The Rising (The End Time Saga Book 3)

by Daniel Greene

  Kevin took another swig from his bottle and stopped, muttering under his breath and reprimanding himself. He wiped his lips with his sleeve.

  “Sorry. Where are my manners? Want some?” he asked. He shifted the glass bottle in her direction, offering her some.

  “Ahh, not tonight Kevin.” She held her breath, waiting to be discovered.

  He took the bottle back. “Not feeling so hot, huh?”

  “No, not really,” she mumbled, avoiding eye contact.

  He shrugged his shoulders and looked back out onto the giant fresh-water lake. “I heard you getting sick. I always say we have to be more careful about the food we eat. Tons of bacteria and parasites in the water and with no refrigerator, we are just asking to catch something.”

  She exhaled a bit. He was a typical man. Oblivious to the obvious. Unobservant at best. Couldn’t find the ketchup if it was on his burger.

  “Sure you don’t want a swig?” he said with a smile. His features were long in the moonlight, his eyes only drunkenly half-open.

  “No thanks,” she said, avoiding his gaze. She adjusted her arms beneath her chest trying to get comfortable. I need a new bra to hold these gals.

  Kevin broke the silence. “I have this feeling you didn’t come up here just to hang out. Is there something else you want to talk about?” He gave her a side-glance.

  “No.” She looked away. Anger welled up in her followed by the fear of being alone. Bearing her burden alone made it so much heavier. She feared being unable to hold it all together.

  “I’m pregnant, Kevin,” she blurted out. Kevin stood in silence for a moment, slowly nodding his head. He took a quick swig of his whiskey as if he forgot he was holding it. He turned her way and spread his arms wide.

  “Come on in for the real thing,” he said. She let herself be pulled in for a hug. He smelled like whiskey and body odor. His lanky arms brought her some comfort.

  After a moment, Kevin pushed her away from him. “Are you sure it’s mine?” he asked. She felt a pang of guilt in her gut.

  “Of course it’s not yours.” She laughed a bit, wiping a tear from the corner of her eyes. He released her.

  “Just checking. I like to throw a few back. Thought maybe you snuck one by me,” he said, chuckling. “But between you and me, it was pretty obvious. How long have you known?”

  She folded her arms back beneath her breasts. “About thirty minutes. But I’ve suspected for a couple of weeks. How could you tell?” Her eyes watched him for recognition.

  “I was a high-school teacher in a poor rural district. You aren’t the first woman I’ve seen puking her guts out for no reason. Combined with not drinking, it doesn’t take a rocket scientist or a history major.”

  “History major?” she laughed.

  He smirked. “Yeah, we’re the smartest. We know why everything is the way it is.”

  She stifled a laugh.

  They stood in silence, the reality of her pregnancy during the apocalypse hovering over them.

  “Please don’t tell Mark. I’m not sure what’s going to happen yet.”

  He made a mock symbol of locking his lips together. “Lips are sealed my dear, but on the down low, you should tell him. I would want to know, and I think he has a right to know.” He pretended to throw away the key.

  She pursed her lips together.

  “When you’re ready, of course. That’s only my two cents.”

  She looked off to the side, avoiding the idea of an even more serious conversation with Mark. “I will, but I have to get my feet under me. Thank you, Kevin.”

  “For what?”

  “Listening.”

  “That’s why I’m here,” he said with a smile. He gave another glance out the window. “Wait a second.” Closing in on the window, he cupped his hands attempting to block out the glow of the moon.

  “What is it?” she peered out, seeing only dark water.

  “I thought I saw it before, but now I’m sure. Look there through those trees and down the coast.” His finger thudded off the window glass.

  Small slivers of orange light danced between far away trees.

  “Fire,” she said.

  “Fire means people,” he said.

  She nodded, turning for the door. “I’ll get Mark.”

  JOSEPH

  Cheyenne Mountain Complex, Colorado

  Water trickled down the rock walls in tiny streams. It followed the outlines of the coarse and jagged rock. The walls were uneven as if the creators of the facility were more interested in completing the complex than making it uniform. Every ten feet, metal-encased lights with exposed wiring poked outward attempting to illuminate their way with minimal effect.

  A dozen soldiers’ boots echoed down the corridor as they marched. The soldiers were dressed in all black tactical gear, giving them the appearance of a SWAT team. For all Joseph knew, they were. They surrounded him and Patient Zero, making Joseph feel a bit like he was a mastermind serial killer on death row. Patient Zero’s head had dropped all the way to his chest. His head bobbed from side to side in defeat as he trudged.

  They walked through open three-foot-thick nuclear blast doors. Circular six-inch metal locking mechanisms stuck out from the side of the door. Beyond the giant door they entered a better lit corridor, and after another thirty feet, a duplicate nuclear blast door. Would the mountain not be enough?

  The mountain complex was a multilayered hive. Each floor gave way to another layer of the complex. Military officers passed them. Civilians with ID badges on their belts walked past. The farther Joseph walked into the safety of the bowels of the earth, the more Joseph felt the anxiety of his task. Each step took him farther from the dangers of the outside and infected but brought him closer to his molecular battlefield and the insurmountable task at hand. It was a game of chess at the microscopic level; he was the novice and the virus was the mastermind. He wrestled the doubt into his gut and settled for a permanent state of distraught uneasiness.

  A black-helmeted soldier stopped and pointed to a metal door on the right. His goggle-covered eyes ignored Joseph.

  “Put the subject in there,” came his voice from underneath his black ski mask.

  Two soldiers disappeared with Patient Zero through a doorway on the right.

  Patient Zero emitted a muffled “Ow.” The middle-aged beer-bellied man gave the soldiers a dirty glare as they shoved him inside the room.

  Joseph pointed with his non-injured arm. “Where are you taking him?” He had been stitched up when he had arrived on site, hastily given a bottle of pain pills, and whisked away with a heavily armed escort.

  “Observation room.” The soldier waved a gloved hand. “Follow me, Doctor.” The soldier gestured forward and a placed a firm hand on Joseph’s back. A white door was opened nearby, and Joseph stepped inside with some assistance from the soldier into a dimly lit room.

  A cluster of white-coated individuals gathered around a one-way glass mirror that they could see through, but the person on the other side could not see them. They ignored Joseph, enamored by the subject on the other side. They murmured and whispered to one another in careful consideration.

  Joseph walked to the window and stood near a taller than average shoulder-length auburn-haired woman with pointed black glasses. Her nose stuck out farther than average and came to a sharp point. One arm was folded across her chest, propping up the other held thoughtfully under her chin. A long finger ran up her cheek.

  Joseph shoved his free hand into his pocket, joining them in their observation. Richard Thompson sat attached to a metal chair. Bright lights beat down on him, glinting off his almost bald head and causing him to squint. He sobbed softly to himself, his whole body jiggling. Every few moments he would look up at the lights and mumble something. His head would then fall again and he would cry. The soldiers had removed his duct-tape-and-sock gag and replaced it with a folded surgical mask. His eyes regarded the reflective window with fear, knowing that unknown people on the other side were wa
tching him.

  “Amazing, Dr. Weinroth. Look at his facial distress. He is showing what appears to be both behavioral and physical manifestation of emotions,” an older heavier-set white man said, leaning over near the auburn-haired woman.

  “All of our subjects so far haven’t expressed any sort of remorse or fear, only uncontrollable violence,” she said, letting a finger tap the side of her mouth as she watched. She pressed her lips together as she thought. “This is interesting. Are we sure he’s infected?” She looked down the line of white coats.

  The fat doctor leaned away, considering her question. “We haven’t run any tests. He arrived not long ago.” He picked up a piece of paper, peering down at it. “It is a field subject.” The doctor looked over his glasses. “Discovered by a Dr. Jackowski? Hmm, states here he is a CDC virologist. I’m not familiar with any of his work.”

  Joseph watched them from the corner of his eyes as he stared at Patient Zero. He cleared his throat. “He’s infected. I can assure you of that.”

  Dr. Weinroth turned her head in his direction and gave him a curious glance from the corner of her glasses. The fat doctor leaned around her, staring at him.

  “You know, if you take the gag from his mouth, he can talk too.”

  “He can talk? That’s different than all of our research. Every other subject has lost all ability to orally communicate.”

  “Fascinating,” the fat doctor said, his belly almost touching the window, as he got closer to it.

  “Of course he can talk. He’s alive,” Joseph said, raising an eyebrow.

  The doctor at Dr. Weinroth’s side leaned past her, his fat jowls seeming to stick out farther than his belly. “Wait, who are you? How do you know this?”

  “Forgive me,” Dr. Weinroth said. She gave Joseph a pleasant smile with clean white teeth. “Dr. Hollis, this must be our CDC virologist, Dr. Joseph Jackowski. Our newest associate.”

  Dr. Hollis gave him a nod of approval, his double chin tripling. “Incredible fortitude, doctor. We had written off this scenario much earlier in the pandemic.”

  “Thank you,” Joseph said. He removed his glasses and gently rubbed them on his clothes with one hand. The crack in one lens reminded him of the Battle of Steel City where his gun had recoiled into his face. Could have been worse. You could have died. Many times.

  “We’re ecstatic about this discovery. I’m Dr. Weinroth, infectious disease specialist with the United States Army Medical Research Institute of Infectious Diseases, USAMRIID.” Keeping an arm folded beneath her, she offered the other and shook his hand. “I’m a civilian. No need to salute,” she added with a little laugh. “How long have you been studying the subject?”

  “We found him in Michigan four days ago. My observations have only been outward conversations.”

  “Conversations? He can put together complete thoughts? This is unlike anything we’ve seen,” an Indian woman said. She stood on the other side of Dr. Hollis, blocked by his girth save for her head.

  Dr. Weinroth touched his arm. A gentle and somehow comforting gesture as if he were her longtime friend. “Forgive me Dr. Jackowski, let me introduce my team.” She gestured to the gray-bearded heavyset gentleman next to her.

  “This is Dr. Hollis. He is with the Biomedical Advanced Research and Development Authority. They assist in stockpiling biomedical resources nationwide.” No vaccine for this, Joseph thought. He nodded to the obese doctor.

  “Next to him is Dr. Desai. She is a leader in research for live attenuated vaccines from Johns Hopkins Hospital. Her research into the CCR5 receptor of white blood cells may help us find a cure for AIDs one day.” The young Indian woman smiled at him.

  “Next to him is Dr. Nguyen. You may know him from the CDC.” The short Asian doctor tilted his chin downward. Joseph knew him. In the hierarchy of their organization, Dr. Nguyen was second only to Dr. Williams; both were experts on bioweapons. With Dr. Williams most likely dead in the bunker of Mount Eden, Joseph supposed that made Dr. Nguyen number one in the world.

  “Loved your work on weaponized anthrax,” Joseph said. The Asian doctor bowed his head lower in thanks.

  “If only this were that easy,” Dr. Nguyen said.

  The man on the far end didn’t acknowledge Joseph as he stood scrutinizing Patient Zero. His hands massaged his smooth chin while deep in thought. His close-cropped white hair gave him the look of a military man.

  Dr. Weinroth smiled and spoke a bit louder. “The gentleman on the end is Colonel Byrnes, M.D. We are colleagues from USAMRIID. His research in biosynthetic viruses and vaccination is top-notch.” The United States Army Medical Research Institute of Infectious Diseases was based out of Fort Detrick in Maryland. Joseph knew them well. A secretive group, but they were some of the best minds against any biological threat to the United States.

  The gaunt colonel regarded Joseph with intelligent gray eyes. His camouflage combat uniform revealed itself from beneath his white coat as if it were hiding.

  Joseph was confused. “I thought Fort Detrick was gone? I was under the impression that everyone had met up at Mount Eden in Virginia.”

  Byrnes spoke as if he were annoyed with Joseph’s existence. “Fort Detrick is gone. We were annihilated in under an hour. Our HAZMAT suits did nothing to stop them from ripping through the protective plastic. If I had half of my staff from there, we would be making some serious headway instead of standing here watching Patient Zero cry.”

  Dr. Weinroth’s smile faded into a pretty close-lipped grin. “This has been a difficult experience for many of us.”

  “Tell that to my staff I watched get butchered alive,” Byrnes said.

  Dr. Weinroth’s eyes pleaded with Joseph for understanding. Her eyelashes beat each other furiously. “Fort Detrick was horrible, but all of us have lost friends during this difficult time.” She directed a glance toward the colonel. He was already ignoring them, back to analyzing the subject.

  “We’re all glad to have you here. Someone with your experience will be essential in our research and development against this global outbreak. We’ve adopted the facility staff and name as our own. I think it has more meaning now that we have come from all over the country to work together. Welcome to the Mountain Integrated Medical team.”

  Joseph nodded. It was an impressive team for research, and perhaps, the only team.

  “We call it MIM for short.” She pointed to a patch on the sleeve of her white coat. A doctor’s caduceus, a staff with wings and dual serpents running up its shaft, sat in the middle of two M’s that looked like mountain peaks. The words Mountain Integrated Medical curved beneath the design.

  He took a deep breath and gulped. “Thank you, Dr. Weinroth.”

  “Call me, Rebecca.”

  “Thanks, Rebecca,” he said with a faint smile.

  Her smile in return made his arm hurt just a little less. He supposed that was all the comfort he could ask for in a time like this.

  “I can take a look at your arm later if you’d like. How’d that happen?”

  “I was stabbed,” he said. The cold steel inside his arm still haunted him.

  Concern flooded her eyes. She visibly gulped.

  “It was an accident,” he hurried out. She gave him a quick smile.

  “Of course,” she managed, seeming uncomfortable.

  “I would appreciate you taking a look.” She nodded and turned her attention back to Patient Zero.

  The team stood watching the tears stream down Patient Zero’s stubbly cheeks. These were his band of fellow warriors in the battle for mankind. They had come from all different backgrounds. They had all lost friends and family to the infection. They had all watched, helpless as the world crumbled around them. Now it was time for them to strike back.

  KINNICK

  Golden Triangle, Colorado

  Kinnick rode in a Humvee down a wide residential street. They passed newly built single-family homes, some still with turned earth in unfinished front yards. Humvees sat in a few of the drive
ways. No other cars drove on the road aside from military vehicles, giving him an eerie feeling in the depth of his gut that he was in the Green Zone of Iraq.

  Three eight-wheeled Strykers grumbled past traveling the other way. The big green personnel carriers had been effective at protecting soldiers in Iraq and Afghanistan from IEDs and small arms fire, and he imagined they were being put to excellent use against the infected.

  Hunter sat behind him, sunglasses on, beard fluttering in the wind, staring out the window. An airman from Peterson Air Force base sat in the driver’s seat and another soldier stood in the center turret, manning the Mk 19 grenade launcher on top of the vehicle.

  “He ever hit any of them with that?” Kinnick asked, throwing a thumb at the turret.

  The driver smiled. “Yup. Shreds the bastards. Sometimes they crawl, but it does good work against large groups and makes it easier when the bastards aren’t quite as fast.”

  Kinnick nodded, wiping a hand through his hair. He had never lost the short, military-style hair even after he retired. Some things just stick with you, but now, his hair was as long as it had been when he was in college at Purdue. Probably a lot more gray than before the outbreak.

  They zipped by long stretches of fences lining the roadways. The fences engulfed entire neighborhoods in sturdy chain-link steel with razor wire spiraling around the top.

  “How far does the Safe Zone span?”

  “We call this the Golden Triangle, sir. We’ve been able to control the area between Peterson Air Force Base, Fort Carson, and Cheyenne Mountain. It cuts off the southern part of Colorado Springs which we now use to house extra troops and civilians.”

  As far as Kinnick could see, there were green and brown mountains, trees turning shades of yellow and brown, and housing. “I understand the triangle, but why Golden?” he asked the airman.

  “Cause if you are inside, you’re golden, Colonel,” the airman said with a grim smile.

  “I see,” Kinnick responded, clamping his mouth shut. The Pentagon died without military support, and portions of the United States Armed Forces sat in Colorado, not even lifting a finger to help their fellow brothers and sisters in arms. Soldiers and civilians all over the country were being overrun and murdered. Can I blame them for creating a base of operations to continue the fight? That’s what I would do. Consolidate my forces and strike back out.