Eschaton (The Scott Pfeiffer Story Book 1)

by Shane Woods

  Eventually, I returned to my original position, laying on my right side, facing the wall. I lay like that for so long I finally found sleep by complete accident, never letting go of that picture. Never letting go of my thoughts, my anger, and my pain and frustration.

  The End

  Read on for a free sample of The Zombie Effect

  Author’s note

  I write this segment with a tear in my eye. A tear borne from realization of a dream. I never in my wildest imagination thought I would write this. So much time and effort has gone into it. Time and effort that I never thought I had in me.

  I did not do it alone. Many, many people have had a hand in this creation coming to life, and at the point this note is written, there will be many more to come.

  I want to thank you all. From the bottom of my heart, I will be forever grateful.

  I could write another book in itself just listing names and reasons, but, if you even suspect your name to be on that list, just know that it is.

  Most of all, I want to thank my readers. Whether there are ten of you, or a million. You’re amazing and instrumental in helping me realize the dream, and I hope the journey has been a positive enough experience for you to hang around for the next installment. Part Two is coming, have no worries, this ball is rolling!

  CHAPTER 1

  Jackson Hart was always one of the smartest people in the room. From the age of four, when he tested off the charts and was an absolute book worm, his parents knew he would be something special. In spite of his name, which when spoken aloud sounds more like a ROM-COM character than a brainiac, Jack never paid attention to the insults thrown his way. He was too busy out studying everyone else. And he was good at it. No, he was a master. Though with all that brain power, Jack never knew he would need every inch of grey matter in order to save the world. If that was even possible.

  Being smarter than everyone else does have its drawbacks. Conversations are often boring. Interactions with other people often banal. In addition to all of that, they have a tendency to be socially awkward. Jack was never suave in his flirtations, but he wasn’t exactly a social leper. His main challenge was avoiding talking over a fair haired maiden’s head. Being book smart doesn’t translate well to understanding the female personality. Boredom is a dangerous thing, especially for someone like Jack. Idle hands and all. So Jack developed another social activity. One worthy of his intellect. Juvenile delinquency.

  There is a great rush of adrenaline when intellect is applied outside the scope of the rules. Jack learned this for the first time at age eight, when he hacked into his school’s server and gave all of his classmates A’s in every class, without leaving a trace of his being there. Not being caught became the game. The thrill of the hunt. So when it came to attending Dr. Cliff Barrister’s lecture at the Barrister Institute, Jack decided his entrance was just as important as his presence.

  Jack and his classmate Barry, a portly young man who fancies himself a bit of an adrenaline junkie himself, sneak very Ethan Hunt-esque along the wall leading to the loading dock at the rear of the Barrister Institute. Barry had received some “intel” during his latest online gaming binge, where his avatar looks more like James Bond than his real self, which was guaranteed to give them forbidden entrance next to the dumpster. Barry trips over his own shoe. Jack glares at him. Barry shrugs. The pair finally reach the red illuminated lock. Jack reaches into his bag and retrieves the piece of paper with the code. He enters the code. Nothing happens. He enters it a second time. Same nonreaction. Jack glares at Barry. “He told me it was good,” Barry retorts. Jack sighs to himself and glares at Barry. He reaches into his backpack and retrieves his self designed code breaker tool. The contraption resembles an old fashioned garage door opener with red and blue wires sticking out of the top. He pops the face plate off the lock and attaches the leads. He flicks the switch on the front of the box and the scrolling numbers stop one by one until the light changes from red to green and the lock clicks open. Jack smiles, disconnects the electrodes and slithers through the doorway. Barry clumsily attempts to replace the faceplate and it clangs to the ground. Jack glares at Barry again with bulging eyes. “Sorry,” Barry squeaks.

  The interior of the loading area and adjacent hallway are barren white, as if designed to feel sterile and creepy simultaneously. The lack of light after hours gives life to imaginations of ghosts and goblins creeping in every shadow. Jack navigates the halls with ease as Barry struggles to keep up, convinced that one misstep will lead to his being taken to a dark end by monsters. Finally the pair see light ahead and Barry breathes a sigh of relief. Jack chuckles to himself. Hard to imagine how Barry has lived this long, Jack thinks to himself.

  They emerge to the main foyer of the institute. From the main entrance to the entrance of the auditorium is a two story foyer with hanging incandescent lights. The room has been outfitted with a bar, several food stations with standing room tables. Several hundred guests line the room dressed as if attending a gala. Gowns flow freely and tuxedos choke the necks of the high society donors of all types as members of the staff of the institute work the room. The Barrister Institute excels in biological and chemical studies, including the search for the cures for a variety of diseases, the study of biological anomalies and even weapons development, not that the latter is widely known. The institute used to rely almost exclusively on government contracts, but with the last three administrations funneling money out of the research sector into other areas, private funding has become their life blood. So many palms to press and drinks to buy. Until you try it, you have no idea how tough it is to separate the affluent from their money or influence. But Dr. Cliff Barrister has become quite adept at it. More from necessity than talent.

  As Jack takes a step into the room the pair are immediately met by Parker. Parker is the head of security at the Barrister Institute. A 40-something former Police captain, he keeps a tight ship. Little does Jack know that Parker’s security system immediately notified him when the faceplate was removed from the security lock in the loading dock. Or maybe Jack knew and didn’t care. In either event, here they were together.

  “May I help you gentlemen?” Parker politely asks. Barry takes a step back as Jack smirks.

  “Here for Dr. Barrister’s lecture,” Jack responds. Parker looks over Jack’s appearance. Unimpressed by Jack’s Hawaiian shirt, cargo shorts and sandals, Parker shakes his head no. “Invitation only.” Jack retrieves an envelope from his backpack and hands it to Parker. Parker smiles and opens the invitation. “Where’s his?” Parker asks.

  “Plus one, Parker,” Jack smiles. This is clearly not the first time these two have danced.In the mundane world of facility security, Parker enjoys the game.

  “Aren’t you a little under dressed?” Parker asks with a grin. Jack looks himself over. Very pleased with himself, he raises his arms and shrugs his shoulders. Parker stares at Jack for a long beat and hands him back the invitation. “You trying to piss him off?” Parker inquires like Captain Obvious. Jack winks and smiles.

  “Never,” he says. Parker steps aside as Jack and Barry stroll past. Parker shakes his head and chuckles.

  Jack plucks a champagne glass from a server’s tray as they make their way through the reception area. Several heads glance awkwardly in their direction. They approach the entrance to the auditorium where a poster rests on an easel that reads “Earth’s Natural Defenses, Are Humans Really The Top Of The Food Chain? By Dr. Cliff Barrister”. The pair enter the auditorium.

  The Barrister Institute auditorium is laid out like a small theater. It contains three sections of seats fifteen rows deep with ten seats in each of the front rows and twenty five seats in the back row of the middle section. Red velvet curtains line the exterior walls and the back of the stage. Incandescent lamps pour light in the aisles and stage. Ushers greet and lead guests to their seats. Jack and Barry plod along with an usher to the left side section back row. Jack plops down in his seat. He surveys the room and chuckles light
ly to himself, amused at the decadence on display. What would a research institute need with a theater fit for movies anyway? The ridiculous nature of fund raising, if it does nothing else, brings into the light the narcissism that hides in plain sight.

  As if to announce the show about to begin, the lights flicker on and off. Jack feels a momentary sense of pride of interning in a place so overtly affluent, in spite of his humble beginnings. Being smarter than the bulk of the brain trust in the room can make humility a challenge. The irony is not lost on Jack.

  Cliff Barrister is a polished professional in his 50s.His long tenured research facility has been home to many a discovery over the years. Then again, it’s been some time since they’ve enjoyed a significant find or success, instead finding a way to stretch the financial and influential benefits of past successes as far as possible, just like Cliff himself. To say he’s desperate for a breakthrough would be extreme, unless you could see behind the façade he presents to the world through his tightly pressed tuxedo. Like any successful businessman, he presents himself in a positive way and hides his fears behind layers of diplomas. But his need for a breakthrough is great. His breakthrough is on the way, just not in the way he thinks. He takes the stage to a standing ovation. The curtain behind him parts gracefully to reveal the Barrister Institute logo and title for the evening’s lecture. Cliff attaches his lapel microphone and addresses the gathering.

  “In my twenty years in the field of Microbiology and Life Science, one truth has always held true. The belief that man rules the earth is arrogance and ignorance. Man is but a guest here. And yet he continues to abuse the very home he was tasked to steward. The earth was here before man, and will be here long after man is gone. We would be wise to be cautious. Earth is capable of defending herself. She’s done it before, and she’ll do it again. Just ask the dinosaurs.” Cliff narrates.

  Cliff began his career an ideological scientist whose dream was to change the world. In fact, Cliff and Rachel began their lives together by having some remarkable breakthroughs. Breakthroughs that gave birth to the Barrister Institute. But as history can attest, success and fame are like firecrackers. They burn hot and bright but are over in a moment. For Cliff, that moment has lasted almost twenty years. The clock is ticking on his legacy. His past success is quite adequate for an ordinary man’s legacy. But Cliff is anything but ordinary. True greatness requires front page news on a regular, consistent basis. Cliff is long overdue. If that weren’t motivation enough, the funding for the Barrister Institute comes primarily from private sources. It was once government funded, but years without breakthrough dried up those wells. That forced Cliff to seek funding elsewhere. He found it, but at great price. Some of it from private affluent individuals who benefited financially from Cliff’s past success. The rest from a single corporate donor. But the pressure for success is mounting, and nobody feels it more than Cliff. He needs a breakthrough soon. His wait is almost over.

  The reception hall overflows with guests of all types. Friends, colleagues and even competitors suffering from morbid curiosity line the hall, consuming food and drink as if it were the last supper. Palm pressing and politically correct banter win the day in the hopes that much needed capital will once again fill the coffers of the Barrister Institute. What once was a science facility in its purest sense has devolved into an organizational survivalist strategy. Jack and Barry stand at the back of the hall, overseeing the games. Jack smiles as he chugs the champagne glass dangling from his fingertips. Barry looks like he’s lost, wondering how he ever got here. He’s in over his head and he knows it and would love nothing more than to melt back into the wall behind him. Jack spies Cliff a short distance away performing his host duties to perfection.

  “Thank you, Bob. Your support means a lot to the institute. Always has,” Cliff encourages. Cliff spies Logan Gibson from Hicks Corporation heading in his direction. Cliff despises Logan.Or more to the point, he despises what Hicks represents to his dream. If changing the world for the better was the plan, Hicks is the antithesis. But without Hicks, there would be no Barrister. It’s this distinction that Cliff tries in vain to suppress to his subconscious. He lives by the “ends justifying the means” cliché. Nonetheless, the game must have its players. “Would you excuse me for one second?” Cliff excuses himself.

  Logan approaches Cliff. “Logan. Good of you to come,” Cliff forces out.

  “Wouldn’t miss it.” Logan replies. Cliff forces a smile as he shakes Logan’s hand, but not too tightly. “It’s been a while since we chatted. We should do lunch,” Logan offers.

  “Yes. You should call Grace to set it up,” Cliff says.

  “Or you could just pick up the phone every once in a while,” Logan jousts. Cliff smirks and sips from his glass.

  “Cell phones don’t work at Barrister, Logan. You know that,” Cliff retorts. Logan frowns at Cliff. The air is thick enough to cut with a knife.

  Cliff can’t deny he’s been dodging Logan for some time now. It’s human nature to avoid unpleasantness in all of its forms. Cliff hates himself for taking their money in the first place. He lied to himself that he could still do great things, in spite of their reputation to exploit research for warfare. But even Cliff can’t escape his chains. Mercifully, Rachel, Cliff’s beautiful wife of over twenty years, and the institute’s chief animal biologist, strolls in their direction. Cliff smiles widely. Logan, who knows Cliff’s avoidance moves well, turns to identify his distraction.

  Rachel is a radiant beauty in her late 40s. And in her dress plays more to a fashion model than a Forensic Anthropologist. Tonight she is playing the role of gracious host. She knows full well of Cliff’s distaste with the expectations that come from suckling on the corporate teat, but she does as much as she can to help her beloved husband deflect his loathing. If only to save political face. She embraces Cliff warmly. Almost as if to pacify him and keep him from making a scene. “Great turn out,” she says.

  “Wonderful. You remember Logan Gibson from Hicks?” he replies. The question is a PC formality since he is well aware of her knowledge of the man. He is often the topic of dinner time conversations. Rachel turns to Logan gracefully. She offers her hand. Logan receives it as if complying with cultural protocol. The trio are simply going through the motions like politicians eager to get each other’s votes while slapping each other simultaneously. The games we play.

  “Of course. How are you Logan?” she asks sincerely.

  “Fine, thank you,” Logan replies. Logan knows the score, but also has tremendous respect for both Cliff and Rachel. Rachel turns back to Cliff.

  “How was the lecture? I missed most of it following up with a necropsy in med lab,” Rachel inquires.

  “Good enough to scare up some donations I’m sure,” Logan interjects. The trio laugh at the irony of the joke. Of course Hicks is the primary source of money here and everyone knows it. And Logan doesn’t particularly care for being ignored when he’s responsible for paying the bills. So you get your jabs in while you can.

  Cliff surveys the room and spies Jack by the back wall.The opportunity to escape the sadistic torture of talking to Logan has finally presented itself. Cliff jumps on it with wide eyes. “Rachel, darling, it’s time you met my protégé.” Cliff directs with a smile. “Excuse us.” He tosses at Logan. Rachel breathes a sigh of relief at the moment and gladly takes Cliff’s arm. Logan smirks at being cast aside yet again. It’s gotten pretty old. Cliff and Rachel stroll away.

  “Call me.” Logan warns. Cliff waves at Logan without looking back, in his patronizing way. Their game is just getting started.

  Cliff and Rachel stroll up to Jack. Jack, not expecting the meet and greet, straightens up and attempts to make his attire look less inappropriate than it is. His muscles tighten up. He may be a rebel without a cause at heart, but this still caught him by surprise.

  “Dr. Barrister, Mrs. Barrister,” Jack half mumbles through the nerves. Cliff smirks.

  “Come on Jack, you’re practically fa
mily. Call me Cliff,” Cliff responds.

  “Call me Rachel,” Rachel adds as she extends her hand gracefully. Jack smiles warmly and receives it. Cliff spies Jack’s attire awkwardly.

  “You didn’t read the invitation?” Cliff asks with almost an embarrassed-for-Jack tone with a half smile.Jack looks himself over as if for the first time. It will take some quick thinking to get out of this one alive, Jack thinks.

  “You were serious about that? Actually this is the closest thing I have to semi-formal. Graduate student, remember?” Jack playfully declares, very proud of himself for crushing the improvisation. Cliff smiles.

  “Don’t you worry Jack. Cliff’s just jealous he didn’t think of it,” Rachel answers with a wink. Jack lets out a small relieved sigh. That situation wasn’t too awkward.

  Beth Barrister, Cliff and Rachel’s only child, approaches the group. “Hi, mom,” Beth semi interrupts. Jack’s eyes widen. Rachel embraces Beth warmly.

  “There you are. I’ve been looking all over for you,” Rachel pronounces. Jack stares at Beth with wide eyes. His nerves have suddenly kicked in again. The last thing he expected at this reception was to come face to face with the girl he was head over heels for in high school. Talk about your small world. Jack suddenly feels the universe is out to get him. But in a good way.Now he just has to handle this situation with poise. Way more poise than he did with Cliff. Cliff sees Jack’s reaction. Cliff is no dummy. He is well aware of Jack’s feelings. In his own twisted way, Cliff hopes to take advantage of that, albeit in the lab.

  “Honey, you remember Jackson Hart?” Cliff offers. Beth gazes at Jack. Of course she remembers him, but that was high school. And he was a bit Magoo back then. No, let’s face it, he was downright awkward. Interestingly enough for Beth, she likes awkward. Not that she’d ever admit it to herself, let alone Jack. Jack smiles at Beth.