uniforms. The troops patrolled the major highways and erected roadblocks to restrict access in and out of major cities.
He had received thousands of eyewitness accounts from The Ravens who had witnessed forced evacuations. The devastation from the attacks was worse than he first thought.
Reports about the flu were popping up all across the country but nothing in depth. His contact with Jeff flickered in his thoughts, but he brushed aside any worries about the flu. He was convinced Jeff had nothing more than a bad hangover. Besides, Cooper never got sick, even when everyone else around him dropped like flies.
He had concerns about Shannon being at the hospital, but there was no changing her mind when she was set on doing something, especially when it involved her job. There was nothing he could do from Tucson.
About fifteen percent of the messages he received mentioned the flu. He searched his databases with the keyword flu to find out if there was any chatter. Rapture—the word jumped out at him over and over in conjunction with a weaponized virus similar to the Spanish Flu made in the good ole U.S. of A.
The earliest mentions went back a couple of months, most of it conjecture, about what kind of damage a super virus could wreak on a population if bio-terrorists unleashed it on the public.
It was only a matter of time before a pandemic hit the U.S, but reports of the virus seemed to come from everywhere at the same time. There was usually only one patient zero, an index case in a population pin-pointing the source of an outbreak. But what if a number of patient zeros were created on purpose?
He emailed a warning to all his website members:
Ravens,
A new virus called Rapture has been reported throughout the U.S. and may be spreading globally. Symptoms include high fever, upper respiratory infection, nausea, and vomiting. Deaths have been reported. Tell everyone you know to avoid all public places if possible; the level of infection of this virus is extremely HIGH!
Please follow the attach
ed bio-contamination protection rules. Share the file at your local Dead Drop if it’s not already there.
If you don’t hear from me again via email, follow the Dead Drop protocol below. I will try to keep everyone posted with any new information as soon as I can. I may be offline for a few days to secure my family’s safety.
Dead Drop Protocol:
*Check your Dead Drops often, both local and travelers’ Dead Drops.
*Share any new information on ALL local Dead Drops in your area.
*Share any new local information on travelers’ Dead Drops.
*Keep Dead Drop flash drives covered so they aren’t exposed to the elements.
*Replace any damaged flash drives and transfer all files if possible.
Remember—Two is one, and one is none.
Stay safe,
Cooper Reid
He pasted the information into a separate email for Shannon.
After he sent the emails, he went to his supply room and located two large duffle bags with biohazard patches. Each bag contained a complete kit for two people: gas masks, contamination suits, gloves, and decontamination supplies. He grabbed both bags and placed them inside the Humvee. Then he went back to the supply room and retrieved four high-tech, biohazard respirator masks. He made sure to grab the pink one for Hayley. He also grabbed an economy sized bottle of hand sanitizer, a box of latex gloves, and a can of disinfectant.
He pulled a mask from its package and set it on the seat next to him, in case he needed to put it on quickly. He sprayed the inside of the vehicle with disinfectant, pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and sprayed that too. Better safe than sorry.
At his computer again, he clicked on a website that he had bookmarked a week earlier and placed a call. A woman answered.
“Do you still have any pups for sale?” he asked. “Great. Do you take cash?”
