The Last Virus

by Caleb Adams

  They say when someone you love dies it feels like half of you is gone. I don’t know what the fuck they think they’re talking about. When you love someone that much, it feels like all of you has been ripped out. It makes you feel like you’re standing on the edge of a cliff, and the only thing that will erase the pain is if you jump. Unfortunately, down here, there is no cliff and my breaths I can’t stop because they’re involuntary.

  I returned to our quarters right after that. Everyone gave me a glance, but that was it. I understood. No one wants to think about those kinds of deaths. I dropped my eyes for a stare into my lap. It was the loneliest time I had ever had inside of my own head, and I knew I needed to get the fuck out of there. So, I turned around and from our secret hiding place pulled out all we had buried there. It didn’t take long to find it. She had mentioned it back in the infirmary, but I just dismissed it because she had seemed to be in such a lost state. The love letter, though, she did actually write. And now I think why not. Why not just copy it and leave it as my last words. She always had a better future in her head than I did in mine, and those are the stories people want to read anyway.

  Hello, my love. When I find the right time I will give you this. Telling you I was pregnant a few nights ago probably struck you blindside, and I should have had a better introduction. I really didn’t think about it and I kind of just blurted it out. I know it’s an addition to our love you didn’t expect. I understand it might make you feel like you’re headed for second place. But I want you to know that I’ve got enough room inside of my heart to fit both of you in and give it a first-place tie. I’ve always loved you, you must know that. I loved you when I first saw you, and then when you sealed it with that chocolate–chip cookie kiss. God, how my heart still beats double-time when you’re near. Don’t you know, we’ve got a story that’s a lottery winner. We’ve got a rocket ship, and we’ve got stars we named from a fifty-yard line. We’ve got walks in the woods and all those endless talks. We’ve got hearts that still beat wild from our high school days and college years and we’ve got those late nights listening to bands and closing down those dive bars. And now, now we’ve got a little boy who is soon to come. What more, my love? What more could make us more complete than this?

  It could have all come at a better time and it could have all happened in a better place. But things, as we know, don’t always work out like that. So let’s just pretend, huh? Let’s just imagine, okay? It’s the only world we’ve got and we can turn it into anything we want for him. We can draw stars on the ceiling and we can draw trees and animals on the walls. We can take walks with him through the tunnels and say they are ancient and magical caves. And every time he looks up at us and smiles, we’ll be reminded of just what our amazing love could create. So please don’t worry, my love, this is just another beginning for us. You know we’ve had so many and they’ve always turned out just fine. I love you. God, I love you so much.

  The Jinn

  REPORT #65:

  Slow on the intel the last few weeks. But since I know you miss me so fucking much, thought I’d write anyway. Exterminated two jihadist bitches last night. Not sure what their problem was. Stopped me late at night in Masjid Park and asked me what the hell I was doing. Told them I was a fucking spy, and they should mind their own goddam business. Unfortunately, one reached for her radio. That one I plunged my knife into her eye. The other one. Well, let’s say, didn’t turn out so well for her either. Snagged another few boxes of Kit Kats for your candy-loving ass. You know where to pick them up. Not sure why I do this shit for you. Come up here and get your own goddamn candy bars. Oh, and Metallica still sucks. Their fucking music makes me want to put you in a hole and pour the blood of Lars Ulrich right over it.

  REPORT #69:

  See the photo. Guy looks like he’s straight out of some Arabian GQ mag. This is a motherfucker you want. Heads up interrogation at the Fawzan labor camp. Does shit to people there even I would think twice about. Been watching him for a few months now. Likes walking around Souk #2 with his little daughter on his days off. Friday and Tuesday. Before leaving, picks up some baklava for her. And, ALWAYS, from the same stall. The seller is a leathered-faced old woman, two fingers on her left hand. Would love to take him down myself but you’re better suited for the hit. Left you a case of Yamazaki 12 at House 3. Consider the blood splatter on the crate gift wrapping. And yeah, I did ask politely first before putting the cat’s paw into the back of his black-market skull.

  REPORT #70:

  Nice job taking out the imam’s double. Don’t know what the fuck your obsession with him is? Same homoerotic fantasy I’m guessing you have with that shit band you worship. LEAVE HIM THE FUCK ALONE. We have a thousand more important targets.

  REPORT #71:

  Peace talks collapsed. Posters and handbills going up around city to join the new jihad. From what I’ve heard the al-Aqsa Brigade is already on the march. Really thought they were going to settle this one. The power-sharing deal though called for the imam to step down. He knew he’d be a dead man if he did so he said for them to go fuck themselves. Drones from the Brigade have started to drop leaflets saying the imam is really a half-Jew and that’s the reason they’re coming in. That’s fucking masterful propaganda. Say he’s all Jew and no one is going to believe you. Say he’s half-Jew and everyone starts to wonder. It’s all bullshit though. The real story is that the imam raped a twelve-year-old nephew of one of the Brigade’s commanders and now they want revenge. Four suicide bombers in the last three days. Two at the Grand Market, one right outside their headquarters, and one at a rally. I give it a couple of days before the fireworks.

  REPORT #72:

  Al-Aqsa Brigade broke the front yesterday. They occupy about a quarter of Ayla now. City won’t fall though. Last night took a scope out my window and saw all these small crafts starting to arrive. Seems the imam was able to call in a few favors. A counter is coming. Jesus, I love a good fucking fight. Stay inside. No reason to come up for air when they’re slaughtering themselves. Which of course means you can go back to pulling your pud to that wallet-sized photo of the young James Hetfield.

  REPORT #73:

  Things here back to normal. Lot of Caliphate soldiers on R&R after the victory over al-Aqsa Brigade. You need supplies I got a store for you. Salaheddine bakery. One klick west of what was Old St. Pat’s church. Some rogues selling leftovers from the war with the Brigade to the outer tribes. Lots of goodies I’m hearing. Anti-tank systems, mortars, AKs, grenade launchers and all that other feel good shit.

  REPORT #74:

  Joined the Hisbah last week. Guess they’ll let anyone in. Assigned to the downtown area. Started out on patrol with two others. Down to one now until they find a replacement for Badeen. I know. I just get a new toy and immediately end up murdering it. Anyway, really didn’t like Badeen too much. Small man who had the habit of clubbing women for the most minor of infractions. Just really pissed me off. He also liked to smoke a lot. Another goddamn thing that pisses me off. So, went to his apartment a few nights ago and waited until he stepped out to have a smoke. I have to say. It was quite enjoyable to see his little hands twitch in an epileptic manner as I continued to bash his head in. The other one is a wealth of information. Boasts a lot, revealing more than he should. He is a nephew to the right-hand man of the imam. Total fucking pedophile. Seems like hourly he’s showing me naked pictures on his phone of these prepubescent girls that are sent to him by soldiers. I’ll eventually cut off his dick and scrotum and shove them down his throat until he suffocates. I’m looking forward to that. For now though, he is still worth more alive to me.

  REPORT #75:

  Hisbah prick I work with took me to a dinner party last night. Held at the house of field general Abu Abdulrahman al-Shishani. One tall motherfucker. Sized him up at about six feet six. Long black hair. Red bushy beard, nose like an eagle. Can’t really miss him. House is at 475 Umayyad. Large gray stone. Gold Coast area if you remember. Heavily guarded. Party would h
ave made Caligula proud. Pre-festivities included a woman being raped by a white horse. Liquor in abundance. Two full bars. Imported Saudi girls walking around in nothing but black studded collars and serving up qat leaves on silver platters. Dinner was a feast to behold. No pork, though. That’s the one thing they adhere to. You can rape, drink yourself to unconsciousness, and kill anyone you please as long as you keep the pig off the plate. Afterward, they flambéed a man. Put him on an inverted cross, lit him with a candle. One of us, unfortunately. Tomorrow I’ll waste a few of them for that. Anyway, I didn’t leave until the sun came up. When I took one last look at the house I saw al-Shishani up there on the roof. Facing toward Mecca and doing his prayers. Everyone’s a creature of habit. He’ll be there tomorrow. The day after that and then again. Easy fucking duck so take him out with a long range. An M24 should pop his head off like a dandelion. Oh yeah, almost forgot. James Hetfield licks donkey balls for inspiration.

  REPORT #76:

  No longer with the Hisbah. Prick had it coming though. Gave him a replica of the Grand Mosque for taking me to the dinner party. Granted it was a cheap piece of shit from the marketplace but he should have said thank you. Instead, tells me to get a file for him. I leave, wander behind him and then slam his fucking face into it. Unfortunately, had his head mispositioned so only 8 of 9 minarets went through. Reminded me of being a kid and not being able to blow out all the birthday candles.

  REPORT #77:

  What kind of shit show are you running over there? Soon as that bus pulled up with those kids your men should have unloaded on them. Not call me in and expect a goddamn miracle. You have any idea what it’s like to see eleven kids get fucking blown up all at once. Jesus Christ, I got hit in the head with a tiny wrist. I’m out of my mind right now and that ain’t any fucking good for anyone. Gonna get a few hours sleep and then go out hunting. Everyone deserves to die right now, which includes your dumb ass.

  REPORT #78:

  Got something for you. Was down at the Grand Market looking for a new tea kettle. Smashed my last one onto the head of the delivery boy a few nights ago. Long story. Anyway, saw Osmani and his entourage walking around. Guy’s like a fucking rock star up here. Everybody snapping pictures of him and trying to get his autograph. You know what the hell he was doing there? Buying eggs. Motherfucker loves eggs, fresh fucking eggs. Wants to pick them out himself. So, got me to thinking. You’re going to sell him some eggs. And those eggs you’re going to inject with the thallium I included with this epistle. Any idea what that odorless and tasteless shit does to a human body? The first day he’s going to start complaining of a little tummy ache. Next morning, he’ll be vomiting all over the place and thinking he caught the flu. Around day 4 or 5, his major organs will begin slowly failing and his skin’ll become so sensitive it’ll feel like everything he touches is a live wire. This shit is just getting started though. During the second week, he’s going to be a psychotic mess and his hair is going to be all over the fucking floor. Finally, around day 15, the convulsions will start arriving and soon after he’ll drop into a coma, never to fuck with anyone ever again. Now if that isn’t a perfect poison, I really don’t know what the hell is.

  REPORT #79:

  Saw some kids hanged a few days ago for dancing. Three Caliphate soldiers on a joy kill strung them up. One kid’s standing up there with a red ball in his hand. Wants to hold it on his way through the trap. They don’t even give him that. They pry it away and it rolls off the gallows into the crowd. I push through all the sick motherfuckers watching and grab the ball like it’s a garter toss. The kids drop, little legs twisting in the air, and inside I’m lit up like a bonfire. The hangmen leave and I follow them for about 12 blocks until they head into a garden apartment. Now, you want to know how to kill people, this is how you kill people.

  I knock. Door opens. Got my barrel pressed to a head before a word is said. I walk him in. The other two are on a couch. Order all three to their knees. Bound and gag ‘em. I then start bouncing the red ball until it starts getting into their heads just how fucking miserable it’s going to get. Drop the drawers of one and start making love to him with my 6-inch serrated knife. In my final thrust, I push the blade so far in that the handle is flush with his anus. It takes a while to die like that. And it’s not an easy death. The heart beats hard from the excruciating pain. And every time it does, more blood squirts out the body. Second one I break the C5 vertebrae. He’s now got no use of his legs, torso, and hands. I then drag his limp body to the tub in the bathroom and give the faucet a quarter turn. For the third hangman, I spin the death wheel inside my head and it lands on fire. So, I empty the kerosene lamp on the corner table down his throat. Put a lighter to his tongue and the flame shoots down his fucking throat. He’s puffing thick black smoke from his mouth like a dragon and running into walls trying to escape. Goddamn, I’m going to sleep good tonight.

  REPORT #80:

  Lot of chatter up here. Seems that Caliphate assassin who took down Sector 6 has gone AWOL. They’re looking all over for her. Yes, it’s a she. Now isn’t that just ironic? Possible she defected but I doubt it. My best bet is she hitched a ride underground. Check your house. Soldiers get lonely. Intel already sent to the other sectors. You know the difference between Hammett and a one-armed man? Not a goddamn thing because neither can fucking play guitar.

  REPORT #81:

  Got your little love note. Kisses on the execution of their numero uno assassin. The muriatic acid bath was a nice touch. I’d wager my left nut it wasn’t your idea. You’re about as unoriginal as a Metallica song. Go easy on Grace. We all fuck up now and then. Not me, of course, but every other motherfucker.

  REPORT #82:

  Message received about having another go about on the imam. I would revisit that decision. I think it’s a fucking stupid idea. Not only that, I think it’s a fucking stupid idea. We know this guy. We know his response to everything we do. You take him out and they just replace him with another imam. The goddamn problem now is that we don’t know shit about how the new imam is going to react. The 6th century Chinese general Sun Tzu knew what the hell he was talking about when he said: Know your enemy and know yourself, and you will always be victorious. And in case your reading comprehension sucks, which I assume it does, this means leave him alone. Which I know you won’t because you’re one pig-headed son-of-a-bitch who also happens to have the absolute worst fucking taste in music.

  REPORT #83:

  You got two of your boys hanging like St. Peter in Al-Hayat Plaza. Got a scope on it right now. Crosses about 8 meters up. I don’t see your sackless ass coming up here and cutting them down. But just in case you do find your balls, there are 2 nests flanking an M1A2 and about 20 Revolutionary Guard on the perimeter behind sandbags. Nothing but AKs in their hands. Can’t see them but I’m figuring there’s probably some RPG-7s lying around somewhere. Guessing most of these soldiers have been fasting so they should be a little weaker. They need 6 days in Shawwal and most wait until the end of the month to fulfill the requirement.

  REPORT #84:

  Bravo. Fucking bravo. The Fourth of July display you put on warmed my cold fucking heart. Pulled up a chair and caught every second. It was definitely better than watching that douchebag channel Al-Jazeera. That late at night, all they have on are Riefenstahl rip-offs.

  REPORT #85:

  Nothing like sticking your dick in a beehive, huh? And not only once, you had to come back and do it twice. Just what the hell are you doing down there? That madrassa you hit was a big-time fuck-up. Not that I give a shit but everyone else up here is pissed off. Photos of the mangled bodies of those kids are plastered all over this city. I can’t even wear my Halloween costume around here anymore. And do you have any fucking idea how many kills I collected dressed up like a bitch in a burqa? Oh, I’m not even going to get into you completely disregarding my advice on the imam. Great job killing that asshole. Now what?

  REPORT #86:

  Nothing I could do, John. Know you lo
ved her like a daughter. Caliphate unit came up on her just before I got to her position. She put up one hell of a fight. Only had a few left to kill when I arrived. In the end though, when you got only one bullet left, you make it easy on yourself. You know that. Got her body out of there though. She’ll be at House 3. Bring her home.

  REPORT #88:

  Jesus Christ, you fucked up with that priest. Told you to exterminate that rat immediately. Everyone up here wants in on the invasion of your sector. They all want their goddamn promotions. My guess is you got about 7 days before they start coming. Suggest to use escape tunnel to get your ass out of there. Reroute to Sector 5. Already let them know of your imminent arrival. They can take 20 of you. Listen, you stubborn asshole, you’ve got no fucking chance and your death isn’t going to be pretty. My God, John, you had the perfect bunker and you fucked it all up.

  REPORT #89:

  Get the hell out of there. Dead men have no revenge. You’ve got two Caliphate companies outside your door and a battalion on its way.