The APOCs Virus

by Alex Myers

  Abaddon looked out at the seething mass of humanity, each one trying to get the ultimate sound byte. All were trying to ask at once. Abaddon caught a glimpse of Nattie Pigott trying to fight her way to the front. He thought she looked distraught.

  What a find she turned out to be, the perfect organizer, a meticulous planner; everything I didn't have in a mother. And that his surrogate mother was also his lover was pure bonus. I need her here by my side.

  "I said clear the way!" Abaddon screamed.

  Instead of the crowd parting on the right near Nattie, it parted on the left. The Right-Reverend Ira Swanson strode like a proud peacock up to the microphone.

  The first thing Bill noticed as his eyes adjusted to the light was that the bus was top of the line, easily a million, million and a half. There were long bench seats against each side. Half way down was a door to what looked like a bedroom. There were weapons everywhere.

  Damn! I wish this buzzing in my ears would let up, Bill thought. He ducked down and peered through the curtained window. Four more Apocs had joined in fight in front of the bus. The Apoc were trying to pull the one big Apoc off the goth Apoc. They looked like they were occupied for a while.

  Very little light from the quickly-darkening skies made it into the interior of the bus, so Bill inconspicuously stepped through the shadows. The sound of a shot echoed in the steel walls of the bus outside inhumanly loud scream was heard. It was then that Bill heard something metal hit the floor at the back of the bus. Someone was in the bus with him and he knew it was a Apoc.

  The Reverend Ira stepped directly in front of Abaddon and suddenly he had become the star. Abaddon was distracted as he watched the man rant and rave, all the while craving the taste of his blood.

  A shot rang out from across the parking lot as Nattie reached Abaddon's side.

  "You know as well as I do I can't leave. Not when I'm this close," Abaddon said. The unexpected attraction he felt toward this older woman, at first had baffled and troubled him, but now her caring and sustenance were indispensable. She was a part of him that had always missing and he felt stronger just having her near.

  The gathering of Apocs, nearly a thousand strong, filled the area to the right of the podium behind the cameras and reporters. The three thousand congregational members of the Glorified Church of God stood to the left. The tension in the air felt as thick and oppressive as the rain-laden clouds that filled the sky.

  "Take a group of fifty to the trucks,” Abaddon whispered to Nattie. "But bring him back here—ALIVE. And bring back whatever he brought with him to sabotage us."

  Nattie moved unnoticed through the crowd that was caught up in the bluster of Reverend Ira's vituperation.

  "And tonight . . . " Ira gave one of his patented pauses for emphasis, "the true power and glory will become apparent!"

  How true. Abaddon thought as he watched the group leave for the trucks. That is, as soon as tell I them what a lying bastard their good Reverend is.

  Abaddon stepped up and moved Ira aside.

  Tom's hulking mass lay across two Apocs who struggled in vain to get out from underneath. Yellow puss oozed from the bullet hole that nearly ripped his throat in half. The smoking gun dangled from the goth-Apoc's hand as everyone stared at the wreckage.

  As he got up from the body another Apoc guard yelled at the Goth: "You've killed him."

  "The big son of a bitch was going to kill me,” the goth said as he rubbed his neck. "I know what I saw, goddammit. I saw someone go into the bus!"

  They slumped Tom's body over onto the pavement and off the wild-eyed Apocs that panicked below. The yellow gore from Tom's body left acid-like holes on their faces, arms and chests. They were helped to their feet and loaded into the back of a truck. The others looked on with silent accusations.

  "But he said he was working with Abaddon," said an older guard.

  "Said he was in control," said another stepping up to the goth.

  "I'm telling ya," the goth screamed, "there's someone in that bus!"

  "We would have sensed a human coming near," the older guard said.

  Suddenly the Apoc guards all had their weapons aimed at the goth’s head.

  "Except," a female voice rang loud and sturdy, "he's not a human any longer, he’s something in-between and he's my ex-husband. Abaddon wants him brought to him and brought to him alive."

  The group of fifty Apocs and Abaddon's woman made the Apoc guards lower their guns. They looked at the bus that held the bomb.

  Bill saw weapons of every description, from M1 rifles to grenade launchers scattered on the floor of the tour bus. Looks like they had more than a peaceful demonstration on tonight's agenda, Bill moved to the rear of the vehicle. The part of his brain that sensed danger was ringing like a fire alarm. The ringing was almost drowned out by the unsettling Apoc-buzzing pandemonium in his ears. His gun, firm and heavy in his hands, gave him a sense of surety and trust in his own ability. Thick, musty-smelling air attacked his nostrils.

  He heard apocs arguing in the parking lot and he filed it away in his mind. The information wasn't needed now; his attention was focused on the rear of the bus. He reached the door and saw the flimsy doorknob to the back bedroom that would present nothing more than distraction against one of his well-placed kicks. He heard rustling noises from behind the flimsy wall.

  He held the gun pointing upwards and at chin level. He inhaled deeply, kicked and stepped forward, feet coming together in a shooter's stance.

  He sighted down the barrel of his gun directly at the surprised face of Henry Pigott.

  "You're a dead Apoc," he said as he started to squeeze the trigger.

  CHAPTER 30

  BUSTED

  "But wait I'm not finished!" Ira protested as he was pushed away from the microphones.

  "Oh but that's where you're wrong good Reverend," Abaddon said with an evil grin. He stepped in front of the podium and spoke without a microphone.

  "This is going to be a night filled with truth and revelation, that much is true. It's a time when people will have to throw out their conventional ways of thinking about things. Things they thought were right will turn out to be very wrong, and things they knew were wrong might turn out to be right." Abaddon's voice echoed in the night and carried to all in sight.

  Excitement was apparent on the faces of the onlookers: it was hatred and loathing from the congregation, exhilaration from the Apocs, a nervous anxiety from the police, and elation from the news core because this was the story for which they came.

  Jeers and insults flew from the congregation but were lost before they could reach the podium. Two Apoc bodyguards stepped in tight. They stood to either side of the Reverend Ira. He was terrified.

  Abaddon continued. "Ok, not everything we have done has been right. We are not creatures, we are you . . . but better.”

  From the church side a man four rows back in short-sleeves and tie yelled; “You are Satan.”

  “I am not Satan. Satan is a myth, I’m real.” Abaddon said.

  The man persisted “You are the Son of Perdition! The one doomed to destruction.”

  “Destruction!” Abaddon growled the words and the entire coliseum shook. “Here’s destruction.” He writhed with fury and aimed it all toward the man in the God Squad section.

  The man tried to respond, but couldn’t. His lips moved and he struggled to speak, but he didn’t make a sound. He struggled, turned red in the face, but nothing. What should have been horrible, actually looked comical.

  “See, even God has silenced my critics.” Abaddon said with a sardonic smile. “If ever you have found it in your heart to forgive someone—find that compassion now. We did not decide to have this disease—this disease chose us. What we‑‑those who suffer from the MDR-V6 Virus, better known as Apocs‑‑do choose to do with the power that has been given us, is the reason for the gathering tonight."

  He put both hands on the podium and leaned into the camera. His eyes were hypnotic. His intonation was riveting.


  "There are thousands—if not tens of thousands—of us by now and the number is growing constantly. We're not a group that is going to be quietly pushed aside. Like the feminists once said, 'we're in your face!'. And as long as I'm quoting, it was the first George Bush that once spoke of a 'New World Order'. Well, this is it!"

  The Apocs now cheering and completely drowning out the jeers from the congregationalists.

  "I want the Apocs that are watching this broadcast or listening to my voice to gather tonight and pick a emissary to represent them in this New World Order. Until now, they have hunted us down like animals. They have driven us from our homes and corralled us like sheep into the slums of the cities. Why are you hiding in the slums? Meet in those slums tonight and look around you, let it disgust you. Let the persecution and depravities burn an impression in your mind. You'll realize—if you haven't already—just how much you need a voice. I'm here to say . . . “ He paused in his best Reverend Swanson pause, "I'm the Apoc for the job!"

  The air held electricity: it was a viable entity that you could hear, touch, taste and feel. The Reverend Ira struggled to hold back a scream that he feared might shred his soul to bloody ribbons. He lost.

  "This is blaspheme! You son of Satan! This is not what we worked out!" He tried to lunge at Abaddon and the two Apoc bodyguards gripped each of his arms like a vice.

  Abaddon spoke of a problem that was the essence of man. His words were terrifying to the humans present as well as those tuned‑in, and a curious dark residue was left in people’s minds. Every man, woman, and child suddenly related to Abaddon's revelations. He was using mind control. Abaddon's words were a hypnotic song sent out over the airwaves. This problem wasn’t some minor inconvenience, it wasn’t going to go away on it’s own—someone else would just take care of it. Individuals, families, and even whole communities had been affected; yet until this very minute it didn't occupy a place in people's hearts. It was like the feeling the nation had after 9-11, until that point terrorism was somebody else's concern. Panic—panic and change were awakened like a bear coming out of hibernation. To the Apocs, Abaddon was not only their spokesman, he promised a way out that even their old lives couldn't offer. To the rest of the world the virus became a tangible evil, and the personification of that evil was the man smiling sweetly into the cameras. He became every man's enemy. The news stirred up something black and evil in the souls of those watching. And watched they did, from the housewives and shopkeepers, to the President and Pope.

  The music of the speech rung with the triumph of Abaddon. A network cameraman took his eye away from the viewfinder and looked up at Abaddon with both eyes open, marveling at his courage and at his imagination.

  Everyone watching knew they were witnessing a great marvel. They knew that time would now date from this night forward and that they would discuss this moment for many years to come. If these things came to pass, they would recount how Abaddon looked and what he said and how his eyes shone, and they would say, "He was a man transfigured." Some power was given to him, and that moment was where it began. You could see what an important figure he had become, starting from that moment. The gathering procession was solemn, for they sensed the importance of this day, and they watched silently for the next event to unfold.

  "WAIT!” Henry screamed. "It's not what you think!"

  "What the hell do I think?” Bill asked. The gun was still pointed at Henry's head, but now the pressure on the trigger relaxed slightly.

  "You think I'm a part of all this."

  "What am I supposed to think? You've got the virus."

  "What in blazes makes you say that?"

  "I can tell—it's a buzzing I get in my ears. HEY—easy now—just sit yourself right down there, gramps." Bill motioned to an empty spot on the floor.

  "You're a cop aren't ya?"

  "What about it? You thought I might be one of you?"

  "Nope—knew you weren't an Apoc. Get the same buzzing in my ears when I'm 'round one too. You're that same cop that was over in Oceanview today." He said this as a statement of fact. He waited for Bill to respond, when he didn't, Henry continued. "Ya damn near shot a hole in my ass down in that sewer. Heard what ya said about the buzzing, got the same problem myself."

  "So you're trying to tell me you're not an Apoc?"

  "At least I don't think I am. From everything they told me in the hospital, by all rights I guess I should be one."

  "Hospital?"

  "Yeah, hospital. That son of a bitch Abaddon 'bout chewed my shoulder off. Lady doctor by the name of Potter?—Porter?—well anyway, Ava, said I was immune."

  "Was this Doctor from the Center for Disease Control?"

  "Don’t know,” Henry said with a shrug of his shoulder.

  "Forget it. It doesn't matter. Well, that still doesn't explain what you're doing here with enough —” With the gun still pointed at Henry, Bill flicked the duffle‑bag open with the toe of his shoe. "What is that? Gasoline?"

  "Gasoline, black powder, and an egg-timer," Henry answered.

  Bill had a puzzled look on his face. "Where did you get all that black powder?”

  “I make it. I sell it to the Civil War reenacters.”

  “Shit, is that legal?”

  Henry shrugged.

  “Like I was saying—that still doesn't explain what you're doing here with enough explosives to make this parking lot look like the Grand Canyon?"

  "Gonna blow that Abaddon fella and his pals to about a million-and-a-half pieces."

  "Afraid I’m not going to be able to let you do that, pops."

  "Just whose side are you on anyway?"

  "I'm on the right side."

  "But that son 'o bitch stole my wife! I'll die before—"

  "Quiet!” Bill whispered loudly, “They're trying to get in the front door."

  The sound of voices mixed with pounding on the front entrance.

  Bill looked around the bus frantically, "We've got to get out of here! Come on, this way." Bill motioned Henry out of the room, shut, and locked the partition. "Through the window, go on."

  "Now, just hold on a dadgum minute. You come in pointing a gun in my face, calling me an Apoc, and now you're saying I've got to get this—" Henry put both hands under the roll of his belly and hefted it a few times, "through that window—HA! Why don't ya just go ahead and shoot me now," Henry said defiantly.

  "OK, it's your choice," Bill said cocking the hammer on the big pistol.

  "You really would shoot me, wouldn't ya?"

  "Yes sir."

  "Feel bad about it later?"

  "Nope."

  "I'll go out the window."

  "Thought you'd see things logically."

  Using two hands, Henry slid the window down, climbed on a sofa and went out feet first. Bill watched the front of the bus and winced every time a blow struck the window glass.

  "How 'bout a hand?" Henry asked.

  Bill grasped both of Henry's hands and lowered him out the window. Once on the ground Henry said, "Thanks for the hand. You coming?"

  "Yeah, as soon as I—" Bill was interrupted by the sound of breaking glass. "Go on, get out of here." Bill could see an arm reach in and remove the knife. "Gramps, just one question."

  Henry was at the concrete embankment. He turned and stuck his craggy chin in the air, "What's that?"

  "Did you set it?" Bill yelled as the first of the gang of Apocs entered the bus.

  Henry didn’t get a chance to answer. The Apocs entered and Bill didn’t resist as wave after wave of Apocs entered the bus and had him by the arms and neck. He thought he saw the old man's head nod once for yes as he heard Nattie Pigott's voice declare: "THAT'S NOT HIM!"

  "What should we do with him?” A guard with a Middle Eastern accent asked. "You want I should hit him again?"

  "No, it doesn't seem to do any good." Nattie moved the Arab out of the way and put her face inches away from Bill's. With one finger she lifted his swollen face and said to his puffed-up eyes; "Y
ou're one tough cookie, I’ll give you that much. Done a pretty good job of shutting your mind off to me too. Abaddon always admired that ability of mine." She licked her lips at the thought.

  An Apoc on either side held Bill up by his arms near the elbows. He looked as if he was going to pass out.

  "One last time. Where did the old man go that was on this bus and what are you doing here? Are you a cop?"

  Bill remained silent; a steady stream of blood flowed from the corner of his mouth.

  "Should we kill him?" the man holding one arm asked. It was evident Bill was not going to give her the information.

  "No, I've got a better idea . . .. Let's give deaf-mute here something guaranteed to loosen those lips."

  Opening her mouth wide; she lowered herself to his neck. Nattie could almost hear their two hearts beating as one as she pressed her lips to Bill’s warm skin. Her breath came in short, labored pants as she ran her tongue along his neck, tasting the salty flesh.

  Then she bit down hard!

  His blood flowed into her mouth and his thoughts into her brain. Just little blurbs came to her at first: a muscular blonde-haired man, a police uniform, and an older white-haired man in a navy uniform. In her mind she could see Henry's face, but nothing more. Whereas she was drawing from him, viral microbes from her saliva entered his body.

  While Nattie was experiencing ecstasy, feeding off Bill's mind and tissues; Bill was experiencing something quite different.

  The virus was raging inside his body. His senses ended at his skin. Foreign DNA and RNA penetrated each cell membrane, one infecting another. The MDR-V6 Virus ordered the genetic material to remake itself in the image of a drastically-altered new species. The process was agonizing; later he would think his bones were dissolving and the blood filling his veins was actually acid—burning and rerouting as it flowed. His internal organs were also undergoing a state of rapid rebuilding.