The Last Five Days: The Complete Novel: A Post-Apocalyptic Thriller

by Seiple, Paul

  "Playing hard to get, huh?"

  Dean ran his hand over Melanie's stomach. Butterflies she once felt for him were now tiny daggers stabbing her gut. She fought back the urge to vomit. Dean rubbed his crotch against her bound hand. The zipper scraped her knuckles. Melanie refused to acknowledge the pain.

  "I've been dreaming of this since that night in New York," Dean said.

  I have to get free, Melanie thought. "Of what? Raping me while I'm tied up?"

  Dean stepped back and shook his head. "I don't want to rape you. Sex does nothing for me."

  "Then untie me. Chase me. How far can I get? Don't you want this to be memorable? You came all this way to kill and you're not even going to let me put up a fight."

  Her defiance against being a victim surprised Melanie. It surprised Dean too. He took another step back and sat in the rocking chair. He took the knife and pointed it at Melanie.

  "Why aren't you scared?"

  "What do I have to live for? This isn't like in New York. I'm not graduating in three weeks. I may be a prisoner in my own home, but worse than that, I'm a prisoner in this town. I can't escape. So why keep me tied up?"

  Dean dropped the knife, placed his hands together, put his thumbs under his chin, his index fingers under his nose, and thought.

  "More than likely, this will be your last kill. Take a look around. There isn't anyone left. Untie me. Work for it. I can't get away. Let the chase turn you on."

  Dean smiled. He picked up the knife and walked to Melanie. Dean traced the rope tying Melanie's ankle to the bedpost. He ran the blade underneath the rope. With one hand on the rope, Dean jerked upwards. The knife shredded the rope. Melanie's leg was free.

  "I am going to kill you."

  Dean moved to her other foot. Another swipe of the knife and Melanie's other leg was free. Kicking Dean as hard as possible flashed through her mind, but her hands were still bound. If she reacted now, she wouldn't have a chance. What am I going to do when he frees my hands? Melanie thought. I'm going to have to kill him. Can I do that?

  Dean grabbed Melanie's wrist. The rope dug in, burning her flesh. She bit her lip so that she wouldn't whimper aloud. Dean ran the blade along the length of the rope between Melanie's wrist and the bedpost as if he were whittling a piece of wood.

  "I'm not stupid," Dean said. "I'll cut this hand free and you'll try to poke out my eyes or something as I reach over you to free your other hand."

  Dean straddled Melanie's chest. His weight forced her to gasp. He held the knife to her throat. Melanie closed her eyes in attempt to fight back tears.

  "I'm not going to kill you yet. You were right. The thrill is in the kill, but there's nothing like a good chase to get the adrenaline pumping."

  Dean freed Melanie's wrist. He didn't realize the rope attached to her other wrist had frayed from the early knife play, but Melanie knew. While Dean was cutting her right wrist free, she grabbed a full-size Maglite that her father bought her for Christmas with her left hand. She kept the flashlight next to the bed in case the power went out.

  Melanie's wrist was still bound to the bedpost, but the tension had loosened. She hoped she had enough strength to hit Dean with the light and free herself.

  "One more and then the fun begi…"

  Before Dean could finish the sentence, Melanie landed the flashlight against his temple with enough force to break the rope and render Dean unconscious. She screamed, not out of fear, but as a way to release pent-up emotions. Melanie pushed Dean off her. His body slumped and made a sickening thud when it hit the floor. Melanie didn't care. Hit him again. Melanie's mind tried to convince her it was the right thing to do. This was her chance at revenge. A rare opportunity to regain the dignity she felt she lost during the robbery. As her mind screamed to finish Dean, something inside told her it wasn't the right thing to do. Melanie was afraid the guilt of murdering someone would be worse than lost dignity. She clutched the flashlight to her chest and ran. Melanie had survived — for now.

  * * *

  "Five gallons of gas gets quite heavy after a while."

  Winston switched the can to his left hand. Baker Street was empty, not that it ever had gridlock, but gauging by the sun, it was getting close to five o'clock. Normally, a few people would be heading home from work. But there was no one. Not even a dead guy wanting to dine on Winston's flesh. There was something soothing about the peaceful street mixed with John Denver.

  "Am I really starting to like John Denver?"

  Winston refused to answer the question, opting to marvel at the iPod's battery life instead. It had become a trusty friend, sticking with him through a near death experience and the treasure hunt for gas. Winston didn't think it would be too hard, but without power, gas pumps didn't work. He tried a few cars, but someone beat him to it. Gas was going to be gold without power. It took a few cars and a mouthful of gas, but Winston finally filled up the can. And all along, the iPod was his wingman. Just as "Pink Moon" by Nick Drake came on, the iPod died. Winston couldn't help but laugh. He sat the gas can down to examine the iPod. A scream startled him. The iPod hit the asphalt. From the corner of his eye, Winston saw someone running for him.

  "Help me."

  Winston drew the Colt and aimed it at the voice.

  "Don't shoot me." The woman fell to her knees and rolled onto the sidewalk.

  "Melanie?"

  Melanie got her feet and started toward Winston.

  "Stay back." Winston aimed the gun at her head.

  "It's me, Winston. He's trying to kill me."

  "Are you sick?" Winston asked, taking a few steps back with the Colt still pointed at Melanie.

  "I'm not sick. Dean's trying to kill me."

  Winston lowered the pistol.

  "He's not who I thought he was." Melanie paused to catch her breath. "He's evil."

  "Dean's not evil. He's sick. The virus makes people dangerous." Dangerous. The word lodged in Winston's throat like a chunk of meat. Winston had killed people; infected or not, they were still people. He was dangerous.

  "Dean's not infected. He killed Luther, Vera, and God knows who else."

  Winston thought back to the marks on Vera's neck. She wasn't dead when someone strangled her. Byrd said the dead don't do that.

  Melanie grabbed Winston's arm. "We have to go. I hit him, but he'll come for me."

  "Are you sure he isn't infected? How do you know he killed Vera?"

  Melanie tried to pull Winston. "He told me. We have to…"

  A gunshot interrupted Melanie. Winston screamed out, broke free from her grasp, and clutched his right arm. Another gunshot. This one barely missed Winston.

  "Run," Winston said, falling to the ground. He rolled, aimed the Colt, and fired toward Melanie's porch. The bullet lodged into a wooden column next to Dean, who was wearing the clown mask again.

  "It was cute of you to offer me a knife, but did you really think I wouldn't have a gun?"

  Dean fired a shot at Melanie, purposely missing her. A warning shot to let her know at any moment he could take her down. She froze.

  "Take shelter," Winston said.

  His words thawed Melanie. She dove behind an old station wagon.

  "You've got a gun. I've got a gun. Let's talk about this, Winston."

  Dean was defiant. He didn't take cover. He opened his arms, welcoming Winston's next move.

  Winston got to his knees and dragged himself behind a row of shrubbery. The asphalt grated flesh from his palms. His knees felt as though they were bleeding, but the pain from the bullet lodged in his arm numbed everything else.

  Dean laughed. "I can still see you."

  Winston tore the sleeve of his hoodie to inspect the damage. He wasn't lucky today. Yesterday at Luther's, Randy's bullet grazed his arm. This one stuck and stuck deep.

  "You're boring me, Winston. Entertain me or I'll kill you...and then I'll kill Melanie."

  Winston bit his lip to the point that it bled. He was trying anything to mask the pain from the gunshot.r />
  "I'm going to give you to five, and then I'm emptying this gun into you," Dean said. "I'll use the knife on Melanie, since it was her suggestion. Come on; you want to play the knight in shining armor, don't you?"

  "Looks like I'm going to have to. All the clown costumes were taken, Bozo."

  Dean laughed. "Now that's what I'm talking about. Let's have some fun."

  Dean stepped off the porch, tore off the clown mask, and started toward Winston.

  "He's coming, Winston," Melanie shouted from behind the Pinto.

  "Look out. I'm coming, Winston."

  Dean pointed the gun at the shrubs and fired. The bullet missed Winston's head by a few inches. He would have to peek around the bush to return fire. That was sure death, but his options were slim and disappearing with every step Dean took.

  "You know, Winston, I never liked you. You just have this look about you. Like you're smarter than everyone else. Killing people gets me off, but killing you will be damn near multi-orgasmic."

  "If you're looking forward to it that much, why don't we put the guns down and get to know each other on a more personal level?" Winston said.

  "Didn't I suggest that ten minutes ago before you went the coward route and hid?"

  "It takes me a while to open up. I'm a bit shy."

  "How many bullets ya got, Winston? And don't lie."

  Jimbo. The porch column, Winston thought. "Seven."

  "No fair. I only have two. Tell ya what. Let's even out the playing field. Lose six bullets." Dean aimed the gun at the gas can Winston left behind and fired. "I've got one. We'll each have one shot at each other."

  "I don't know, Bozo. How can I trust you? You're wishy washy. First you want to lose the guns and now you want to have an old west duel."

  Melanie screamed, startling Dean. He fired a shot in her direction, shattering the windshield of the station wagon.

  "You bitch."

  Melanie stepped out from behind the car. Winston emerged from behind the shrubbery with the gun locked on Dean.

  Dean dropped the gun. "You wouldn't shoot an unarmed man, would you?"

  Without hesitation, Winston shot Dean in the chest. He stumbled and fell on his back. Winston fired another shot as he walked toward Dean. This one hit him in the side. His body jerked. Winston stood over Dean. Melanie stood next to Winston. Blood trickled from the corner of Dean's mouth. He fought to breathe, sending red speckles into the air like a geyser. He coughed.

  "I didn't lie to you. I only had one bullet." The words were staggered between gasps.

  Winston emptied the Colt into his hand. He counted five bullets.

  "I didn't lie either."

  Winston put one bullet in the gun and aimed it at Dean's head. Melanie grabbed his wrist.

  "If I don't kill him, he'll just come back."

  "I know." Melanie wrapped her hand around Winston's, prying his fingers from the gun. "Let me do it."

  Winston let go of the Colt. "Are you sure?"

  Melanie nodded. Winston stepped back.

  "Don't think about moving or I'll bury a bullet in your forehead." Melanie closed her eyes and pulled the trigger.

  Winston took the gun from her trembling hand. "You OK?"

  Melanie smiled. "As well as one can be after nearly being murdered by her boyfriend."

  Winston looked at the can. Gas poured into the street. It was getting dark. There wasn't enough time to find another can. It didn't matter. The day was shot. With cooler temperatures, the food in the fridge might last another day. I'll get gas tomorrow, Winston thought. Tomorrow. Salk; that'll have to wait till tomorrow too. Winston was learning that setting these next day goals would be the only thing to get him through the night as things got worse. He looked at his arm.

  "Is it bad?" Melanie asked.

  "I'm not too versed in gunshots, but it sure hurts like hell." Winston kicked over the gas can. "Well, it's getting dark. You don't want to be out here much longer."

  "What are you going to do?"

  "I have to get home to Marianna."

  "Thank God, she's not sick. I was worried since I hadn't heard from her all week."

  Marianna was the first person to befriend Melanie when she moved to Black Dog. Both creative minds, they shared a love for the arts and yoga. Last week was the first time in over a year that Marianna had missed yoga. Melanie worried about her, but figured it was just a cold or something.

  "She's infected."

  "I thought the infected were dangerous?"

  "I locked her in the guest bedroom. They're going to find a cure. Anyway, I gotta go. You should get inside."

  "Can I come with you?"

  Winston didn't answer.

  "You're going to need someone to help you with that." Melanie pointed to Winston's arm. "I was an ambassador in the Girl Scouts."

  Winston smiled. "I have no idea what that means."

  "I just don't want to be alone."

  "All right. You can come, but the house is a mess."

  Melanie rolled her eyes. They started walking.

  "Do you really think they are going to find a cure for this?"

  "You know that doctor from the CDC? She gave me some valuable information to give to Dr. Salk. I was going to see him today but got a little sidetracked." Winston smiled again.

  "You got sidetracked? My boyfriend turned out to be a serial killer who's been stalking me since New York."

  "Yeah, well, I had to shoot Jimbo Brookside."

  "What's this world coming to, Winston?"

  Winston fought hard not to say “an end.” Stay positive, he thought. "I don't know, but we're still here." He wasn't sure that was a good thing. The chance of seeing a cure was slim. The chance of ever leaving Black Dog was non-existent.

  "So, what are we going to do tomorrow?"

  Get gas. Talk to Salk. "Tomorrow, we keep living."

  Day Three

  The Smoker

  I was taught that the human brain was the crowning glory of evolution so far, but I think it's a very poor scheme for survival.

  -Kurt Vonnegut

  Nicotine —it's the sharpest double-edged sword. It calms...and it kills. Winston took a puff, pulled the cigarette from his lips, and watched the smoke. He used to be a heavy smoker, at least a pack a day. And then his grandmother died of lung cancer. Winston tried to give up smokes cold turkey, but the allure was too much. Finally, after a few nicotine gums, it stuck. Winston grew to hate the taste, the smell, and the control cigarettes had over him. He watched the smoke plume and whisk away into the slight breeze. Years of abstinence floated in the trail. This cigarette was like reuniting with a long lost volatile lover — so wrong, but for a few minutes, so right. The pleasure was worth the consequences.

  "I didn't know you smoked," Melanie said, stepping out onto the front porch. She stretched her arms above her head, reaching as far as she could, and then inhaled fresh air. Surprisingly, the stench of rotting corpses was minimal. The virus had a way of masking decay.

  Winston stopped rocking and shielded the cigarette from Melanie in act of shame. "I quit about fifteen years ago."

  "Around five years for me. Got one to spare?" Melanie smiled.

  Winston pulled a pack from his inside jacket pocket. "Lifted these from Jimbo yesterday."

  He offered a cigarette to Melanie. She lit up and blew smoke into the air.

  "How's the arm?"

  "Better. Thanks for digging the bullet out. Did they teach you that in Girl Scouts?"

  Melanie shook her head. "Nope, got those handy medical skills from Grey's Anatomy."

  "I should have watched more television." Winston puffed again. "These things really are the devil." He held the cigarette out. Ashes fell to the porch from the burning tip.

  Melanie put the cigarette to her lips without responding.

  "I don't know what's more insane; us being trapped here by our own government or Dean following you from New York. Do you really think he was one of those assholes who robbed you that nigh
t?"

  Melanie blew smoke. "I know he was. He knew everything about that night. Every little detail."

  "Just crazy."

  "Yeah. So, what's the plan for today?"

  "At some point, we need to find some gas for the generator. The food's probably bad, but it would be nice to have a little electricity. It's getting colder. We'll need to find wood for the fireplace."

  "I got that covered. Jerry brought me a load last week."

  "First, we need to try to find Salk. When I talked to Byrd, she was sick, but not to the point she couldn't function. She told me a bunch of things to tell Salk."

  "Did she know what caused this?"

  "No, but…" Winston hesitated. Melanie hadn't shown any signs of being sick. She deserved to know everything he did. "But she did tell me what happens to the body once you're infected. You start to crave a protein called keratin. It's in skin."

  "That's why people are trying to eat each other?"

  Winston let a brief chuckle slip. "Yeah."

  "Will this Salk guy help us since we're not infected?"

  No one's getting out of here alive. Dr. Byrd's words drowned out Melanie. Winston took another puff. "I sure hope so."

  * * *

  Robert Salk paced the opposite direction of General Hendricks. Salk wasn't a small man, average by standards. But next to Hendricks, he seemed short. Hendricks stood at least six-five and had excellent muscle tone for a man in his mid-fifties.

  A black helicopter circled above. Each man stopped after a few paces to watch the chopper and then returned to anxious movement. Neither spoke. They didn't have to. Salk's face told the story of a worried man running out of options. Hendricks had the look of a child waiting to open Christmas presents.

  Since middle school, Salk had been fascinated with biology. When most kids looked forward to gym or recess, Salk constantly eyed his watch, waiting for Mr. Woolwine's science class. He never imagined he would be in this position when he joined the Judas Project. It was pitched to him as a team of the brightest minds in science working together to bring world peace under an umbrella of the highest secrecy. But the Judas Project was a weapon. Salk was all in when he signed on and was given security clearance. There was no turning back, and the more he learned about the Judas Project, the more interested he became.