The Rising (The End Time Saga Book 3)

by Daniel Greene

  Dr. Hollis rubbed the corners of his mouth and flicked away a crumb. “He is right. The risk is worth it.”

  “He’s alive, Dr. Hollis. We’ve only scratched the tip of the iceberg with our first few tests, and the data is fantastic.”

  “But not enough,” Dr. Hollis said.

  “He also assaulted and infected Dr. Weinroth.” Byrnes’s index fingers sprung up in front of his folded hands, running up the center of his mouth to his nose. “We do what we must. You said yourself you would support more intrusion if non-invasive harvesting did not work. It hasn’t worked, Doctor. It’s time to move forward.” His eyes brained Joseph. There was no debate in them. “All in favor, say aye.”

  A resounding echo of “ayes” met Joseph’s ears. Not one person voted to continue less invasive procedures. Dr. Desai couldn’t look Joseph in the eyes. Joseph took his glasses off and rubbed his tired dry eyes. He had been up with Dr. Weinroth all night and was losing his will, not to the virus but to his peers, to fight the battle. He was beginning to accept the fact that he was going to assist in dangerous procedures in the name of “science.”

  “I can’t argue this any longer. I defer to the team. But let me speak to Mr. Thompson. Perhaps I can make him more compliant to our research needs.”

  Byrnes nodded. “I believe that’s fair. Dr. Desai, will you start analyzing the lymph node biopsy? Dr. Nguyen and Dr. Hollis, please prepare for surgery.” He said nothing to Joseph.

  Joseph stood up and left, leaving them behind. He walked down the hall and alone to the changing antechamber. He stripped down his clothes and hung them up in his locker. The locker next to his had a brown nameplate on it that read Weinroth. It sickened him to think of her as one of the infected. He slammed his locker closed.

  He grabbed a fresh pair of green scrubs from a white cabinet near the edge of the lockers. They would be incinerated later, never reaching this room again. He washed his hands and picked up a soap brush. He picked his nails with one end and then vigorously scrubbed his fingers, hands, and forearms. He reapplied soap that was a nasty bile color, and it left his skin orange until he scrubbed it off. He tossed the brush into a biohazard trash bin. He repeated the process again with soap. The other doctors began filing in and he left them behind. Soldiers followed them in scrubs.

  He entered the next chamber. Blue HAZMAT suits hung on the walls. He pulled his down and put his legs inside, pulling it up and around his shoulders. He said nothing to the lab technician as she checked his suit for leaks. He ignored the other doctors as they prepped to go inside the room with Patient Zero.

  Thirty minutes later, they all stood silent as the air was sucked up and out through ventilation ducts and pumped outside the facility. The doors rolled open and the team of doctors, along with two soldiers, walked inside.

  Patient Zero was strapped to a table. They had doubled down on the bindings and kept the man under a different twenty-four-hour sedation. Joseph’s blue suit crinkled like a flapping tarp in a windstorm.

  He stopped next to Patient Zero. His eyes were closed. His skin pale. He infected her. He killed her with his bite. He deserves what is coming. No. His ethics battled his need for revenge. Remember why you are here.

  The other doctors stood back. Soldiers stood behind them with long batons. “Ahem.” Joseph placed a hand on Patient Zero and shook his shoulder. “Richard. Wake up.” When he didn’t, Joseph shook him harder.

  Richard’s eyes cracked open. They were glassy and white as if he had shaken them up like snow globes. His voice was dry and broken. “Dr. Jackowski. Water.”

  Joseph snatched up a bottle and held it to his lips.

  “Thanks,” Richard whispered. “Where’ve you been?”

  Joseph gulped and set down the bottle. “I’ve been attending to Dr. Weinroth.”

  Richard’s eyes shifted to the other doctors.

  “She seemed nice. Where is she?”

  “She’s in another observation room.”

  “She sick?” Richard asked. His eyebrows limply shifted up.

  Joseph looked over at Byrnes. The colonel tapped his wrist impatiently.

  “She was infected.”

  “How?” Richard groaned.

  “You don’t remember?”

  “Remember what?” Richard groaned. He shifted on the table, testing his bindings.

  Joseph’s brow furrowed. “You, Richard. You ripped off her mask and bit her face.”

  Richard blinked back tears. His eyes stared straight up at the ceiling. “I didn’t. I can’t remember anything.”

  Joseph squeezed his shoulder. “You did. You threw me into the wall. We couldn’t stop you.”

  “I suppose that’s why you brought the reinforcements this time.” The two soldiers looked ready to let him have it at any moment. Pistols on their hips reminded Joseph that lethal use of force would be authorized, regardless of Patient Zero’s importance alive.

  “The doctors are here to continue researching you and the virus. They have a series of tests they need to run.” He paused. “You understand why we must conduct these experiments, right?”

  “Yeah. To create a vaccine for the virus.”

  “That’s correct. Some of the tests we have to conduct may be painful.”

  Richard bit his lip and tried to nod. “I understand. You know, I didn’t ask for any of this.” Then quieter, he whispered. “I didn’t want this.”

  “We didn’t want this either.” We don’t want to do this. I don’t want to do this, but my team has overridden me. I must keep it together for the team. “Will you try to hold it together for us? The American people are depending on you.”

  Richard tried to nod again, but his head was secured to the table. Joseph turned to the doctors and nodded.

  Byrnes walked forward and Joseph stepped back.

  “Dr. Nguyen. Let’s start with a portion of his liver.”

  “Partial biopsy?”

  “No. I want a sizable portion. Let’s get him open.”

  “You aren’t going to sedate him?” Dr. Jackowski questioned.

  Byrnes regarded him over his shoulder. “No more than he already is. You of all people saw how that affected him last time. We will use a local.”

  Joseph’s jaw stayed in the dropped position.

  “Dr. Jackowski?” Richard yelled. Joseph took a step farther away from them all.

  “Dr. Jackowski? Come back,” Richard yelled. He squirmed in his restraints. “Don’t leave me here alone.”

  Joseph took another step away from the table.

  “Scalpel.” The doctor colonel held out his hand.

  Dr. Hollis handed the stainless steel cutting tool to Byrnes.

  “Dr. Jackowski? What are they doing?” Richard screamed.

  “Dr. Nguyen, find something to gag him with. As stimulating as the conversation may be, that’s not why we’re here.” Dr. Nguyen put gauze into his mouth. He unrolled tape and pressed it down onto Richard’s cheeks. Richard’s yells came out muffled.

  “I’ll place the incision here,” Byrnes said. His free hand massaged near Richard’s right side, feeling for the perfect spot.

  “There it is,” Byrnes said. His hand pressed down and his blade sunk through the layers of Richard’s skin, fat, and muscle.

  Joseph’s back hit the wall as Richard’s muffled screams echoed in the operating room.

  STEELE

  Northern Michigan

  The rope creaked in the wind. The body slowly spun, suspended in the air by a thick blackened rope. It was shrunken and charred, skin peeling and cracking in ashy flakes. Its limbs were frozen in a final death spasm, fingers curled near its neck, feet pointed, mouth posed in a scream.

  “Looks like Rat-Face,” Tess said.

  “I wouldn’t know one way or another,” Steele said. He looked on the ground for any clues. Overturned leaves and footprints littered the forest floor. She walked close, covering her mouth. She tugged on his hand and rubbed his finger. Bits of silver peeked out from his ha
nds beneath the soot.

  “It’s him. He had a skull ring on each hand.”

  “Someone’s killed them, but why?” Steele said. She didn’t answer. He scanned the thick dune woods, peering past trees and shrubs alike. Each tree could hide an enemy human, infected or otherwise.

  “We should keep moving. I see tracks here,” she said.

  “A blind man could follow these. There must be twenty or thirty pairs of feet here.”

  “Or more.” She squeezed her brow together, trying to read him.

  Steele took a deep breath, touching his head scar. “That’s what I am afraid of,” he said.

  “Only one way to find out.” She walked off following the tracks.

  He marched after her deeper into the forest.

  They pushed tree branches from their path. Mile after mile they ranged, tracking the mass of people that had gone before them. The people had steamrolled the forest undergrowth without a seeming care in the world. Brazen or stupid or both and we are walking right down the middle.

  It wasn’t long before he passed Tess and took the lead. Long distance races were not his specialty but a low-intensity ruck was well within his wheelhouse. It was just something he could do. It was more of a mindset than actual conditioning that allowed someone to complete feats of endurance but conditioning always helped. Keep gutting it out one step at a time.

  “Hold up there, Steele. I need a break,” Tess said, hands on her hips. “Whew. Haven’t had to go this far in a while. I prefer shorter walks to the bar.” She gave him a grin.

  “Can’t keep up?” he said. He knelt down and rested his M4 over his knee. He never really stopped passively listening, looking, or feeling the surrounding environment for things that were out of place. He let all his senses ping. He let his guard down as her lips curled into a mischievous grin.

  “I would run you into the ground,” Tess said.

  Steele couldn’t help but feel embarrassed. He knew what she meant and it wasn’t a marathon race. She knew what she meant, and yet, he couldn’t resist her banter.

  “You sure of that?” he said, standing and meeting her eyes. There was something about her eyes. They promised something. A good time. A carefree life. Above all passion. She took a step for him, her hips moving enough to draw his eyes downward across her chest and lower.

  Her hand reached up and tugged his beard downward, closer to her face.

  “You wouldn’t last five minutes with me,” she whispered. Her lips pursed a bit. Branches cracked and broke in the distance, giving way to intruders. Her eyes went wide and Steele pushed her to the side. He ripped his M4 to his shoulder, eye aiming with his red dot optic. Ugly faces and decrepit decaying bodies filled his optics.

  “Infected,” he snarled. Dozens of infected marched their way, dead eyes glaring his way, blaming him for his living, breathing life.

  “Raaarrr,” vibrated in their ears. A tall infected man crashed through the leaves, grabbing them both together. The infected’s jawline was stripped clean of all flesh, revealing only ivory bone in its place. Its skin was greenish brown, destroyed by sagging black pus sacks. Gunshot wounds leaking cold black blood lined his chest.

  Steele tried to raise his carbine level with the fiend but was unable to get a shot. He instinctually grabbed the infected with his support hand. The infected growled, taking them off the path, its undead strength forcing their feet to backpedal.

  Firing his gun point blank, Steele grunted as the gun recoiled hard into the notch of his elbow. Bullets penetrated the thing’s leg over and over. Steele pulled the infected hard, forcing the creature to shift its weight to its disintegrated leg. Steele used the torn GVSU t-shirt to topple the creature down onto the ground.

  Steele landed on its chest. The creature’s mouth opened wide for him, its arms wrapping in a bear hug around him and Tess. The infected’s jaws snapped shut and opened further than tendons would allow a normal human’s to unhinge and crushed closed again, spittle flying.

  The back of Steele’s mind screamed. You don’t have time. They’re coming. They’re coming. Gritting his teeth, he strained away from its gaping mouth. A gunshot concussed him, and for a moment, he thought he misfired his carbine. The top of the infected’s patchy haired skull turned into a volcano of gooey reddish gray matter, quelling its struggle. Tess held her 1911 in, pointing it at them. Steele scrambled upright.

  Lining up his sights on the nearest infected, Steele fired and transitioned too quick. He rushed because the dead were almost upon them. Tess shot next to him, her arms extended, elbows almost locked, but open enough to absorb recoil.

  “Run!” Steele yelled at her. He pushed her in the direction the infected were not. They sprinted through the forest. Branches scratched their faces. Twigs cut at their arms. Rocks tripped their feet, but they ran. After minutes, he slowed and stopped. Resting on a white pine tree, his gun pointed behind them, he watched and waited for the disorderly pursuit of their enemies. He could hear them. Their movement was easy to identify.

  “You okay?” Steele breathed, watching his gun bounce in time to his pounding heartbeat.

  “Yeah. I think your five minutes are up,” she joked.

  He wheezed a few laughs. “Hope you are up for round two. Here they come again.”

  They weaved through the trees, not with the intention of avoiding detection, but with only the intention of pursuing their prey. His shooting in response was delayed because he spent much more time waiting to get a clear shot than he would have liked. As they grew closer, he stood, not seeing the point of hiding. Tess joined him then, sending rounds into them with efficiency. In minutes, it was over, a smoky cloud hanging in the air.

  He released his mag from the mag well and shoved it in his pocket. He replaced the almost empty mag well with a full one. Then he went about reloading his expended magazines. Tess checked her weapon status and joined him, loading bullets into her empty magazines.

  “You were made for this,” Tess said.

  He kept his eyes up while he reloaded. “I was not. I was made for summertime at the beach and a nice glass of rye whiskey on the rocks.”

  “Deny it all you want, but you were made for it.” She shook her head at his apparent stupidity as she loaded her mags.

  Steele slipped a loaded 30-round mag into his vest pouch. “I don’t want this,” he said. He snapped up an empty mag to reload with freshly brassed bullets. “Who would want this disgusting, perverted shithole of a world?”

  “Do we ever have a choice of what our world looks like?” she asked.

  “We make the world what it is.”

  “Did you make the world like this?”

  “Of course not.”

  “But the world is like this. Almost everyone is dead. But everyone doesn’t need to die. You could make this place better. Safer. Habitable.”

  “I don’t see where I fit into this. I keep me and my people in one piece. Nothing more. Nothing less.” Except for all those that have fallen in this futile struggle.

  Tess stopped him by grabbing his sleeve. “Don’t bullshit me. The average person can’t make this better. Even a man like Pagan can’t by himself. Thunder can’t. I can’t.”

  “Not my problem,” he said.

  “Listen, Steele, I can make do. I can hold out, fight, fuck, and barter, but if Pagan is gone…” She stopped and her eyes drifted out into the forest.

  He watched her in silence.

  “Pagan and I are a team. If he’s gone, I don’t think I can do it without him.”

  “We’ll find him,” Steele uttered.

  “Stop.” She held up a hand. “You know what world we live in. This search is a courtesy I know he would do for me if I went missing. I have to recognize that he is probably dead like the men that rode with him.”

  “The chances are high.”

  She grimaced at his brutally honest words. “I know. Without him, I can survive, but I don’t think I can lead Little Sable by myself. Then you arrived. I see you for what
you are, and that’s somebody that can do this.”

  “What are you trying to say?” he asked. He felt a headache coming on. One worse than any migraine he’d ever experienced.

  “I want you to help me lead Little Sable Point. I want us to be a team. At least until we find Pagan. I will default to you on all security matters.”

  He released himself from her hand. “I don’t want to be your co-leader or whatever it is you want. How would I lead people I don’t even know? Why would they follow me?” And there is no way for me to legitimize my leadership.

  Her eyes pleaded. “Little Sable has some good folk. Men, women, and children. They’re scared. They need someone that they can rely on. If we can get Pagan back then you’re off the hook. The Red Stripes will help you run security.”

  “Why don’t you ask Thunder? The Red Stripes follow him.”

  “He doesn’t want it. He made that clear in the beginning. He’s got his club and he’s got a soft spot for Sable, but he doesn’t want to lead it.”

  “And neither do I.” Steele moved his carbine low, pointing it toward the ground, and walked ahead. He moved faster than he had before, his boots crunching leaves, creating space between them as if he could outrun her comments.

  “Steele, wait.” He stopped, more annoyed with her than anything else. “Maybe we could make another arrangement. An open one of course,” she smiled coyly and reached out a hand to stroke his cheek.

  Steele dodged her, shifting his head out of the way. “I didn’t turn you down so we could fuck.” He twisted his mouth and scanned the trees.

  Tess rolled her eyes as if she didn’t believe him. “We’re lucky Little Sable Point has gotten as far as it has. I need a man like you by my side. I’m not going anywhere; they trust me and I’m saying that I trust you.” She jumped, readjusting her backpack straps. He tried not to notice the perkiness of her breasts. “A good leader knows allies when they appear.”

  “You don’t get it.” He jabbed a finger in her direction. “I’ve lost enough people. I’m the only one left from my counterterrorism team. I’ve lost friends. I’ve lost fellow survivors. Now, I’ve lost my mother. I only have one real thing left and that’s Gwen. I…” He stopped, realizing he was yelling and stared at her. “You don’t understand.”