Copyright 2017 Daniel P. Wilde, all rights reserved.
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Cover
Dedication
Prologue
Chapters: 1 • 2 • 3 • 4 • 5 • 6 • 7 • 8 • 9 • 10 • 11 • 12 • 13 • 14 • 15 • 16 • 17 • 18 • 19 • 20 • 21 • 22 • 23 • 24 • 25 • 26 • 27 • 28 • 29 • 30 • 31 • 32 • 33 • 34 • 35 • 36 • 37 • 38 • 39 • 40 • 41 • 42 • 43 • 44 • 45 • 46 • 47 • 48 • 49 • Epilogue
Author’s Note
About the Author
Publication Details
This story is a work of fiction. Its contents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used in a fictitious manner. Nothing in this story is intended to convey factual information. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental, except for those historical figures so identified.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or by any means, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review to be printed in a physical, digital or electronic newspaper, magazine or journal.
This book is dedicated to those who fall, only to rise again stronger than before.
July 5, 2093—Southern Colorado
“They’re downstairs!” Sonya whispered anxiously, rushing into the small room.
Enrique quietly pushed the heavy door closed behind his sister, quickly bolting both locks.
“I didn’t hear them,” Enrique whispered. “Where are they?”
“They’re coming up, maybe the thirty-third or thirty-fourth floor by now,” Sonya replied, still out of breath after having just run up the stairs and through the open door to the small hotel room on the 35th floor. Sonya fidgeted with her old 2014 Smith & Wesson 38 Crimson Trace handgun. “But there’s only two of them, I think.”
“I’m going to go down and engage them. If there’s only two, I should be able to take care of the problem pretty quick. We can’t let them send for others.”
Sonya relented. She knew that Enrique was right. They should take care of the problem before things got out of hand. Enrique checked his magazine and released the safety. Sonya unbolted the locks and quietly opened the door; then closed it behind her brother. She didn’t lock it in case he had to get back in quickly.
Only seconds later, Sonya heard a painful roar that sounded more like an animal than Enrique; but she couldn’t be sure. Anxiously allowing a few more seconds to pass by, and not hearing another sound, Sonya crept over to the closed door. She slowly opened it, just a crack, revealing darkness. Had the electricity gone out? She hadn’t noticed before.
With increased wariness, Sonya peeked through the crack between the door and its frame, and looked right, then left down the dark hallway. Her vision was limited, so she opened the door further, and stuck her head out. Seeing nothing, she opened the door just enough to slip through, and silently moved out into the hallway. She drew her gun and leveled it, just as her late husband had taught her two months earlier, before he died from the disease.
Sonya wished she had a flashlight, but they had left the lights and most of their other gear in their basement bunker the day before. There had been no time to pack when the hairless, human-like monsters—that had been screaming something about “perversions” and “God”—broke in. Now, a flashlight certainly would have eased her mind and quieted her fears—at least her fear of the dark that she had had since childhood.
Sonya walked slowly, steadily, but with tentative steps, toward the stairwell at the end of the hall. There was no noise. Even the aggressive sounds of the rats and feral cats that had kept them awake half of the night were gone. She had a terrible feeling of dread as she approached the door to the stairwell.
Pulling the door open to no more than a sliver, she peeked into the stairwell. It was even darker than the hallway in which she stood, and it smelled like rotting flesh. But she couldn’t see or hear anything. Just as her fingers began to pull on the warm metal of the door handle, the door slammed against her, striking her face and knocking her off balance. Her nose and right cheekbone screamed in agony—probably broken. But she didn’t fall. Catching herself against the far wall of the hallway, she raised her gun and instinctively pulled the trigger. The bullet smashed harmlessly into the door frame.
“Wait!” yelled a shadowy figure that had come through the door. “It’s me!” the shadow yelled as he slammed the door shut behind him.
“Enrique! Are you alright?”
“No! They’re here! And they’re coming! Run!”
Sonya turned and ran down the long hallway toward the staircase at the other end, not knowing that Enrique was steadily losing ground behind her. She heard a loud thump and looked back to see Enrique on the floor, facedown. Overwhelming fear coursed through her body as she ran back to her brother who appeared lifeless on the floor. She had known fear over the past few weeks, but this was different and it threatened to immobilize her. If something happened to her brother, she would be alone.
Sonya crouched down next to her brother. Blood pumped through a small, but deep, jagged gash in Enrique’s right thigh, spurting in time with the pulse of his heart, and spattering the walls and floor around him. In the darkness of the hallway, her brother’s blood looked black. Within seconds, the blood flow began to slow. Enrique slowly lifted his head from the floor. He looked at Sonya with eyes that were not his own. Sonya began to back away as Enrique started dragging his body toward her with his arms.
This isn’t right, she thought, as she continued to slowly back away from Enrique’s rising body. “Sonya, where are you going? Are you going to just leave me here?” Enrique asked in a calm, detached voice.
“No, no. I was just . . . I’m just going to find the med-kit . . . it looks like you’re . . . bleeding . . .” Sonya’s voice trailed off as she looked into his dark eyes, made all the darker by the shadows of the hallway.
Enrique rose the rest of the way off the floor and, losing a shoe in the process, jumped farther than any man should have been able to jump. He landed inches away from his terrified sister who was pregnant with her first child. She screamed.
He screamed too, but his was the scream of conquest as he knocked his sister to the floor. He dropped to his knees, and, looking deep into her eyes, slowly lowered his head. Just as Sonya opened her mouth to beg for her life, Enrique clamped his jaw down on her shoulder. Within moments, Sonya fell silent. The heart of the baby in her womb stopped beating. The baby was dead—but her mother was not.
May 20, 2093, 8:00 PM (Seven Weeks Earlier)—Hidden bunker near Boston
“My friends,” Dr. Yurgi Shevchuk began as everyone gathered around the base of the iron staircase. “I am a bit envious. Anta and Shift, it seems right that you two are among the first to rise and spread life. If it weren’t for your efforts so long ago, perhaps none of us would be alive to see this moment. This is your time to tell our diseased world that we will not be beat! Good luck!”
As Yurgi’s short speech ended, several others in the group called out their approval. Hugs began in earnest, placing a temporary pause on the pursuit of the four duffel bags and other gear on the floor.
“Here we go people!” Street called out in that deep, clear voice that every member of the group had grown to love.
The small group of four entered the decontamination chamber at the base of the stairs and the door shut quickly behind them. The chamber whooshed and whirred as it sealed shut from the inside and its occupants were cleansed.
When the chamber had completed it
s vapor washing of the occupants and gear inside, Dr. John Silitzer entered a code sequence on the small pad beside the chamber and the ceiling above the iron staircase began to rise. Threet “Street” Kimball, Dr. Angel Robertson, Dr. Shift Bader and Dr. Anta Chalthoum filed up the stairs. As they crossed the threshold at the top of the fourth and final flight of iron steps, the ceiling lowered over the hidden staircase, leaving the small group huddled together in the dimly-lit interior of the old hunting cabin. It was almost dark outside, with night coming quickly. They were breathing the outside air—the contaminated air.
Anta reached over and gently touched Shift’s waist. Angel and Street, seemingly unable to control their own actions, each took a step closer to Shift and Anta. They were all scared to death.
9:45 PM—Shift
Yeah, this is a big deal. We’ve been hiding under this cabin for a long time. The world here on the surface is not the same as the world we left a few months ago. There may be only a few thousand people left alive by the time we wake up tomorrow. Maybe less.
Four months ago, outside El-Alamein, Egypt, an Egyptian scientist, his young daughter, and their tour guide, Mr. Riyad Shafik, entered caves that had been hidden from the world for generations. Their discovery of the cave-tomb of an anonymous Nazi German soldier began a world-wide struggle for survival. It was a quick and painful struggle that nearly every man, woman and child on Earth had lost.
“Anthrax E”, a biological weapon, apparently concocted by the Nazis in the 1940s, was released from the hidden cave on the wind. It quickly devoured the human population, and much of the animal population of El-Alamein. While the International World Order—the “IWO”—was able to contain the disease on Earth in El-Alamein, the disease was unwittingly taken to the moon colonies by the good scientist and his daughter. There, nearly all life was lost, save five anxious, lonely colonists, including Anta’s brother Hasani.
A few short weeks later, the plague returned to Earth with the destruction of a Mexican airship headed back to Earth from the moon. Starting in the countries surrounding the Gulf of Mexico, where the Mexican ship was shot down by Cuba, Anthrax E then began a rapid, unrelenting sweep through the Earth’s population. Now, just seven days after Dr. Shevchuk’s announcement that he and his team had finally created a vaccine for Anthrax E, dubbed “E-rase”, the few isolated scientific teams working on the vaccine in secret bunkers around the world have agreed that the surviving world population is probably less than 40 million people, and that number will likely decrease significantly over the next two or three weeks. Tonight, we’re leaving our safe haven to try to save mankind, or what’s left of it.
Two people from El-Alamein, Ms. Neirioui Safar and her daughter Suvan, have been found to be immune. That means that others might also be immune. It is believed that Dr. Steven Porter’s son, Jon, may also be immune; but Steve hasn’t heard from his son in Nevada for several days now.
Tonight, we’re sleeping in the cabin. Anta and I are sharing the lone bedroom upstairs. Angel took the large bedroom on the main floor. Street is probably sound asleep on the couch in the living room, snoring away.
In the morning, we’ll walk out the front door, trek down a short trail to a dirt parking lot, and load up one of the hovercraft that was left there when we arrived at the bunker months ago. From there, we’ll head north to Canada.
Over the past several weeks, our colleague, Mike Petrovsky, has conducted significant research and observation and has located towns in northern Canada that he believes have a number of survivors, unlike locations closer to home. Perhaps the winter cold staved off the illness for a while; or maybe the relative remoteness of several communities is to be credited. Either way, that’s where we’re headed.
Anta is asleep on the bed now, breathing deeply. The shape and contour of her body under the covers is mesmerizing. I’m going to try not to wake her as I roll back and forth in my sleeping bag on the floor tonight. Maybe I’ll be lucky. Maybe I’ll actually sleep too.
9:49 PM—Dr. Angel Robertson
This event is unparalleled—such a global catastrophe has never before occurred. My career has led me down a path by which I now have the opportunity to see, first-hand, the results of world-wide devastation by biological means! I shouldn’t be excited, given the nature of the disease and the death toll in our world as a result, but I am. I’m safe, and, although I don’t believe I’m a selfish person, this whole situation fascinates me, purely due to my love of biology.
Perhaps, some day in the future, when all that is left of me is my bones, disintegrating in the ground or elsewhere, some person will hear stories of my participation in these events and consider me to be a selfish, vile and dreadful person. But I can’t help myself. I can’t help the fact that I long to see the effects of this plague first-hand. That starts tomorrow!
Of course, I’m also anxious to see E-rase work. I don’t want our world to be left to the cockroaches and mosquitoes, especially since I’m quite certain both will be munching on my body tonight while we sleep in this dirty old cabin.
I want human life to continue. I don’t think a disease like Anthrax E will ultimately be good for our world. I don’t believe our population needed to be “cleansed” or any of the nonsense that has been spouted by naysayers and dooms-dayers over the past few weeks, including the wretched Latisha Bodily.
I want to find people and help save their lives. Maybe that will be the quality that redeems me in the eyes of those who hear my story in the future—but maybe not.
We haven’t come topside unprepared. My colleagues and friends, Shift and Anta, seem more than adequately prepared for this task. As for Mr. Kimball, I believe that his massive body and physical strength could be a tremendous asset, and not bad to look at either during the days ahead. He’s a pleasant gentleman, and a good man, even though I’m positive that his robust physique and cosmic stardom alone allowed for his placement in our little haven underground.
Off to bed. Tomorrow is going to be exciting, albeit a little frightening!
May 21, 2093—Shift
I slept! And I awakened to the wonderful smell of fresh, morning air coming in through the window. I was a bit surprised. I had assumed the air would be stale or have some kind of odor. I guess I figured Anthrax E must smell bad. Duh.
Anta awoke before me. She was standing at the window with her back toward me, gazing out into the early morning light. Her confident silhouette against the bright morning sky was as beautiful as her covered shape was last night. The rays of light cascading around her figure lit the trails from tiny bugs in the dust on the floor around me.
“Anta,” I said softly.
She turned around, and, walking toward me, answered, “Yes, Shift.”
I didn’t know what to say next. We were breathing real air—albeit contaminated air. There was real sunshine on our skin. I was happy. She looked happy too. Then reality hit.
“We need to get downstairs,” I said, stupidly.
“You’re right,” Anta replied. She was already dressed. She picked up her gear, opened the door, and walked out, closing the door quietly behind her.
When I arrived at the bottom of the stairs less than 20 minutes later, after showering and dressing, Angel, Street and Anta were all standing by the door, bags at their feet, ready to leave. They were waiting for me. I felt even more stupid. Anta smiled and handed me a granola bar. Street opened the door. All three of them walked out. I didn’t. I couldn’t get my feet to move.
I was scared. I couldn’t believe it. Was I going to be the person who slowed us down? Was it a mistake choosing me as the leader of this team? Was I going to be that guy—like the proverbial idiot in horror movies that gets killed because he makes stupid decisions?
After several seconds of mental torment, Anta walked back in the front door, a crooked little smile on her lips and sparkle in her eyes. She took my hand and gently pulled me outside. No questions. No jokes.
We walked down the trail, holding hands, toward the pa
rking lot. Birds sang in the trees above us. A light breeze from the north blew drops of dew from the leaves into our hair and eyes. In the distance, through the branches of the trees, I could see the sunlight dancing across the ripples of the lake.
When we arrived at the small parking lot, Street and Angel were looking at maps floating in the air above Street’s watch. Several hovers surrounded them, resting lightly on the hard-packed dirt. They had been sitting idle for months, but didn’t show any wear. The Chevrolet Fluxor, by which Anta and I had arrived at the compound, was among them. It was dirty, but still shone in the morning sun. The doors to the Fluxor were open. Evidently, it had been chosen for our journey. I thought that was a good choice.
We climbed inside, with Street at the wheel. Angel rode “shotgun”. Anta and I sat in the back seat, side-by-side, her hand resting gently on my thigh.
“Anybody here not ready for this?” Street asked, excitedly.
“I may not be,” I replied. “But I don’t think I have a choice now.”
Angel and Anta both laughed good-naturedly.
Web post—Dr. Steven Porter
Jon, I’ve been trying to reach you for a couple of days. There’s good news! We finally have a vaccination for Anthrax E! I have been given a shot which will vaccinate me and allow me to leave the compound without risk that I will get sick. I am going to leave here as soon as I can. Once I leave, it should take me less than two days to reach you!
11:25 PM—Anta
“I am so glad this day is over,” I said as I lifted my feet off the floor, one by one, and kicked off my shoes. I laid back on the bed in the small motel room I would be sharing with Shift tonight. We’d be sharing a room, but not a bed.
The walls of the room were painted pastel blue, and the dressings covering the bed matched their hue. Two chairs sat in the corner by an old, round table. Pamphlets covered the table top, inviting us to take a tour of the fall foliage or to visit the waterfalls nearby. If only we had time.
Tomorrow We Rise Page 1