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

by Seiple, Paul

  "Don't act like you didn't have anything to do with it," Jones said.

  "I didn't want you here."

  "You didn't want us to see how low you've stooped," Richie said.

  Salk stopped walking. "Tom had Mark shot."

  Richie and Jones froze behind Salk.

  "Is he dead?" Richie asked.

  "I hope not. He's in the town with someone who knows how the virus operates. We have to figure something out before Tom kills us all."

  "I'm not going to help Tom. That bastard deserves everything he gets for this." Jones paused. "You do too, Bob. I can't believe..."

  Salk interrupted Jones. "Personal feelings aside, there is no other option. If we do not find a cure for this, it becomes an epidemic. It will end civilization." Salk swiped a key over a lock and the door to the mobile lab opened. "We can talk freely in here; there are no bugs. Hendricks is only worried about you two."

  "Don't you think you should have developed a cure before you tested it?" Jones said.

  "It's too late for that now." Richie walked over to a laptop and powered it up. "Start from the beginning, Bob."

  Salk took a seat next to another laptop. He clicked on a folder and two documents loaded. One was labeled Test A and the other was Test B. "Test A was Ron Walters. Test B was his identical twin Johnny."

  Jones sat beside Salk. "And they agreed to the trial?"

  Salk winced. "Not technically. They agreed to a trial."

  "Unbelievable," Richie said. "You lied to them?"

  "No way in hell they would have done it otherwise, kid," Jones said. "And you shouldn't be surprised. He's been lying to us since we stepped off the plane. It's time for honesty, Bob."

  Salk clicked on the document labeled Test A. "I am being honest with you. Originally, we injected Test Subject A with Judas."

  "He had a name, Bob. Ron Walters. Call him by his name. You need to understand this wasn't just some lab experiment. You killed people," Jones said.

  Salk sighed. "Ron Walters failed to present any symptoms from Judas. We inoculated Test Sub... Johnny Walters with Judas. We upped his levels. Johnny presented symptoms that mimicked a common cold but failed to show aggression against Ron."

  Richie slammed the laptop in front of him shut. "You tried to turn brother against brother."

  "We had to test Judas," Salk said.

  "And you thought pitting brother against brother, better yet, identical twins was the best way to do that?" Jones asked.

  "Identical twins have a strong bond. We felt if Judas could get them to turn on each other, it would definitely work against our enemies."

  "You treated those men like lab animals," Richie said.

  "They signed up for this," Salk said. His tone was firm.

  "Why did you choose this place for your doomsday experiment?" Jones asked.

  "Hendricks thought if we did it in a small town, we could control it if it didn't go as planned. Black Dog has a population of less than five hundred and the lake provided an isolated area."

  "So you shot the brothers up with your Frankenstein drug and sent them fishing on the goddamn lake?" Jones asked.

  Salk didn't answer immediately. There was no good way to answer. Just tell the truth, he thought. "They didn't know they were infected. We told them the shots were an antiviral to prep them for the trial in the coming weeks. They liked fishing. We told them the fishing trip was a perk of the trial. The truth was the trip was to quarantine them."

  "You're a real shithead, Bob."

  "Why not just quarantine them in a sealed observation lab?" Richie asked. "Why expose this town to the virus?"

  "Fear of Judas. It's highly potent. Hendricks figured that on the open lake, we could monitor Judas and if things got out of hand, there would be little publicity."

  "I take it back; you're a chickenshit," Jones said.

  "You did it in Black Dog so you could walk away with no blood on your hands if it failed, right?" Richie asked.

  Salk closed the laptop and walked away.

  * * *

  The kick jarred Winston. He struggled to open his eyes. Caffeine withdrawal made him hazy, incoherent, and angry. A film of sleep encased his mind, making it nearly impossible to focus. Winston couldn't help but think of Marianna. For him, the daze would pass when he wiped his eyes. For his wife, vision through cloudy decay was the new norm. Hunger gnawed at Winston, but it was nothing compared to the famine consuming Marianna. Winston had a tough decision to make. Would today be the day he said goodbye to his wife?

  Winston felt another kick. This one was followed by Melanie screaming. He jumped and flung his body against the back of the couch.

  "Don't even try it, fat ass. I've got the goods to stop a water buffalo your size."

  Winston shook his head. The fog cleared. Brandon Myers stood with his back to Winston and a shotgun aimed at Dr. Fisher. Winston grabbed the arm of the couch and slowly started to his feet. Something cold against his forehead froze him mid-movement.

  "Sit still, asshole."

  Kenneth Myers held the barrel of a pistol to Winston's cheek. "Give me a reason, Winston. I never liked you in the first place."

  Winston eased back onto the couch. Georgie Howell grabbed a handful of Melanie's hair and brought it to his nose. He inhaled deep as though he was taking the last puff of a cigarette. Georgie let out a soft moan. Melanie tried to pull free, but her movement caused Georgie to wrap more of her hair around his closed fist.

  "Smoke and sweat. Such a delightful combination," Georgie said, shoving Melanie's hair under his nose again.

  Melanie tried to free herself, but Georgie pressed his weight onto her side, making escape impossible.

  Brandon lowered the shotgun and turned to Winston. "What'cha got good, Winston?"

  "Forgive me, Brandon. I wasn't expecting visitors. I'm about out of everything."

  "I bet this one ate it all?" Brandon poked Fisher with the barrel of the shotgun.

  "What do you want, Brandon?" Winston asked.

  Brandon lowered the rifle and moved toward Winston. "I want whatever you got."

  "There's some spoiled lunch meat in the fridge. You're welcome to that."

  Brandon laughed. "Still a smart ass at the end of the world, I see." He placed the barrel of the gun under Winston's chin and lifted his head. "There isn't much need for smart asses these days. You'd be good to remember that." Brandon turned to Kenneth. "Go check out the kitchen."

  Brandon and Kenneth Myers had always been bullies, so it was no surprise to Winston the twins were in his house robbing him. But Georgie Howell's actions were a shock. Georgie was the short, stubby shy guy bullies zeroed in on. He would never have the balls to sniff Melanie's hair. Brandon and Kenneth were still bullies. Georgie was different. Winston didn't need a doctor's diagnosis. Georgie was sick.

  "You smell so good." Georgie pulled Melanie's hair, causing her to move closer to him. "I could just eat you up."

  That's the keratin, Winston thought. I have to act fast. Winston tried to get Fisher's attention, but he was too busy watching Georgie crawl on top of Melanie.

  "Get off of her, Georgie," Brandon said. "We are civilized criminals. Rape is not on our rap sheet."

  He doesn't want to rape her, Winston thought. He wants to eat her. He just doesn't know it yet.

  Brandon shoved Fisher's legs to the side and took a seat beside him. "You're not from around here. Damn, you picked the worst time to visit Black Dog."

  "I'm a doctor," Fisher said.

  "Can you cure this shit going around? I think Georgie might be sick. He usually keeps the rape fantasies to himself."

  "There's no cure," Winston said.

  "Well, aren't you just the ray of hope? You sick, Winston?" Brandon asked.

  Winston didn't answer.

  "Are you sick?" Fisher asked.

  Brandon laughed. "From what I've seen, Doc, if I was sick, you wouldn't have been around long enough to ask the question."

  Georgie sniffed Melanie. His
breath rolled up her neck. The smell of stale coffee and cheese latched on to Melanie's nostrils. She closed her eyes and dry-heaved. Georgie's tongue darted out his mouth, striking Melanie's flesh. The sensation of a snail crawling on her was too much. Melanie shoved Georgie to the floor. Brandon laughed.

  "What's wrong, Melanie? You're not into fat Dungeons and Dragons nerds?" Brandon asked.

  Winston studied Georgie’s face for any signs of rage.

  Brandon noticed Winston eying Georgie. He raised the shotgun. "No funny business, Winston, or I'll decorate the floor with your insides."

  "I get it," Georgie said, getting to his knees. "You want to see my freaky side." He reached into his back pocket and pulled out the clown mask he took when they raided Melanie's house. "I didn't know you were into the kinky stuff." Georgie straightened out the face on the mask and placed it over his head. It was too small, leaving his chin, which was covered with stubble and pieces of food, exposed. "I pictured you more of the quiet type."

  Terror wrapped itself around Melanie's throat like a blood-thirsty killer. Tears formed. She blinked fast, fighting them off.

  "Getting excited?" Georgie asked.

  "Leave her alone, Georgie," Winston said.

  "Or what, Winston?" Brandon asked. "Are you going to be her knight in shining armor? What would Marianna think about that?" Brandon smiled. "Where is Marianna? I always thought she was too good for you."

  "She's dead," Winston said.

  "That's a shame. You know, in high school, I almost got the stinky pinky with her." Brandon held up his pinky. A noise down the hall drew his attention away from the conversation. "What's that?" He stood up and peered down the hallway. Another knock. "Did you lie to me, Winston?"

  "She's dead," Winston said again with no emotion.

  Brandon laughed. "You've got your zombie wife locked up in your bedroom?"

  Georgie stretched the clown mask over his chin and crawled towards Melanie. She pushed herself back as far as she could into the cushions of the love seat.

  "Don't be afraid of the clown. Clowns bring happiness." Georgie's words were barely audible through the rubber material.

  Melanie reached behind the lamp on the end table. She’d placed a butcher knife on the table before going to be bed. She wasn't scared. She was mad. Mad that everyone viewed her as a fragile flower. That was why Dean and his partner approached her that night in New York. That was why Georgie was messing with her. She was weak. What could she do about it? Melanie was about to show the world what she could do about it. She cried and begged Georgie to leave her alone. He placed his hands on her knees. His tongue darted through the small opening in the mask like a snake searching for a kill. Georgie licked Melanie's knee.

  "Stop it, Georgie," Winston said.

  Brandon placed the barrel of the shotgun on Winston's chest and pushed him back. "He's just having a little fun."

  Melanie's hand found the handle of the knife without grabbing anyone's attention. She gripped it so tight that her fingertips tingled. Rage took over. Not the kind brought upon by the sickness, but the rage of being treated as an easy target. Georgie pulled himself up until he was face to face with Melanie. His rotten breath mixed with the smell of rubber made Melanie's throat burn. She closed her eyes and fought the urge to vomit. George brushed the mask against her face. The rubber pulled her skin as Georgie whispered in her ear.

  "You're going to taste so good."

  With every ounce of her strength, Melanie plunged the knife into Georgie's neck. She screamed as Georgie's blood spewed liked a broken fire hydrant, coating her. Brandon turned away from Winston. The distraction gave Fisher enough time to grab Winston's Colt. He aimed at Brandon. Kenneth ran back into the living room from the kitchen.

  "What the hell is going on?"

  "Drop your gun or I'll kill your brother," Fisher said.

  Brandon laughed. "Holy shit, Melanie Carpenter, how long has that been building up?"

  Melanie pushed Georgie off of her. His limp body collided with the wooden floor, creating a sickening thud.

  Unsure what to do, Kenneth aimed the revolver at Fisher. Brandon raised the shotgun to Winston.

  "Well, this is a predicament, isn't it?" Brandon asked.

  No one responded.

  "Your group kills one of ours. The only fair thing to do now is to kill one of yours?"

  "I swear I will put a bullet through your brother's head if you don't drop the gun," Fisher said.

  Brandon laughed again. "Settle down, Tubby. If you shoot me, you die. And then Winston dies. Then Melanie. You don't want that. Let's solve this problem like rational human beings."

  "Everyone put the guns down," Winston said.

  "You'd like that, wouldn't you? Then the knife-wielder could have a free shot." Brandon turned to Melanie. "I have to say I'm impressed. I mean, I'll miss Georgie, but only for comedic relief."

  "Let's get back to the standoff. I've got things to do today," Winston said.

  Brandon smiled. "Oh yeah? What's so important? There's not much happening out there." Brandon pointed the shotgun at the window. "It's pretty dead."

  Winston laughed. "Good one."

  "All right, enough small talk. Who should I shoot, Winston?" Brandon asked. "I was thinking Melanie was your weak link, but after watching her skewer Georgie, I have my doubts. Tubby probably has diabetes or maybe a heart condition. He could keel over any minute." Brandon grabbed Melanie's arm and pulled her to the floor. "I'm thinking this one."

  For a moment, Winston thought about lunging at Brandon. Calmness prevailed. He ignored Brandon and turned his attention to Kenneth. "Speaking of weak links, tell me, Kenneth, how does it feel to be the submissive twin?"

  "What are you trying to do, Winston?" Brandon asked.

  "I'm simply asking your brother a question. Can you give him permission to speak?"

  "I don't need no one's permission to do anything," Kenneth said as blood trickled from his nose to his top lip. He swiped at it with his tongue.

  Winston laughed.

  "Shut up, Winston," Brandon said, letting Melanie's arm go. He aimed the shotgun at Winston.

  "Really, Kenneth, how about that scar on your chin?"

  Kenneth took one hand from the gun and rubbed the three-inch scar on his chin.

  "Brandon said he beat your ass," Winston said.

  "Shut the fuck up, Winston. I know what you're trying to do." Brandon hit Winston in the head with the barrel of the shotgun.

  Kenneth pointed the pistol at his brother. "Back away, Brandon. Let him talk."

  Brandon aimed the shotgun at Kenneth. "Shoot the fat one."

  "See, Kenneth, always trying to tell you what to do," Winston said, rubbing the side of his head.

  "I didn't get this scar from you beating my ass. You sucker-punched me," Kenneth said.

  "Sucker punch? Bullshit. I beat your ass, and I'll do it again if you don't do as I say. Shoot the fat bastard."

  "No. Maybe I should shoot you. You don't tell me what to do, Brandon," Kenneth said.

  "You really would shoot me? Your twin bro..."

  Georgie rose from death's clutches and lunged at Brandon, sinking his teeth into Brandon's leg. He gnawed at Brandon's flesh through the clown mask.

  "Oh, fuck," Kenneth said. He fired a bullet into Georgie, but it didn't stop him.

  Brandon slammed the butt of the rifle into Georgie's head over and over until Georgie stopped moving. The damage was done. Brandon's lower left leg was shredded.

  "Fuck, fuck, fuck," Kenneth said.

  Without hesitation, Fisher aimed and fired at Brandon. The bullet caught the right side of his face, sending flesh and blood through the air. Winston grabbed the shotgun as it fell to the floor. Winston didn't have any time to think. Instinct took over. Kenneth aimed at Fisher. Winston fired before Kenneth got a shot off. The kick flung Winston back onto the couch. The force slammed Kenneth into wall. Fisher stood up and put a bullet in Kenneth's head.

  After a few moments o
f silence, Fisher said, "You really should think about getting a better alarm clock."

  * * *

  "You OK, kid?" Jones asked, placing his hand on Richie's shoulder.

  Richie didn't recall how long he had been swirling his spoon around the lukewarm canned soup. The headache started shortly after he got out of bed. Richie attributed it to another sleepless night. But as the day went on, the headache grew worse. Subtle waves of nausea turned in his belly. Richie never liked vegetable soup. It was the celery. Just the thought of the taste made him want to hover over the trash can. Richie learned to deal with the little nuisances that came with the insomnia. Nausea wasn't a stranger. Neither were headaches. But this felt different.

  "Kid?"

  Richie stopped swirling the soup. "Yeah, sorry. I was just thinking."

  "About what you did in a past life to get thrown into this shit show? Yeah, me too." Jones tasted the soup and exhaled. "Sent to save the world and can't even get a decent meal."

  "Why would they do this? Bob is smart. He had to know that this wasn't going to work?"

  "Kid, I don't think Bob is any different from us at the moment. He's a worker bee. Hendricks is the queen."

  "But he caused this."

  "Oh, don't get me wrong. Bob is a high-ranking turd, but he's been demoted."

  "We're never going to get a straight story about what they used to make this virus. Without that, there is no way we can find a cure."

  Jones nodded. "Probably not."

  "So why are we here?"

  "You're here because Hendricks is trying to pacify the government," Salk said, taking a seat next to Richie. "They've given him a deadline to get this under control or they are going to step in. If that happens, it's the end of ARMA."

  "So why don't we just sit back and watch Hendricks get what he deserves?" Jones asked.

  "Because as of now, he still has control. He can do whatever he wants. He can shoot you like he did Fisher or worse."

  "What's worse than that?" Richie asked.

  "Tom ordered a Huey to be shot down after it put out fires in Black Dog."

  "The psychopath is murdering his own employees?" Jones asked.

  "The only thing Tom cares about is Judas," Salk said.