Unravel: It Falls Apart Book 2: (A Post-Apocalyptic Survival Thriller)

by Barry Napier

  “So they shot at civilians?” Paul asked angrily.

  “Yes. And because I am enlisted in the Army, I’ll tell you right now that the sick man with the shotgun had it coming. But to open fire on the wife for no reason at all…yeah, I didn’t sign up for that.”

  The anger Paul felt was, he thought, justified. Yet at the same time, he also understood the struggle that Jolly must be going through. He could tell the man was tired and fed up. It was a strange thought, but Paul thought he might have an ally in Jolly.

  “What did you want to know about New York?” he asked.

  “You know for sure you weren’t sick at any point?” Jolly asked. “No symptoms at all?”

  “None.”

  “Would you consider yourself one of those people that never gets sick?” Jolly asked.

  “Not really. Usually around March or April, I get a bad sinus infection. It happens every year. And I can list off at least two times in the past four or five years where I got the flu. The last time was pretty nasty, actually.” He looked at Jolly inquisitively and asked: “Why?”

  “Because there’s nothing remarkable about you…no offense. I’ve been working with the guys for the past two days, trying to find something in your blood samples that would tell us why you’re immune. I’ve studied Olivia’s and Joyce’s, too and there’s nothing special there, either.”

  “I was under the impression your men were taking it easy on Joyce,” Paul said rigidly.

  “She’s been finger-pricked once and there was a more involved sampling taken from the crook of her arm,” Jolly said. “As far as I know, that’s it.”

  “And it’s too much,” Paul argued.

  “You think drawing blood twice from a four year old girl is too much if it might result in saving people from this virus? You think…” He trailed off here and waved his hands in a dismissive gesture. “I’m not getting into all of that again.”

  “Good,” Paul said. “So you tell me. If there’s nothing remarkable in what you’re seeing from us, then why am I perfectly fine? How was I able to leave New York when nearly everyone else caught the virus and was dead within an hour?”

  “It’s not a very medical answer, I’ll admit, but my official statement is this: you’re lucky. Sometimes people just have certain types of antibodies, proteins, immunity cells and a whole plethora of other scientific jargon going on in their bloodstreams that benefit them greatly. We refer to these individuals as being genetically resilient. In terms of antibodies, we can usually single them out and point to the reason for someone’s immunity to a virus or disease. But we can’t quite get that from you. There’s nothing we see that would indicate such a thing. The thing is that no two people are going to have an exact immune system that reflects the other. Immune systems are inherently variable and hard to study. Now, I do believe that if we weren’t in such a time crunch and if we had a group of workers that weren’t terrified of dying at any moment, we could probably find something in your blood that would at least get us some sort of starting point but as of right now…nada.”

  “Is that your way of telling me that there needs to be more tests?” Paul asked.

  “I’ll be honest with you…we should. And I want to mainly because I hate being given a puzzle I can’t solve. But right now, we’re short on manpower and the place is sort of falling apart. Even if you willingly gave me your arm right now and happily gave me another sample, I don’t quite know if we’d ever even get to it.”

  “More people have died?” Paul asked.

  “Yes, quite a few, actually. Ramsey is still alive and kicking and he’s more or less in charge of everything right now. But our manpower here is depleted and we’re waiting on orders to come at any moment for all of those uninfected to be relocated to another center.”

  “What does that mean for me, Olivia, and Joyce?”

  Jolly shrugged. “That sort of decision is way out of my hands. I just thought I’d come by and give you a heads up. It’s to the point now where…well, I just don’t even know what the plans are. It’s all falling apart out there. Everything is just sort of unraveling on us.”

  They sat in silence for a while. Paul was sure Jolly might get up at any moment and leave him again, but he didn’t.

  “What you told me about the shootings out there,” Paul said. “It seems like you just wanted to vent. Like you’ve maybe had enough.”

  Jolly nodded and looked at him with sad eyes. “On the way over here, I told myself I was going to accidentally fall down on my way in…oops, maybe you escaped. But I honestly think that as of right now, that would not be good. They’d shoot you and not ask questions about it. And because I know you don’t want to leave your young ladies behind without you here, I chose not to do it.”

  Paul considered this for a moment, not sure how to feel. If Jolly was making plans to try to help him escape, things must be getting very bad out there.

  “Are they okay?” Paul finally asked.

  “For now. And look…please know that I’ll be trying to think of something. Now, when the sun comes up and the trauma of the shooting that just occurred is sorted out, this place is going to be back to as normal as possible. You may have doctors coming in, but I honestly doubt it. I will do what I can to figure something out…a way to get the three of you out of here. But even if I do…I don’t even know where you’d go. The virus is in Virginia now and by the time morning light gets here, I fully expect it to be in Kentucky, Tennessee, and North Carolina.”

  “I need to get Joyce to her father in Minnesota. Is the virus there yet?”

  “No, but I just don’t know how long that will last. After what went down in Richmond and Louisville, I don’t know that anywhere is safe.”

  “I have to try…”

  Jolly nodded and then walked back to the door. “I’ll try to figure something out, Paul. In the meantime, please just hang in there. If you do anything irrational, it’s only going to make things worse. Right now, if you play ball, the worst thing that would happen is you’ll be relocated to another site that hasn’t yet been hit by the virus. But if you’re difficult, based on what I saw tonight…”

  He didn’t finish the comment, letting the silence speak for itself. He then used his keycard to open the door and slowly made his way out. As Paul watched with uncertainty growing in his heart, he didn’t think at all about trying to escape.

  Chapter 18

  He was going to leave today and he wasn’t quite sure how to feel about it. His generator was still working and he had enough fuel for it to last at least another three or four days. The hum of it had become comfortable and his little bunker felt safer and safer the longer he stayed in it. It had nearly become easy to believe that the world above no longer existed.

  But Terrence knew that with George Kettle potentially on the move and Chaos Dawn now officially underway, staying in the bunker would be the coward’s way out. If he didn’t have at least some idea of where Kettle was probably relocating, his decision might be a bit different. Maybe then he could stay here and just hope the virus died out. He’d done the research; any airborne contagious virus that ran out of people to infect in any given area would eventually settle to the ground and die out. This usually took less than a few days, depending on the weather. Most viruses, though, would find a way to adapt and start to also infect bugs and animals, but that’s just about where his knowledge came to an end. He figured he could play it safe (though, really, with such a contagious virus, he wasn’t sure there would ever be such a thing as “safe”) and just ride it out until his generator sputtered out.

  But he thought he did know where Kettle might be, and that changed everything.

  Of course, it would now be more than just locating George Kettle. Now it was also all about making sure the Blood Fire Virus didn’t kill him. And with that thought in mind, Terrence again found himself looking at the case that he had taken from underneath the cot. More than that, he placed his thumbs on the clasps of both latches and flipped them
up. He then shifted the silver knob at the center and, with an inhale of shaky breath, he popped the lid open.

  The suit contained inside had been state of the art eight years ago, when he had still been working for Homeland Security. Completely white in color, it was more or less a traditional hazmat suit, but much lighter in weight and easier to move around in. From the outside, it looked no thicker than a trash bag and from the inside, it felt like you were wearing nothing more restrictive than a windbreaker. The suit was made of polyethylene fibers that covered every inch of the body. The exception was the facemask, which consisted of a thin, plastic shield and a small black oval along the bottom that fed into the mask, serving as a combination air purifier and respirator. He’d not seen them in use in person, but he did know that a lot of the scrambling doctors he’d seen on television before all of his feeds went out were wearing bulkier getups that didn’t have a quarter of the efficiency of this suit. He imagined this exact same model was being implemented in Washington DC or wherever it was the President was being kept safe.

  Terrence carefully removed the suit from the case and stretched it out on his cot. He also took the small container with a dozen additional air filters out of the case. The feet of the suit ended just below the ankles but had a small zipper along the bottom to add on polyethylene boots if necessary. Terrence had no intention of going that far. Wearing the thing outside for an unknown amount of time was bad enough. Waddling around in fabric shoes was, in his opinion, pushing it. He’d be fine with his boots for now.

  He glared at the suit for a moment, knowing that to put it on meant there was no going back. He’d thought of the suit a few times since he’d last met with George Kettle, an image of the suit popping up in his mind whenever he heard about viral outbreaks in Africa or China. He’d thought about it a bit more than usual when the Coronavirus had scared the hell out of the world but had never dreamed of taking it out even then. No, this suit had always been associated with one thing and one thing only in the darker corners of his mind…and that was Chaos Dawn.

  Before committing to the suit, he made sure all of his necessary bags were packed. He had the standard issued Glocks from the agents that had come looking for him, tucked away in the duffel waiting by the exit. That same duffel contained a few changes of clothes and some snacks. He ran through a checklist of what was already waiting in the back of his truck: a few cases of bottled water, a shotgun and ammo for it, a few N-95 masks, a tent, a solar charger that had been collecting rays for several days now, and more food—mostly crackers, canned fruit, tuna, and cereal.

  It seemed meager, but he knew where he was headed and didn’t think it would take that long. He was sure most of the major roads were an absolute mess, but he had hope for the secondary roads.

  “Yeah, yeah, enough stalling,” he said to himself.

  He sighed deeply and approached the suit. He’d always thought that whenever he’d put it on, he might feel incredibly silly—like a kid about to go trick or treating. But he was unsettled to find that the exact opposite was true. As he slipped into the suit, he did not feel silly at all. Instead, it was like being cloaked in fear and it only got worse as he slid the zipper up the side, shutting himself off from the feel of fresh air on his skin for God only knew how long.

  ***

  He felt like a monster when he popped his head out from the bunker’s hatch. He looked around at the open field before pulling himself out and bringing his two bags with him. Before he shut the hatch, he took one final look down at the dark hole below. That darkness meant safety and security—and here he was, about to leave it. He slammed it closed without much emotion and then started walking towards his house, where the truck had been parked ever since he’d moved into the bunker. Recalling the violent visit by the two Homeland Security agents just a few days ago, Terrence took one of the Glocks out of his bag and kept it held down at his side. He doubted anyone else would come for him, given the state of the country at this point, but he would not put it past a government that was likely desperate for answers and willing to do anything to get those answers.

  Seeing the sunshine on the tall grass in the field made him want to pull the head covering away for just a moment—to get one last inhale of fresh air. But if his calculations were right, the virus had come tearing through this part of Maryland about sixteen or eighteen hours ago. There was indeed a slim chance he could breathe the air right now and be perfectly fine. But it was not a risk he was willing to take. Not just yet, anyway. The sad fact of the matter was simply that no one knew exactly how this virus worked.

  As he neared his house, he saw a grouping of small black butterflies darting along the tops of the grass. He felt the slight breeze pressing against the fabric of the suit and it was almost too much. Was he really going out into the world in this stupid suit?

  His mental images of what he’d seen of New York City on the television and computer gave him that answer. Yes. He would wear it as long as he needed to. If he had to hunt down and eventually face George Kettle in this ridiculous-looking thing then so be it. Sure, he’d be desperate for a shower within a few days; he could already feel the fabric of the suit pressing oddly against the tee shirt and gym shorts he was wearing. But if that was the worst of it, he thought he’d be fine.

  He reached his house and saw that everything was the same. The basic sedan the agents had been driving was still parked in his driveway. His truck wasn’t too far away from it, sitting partially in the shade of the old oak at the edge of the front yard. He didn’t allow himself to look at the house and dwell on what he was leaving behind. Even when he’d bought the place, he knew that it was just temporary. Any part of his life that had anything to do with Trevor or Mary had always felt temporary and unimportant. Leaving this house meant nothing to him. If anything, it felt like closing the cover of a book he had never really liked in the first place.

  Now, there was a new book to consider, a new story. There was this damned suit, his truck, and a system of roads he hoped would be forgiving. At the end of those roads, he hoped he’d find George Kettle—and if not Kettle, then at least some answers.

  He had no delusions about being able to stop what was left to come on his own. He knew he needed Kettle or at least Kettle’s information. Yet, as he climbed into his truck and started the engine, he wondered if it might come to that. The world suddenly felt very large and very empty. It wasn’t too hard to think that he might be the only living person on the face of the planet. It was a feeling that only intensified when he finally allowed himself one single look at the house. He watched it shrinking away in the rearview mirror until it was covered up by the little clouds of dust kicked up by the truck.

  Chapter 19

  Reaching US 360 was easier than Katherine had expected, though she was absolutely worn out and drained by the time she reached the four lane. It wasn’t necessarily her legs or the workout of walking that had eaten at her, but the absolute emotional drain that she’d felt ever since escaping her overturned car. When she came to the four lane, she allowed herself to rest for a moment. She sat beside a small Toyota pickup truck, choosing to ignore the shape of the dead man that was leaning against the dashboard.

  She looked ahead to the traffic and realized she had a lot more walking to do. She understood that heading west away from Richmond took her into some rather rural areas and figured that meant the roads would eventually open up. She supposed she could take secondary roads if it came to that, but she wasn’t sure she’d know the way to Hoop Spring through those routes. She’d only ever heard of the place for the first time when Rollins had mentioned it at the briefing.

  So, like it or not, she had some walking ahead of her. It was already dark, night having properly fallen about half an hour ago as she’d come out of the last portion of Brandermill. She reached for her pocket where her phone usually was, only to remember that she’d lost it in the explosion and crash. Before getting back to her feet, she looked into the backpack she had stolen from the gas
station and took out one of the waters. She sipped from it, making sure she could carry on without letting herself fall so easily back into that dark place that felt so close to insanity. It was tempting; to fall towards that place would allow her to just accept it and not make sense of it. She could just stay here on the highway and freak out. She could wonder about radiation poisoning and how long it might take for her skin to start changing colors, for her hair to start falling out, for the virus or the radiation to cause her to start puking her insides up all over the highway.

  Yes, that would be easy. But it would also, in this case, be the easy way out. She once again set her mind on the goal that had been placed before her. She had been given two addresses to check and one of them had resulted in nothing. The detonation of a nuclear bomb had come between those two house visits and while it was certainly an unexpected detour in the task, the end goal remained the same: find George Kettle’s residence in Hoop Spring. If he’d been some random schmuck that they were just sent to check out for some random crime, it would have been different. But being that he may very well be linked to the nuclear blast and the virus in New York, finding him seemed rather pertinent. Besides, what else was she supposed to do…go running back into the collapsed heart of Richmond and mourn among the rubble?

  She got back to her feet and looked ahead at the stalled line of traffic that seemed to stretch out forever into the night. She saw that a few had their emergency lights on, the batteries not yet dead. They blinked eerily ahead of her, as if luring her on. She kept her eyes trained on them as she walked along the edge of the road. With the small, blinking lights to focus on, it was easier not to survey the death all around her.