The Last Days: Six Post-Apocalyptic Thrillers

by Michael R. Hicks

  “It’s a good try, but it’ll never stop them from getting out.”

  “You know that and I know that, but what else can they do? Nuke the entire valley?”

  Naomi didn’t say anything, but the cold analytical part of her mind answered that question with astonishing rapidity. The rest of her mind shied away from the unspoken reply.

  “Naomi,” Morgan said, “there’s one thing that I don’t understand. You said these things originated with the Beta-Three corn, that anything eating either the seed or the resulting crops would be transformed.”

  “Yes. It’s basically a transgenic weapon that rewrites the host’s DNA with that of the harvesters.”

  “You also said that you thought this new generation could reproduce.”

  Naomi nodded. “Yes. That’s what we thought based on Harmony’s comparison of some regions of harvester DNA with Amoeba dubia, and I think I saw one of the adult harvesters actually give birth to a larval form on the news video at the mall. Where are you going with this, Howard?”

  “Only the obvious: how the hell could there be so many of them?”

  “That all depends on their reproductive rate and when the first host — or hosts — was exposed to the infected corn.” She frowned. “And we won’t have any idea when that might have happened without going to the safe house where Kelso stashed The Bag. That’s where it all must have started.”

  “Kid, I am not turning this bird around,” Ferris said. “Pretty please or not.”

  “I wouldn’t ask you to, Al.” Naomi hated to admit it to herself, but she was scared. She shivered as she remembered the sight of the enormous larvae coming at them. They were abominable, far worse than the adult forms.

  “That was somebody else’s job.”

  Everyone turned to look at Boisson. “We sent a second team to check out the safe house. They reported their arrival, but nothing after that.”

  “How many?” Naomi had to know. “How many agents were on the team?”

  “Eight. They went in with tactical gear, but without the homemade flamethrower stuff we had. They never came out, and that entire area’s been overrun.”

  “I’m sure this won’t mean much to you, coming from me, but I’m sorry, Agent Boisson.” Morgan had turned to look out the windscreen, surveying the unfolding disaster that was destroying the Los Angeles area. “You and your people demonstrated extraordinary courage in what you did.”

  Boisson nodded, as if to herself, but said nothing.

  Now that Naomi had a chance to think beyond her immediate survival, her thoughts turned to Jack. “Al, did Renee say anything about Jack?”

  “No, but that doesn’t mean anything. Listen, that guy can take care of himself. He’s got more lives than a litter of cats.”

  And how many has he used up? Naomi wondered, praying that Jack was all right.

  Ferris went on. “And I’m sure Renee’s had her hands full while I was doing the whole knight in shining armor bit. With Mr. Morgan’s help, of course.” Al turned around and grinned at her. “He bought this bird just for you, you know. None of the corporate copters were big enough. Three million bucks! I like this job. Except for the parts where we get shot at or things are trying to eat us.”

  Naomi turned to stare at Morgan, who continued to look out the windscreen at the city, below. “You just walked up to somebody and bought this?”

  “I’ve got a pretty impressive limit on my company card,” he said dryly. “Think of it as a small contribution toward my penance for my misdeeds.”

  At that, Boisson laughed. “Okay, Morgan. You may be a corporate crook, but you’re a crook with style. I’ll give you that much.”

  “Why thank you, Agent Boisson.”

  Alexander, who’d been cowering with Koshka under Naomi’s seat after one of the other agents pried them from her back, climbed into her lap. Koshka remained coiled at her feet, occasionally glancing up at her human companion.

  The big Siberian cat curled up and submitted to her stroking his fur, but his intensely green eyes never left the glass carboy and its lethal prisoner.

  * * *

  At San Bernardino, Ferris landed on the grass near the end of runway six-zero. Morgan and the others got out as Ferris shut down the Bell 412 and hurried after them.

  “You’re just leaving it here?” Naomi pointed to the helicopter.

  “That’s what the boss said,” Ferris told her. “I guess we’ll come back and get it later.” He frowned. “Or not.”

  “Three million dollars is a lot to pay for a one-way fare.”

  Morgan dropped back to walk beside her. “I suspect, Naomi, that it’s only a small tithe of the price we may all have to pay before this is over.”

  Ahead of them, already waiting at the end of the runway with engines running, was a white Boeing 727 passenger jet, a boarding ladder truck pulled up beside it.

  Boisson shook her head. “Did you buy that, too, Morgan?”

  “No, I just leased that one for this flight. The owner gave me a good deal. Otherwise, the plane would be stuck here. We were the plane’s ticket out of the quarantine zone.”

  Ferris led them past the whining engines to where the boarding ladder was pulled up to the port side entry door, just aft of the cockpit. A man wearing the uniform of a copilot waited for him. They shook hands, and the copilot disappeared back into the cockpit while Ferris remained by the door.

  “Get your butts in your seats and strap in. No safety briefing today, folks. Oh, and no shopping magazines, either.” He grinned. “Those cost extra. Sorry.”

  “Smart ass.” Naomi shook her head as she passed by, leading the two cats on their leashes.

  “Holy shit,” Boisson breathed. “I’ve got to get me one of these.”

  The interior of the plane was lavish, to say the least. This was no cattle car: the plane could probably hold fifty people in oversized cream colored leather chairs. There were also love seats, along with conference tables and audio/video equipment. The bulkheads and doors that in a regular aircraft would be made of plastic and metal were all done in polished wood.

  Naomi saw Harmony Bates and the other members of the Lab One team, already strapped in toward the rear of the plane. They waved and called their greetings, but real conversation would have to wait. Ferris wanted to get the plane off the ground.

  Naomi collapsed into the seat next to Morgan and strapped herself in, the cats settling at her feet. She noticed that both kept their eyes on the carboy containing the harvester, which was held by one of the agents on the opposite side of the plane. “Thank you, Howard. I thought we weren’t going to make it.”

  “No thanks are necessary, Naomi.” He turned to her. “I’ll confess that I wasn’t exactly happy with you when the FBI came down on us.” He stopped. “My God, that was just this morning, wasn’t it?”

  “Yes. It seems like forever.”

  Morgan grunted. “No, I wasn’t happy with you at all. But I understand now that what you did was the right thing. And believe it or not, I want to do the right thing, too. I still want my legacy, Naomi. And despite the terrible tragedy that’s unfolding around us, this is a God-given opportunity for me to help create that legacy.”

  “What about Kelso?” Boisson sat across from them.

  “I hope he burns.”

  Both women were taken aback at the intensity of Morgan’s words.

  “He’s been with me for years. Beyond the not inconsiderable amount of money I paid him to do his job, I trusted him. He was in on everything the company did. Then he betrayed us all. He betrayed me.” He looked at Naomi. “And that’s something that I very rarely forgive.”

  They looked up as Ferris shut the forward door and dogged it shut. “Okay, boys and girls, the ladder’s clear. We’re taking off immediately.”

  He disappeared into the cockpit and closed the door behind him.

  As the engines spooled up, Morgan looked at Boisson as he continued. “Off the record, Agent Boisson, let me just say that I’ll
use every resource available to me to find Dr. Kelso. When I do, I’ll deliver him to your doorstep.”

  “What, you’re not going to take off his head?”

  Morgan laughed. “No, that’s not my style. I’ll do what I need to in order to protect my interests, but I’m not a violent man.” He glanced out the window as the 727’s three engines began to roar and the plane accelerated down the runway. “I’ll be content to let the FBI have its due. But I wouldn’t shed a tear if Adrian Kelso went straight to Hell.”

  * * *

  Kelso had been nursing a drink in the first class lounge when he noticed people gravitating toward the television at the far end. He hated television, particularly the news. His preferred method of whiling away the handful of hours he had to wait until his flight to Brasilia was to read. He preferred mysteries and thrillers, but would bend toward the occasional horror novel if one took his fancy.

  Today’s fare was the latest thriller in a series he’d greatly enjoyed, and from which he’d taken several ideas that had helped him build his fortune with Beta-Three. Despite the setbacks he’d suffered earlier that morning at not being able to retrieve the data, he wasn’t unhappy. He already had millions of dollars tucked away, more than enough to start a new life on a sunny beach somewhere in South America. His only true regret was not being able to drive his vengeful spear all the way through Morgan Pharmaceuticals.

  Another couple, whom he’d thought were absurdly young to be well-off enough to be in the first class lounge, got up to go watch the television, and those already watching it were murmuring in what he could tell was shock.

  Annoyed with himself, he dumped his e-reader into the traveler bag he’d bought when he got to the terminal, picked it up, and went to join the others watching the television.

  He leaned over to an older gentleman who’d been watching for some time now. “What’s happening?”

  “There are riots all over the city! And there are these things running about. Look, there goes one!” He pointed at a dark, clearly inhuman shape that pounced upon a young man who was at the trailing end of a crowd of people running across a parking lot. “They thought at first that it was a Hollywood production, but these things are now all over Altadena and Pasadena. It’s incredible.”

  Kelso’s gut turned to ice at the mention of Altadena. That was where his safe house was, the repository for the Beta-Three, the New Horizons corn.

  Could it be? He wondered silently as he watched the carnage unfold on the television. He had been extremely careful with the corn after he’d learned about how truly dangerous it could be. After he’d learned. But what about before, when he’d first gotten it? He had tossed the bag in the trunk of his car after he’d obtained it from the now-dead New Horizons employee, then stored it in his home, which was only three miles from the safe house that he’d eventually acquired.

  No. He’d put the corn into containers before taking them to the safe house, then he’d burned the bag. Nothing could have spilled at his house when he’d filled the containers. He’d been very careful. And at the safe house, the containers were kept in locked freezers, except when he was putting together a package for a buyer.

  Kelso thought back, trying to remember if anything had ever gone awry. His heart sank as he recalled with vivid clarity the package he’d prepared for his French buyer. He had been in a rush that day, because he had been delayed at one of Morgan’s board meetings and was going to be late for his flight. Not only was he late, but he was angry, Morgan having taken him to task again for the Beta-Three team’s failure to make more progress. And this, after Morgan had removed him as the team lead!

  Still overcome with fury, Kelso had washed his hands as he always did, but hadn’t taken the time to dry them properly. With his hands still damp, he couldn’t get the rubber gloves and mitts on that he normally used.

  “Fuck it!” He remembered cursing as he reached into the freezer and took one of the sample containers in his bare, still damp hands. The freezer was an industrial model that kept the temperature at minus 180 degrees fahrenheit.

  He hadn’t realized the severity of his mistake until he’d pulled out the metal sample container. Holding it with one hand, he opened the lid with the other, only to discover that the skin of both hands was now stuck to the frozen metal.

  Feeling foolish, embarrassment mingling with rage, he remembered trying to pull his fingers away from the lid, and how much pain that had instantly caused.

  It was then, he knew. It was in that one moment of sheer stupidity that some of the corn had spilled out onto the floor. Not much, but he knew now that even a single kernel would have been too much.

  After managing to separate his skin from the container under cold water from the kitchen faucet, he swept up the kernels from the floor. But he’d been in a rush. He hadn’t checked under the freezer or any of the other nooks and crannies where small things can hide. He’d only been concerned with people discovering his treasure.

  If what Naomi had told the Beta-Three team about the New Horizons corn was true, and he had no reason to doubt it, any creature could act as a host organism to the transgenic weapon of the harvesters. He’d seen mouse droppings in the safe house, but hadn’t cared about them. He wasn’t living there, after all, and they could hardly get into the freezers. But they could get under the freezers, or along the baseboards. And even had it not been a mouse, even if an industrious ant, which he’d also found in the house on occasion, had taken an interest in one of the kernels and hauled it back to the nest, the effect would be the same. Once consumed, the host organism’s DNA would be reshaped. Even so tiny a thing as an ant could be transformed into a monster.

  Or a race of monsters. Naomi and Harmony thought the harvesters could now reproduce. As he watched the television, Kelso knew that they had been right.

  The scene shifted to the Santa Anita mall, and the people around him who were watching recoiled in horror at the footage from the news helicopters covering the massacre.

  Rooted to the floor, the drink still in his hand, forgotten, he watched in a daze as the battle raged across the Los Angeles metropolitan area. The police, trying to defend civilians but ill-equipped to face the harvesters, had largely been wiped out. The same was true for the firemen and other rescue workers who had gone into the burning areas of the city, never to return. People had taken loved ones, stricken with malignant, terrible growths on their bodies, to hospitals, unwittingly turning those places of hoped-for refuge into abattoirs.

  He wasn’t sure how much time had passed before the coverage shifted back to the Santa Anita mall, where a team of black-clad FBI agents was making a futile stand against a tidal wave of the monsters coming out of the racetrack stables. His companions in the lounge goggled in disbelief at the nightmarish things that oozed across the parking lot toward the doomed agents, whose escape was cut off by the adult harvesters. But they also cheered the agents on as they set fire to the things that came closest to them, forming a burning moat that warded off the other creatures. The view briefly shifted to a pair of Marine helicopter gunships that began pouring fire into the monsters, and his fellows cheered some more.

  But then, all too soon, the helicopters left. Out of ammunition, the voice of the newscaster speculated. The camera zoomed in on the team, who had lost several of its members in the battle, and was now surrounded by an army of nightmares. The people with Kelso were silent, knowing that the FBI agents were doomed.

  The image steadied on one of the team, and Kelso blinked.

  “What are those things?” One of the others stepped closer to the screen and pointed at a dark, furry lump on the agent’s shoulder, and another, whitish lump on the agent’s back.

  “They’re cats.” Kelso heard his voice, but didn’t realize that he’d actually spoken. He knew in that moment who the “agent” was. It was Naomi Perrault and her two cats, clinging to her.

  That’s when the nausea hit him. While he had been angry, furious, when Morgan hired Perrault, and had be
en desperate enough to conspire to have Kline killed, he had never in his wildest imagination thought that something like this would happen. According to the news, hundreds, and possibly thousands of people were believed to have been killed already, just in the hours since the first reports of these creatures had surfaced.

  He had only wanted to be rich, and to put Howard Morgan in his place. Kline had hardly been an innocent, and Kelso refused to shed any tears for him, or feel guilty for his role in Kline’s demise.

  But the others, all those innocent people, their blood was on his hands. And Naomi, while he had seethed with professional jealousy when she had been hired, was now about to be another victim. He didn’t hate her, only what she represented in his own twisted relationship with Howard Morgan.

  She didn’t deserve to die.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

  “Excuse me?” The older gentleman beside him turned and looked at him curiously. “You don’t look so well, my friend. Are you all right?”

  Kelso ignored him as the scene on the television changed and he listened to the newscaster as she reported that all the airports in the Los Angeles area, including LAX, were being shut down, and that the entire area was being quarantined.

  He was trapped here in the hell that he himself had created.

  “No,” Kelso said in a weak voice amidst the shocked exclamations of the other passengers in the lounge. “No, I don’t think I am.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  “The air activity over Russia, particularly in the southern part of the country, is unprecedented, sir.”

  U.S. Air Force General Matt Selig, Commander, U.S. Air Forces in Europe (USAFE), nodded for the colonel to continue. This wasn’t the regularly scheduled daily intelligence briefing, but an ad-hoc presentation that Selig had ordered after things had suddenly gone crazy around the world. While he was peripherally interested in all of it, he was specifically interested in what was happening with the Russians. Even though the Cold War had been over for years, their air force was still the greatest potential threat his airmen might have to face.