When the Future Ended (The Zombie Terror War Series Book 1)

by David Spell

  Antonio knew it wouldn’t hurt that he was sending his uncle some gifts. Jose Corona was already fabulously wealthy from his many criminal enterprises, but his nephew knew the way to Pepe’s heart. Antonio had sent the blonde who had been keeping him entertained and nine other young gringo girls. Tony the Tiger had grown tired of the blonde girl anyway. He’d keep the black chick around a little longer and had told Jorge to keep his eyes out for someone fresh as their patrols continued slowly expanding their area of conquest.

  Antonio’s soldiers had been ordered not to touch the girls during the long road trip to Mexico, but the cartel leader was no fool. He just hoped the women survived the trip to spend some time in Pepe’s bed. The girls would get Uncle Pepe’s attention. And when he tired of them, he’d add them to the stable of one of his many brothels.

  Corona’s other gift, however, would earn the young man his uncle’s affection forever. Two vials of the zombie virus from the black case the maintenance man had recovered would give Jose Corona a new weapon to use in Mexico and beyond. Antonio just hoped his uncle would respond to his request for more men sooner, rather than later.

  Centers for Disease Control Compound, East of Atlanta, Friday, 1115 hours

  Darrell Parker, Marcel Adams, and Andy’s son, fifteen-year old Tyler Fleming sat in the guard hut at the entrance to the CDC compound. Marcel and Tyler chatted quietly while Darrell napped peacefully in his chair, snoring occasionally, eliciting chuckles from the other two men. The sudden rumble of diesel engines echoed up the driveway, waking the retired police officer and causing all of them to jump to their feet. Marcel’s chair flipped over in his haste to grab the AR-15, leaning against the wall.

  Three humvees roared into view down the long driveway. A soldier was standing in the open top hatch of each vehicle manning a heavy machine gun in the lead hummer, a grenade launcher in the second, and a light machine gun in the third.

  “Tyler, run go get your daddy and the others,” Parker ordered the teenager, concern evident in his voice.

  The younger Fleming took off at a sprint to tell the CDC agents that they had company. The military vehicles were flying American flags, and Darrell noted that the three soldiers standing in the hatches had their weapons pointed away from the compound.

  The hummers stopped about thirty yards short of the gate. The passenger door of the lead vehicle opened and a soldier in crisply pressed BDUs stepped out, his hands empty, but wearing a pistol in a cross-draw holster on his body armor. The soldier removed his helmet, set it inside the vehicle, and waved at Marcel and Darrell.

  “Gentleman,” he called out, “my name’s Lieutenant Colonel Kevin Clark with the Georgia National Guard. I have orders to make contact with the CDC enforcement agents who might be here. Specifically, I was told to contact Eddie Marshall or Andy Fleming.”

  “Colonel, I’ve already sent for Agent Marshall and Agent Fleming,” Darrell answered. “They’ll be right with you.”

  Moments later, all four CDC officers came rushing to the gate, locked and loaded, unsure if they were about to be attacked. After getting the download from Parker, Marshall examined the soldier closely. He sure looks familiar, Eddie thought.

  “I’m Eddie Marshall, Colonel,” the CDC team leader called out. “How can we help you?”

  “Agent Marshall, may I approach the gate? I’ve got my ID card right here. I believe we met a few months ago on the University of Georgia campus. You gentleman helped my wife and I get out of a sticky situation,” the colonel said, with a smile.

  That was where he’d seen him, Eddie realized. No surprise I didn’t remember him, though, with Rebecca getting killed and the rest of us fighting for our lives, trying to rescue as many people as we could.

  “Of course, Colonel. Now I recognize you. What can we do for you?”

  Clark strode towards the entrance, handing Marshall his ID card through the fence. “I’ve got orders to report to you and to deliver something to whoever is in charge here at the CDC. Can you let us in?”

  Five minutes later, Eddie and Andy were leading Kevin and First Sergeant Ricardo Gonzalez into Dr. Charles Martin’s small workspace. Dr. Martin was a diminutive man wearing a white lab coat and wire-rimmed glasses. He was surprised at the sight of the camo-clad strangers.

  Eddie made the introductions and the colonel handed Martin a small black canvas duffel bag. “Dr. Martin, I was told to give you this along with a message from Washington.”

  The duffle bag contained a computer hard drive, a small notebook, and several other items. Martin removed the hard drive and flipped through the notebook, clearly not recognizing it. He looked up at Clark.

  “You said you also have a message for me, Colonel?”

  “Yes, sir. I was told to tell you that those belong to Dr. Kim Bae-yong and that you should expect her to arrive here tomorrow.”

  Dr. Martin’s eyes grew wide. “Where did you get this information? We haven’t had any outside contact with anyone in weeks.”

  Kevin smiled. “Funny thing. I was issued a satellite phone back when I took the job with the National Guard. I didn’t think it even worked until a few days ago when it started beeping at me. A retired navy admiral who identified himself as the Director of Operations for the CIA was on the other end. I think he said his name was Williams.”

  Eddie and Andy looked at each other, surprised. Other than McCain, they were the only Atlanta agents to know of the CIA’s involvement with the CDC. They had never met Admiral Jonathan Williams but had been given his contact information back before the communications grid collapsed.

  McCain had told them that Williams was originally a Navy SEAL in Vietnam. He was wounded severely on his second tour and forced out of the elite unit. He chose stay in the navy, however, eventually attaining the rank of admiral. On his retirement, he accepted a job as the Assistant Director of Operations with the Central Intelligence Agency.

  Clark continued. “Anyway, this Admiral Williams very politely asked me to take my soldiers to a house near Buckhead. He told me where the safe was located inside the residence and even gave me the combination. Those were inside the safe,” he said, nodding at the hard drive and the notebook.

  “And you say Dr. Bae-yong will be here tomorrow?”

  “That was the message I was asked to convey,” Kevin answered.

  Dr. Martin nodded and laid the items on his desk. “Did you have any contact with Kim’s family?” he asked softly, looking at the colonel.

  The expression on Clark’s face told the scientist everything.

  “I’m sorry, sir,” the soldier answered. “They were in the house, a man and a young girl. They were both infected.”

  Martin’s eyes watered as he removed his glasses and wiped them with his sleeve. “I’m sorry, too. Our families were very close. Kim and my wife were roommates at Harvard. Dr. Bae-yong is probably the leading epidemiologist in the world, with Dr. Nicole Edwards, who’s onsite here, being a very close second.

  “Kim works for us but was on loan to the German version of the CDC when the last big attacks took place. The FAA immediately cancelled all flights so she’s been stuck in Europe. We’ve had no contact with her for months. Before the phones and internet crashed, Kim texted me, asking me to get her home. I promised that I would try.

  The small man sighed deeply. “I failed her. No one in Washington would return my calls. They were having problems of their own there, of course. Clearly, there are still some people in our government who are working and somehow they’ve managed to get Kim back to America.”

  “Yes, sir,” Kevin nodded. “I took the liberty of bringing a framed family photo from her home office. I had a feeling it might be important to someone. Also, there are two pistols in the bag that were in the safe. I didn’t want to leave them for looters.”

  Charles withdrew the picture of the Bae-yong family, looking at his friends, two of whom were now dead. Martin started to get emotional again but Clark had something else to tell him and the CDC agents. />
  “There’s something else that you all need to hear,” Kevin said, looking at Eddie and Andy. When he was sure he had everyone’s attention, he continued.

  “Right after we left Dr. Bae-yong’s house, we heard gunshots, automatic fire. Two stolen National Guard hummers were chasing a pickup from the direction of Buckhead. The humvees were flying Mexican flags. We took them out but they shot the truck up and it flipped over on Peachtree Road. First Sergeant Gonzalez spoke to the Hispanic driver before he died. Can you tell them what he told you, First Sergeant?”

  Gonzalez cleared his throat. “Yes, sir. It was young Mexican male. He told me that the Tijuana Cartel has taken over a big chunk, maybe several blocks of Buckhead. He said that they’re doing bad things, killing a lot of people, and have a big group of women and a few men whom they’re using as sex slaves.

  “This kid was starting to fade but he managed to say that the cartel also has a quantity of the zombie virus and he had just watched them inject someone they had captured to see what would happen. After the person died and turned into a Z the cartel boss shot him in the head.

  “I asked him how a Mexican gang got ahold of the virus. He said that he used to work for the CDC and kept saying he was sorry. I tried to get more information out of him but he was too far gone. He didn’t have any ID and I didn’t get his name.”

  Martin, Marshall, and Fleming were stunned. The idea of a Mexican cartel taking over a large section of American real estate was bad enough. Being in possession of the most dangerous bio-terror weapon ever invented made the situation catastrophic.

  A few minutes later, the CDC agents and the National Guard soldiers were all gathered around the humvees, the troopers describing their work over the last few months in eliminating infected around Atlanta. Even some of the CDC researchers had come out to listen, hungry for news.

  As his soldiers told stories to an engrossed audience, Colonel Clark motioned for Andy and Eddie to step off to the side, wanting to speak to them privately.

  “Where are Scotty Smith and Chuck McCain?” he asked.

  Former Army Ranger Scotty Smith had served as a sergeant under then Major Clark in Iraq. They had reconnected that fateful day on the UGA campus when Scotty had recognized his former CO in the group of survivors they were escorting across campus for exfiltration. Clark and McCain had met, as well, and the colonel had been impressed with the big man’s calm, steady leadership during one of the worst terrorist attacks in history.

  Fleming spoke up. “When the communication grid went down, Chuck kept us working for a couple of weeks but finally pulled the plug because we had no chain-of-command and no support system. He gave everyone the option of moving here to this rural research site or taking our families somewhere else that was safe.

  “Scotty was going to escort his girlfriend to her parent’s home in Tennessee. Chuck left to try and find his daughter up near Hendersonville, North Carolina. Two of our other guys left together. Their families live out west of Atlanta, off I-20. We haven’t heard from any of them in almost two months.”

  Kevin shook his head. “I don’t know about your other two guys but I fought side-by-side with Smith in Iraq and McCain impressed the hell out of me that day in Athens. If any two men can hold their own, it’s those guys.”

  Travelers Rest, South Carolina, Friday, 2030 hours

  Chuck and Beth lay intertwined in the warm bed in the Foster’s guest room. Snow and ice had prevented them from leaving that morning. McCain was anxious to get to Melanie but he couldn’t complain at all about his present company or position.

  The sky had finally cleared after dark and the newlyweds had stepped outside to briefly gaze at the stars. It was still cold but the temperatures were above freezing now and McCain felt confident that they could leave on Saturday morning. The couple had chatted quietly, making plans, as they stared at the clearing sky.

  They still weren’t sure how Diya was going to take the idea of being left behind. The young girl had pretty much done nothing but eat and sleep since they had arrived, recovering from her severe dehydration and from not eating for a week. She was in no condition for another journey. The cold forced them back into the house and they told the Fosters goodnight.

  “This feels so normal,” Beth sighed, her head on Chuck’s chest, the heavy blankets wrapped around them in the bed.

  “Yeah, it really does.”

  “Do you think things will ever really be normal again?”

  McCain hesitated before answering. “I do. Most of the zombies that we’re coming across are decaying and almost falling apart. They won’t last much longer. We haven’t seen a lot of fresh Zs as we’ve traveled, which means the virus isn’t spreading as much. It may take a while, but this will eventually pass and we’ll get a chance to help rebuild what has been destroyed.”

  Elizabeth was silent, her hand rubbing Chuck’s bare chest. The big man sensed that there was something on her mind.

  “What do you think?” he asked. “What do you want to do after things get back to normal? Do you want to go back to work at the college? We could buy a house out that way if that’s what you want to do.”

  “I just want to be with you. You said your house, our house, needs a woman’s touch so I’m looking forward to doing some decorating. I’ve never had a house of my own. And maybe…maybe one day I could be a mommy?” she asked very quietly. “I know we haven’t talked about that, Chuck, and if you don’t want to have any more kids, I understand. I love you no matter what.”

  That was what she was hesitant to mention the other day, he thought, when she had asked him about his home. He stroked her hair as the idea of being a dad again ricocheted around inside his head. The idea of raising another child? Not his first choice, especially with the challenges they would be facing, rebuilding the broken society, but why not? If Beth wants a baby, I’m not going to deny her that joy, he told himself.

  “I’d love to have a baby with you,” he finally answered.

  “You would? Really?” She sounded surprised and relieved.

  “I think we need to wait a year or two but I know you’ll be an incredible mother. We probably need to work on our technique for awhile though,” he grinned, pulling her top of him.

  “I didn’t mean have a baby right now,” she laughed, pressing herself against him. “But you’re right. Practice makes perfect.”

  Andrews Air Force Base, Maryland, Friday, 2200 hours

  The black CIA-owned Lear jet rolled to a stop inside a large hanger while ground crew personnel hastily pushed the doors to as the pilot shut down the plane’s engines. When the giant metal doors were secured, the lights inside were flipped on. Andrews had several generators that allowed the large base to continue functioning.

  The side door of the jet opened and a stairway was rolled against the side of the plane. Four heavily armed men were waiting in the hangar, near the bottom or the stairs. An attractive Asian woman was the first one out of the aircraft, carrying a briefcase and a small suitcase.

  One of the armed men stepped forward. “Dr. Bae-yong? I’m Tu Trang.” He nodded at the other three men. “We’re with CDC enforcement and we’ll escort you to your quarters for tonight. We’ll also be accompanying you to Georgia tomorrow.”

  Tu Trang Donaldson was the Supervisory Agent in Charge of the Washington, D.C. office. Trang had spent fifteen years in the Army Special Forces, wearing the coveted Green Beret. After his marriage, he’d left the military, joining the Secret Service. His close friend and fellow agent, Luis García, had been recruited away from the Secret Service by the CDC to come work for their new enforcement unit. Luis had been able to convince Tu to join him, Trang being stationed in DC, while his friend worked out of the Atlanta office. Unfortunately, García had been killed in the attack on Atlanta several months earlier.

  The compact, muscular man standing next to Trang was Jay Walker, one of Tu’s team leaders. Walker was a former SEAL Team Six member and had retired after twenty-two years of service in t
he elite unit. The former SEAL was quickly recruited to bring his expertise in fighting terrorists into the new federal law enforcement agency.

  The two other CDC agents in the hangar were LeMarcus Wade and Terry Hunt. Wade was a tall, muscular African-American, former Recon Marine and Walker’s assistant team leader. Hunt was a solid six foot, a hundred and eighty pound former Air Force parajumper, turned Virginia State Trooper, turned CDC agent.

  Two men made their way off of the jet and stood behind Dr. Kim Bae-yong. They both wore black BDUs and sidearms. One was around thirty years of age, while the other appeared to be in his seventies.

  An additional two men, both tall and muscular, stood at the top of the stairway watching the proceedings below carefully. Both sported bushy beards, combat clothing, including body armor, sidearms, and Heckler & Koch 416 rifles cradled in their arms. Jay and Tu glanced at each other, recognizing the bodyguards from a previous encounter. One of them was a former Delta Force operative, the other had served briefly with Walker in SEAL Team Six before leaving mysteriously. The rumor mill speculated that both had been recruited to work for the CIA.

  “Gentleman, my name is Admiral Jonathan Williams,” the older man said, approaching the CDC agents and extending his hand. “I’m the Director of Operations for the CIA. Mr. Trang and Mr. Walker, I believe you two have met my assistant here, Shaun Taylor,” he said, nodding at the younger man. “I know that you two signed a confidentiality agreement with Chuck McCain. Things have changed, however, and nowadays I’m not too concerned about who knows what. You can brief these other two fine agents at your convenience on the CIA’s role in supporting CDC’s enforcement unit.”

  “Of course,” Williams continued, with a twinkle in his eye, looking at Jay and Tu, “some things are better left unsaid.”