The Chronos Plague (Book 1): No Time Left

by Talluto, Joseph

  “Hang on,” I said. I went over to my table and picked up the rifle. I went back and handed it to a very surprised Ramone.

  “Here you go. Don’t shoot yourself. Now go away,” I said. I closed the door and listened as footsteps literally scurried away. I went back to the table and took the magazines I had taken from the marauders, as well as the one I took out of the gun I gave Ramone. I brought out my pack and placed the magazines carefully inside. The extra, which was a twenty-round magazine, I put into my SBR. It was a standard issue for men like me, complete with a gas-piston seven-inch barrel and a folding stock. I put the suppressor on it, and made sure the red dot sight still had juice. I put it back and then set about getting my gear and supplies ready. I had stores for two weeks, dried goods and such. Water I only had for three days, but since this was Florida, fresh water was easy to find. I had my guns and now ammo, and my knives.

  I had gotten by with less, although the circumstances weren’t so dire back then. But just like then, I had my mission, and I was wasting my time now. I needed to get moving and moving fast.

  I woke up in the early morning hours to the sound of a huge crash. The building shook with the impact, and before I made it out of the apartment, I could hear screams.

  I rushed toward the confusion, and I could see it was a bad situation. Someone had driven a car through our barricade and it was crashed against the side of the old manager’s office. That in itself was bad enough, but the opening was an invitation to the zombies who were starting to come in through the front door.

  “Get them down!” I shouted. Luis and Ramone were standing on a balcony holding weapons, and the minute I shouted at them, the two sons of a bitch ran away to their apartment.

  “Useless,” I said. I took a bat from the weapon pile and put two of the zombies down, but in the brief melee, I could see more milling about outside. I needed to block that entrance and fast. I looked at the pool furniture, the planters, and the railings. Nothing would last at all against the onslaught we were going to face.

  I looked back at the car and it suddenly hit me. I jumped into the vehicle and restarted it, backing it into the opening. I ran into two zombies, throwing them back and sending them sliding across the street. I stopped the car half in and half out of the opening. I kicked the passenger door open and wedged it into the side of the building, and did the same with the other one. It wasn’t the best solution, but it would do for now. Even as I climbed out and over the car, other people were already throwing things into the opening to block it off again.

  As the pile grew fuller, I could still see zombies outside, and no doubt there would be more. I went back to my apartment and grabbed my gear. I belted on my weapons and vest, put my bag over my back, and walked over to the window. I could see several zombies out on the street, and they were headed toward the south, which was where the crash had occurred. In a few minutes, the street was mostly empty. I opened the balcony door and stepped out. Below me was the sidewalk, and I dropped a small rock over the side and when no one investigated it, I slipped over the side and dropped to the ground. I went to the corner and looked past; it was the path I needed to take.

  I thought I would see zombies, so the last thing I expected was another group of marauders. They were lounging inside their cars, sitting low enough to avoid being seen by the dead. There were two cars, and it looked like there were eight of them. In sheer numbers alone, they were going to wreak havoc on the people in the complex.

  Damn, damn, damn, damn, damn. I hated moral dilemmas. The easiest thing to do would be to turn and head out, never look back. I owed nothing to these people.

  So I really had no explanation for drawing both my pistols, running up in between the cars and opening fire. I shot in both cars at the same time, sending bullets into the occupants without warning. I fired six shots out of both guns then stepped back toward the rear of the cars.

  One man managed to open a door and fall out. He crawled a bit before I put another bullet in the back of his head, ending his escape. Another man in the back of the second car turned around and his eyes got wide as I shot him in the head as well.

  I waited a minute and switched magazines on both guns, pocketing the used ones. They still had rounds in them, but I liked to top off when I had the chance. The noise attracted a couple of zombies, but they were more interested in the car full of meat than the man fading away into the shadows. That was the one nice thing about them. They were easy to distract, especially with blood.

  I looked around the city, and went the only direction that made any sense to me. The ocean called and I answered. As I made my way to the water, the palm trees swayed easily in the morning breeze. They reminded me of another morning, only a few months back, but it seemed like a lifetime ago.

  Chapter 2 – 12 Weeks Before the End of the World (BTEOTW)

  “Jesus, Mac, you look like hell.”

  “Drop dead. You should see the other guy.”

  “Johnny Walker? We’ve met. He’s beaten me up a time or two.”

  “Seriously. Drop dead.”

  “Love you, too, big guy.” Peggy Worth blew me a kiss as I headed toward the assistant director’s office. She’d been with the agency nearly as long as I had. She’d racked up her share of bad guys, but had to take a training spot when she took a bullet to the knee in Egypt. Now she showed the younger kids how to do lethal things like shoot, stab, and other assorted dark skills. We worked together on a couple of jobs, and I always found her to be a great professional.

  I made it up to the fifth floor and strolled along the hallway that led down toward the assistant director’s office. In my time here, I’d seen seven of these guys come and go, and four directors. It went with the territory and the winds of politics.

  I waved to the receptionist who gave my face a quick look before she looked away and dialed into the office.

  “You can go in, Agent MacCullen,” she said.

  I gave her as much of a smile as I could and went through the door. The office was spacious, much more so than the middle-level offices and the coffins they called cubicles on the first floor. Some idiot a few years back thought it would be a good idea to turn all of the cubicles into their own offices, complete with doors. They didn’t gain in floor space but they suddenly became private. To me, they looked like bathroom stalls. I never had an office, being out in the field, but you’d have to cut my legs off before I’d take one of those coffins.

  This office was spartan, with just enough furniture to fulfill needs. There wasn’t anything unnecessary, which probably was the point given the view out the back wall. The windows were floor to ceiling and they faced the river, splitting the utilitarian office with the beauty of nature. I could appreciate it, but I was never much for “oohing” and “aahing” over things like that.

  Assistant Director Michelle Rodrigo was sitting at her desk, flipping through a folder. She waved a hand without looking up and I gratefully fell into the offered chair.

  “Welcome back, Mac, how did the… Jesus wept!” She looked up and saw my face. “What the hell happened to you?” Rodrigo said, sliding back a bit in her chair.

  My face had seen better days, and on the far end of sobriety and charity, you might call it handsome. But I had purple, yellow, and green-colored bruises running in stripes from my cheek to my hair. The other side of my face had a series of angry red scratches that went vertically from my jaw to my forehead.

  That was the stuff you could see. I was bruised from my neck to my nuts, and most movements caused me a great deal of pain and generally forced my normally genial nature to jump full tilt into the Valley of Cranky Sons of Cranky Bitches.

  I took a minute before I answered. “Exiting the lovely city of Tirana was a little more difficult than expected.”

  Rodrigo winced. “Do I want to know?”

  I shrugged. “Have you received any calls from the State Department or anyone regarding an incident in Albania?”

  “Nooo…not yet…”

>   “Well, if you do, you know nothing about the four corrupt police officers who were found dead in a dumpster, the Russian spy who was trying to find a buyer for some bio-weaponry that committed suicide in his hotel room, or the really angry mob that chased not one but two undercover agents half a mile before they were discouraged by the shooting of two of their members,” I said calmly.

  Rodrigo blinked twice in silence. Then she closed the folder in her hand like she suddenly remembered it was there, and placed her hands on the desk in front of her. She had been in her position for six years, and we had always gotten along really well. She let me do my thing as long as I got results, and I always got results. Not necessarily the result that was wanted, but results nonetheless.

  “So, with all that being said, and the interesting story your face has to tell notwithstanding, did you accomplish your task?” she asked. Her eyes asked another question, and I answered that one first.

  “He won’t be trying to sell things he shouldn’t anymore,” I said. “And I made sure his passing was not a warning, but a message.”

  “So what happened? How did you get in the middle of that mess?” Rodrigo asked.

  “The target was alerted to our presence by my partner’s phone going off. The Russian managed to make a call before I could get my hands on him,” I said.

  The assistant director was too much of a professional to show any reaction. But she made a note and I knew the situation would be handled.

  “All right then. On to new business. Since you had such a hard time with this one, I want to send you on something that should be a little easier. Have you ever heard of the group called Jester?” she asked, sliding a packet of pages my way.

  “Jester? No, never heard of them,” I said, looking up from the papers. “Looks like they were into environmental terrorist work.”

  “Pretty close. They’ve stayed pretty low key, spiking logs and running into whaling ships, but lately it seems like there is something more on the radar. They have a new leadership.”

  “So? How is that our problem?”

  “We’ve received word that this new leader is a real people hater. I mean, he wants humanity gone and he is very willing to martyr himself to his cause,” Rodrigo said.

  “That’s an easy fix. He wants to visit the afterlife, I’ll happily send him over the divide,” I said.

  “It’s a bit more complicated. We have reason to believe they are trying to develop a kind of bioweapon, something that blows big. Our last intel has them shadowing a doctor in Prague. Not sure why,” Rodrigo said.

  I shook my head. “Guess I know where I’m headed.”

  The assistant director smiled. “This one is easy. Just gather intel, talk to the doctor, find out what Jester might want.”

  “If I run into any of them, I’ll ask politely if I can shoot them. Fair enough?”

  “Perfect. And you’ll take a partner.”

  I felt all the air slowly rush out of my body. It was like a balloon slowly deflating.

  “I’m being punished for something, aren’t I?” I said eventually.

  “Just for lasting this long in the field. Time to mentor, old man,” Rodrigo said with a smile.

  I had to smile back. She was older than I was.

  “Maybe I’ll just retire,” I said.

  “Maybe I’ll have you disappear if you try that on me now.”

  I winced. “Okay. I’ll report to the travel agents.”

  I stood up, and Rodrigo put up a hand to stop me.

  “Joe? Keep an eye on this one. It feels different somehow,” she said.

  “Gotcha. Tell my apprentice I’ll meet him in Prague.”

  “Where?”

  “Doesn’t matter. I’ll find him. They tend to stand out when they’re new.”

  “Good luck, Mac. Don’t forget your folder.”

  Two days later, I caught a troop transport heading out of Virginia; it was on its way to Germany. It wasn’t the most comfortable, but it was easier to get my gear in and out than trying to go through customs and answering a lot of questions.

  This transport had fourteen soldiers taking the same ride I was. Ten of them were new, just having finished their basic training and were going in for some counter-terror training. They were excited and talking about all of the German girls they were going to meet and all the beer they knew was just flowing out of the taps in Germany.

  Four of them were older soldiers. They were just quiet, sleeping when they had the chance. I got a few looks as I settled in, but I heard one of them say ‘company man,’ and I had to smile. That was an old name I hadn’t heard in a while, but it was still true.

  Eight hours later, I was in Berlin, borrowing a car from the field office there and heading south. It was a two-hundred-mile trip, and I knew I was going to have to stop soon, as the sun was flirting heavily with the horizon.

  I stopped in Bersteland, finding a small hotel to spend the night. It had a bar, which called my name the moment I pulled in. The room was your usual road hotel in Europe, small rooms with a tiny sink, a bathroom that was shared in the hall. The place was clean, the rooms were tidy, and the old couple running the place didn’t mind the accented German I tried to speak when I checked in.

  In the small bar, I found a booth near the back where I could sit and see the whole place. I ordered a small meal from the menu that the young waitress brought me, and worked on the oversized glass of beer she brought me as an appetizer.

  I sat back, reading the small book I carried with me, and kept an eye on the room. A couple of groups of people came and went from the bar, and three of the other tables were occupied by what I characterized as lost Euros. Not money, but just people of Europe who wandered about, living simply or off an allowance gifted by their parents. They came from all countries, spoke their own kind of road language, and dressed a particular way. Back in the States, we used to call them the lost youth, but I think they’ve been found by now.

  One man walked in just as I was getting my food, and he went over to the booth in front of mine. I had glanced at him briefly as I looked up at the waitress, but there was something about him that seemed familiar. I ate, but the entire time I was processing where I had seen him before.

  When it finally hit me, two more men came into the bar. They looked briefly around then went over to the bar. They avoided looking at me or the other man, which brought up a small red flag. Two men eating alone should have been noticeable. The fact that they avoided looking at us meant something.

  I adjusted my book, and I was able to take a much closer look at the two men. My book wasn’t for reading, as it was a small paperback that had been hollowed out to hold my phone. I used the camera zoom to take a look at the men at the bar, while at the same time looking all for the world like I was reading a page in the book.

  They were Europeans, probably Polish or Czech, and were dressed in dark, military-style jackets. One had jeans on while the other was wearing wool trousers. They didn’t look like Russians, so I was slightly relieved at that. Russians were tough assholes, and it was always a mess when you tangled with one.

  I turned my attention to the man in the booth ahead of me and it dawned on me where I had seen him before. He was one of the fresh-faced soldiers on the flight out here. I had to smile. That was pretty clever. But, he apparently had managed to catch a tail on his way down here which told me that he was not as careful as he thought he was, or he was using backup. Given what I knew about the current state of recruits at Langley, I had to go with the conclusion that he was clueless.

  I took out a small notebook and quickly wrote a small note. I tried to be pithy, but nothing was coming out so I stuck with the basics. “You were followed, dumbass.” was all I finally put down. I wish I could see his face when he read that, but we had bigger problems than my amusement deficit at the moment. I folded the paper into a small square then planned the trajectory I wanted.

  I waited until the two men at the bar were distracted by the bartender, then
I threw the paper over the booth. I actually bounced it off the wall, in the hopes of getting it to land in front of him. I must have been successful, because there was a small start in the booth in front of me, followed by a head peeking over with two very large eyes.

  I winked at the eyes and made a small gesture for him to sit down. I could almost hear what he was thinking, and I was trying desperately to not laugh out loud at his discomfort. Funny thing, I wasn’t fully sure he was actually followed. Those two men could just have been coming in for a drink and then they’d be gone. Sometimes that happened, too.

  I finished my meal, not really sure what it was but it seemed to be solid German food. Trick I learned from my mentor was to order the first meal of the second section on the second page. Never go wrong. That’s where most restaurants put the good stuff. I eased out of my booth and walked by the men at the bar. They looked at me and I returned the look without breaking eye contact. I stepped out of the bar went outside.

  If my partner had been tutored well, he would be a full fifteen minutes or more before he came out after me. I used the time to load up some tobacco and have a nice after dinner pipe.

  Ten minutes later, the man from the other booth came out. I was disappointed. But I had made arrangements for this so I needed to see if he was actually being followed.

  He looked around, and when he saw me, he came right over. I shook my head slightly as he came by and thankfully, he was smart enough to keep going, ducking back into the building behind me.

  I waited, and a couple of minutes later, the two men came outside, looking around. I nodded to a young man sitting in a BMW, and he drove off suddenly, heading toward the highway. The foreign men climbed into a late model Saab and drove off, following the BMW. I had paid the young man to drive off as needed, and he was more than happy to play spy for a bit. I had warned him to lose them as fast as he could, and not to let them get close enough to get his license plate number.