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

by Seiple, Paul

  "What if there was a biological weapon that held no fear of catastrophic casualties? A weapon with an isolated target. Once wiped out, the agent dies out, like Ebola."

  That was the way General Thomas Hendricks described the Judas Project in their first meeting. An isolated target. What was happening in Black Dog was only isolated because it was contained. Such is the case with any infectious disease. One would have thought the brightest minds in science would have known that. The allure of building something the world hadn't seen was too strong. Now the world was on the verge of destruction because of their blindness.

  The helicopter hovered above a barricaded road.

  "It's safe to land," Hendricks spoke into a two-way radio.

  Arriving were three scientists who weren't involved in the Judas Project for various reasons, none being their minds. Before Hendricks approached anyone, their lives were picked apart without their knowledge. If Hendricks didn't feel they were the right fit, he moved on. The decision solely belonged to him. Hendricks ran ARMA.

  ARMA wasn't the United States Military. ARMA, named after the Latin word for weapon, was a privately funded organization, and according the military, it didn't exist. ARMA was untraceable. The outbreak in Black Dog threatened its invisibility. Hendricks felt betrayed by his team of scientists, Salk included. This should have been contained. There was a plan. All the scientists had to do was follow the plan. Now, Hendricks had to stick his neck out, become vulnerable, something he didn't enjoy, but deep down, he knew Judas worked. He hoped the three outsiders would be able to contain the Judas virus to ensure ARMA's survival. Hendricks didn't care much about a cure. That was never part of his plan. A disease without a cure is much more feared, but this needed to be contained before the United States military stepped in.

  The first to exit the helicopter was Dr. James Jones, a driving force in the field of virology. Often called the "Michael Jordan" of virology, Dr. Jones beamed with cockiness that he called confidence. His ego was the reason Hendricks initially passed on asking him to join ARMA.

  "How was the ride?" Hendricks asked.

  "Pretty shitty. Was the blindfold necessary? Where are we?"

  "I'm sorry about the blindfold, but it's imperative that our location remain secret."

  "Just who the hell did you think I'd tell? You put me on a helicopter with Laurel and Hardy."

  Before General Hendricks could reply, a rail-thin man pushed Jones to the side and decorated the asphalt with his lunch. Hendricks stepped back, but wasn't fast enough to avoid the remnants of a deconstructed ham sandwich on his shoes.

  "I'm so sorry, sir."

  Hendricks nodded. "First time on a helicopter, son?"

  "No, sir. Just a bumpy ride. Again, I'm sorry."

  "I can hose the shoes off. I'm General Tom Hendricks."

  "Nice to meet you, sir. I'm Richard Kincaid. Everyone calls me Richie."

  Richard Kincaid was a wunderkind in microbiology. He earned the nickname "Richie" from a striking resemblance to Ron Howard's character on Happy Days. Richie graduated from Michigan State at sixteen. By his twenty-fifth birthday, Richie ran the microbiology department at State. His accelerated education negatively affected his social skills. Richie didn't have a normal childhood. Ask him about rods and cocci and he could go on all day. Ask him about his first kiss and Richie would be stumped. He was naïve and innocent. That got him scratched off of General Hendricks's list.

  The last man off the helicopter was Dr. Mark Fisher. Parasitology was his niche. Weighing nearly 300 pounds and armed with a sharp wit, he rarely lost an argument. Dr. Jones constantly challenged him.

  "It took you long enough to get off the helicopter."

  "I wanted to let your cloud of flatulence that you don't think stinks clear before I got off," Dr. Fisher said.

  "Good one, Tubby. With you being a god in the parasitic world, you would think you would've ingested a tapeworm to lose some of that weight. God knows, it looks like you ingest everything else," Jones said.

  Hendricks stepped between Jones and Fisher. "There's no time for this. This is a serious matter. I assume you know Robert Salk. He will brief you on the situation."

  "Salk? You son-of-a-bitch," Jones said.

  Salk didn't answer. He motioned for the men to follow. They walked by a row of black tents to a mobile CDC unit.

  "What's going on, Bob?" Fisher said.

  Salk waited to answer until they were in the mobile lab.

  "This is about that secret project Hendricks came to me about a few years ago, isn't it?" Fisher asked. "I knew turning him down was the right thing. What type of mess have you got yourself in?"

  "He asked you to join?" Salk asked.

  "Yeah, told him to shove it."

  Ethics was the reason Mark Fisher wasn't part of the Judas Project.

  "This is great, but you two can catch up over a romantic dinner tonight. Why the hell are we here, Bob?" Jones asked.

  Salk picked up a remote, pushed a button, and a black screen with the word JUDAS popped up on a television screen.

  "For the last two years, we've been developing a biological agent…"

  Jones interrupted Salk. "You mean weapon."

  "The purpose of the agent was to incapacitate the enemy with minimal casualties to civilians."

  "That's a pipedream, Bob. War is casualties," Fisher said.

  "The purpose of the agent was to cause the enemy to turn on each other."

  "You sound like a robot, Bob. Did Hendricks's little army brainwash you?" Jones said.

  "I hope you're settling in well," Hendricks said, stepping into the mobile unit. "I assure you ARMA is not in the business of brainwashing."

  "ARMA? No, you're just in the business of playing god," Fisher said.

  "I see you're still skeptical, Mark." Hendricks took the remote from Salk and turned the television off. "ARMA is a privately funded organization with the goal of ensuring world peace. We do not follow United States government regulations. We do not follow local, state, or federal law. We are our own entity..."

  "I'm pretty sure I saw the United States military out there," Jones said.

  "Something has happened in Black Dog that is a threat to national security. You are correct; there is a small military presence here."

  "And you're a damn fool if you think you're not under military regulations here," Fisher said.

  "How did the agent get released in Black Dog?" Richie asked.

  The room went silent.

  "We're here because you screwed up. We're your last option before the military steps in," Richie said.

  "Unfortunately, you are correct, Richie." Hendricks nodded to Salk.

  "We're not sure how the outbreak started, but Dr. Byrd traced it back to two men fishing in Black Dog Lake. A few days after their trip, they began to present, and two days later, they were dead…"

  "Carrie is here?" Fisher asked.

  "And what happened after they died?" Jones asked.

  Before Salk could answer, Richie said, "They came back."

  "They murdered the man who was going to cremate them."

  "Oh shit," Jones said. "Good job, Bob. Looks like you've really screwed up this time."

  "The agent is working exactly like it's designed to," Fisher said. "It's causing neighbors to turn on neighbors. That's what you were going for. Right, Tom?"

  "The goal was to have the enemy…"

  "Save your breath. The goal was to have people turn on each other. Congratulations," Fisher said. "Where is Carrie?"

  Salk looked at Hendricks.

  "Dr. Byrd sacrificed herself for science," Hendricks said.

  "She's dead, Mark," Salk said. "She went in for interviews and never made it back."

  Fisher shoved a metal cart. Papers flew in all directions. A projector crashed to the floor. "I want no part of this. I'm not cleaning up your shit."

  Hendricks stepped in front of Fisher as he tried to leave the unit.

  "Once you're here, you can't leave
until there is a cure, and the threat is eliminated. We cannot risk this virus getting out," Hendricks said.

  "It's already out," Richie said. "And you should have thought about a cure when you were creating this thing. It's too late now." Fisher walked by Hendricks and stopped. Without turning around, he said, "You're the biggest threat here. How do we eliminate you?"

  * * *

  "Does she ever stop clawing at the door?" Melanie asked, packing a backpack with a few butcher knives, a flashlight, and a bottle of water.

  Winston eyed the guest bedroom door. "No. She's hungry. Eating is the only thing she's thinking about. You ready to go?"

  Melanie nodded and followed Winston outside. The smell of smoke nearly choked them. A house, about five down from Winston's, was on fire. A plume of smoke in the other direction drew Melanie's attention.

  "Someone is setting fires," Winston said. He stepped off the porch and walked toward the smaller pillar of smoke.

  "What are you doing?"

  "I'm going to find out who the pyromaniac is."

  * * *

  "Excuse me, General, but this is important."

  General Hendricks broke free from the conversation with the scientists and stepped outside the mobile unit.

  "A fire's been spotted."

  "This cannot leave Black Dog. Get a copter there now. Put it out."

  "But, sir, the agent could be in the fire. If it's in the smoke, the chopper could …"

  "Get the fire out...and then down the copter... in town."

  "Sir, we can't kill…"

  "Either make the order, or I will." Hendricks grabbed the soldier. "If I have to do it, I have no use for you."

  * * *

  "Bob, what the hell have you gotten yourself into?" Jones said.

  "He's always been about the mighty dollar," Fisher said.

  "I really thought I was doing something good."

  "Bullshit," Fisher said.

  "Listen, you can fight later. Right now, let's try to save these people," Richie said. "What's in the agent?"

  Salk didn't answer.

  "How are we supposed to help if you do not tell us what we're dealing with?" Richie asked.

  "He doesn't know," Jones said. "Look at his face."

  Salk scratched his bearded chin. "Hendricks had us each working in different labs. I'm not sure what the others were working with. I was in charge of DNA splicing."

  "Cut the crap, Bob. What were you doing?"

  Salk exhaled. "Trying to splice human and gorilla DNA."

  Jones lowered his head. "Oh, Jesus. How many of you mad scientists are there?"

  "There were five. I'm the last."

  "What do you mean you're the last?" Fisher asked.

  "The others died in a plane crash on the way here."

  "Convenient," Jones said.

  "I asked Hendricks not to invite you."

  "That was so kind of you," Jones said.

  "So, we're replacing them?" Richie asked.

  "Hendricks said this was a summit to discuss infectious outbreaks in Africa," Jones said.

  "That's what he told me too. I found it odd, but never thought he would lie," Richie said.

  "I knew the bastard would lie, but my conscience made me come," Fisher said.

  "The only goal now is to contain the outbreak. It cannot leave Black Dog," Salk said.

  "What about us? Can we leave Black Dog, Bob?" Fisher asked.

  * * *

  "Look, there's another fire," Melanie said, pointing to smoke hovering about the pines behind Vera's house.

  Winston changed direction and veered off the road into Vera's front yard.

  "We can't let the town burn down. It's all we have left." Winston jogged toward the smoke.

  "Well, wait for me."

  Melanie caught up to Winston. They inched around Vera's house with their backs to the vinyl siding. Winston clutched the Colt to his chest. Melanie dug her nails into Winston's forearm. She pressed against his shoulder, putting pressure on his wound. Winston winced.

  "Sorry."

  "Is that Neal Harvey?" Winston forced the words through clenched teeth.

  "Yeah. What is he doing? Is he..."

  Neal Harvey lit a towel wrapped around a stick and torched a body on the ground in front of him. He watched the body burn and stepped back just before a stray flame grabbed his leg. Neal quoted Isaiah 4:4. "When the Lord has washed away the filth of the daughters of Zion and purged the bloodshed of Jerusalem from her midst, the spirit of judgment and the spirit of burning…"

  "Why is he doing that?" Melanie asked. "Do you think he's sick?"

  Winston didn't answer. He stepped out from the side of the house and started toward Neal.

  "What are you doing?" Melanie started to follow Winston.

  Winston placed his finger against his lips and motioned for Melanie to stay hidden. He moved closer. Neal didn't notice Winston. When Neal bent down, flames latched on to the towel, and he burned another body. Winston aimed the Colt at Neal.

  I can't shoot him in the back, Winston thought as the image of Jimbo falling flashed before his eyes. All the deaths stuck with him, but the way he took Jimbo out gnawed at him a little harder. Jimbo wasn't violent when Winston shot him. That fact picked at his brain, but Winston knew at some point that Jimbo would try to kill him again. Winston had no choice. This virus threw predictability out the window. Winston wasn't sure of the extent people functioned when infected. Could they have enough cognitive function to torch bodies? Why would they? Fire destroyed flesh. And flesh was what fueled them. So many questions. If Winston killed Neal, he would never get the answers.

  "Neal."

  Winston held out his arms in a non-threatening manner, but he still clutched the Colt with a death grip. Startled, Neal stumbled, barely avoiding the fire. He aimed his torch at Winston.

  "Stay away from me, Winston. You're not going to stop me from doing God's will."

  Winston kept a safe distance between him and Neal. He could end things with a bullet before Neal reached him, but a gunshot could bring unwanted visitors, and Winston's supply of ammunition was dwindling. He felt safe for the moment.

  "Why are you burning bodies, Neal?"

  "I'm killing the disease. It's my job now. God told me to."

  "Piercing the brain kills the disease. There's no need for these fires."

  "The disease lives on after the body stops, Winston. Infection is everywhere. Fire is the cure."

  "You're going to burn the whole town down. There's no fire department. Who's going to put out the fires?"

  Neal pointed the torch to the sky. "Only God can now. Black Dog is sick, Winston. Fire is the only way to cleanse the filth."

  Winston took a few steps back.

  "He's crazy. Just shoot him," Melanie said. "He's going to destroy everything."

  "Who's that?" Neal asked.

  "Melanie Carpenter." Melanie stepped out from hiding. "Black Dog is all we have left. We are not going to let you burn it down."

  Neal laughed and swung the torch through the air. "Look around. There's nothing left but death and disease. Pestilence is upon us. Rapture is coming. I'm doing God's work."

  Melanie leaned into Winston and whispered, "He's sick. Shoot him."

  "I am not sick, Miss Carpenter. I am the way out of this dark hell and this…" Neal pointed the torch at Winston and Melanie. "...is the light."

  "Let's talk about this like rational, healthy adults, Neal," Winston said, putting heavy emphasis on the word healthy. "If you burn down Black Dog, we all die."

  "You don't get it, Winston. We are already dead. Judgment has been cast. God entrusted me with the duty of cleaning up."

  "You're making a bigger mess, asshole," Melanie said.

  Winston took her hand and squeezed. A gesture to try to silence Melanie. She broke free.

  "No. I'm tired of people trying to destroy one another. If you're not sick, you need to put the damn torch down and help us find a way out of here. We need to
stick together."

  The sound of a helicopter drew attention away from the conversation. A solid black Huey came into view and hovered over a plume of smoke near one of Neal's earlier fires. Water rained down over the fire.

  "No," Neal said. "This is God's work."

  He ran by Winston and Melanie, torch still in hand. A flash of light pierced the clouds, followed by a boom. The helicopter exploded. Winston grabbed Melanie's hand and ran away from the explosion.

  "We have to stop Neal," Melanie said, trying to free herself from Winston.

  "The government just shot one of their own helicopters down. We can't be here." Dr. Byrd's words haunted Winston. No one's getting out of here alive. "If they don't value their own, how do they see us?"

  * * *

  General Hendricks looked at his phone. Two brief chirps. A text message. It read. Fire contained. Threat eliminated. He stared at the screen for a moment.

  "The explosion, I take it was your orders?" Salk asked.

  "Any threat to national security must be eliminated." Hendricks clipped the phone to his belt. "I trusted you. I went against my gut. They weren't part of the program for a reason."

  "We are threats to national security, Tom. You should have trusted me when I told you this was a horrible idea."

  "Judas had to be tested. I chose the location I thought would produce the least amount of casualties and attract minimal attention."

  "You're wiping out an entire American town. How do you plan to sweep it under the rug?"

  "In a few years, in Black Dog, there will be a memorial. A touching tearjerker for the history books. It's the way of the world, Bob."

  "Do you hear yourself? Nearly 800 people are going to die because of this."

  "We are going to save billions of people. Judas will be the end of war."

  Salk shook his head. "Judas does not work. We cannot control it."

  Hendricks smiled. "It works; just needs a little fine tuning."