The Chronos Plague (Book 1): No Time Left

by Talluto, Joseph

  He was passed out face down on the couch, snoring into the flower-print cushions. Three bottles were standing guard on the coffee table, and a backpack that had seen better days was sitting in a lounge chair. A bolt-action rifle rested on the backpack, and a piece of pipe with a T-section on the end consisted of his melee weapon. I didn’t see any handguns or knives, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t packing it somewhere.

  Leaving the sleeping man alone, I went over to the bar and looked to see if anything was left. Surprisingly, there was a bottle of bourbon, so I snagged that, wrapped it in a shirt, and stowed it in my pack. I went back to the café and looked for food, but anything edible had been eaten by my snoring friend.

  I went outside to check on the boats, but when I did, I stopped. The air was quiet, no wind or breeze. The woods were thick around the water, but they were quiet, too. The water was the only thing that was making noise, gently caressing the sides of the pontoon boats.

  I slipped back inside the building and started closing the blinds, trying very hard to move quickly, but not draw any attention. If anything had seen me outside, I was wasting my time, but I didn’t think so. I went over to the other side of the building but there wasn’t any way to close up the windows. We would just have to stay in the other part of the building.

  Through the café was a kitchen, and past that was a door that led outside. A dumpster and a grease trap greeted me, but I wasn’t in a talking mood. The area was clear, with large pine trees growing nearly on top of the building. A small path led to the dumpster and another led toward the dock. Good enough.

  I stuck my head back inside and went over to the café section. I took off my pack and used the time to clean my knife a lot better and also to lay out my weapons and ammunition. I had three full mags of .45 ACP, plus another two in the front pouch of my vest. I had four full mags of 5.56 ammunition, plus the one in the gun. I had more ammo in my pack for all of my guns.

  I put my gear and guns back on and went back into the lounge area. The only thing that needed to be taken care of now was on the couch. I took his gear and rifle and moved them over to another couch. He was already face down so I pulled his hands behind his back and tied them together. I tied his feet together and when that was done, I took a pair of socks out of his pack, rolled them up into a ball, and then shoved that in his mouth. The snoring stopped and the silence that took over the space was actually weird.

  I sat down and placed my carbine on the chair arm. I had nothing to do but wait at this point. If nothing happened in the next hour, I was going to take one of the boats and head up the canal to the northern end of the preserve and hopefully find more mobile transportation.

  I closed my eyes and just waited. There really wasn’t anything else to do. One thing I knew was when you were given the chance to rest, take it.

  I must have been tired from my walk, because the next thing I knew, I was startled awake by a strange noise. It sounded like a baby cow that lost its mother. I looked outside and there wasn’t any movement so it couldn’t have come from out there. I looked around and I saw that my companion had managed to push his gag out of his mouth, and he was now snoring again. I fixed that problem by putting the gag back in, and making sure his bonds were secure. The last thing I needed was to have this guy attracting attention that would get us both killed.

  I went back to my chair just as a shadow walked across the window. By the way it walked, it wasn’t alive. I stayed put, trying to be nothing more than scenery, but I very slowly put my hand on my carbine.

  The shadow was joined by several others, and they moved around the marina. They walked in their distinct way, slapping their feet on the ground as they moved forward, as if they were trying to remember how to work their steps with each one. A couple hands glided along the glass, reaching out to see if the reflection was real or just something they couldn’t quite grasp. I had seen a couple of them stare at a mirror for a while, reaching out with a tentative hand to see if the other guy was tasty.

  I slowly slid down in the chair, becoming a bigger part of the scenery. If they saw me, they gave no indication they thought I was anything more than a lumpy chair. As long as there was no sound, nothing visual to attract them, they would likely just move on. I was nervous about the only thing being in between them and myself was a pane of glass, but sliding glass doors were generally thick, so it would take several of them in a coordinated attack to get the glass to break.

  Then it came. I don’t know what level of hell spawned it, but it must have been one of the blackest of pits known only to Satan. It rose out of that darkness, shifted around, and found an exit. When it emerged, the universe held its breath, wondering what nightmare it would produce for those unfortunate enough to be caught in the vicinity.

  My face-down friend was quiet from one end, but not from the other. He released a pants-tearing, paint-changing, ass-clapping fart that actually echoed down the hall toward the kitchen and then back again. Time seemed to stand still. I was frozen to the chair, not daring to move. I swear, though, that a demon-shaped cloud hovered over that man’s ass for a moment.

  But my luck was finished. What started out as a few shadows manifested themselves into a right proper horde and they began to beat on the windows with their hands and fists. I slipped my knife out of its sheath, slashed the bonds on the man’s wrists and ankles, and slapped him in the head until a bleary eye looked at me.

  “Zombies are breaking in. Good luck,” I said. I didn’t waste any more words, I just ran for the kitchen. I knew the marina side was full, and likely the front as well, but I held out scant hope that the back entrance was still open.

  As I reached the door, there was a loud crashing sound from the front of the building, and I could hear the slapping of many feet as they explored their new surroundings. I pushed the door open carefully, and breathed a small sigh of relief that the way at least to the woods was clear. That was the backup of the backup plan.

  I went over to the wall and looked carefully around. I stepped back as a hand grabbed at my face, coming around the wall and exposing itself to be a rather large zombie. He had to be over six foot four in his socks, and his dark T-shirt was torn in several places. His mouth and lips were pulled back to expose his teeth, and those were a mess of black mold and rotting bits of meat.

  I ducked under his outstretched hand and pushed his shoulder away from me. That spun him away and he went headfirst toward the door. I didn’t waste time, I just stabbed him in the back of the head with my blade. The needle tip went through his skull with ease, and I gave the blade a twist to kill the brain. The big man went down without a sound, but then they always did. I never knew why they stayed silent. Maybe the part of their brain that handled sound was dead and useless. Or more likely the case, since they were dead, they didn’t breathe, which meant no air going through their vocal chords.

  I congratulated myself on that bit of sleuthing while I checked the wall again. This time, there were no grabbers, so I could see that the majority of the horde was trying to get in the marina windows. I slipped along the pier that led away from the building, heading toward the two pontoon boats tied up at the dock. I stayed low, and I think I managed to stay out of sight. The first pontoon was a large one, probably over thirty feet in length. It had a lot of nice features, but I wasn’t interested in staying on it for any length of time.

  The second boat was more to my liking. It was smaller, but it looked like whoever owned it had taken very good care of it. There was a small cabin sitting on the center of the boat, and it looked like they might have used this for hunting. What they were hunting I couldn’t say, but I wasn’t going to argue the point.

  I never untied a boat faster than I had at that point, and I set it adrift. At the very least, I was out of danger for the moment, giving me time to see if this boat had any gas and if I could get it started.

  I broke into the cabin and looked around. It was a small space, but it was built to protect the driver and a couple of frie
nds. There were windows and a cooler, as well as chairs. The chairs looked like they would form a bench if they were placed the right way. I looked for the keys and found them in a small locked compartment by the driver’s seat.

  I tried them, and I was very surprised to hear the motor turn over. I primed it a little, held my breath, and tried again. On the fourth try, I got a small growl, and that was enough to kick the fifth try as the one that got the motor running. I looked back and the coughing motor was smoking a little as it burned up the stale gas. It also had attracted the attention of all of the zombies on this side of the building. They turned around and were now strolling along the dock. I saw that I had drifted further than I had wanted to and if I wasn’t careful, they would stroll right onto my boat.

  Just as I started the throttle, a voice came calling over the water.

  “Wait! Wait!”

  You gotta be kidding me. The guy whose flatulence caused this scenario was running out of the back of the building, using the same exit I had. He was carrying everything he owned, half slung over his shoulders and swinging from elbows.

  I leaned out the window of the cabin and pointed toward the end of the marina pier. The man was smart enough to understand and he ran all the way. I eased the throttle forward, sending the boat forward. It wasn’t very fast, and the man was literally dancing on the end of the pier. Behind him, coming out of the building, was about twenty zombies. They had zeroed in on him and they were looking for food.

  I had a fleeting thought to just sail away, if for no other reason than to see the look on his face, but I was a believer in karma and this one would definitely come back to bite my ass. I killed the throttle and swung the boat near the pier.

  “I’m not stopping, you gotta jump!” I yelled.

  The guy nodded and threw his gear in first. Then he stepped back, ran a bit and took the leap. He landed heavily, dipping the front of the boat deep in the water. The waves spread out as the boat righted itself, and I pushed the throttle forward. The gauge read half full, so I figured that would take us a decent way before we were paddling. I looked around for a map or something to help me with navigating the waters, but didn’t see anything. I was going to have to rely on my memory and the map I stared at.

  I looked out the front window and saw the man stand up. He had his rifle in his hands and was swinging it toward me.

  I dove for the deck as a small-caliber bullet went through the window. Another one punched through the side of the cabin, burning my shoulder as I lay down. I fired back with my .45, the sound making my ears ring in the close cabin. I heard a squawk as my round must have come close. I didn’t wait for him to shoot again and get lucky. I lunged for the throttle and the steering wheel, and cranked both. The boat lunged forward and turned at the same time. There was a yell, a thump, and a splash. I kept the throttle down and headed toward the middle of the channel that took me north. There was a whole bunch of yelling that followed me, but I didn’t even look back. The only thing I regretted at this point was untying that asshole.

  I moved the throttle back to ease up on the noise and save the gas, and followed the waterway. I went north until the passage turned east and west. I knew there was a larger collection of lakes to the northeast, so I turned in that direction. The weather was warm, so I opened the windows and let the breeze come through the cabin.

  I found a water course north after a couple false starts, and made my way up to a larger lake. The sun had gone down and I decided to sleep on the water. I dropped anchor and arranged the chairs into a bed of sorts. I lay back but it was impossible to get comfortable. I decided to lie out in the front of the cabin and when I did, I realized that the farter I had swept off the boat had left his pack behind. I went through it and was not surprised to find it held nothing of use and little of value. I tossed the pack over the side and settled in to sleep. The night sky slowly showed itself as the sun faded over the horizon. I idly wondered how many other people were able to look at the night sky in any sort of peace.

  Chapter 6 – 9 Weeks BETOTW

  Dr. Julius Renault was dead. The only good thing to come out of this fact was that he wasn’t going to be freshly dead when we got to Canada. On that basis alone, I was happy that our streak was about to be broken.

  It took two days to get to Canada, and then it took another two days to get to the nearest town to where we needed to go. We used the time to try and research what we could about the group Jester, and what we did figure out, it seemed like there was a story there but then there wasn’t. The big takeaway from the information was that Jester was on the terror radar of the FBI, something we hadn’t heard of at all.

  The plane we had chartered was a small twin-engine, and I watched civilization slip away the further north we flew. The terrain went from prairie to foothills to mountains to uncountable lakes and ponds. There were some wide rivers that we passed over, and here and there I could see some settlements and subdivisions where people actually made their homes in the absolute middle of god-forsaken nowhere.

  Conner caught me looking out the window.

  “Think you could ever live out here?” he asked.

  “Out where?” I replied. “I’d bet you could walk a mile from any of those homes we see down there and step in a spot no man has ever set foot before.”

  “I won’t argue the point,” Conner said. He looked at his watch. “Thirty minutes.”

  I thought about that as we started our descent. I’d flown into hostile areas for the last twenty-five years, but I can’t recall any time before this that I had no idea what I was flying into. Would there be a site, would there be nothing, maybe there’d be an answer as to why the hell doctors were being killed all over the damn globe. Langley had no idea, although they were starting to piece together the clues we were finding. There were a few raids happening this week on Jester sites, but I wouldn’t know if anything happened there at all. I had my doubts, as it seemed like there was a sympathizer at headquarters, but that wasn’t my problem right now.

  Right now, my problem was the ground coming up at a surprising rate, and we were landing at a runway that was shorter than my grandmother’s table at Christmas.

  We met with the customs agent and our credentials got us through very quickly. We were met by a member of the Canadian Intelligence Security Service, a nice young man who probably shaved once a week. I swear I could see green around his ears.

  “Gentlemen, my name is Edmund Firch with the CISS. May I see your credentials, please?” he said.

  We handed over our papers and he looked at them very thoroughly. He handed them back after a minute and smiled.

  “Welcome to Canada, gentlemen. Can I give you a lift to the motel?” Firch asked.

  “That’d be great,” Conner said. “Thanks very much.”

  “Is there a car rental agency around here?” I asked as we retrieved our luggage.

  “Sorry, no,” Firch said. “But I can take you wherever you need to go.”

  Terrific. I really didn’t like sharing with other agencies, but then my supervisor always said I was stingy. Maybe they had resources on Jester we didn’t.

  We went over to the local hotel, which was a single-story building run by a nice older couple. We took two rooms and asked Firch to meet us in the morning. We’d have a better game plan after a good night’s sleep and a cup of coffee. Firch was hesitant to leave us; obviously his superiors told him to keep an eye on us, but in the end, he probably reasoned with himself that since we were without a vehicle, we weren’t going anywhere.

  I made a call as soon as I got into my room, and after fifteen minutes, I got a reply. I went over to Conner’s room and gave him the good news. We’d have a car in the morning. He was happy with that. I almost wished I could see the look on Firch’s face when he saw we were gone, but that’s how it is. I wasn’t too worried about making the Canadian agency angry. They’d pissed us off royally in the past year, and I wasn’t above a little payback.

  We’d been tracking
a radical imam for about six months, and we caught him trying to reach Canada. After a few furious rounds of negotiations, the Canadians decided he deserved asylum, and refused to let us take him back to the states. A month later, that same sorry son of a bitch was recruiting for the terrorists overseas to carry out attacks in France and England.

  So if we irritate our handler a little bit, I’m okay with that.

  I closed the window shades in my room since there was nothing to see. It was cold up here, and there was no vegetation that wasn’t brown. Off in the distance were foothills, but they looked even colder than where we were. The town of Churchill was on a kind of peninsula. On the one hand, you had the Hudson Bay, and on the other was a river. Technically, it wasn’t a peninsula, but since there was water on three sides, I’d concede the point if I had to.

  Waiting for the sun to go down so I could go to sleep was a good way to stretch minutes into hours. I spent the time staring at the ceiling, wondering where all of this was going to lead to. So far, we had three dead scientists, an eco-terrorist group that was remarkably good at assassination, and a company that went belly up for some really weird reason. I hoped there was something that could at least answer a single question at this site. If it was empty, I might just shoot someone on general principles. Firch better watch his ass.

  I finally fell asleep after watching some sort of spy drama on the television. I should have known better than to watch those things. They never seemed to run out of bullets, and the bad guys were the worst shots in the world. And somehow the good guy always won. Hell, I’d take winning even twenty-five percent of the time.

  In the morning, I considered where we were going and what we might be getting into. Being completely blind, I put on my .45 and my spare in the holster behind my back. We technically weren’t supposed to bring guns into Canada, but I wasn’t going to tell anyone. Conner had proven himself a good man in the field, and while he made some mistakes, he was a quick learner.