Elixr Plague (Episode 1): Vector

by Richardson, Marcus

  Desmond rubbed his face. "This can’t be happening,” he muttered. Exhaling, he looked up and asked, “What’s changed?"

  The investors were going to have kittens. Desmond looked out the window at the revelry exploding in the streets of Los Angeles. Soon those people would be infected with the not-Elixr…what would happen to them?

  Senator Hall is going to crucify me.

  "I’m not sure at all what it is, let alone what it does…" Mapp continued. "But from the preliminary simulations, I can tell you that anyone who was dosed with our version of the original Elixr formula seems to be immune from...whatever this new version is or does.”

  Desmond held up a hand, even though Mapp couldn’t see the gesture. “Layman’s terms, Jerry. None of that bullshit you guys talk about in the lab.”

  “The two versions of Elixr—they’re not mixing,” Mapp said, his voice tight with irritation. “And the new version can’t get past the body’s defenses when it encounters someone already inoculated. So basically anyone who’s already gotten the pure Elixr treatment will be immune to...whatever the new version does. Will do. Was supposed to do…”

  Desmond caught Barry’s eyes in the rearview mirror. "Where are the stockpiles of the original Elixr right now?" he asked. "Do we still have some here in Los Angeles?"

  "No, sir—Beacon Point was the main reserve site. From the records I have access to...uh, it looks like all the top tier executives—including your wife—were given the original Elixr.”

  “I had the first dose,” Desmond mused, remembering the press conference, the single chair out on the stage, and Norman Yang’s insistence that he wait.

  Did you know about this, Norman? Desmond thought back through the last conversation he had with Yang, right before the explosion. He’d been really upset and not acting like himself for weeks.

  There’s a connection here, I just can’t find it.

  “...the other employees were scheduled to receive it at distribution ceremonies at company facilities this coming week..." Mapp said.

  Desmond sat up as Barry pulled around a corner a little too fast and someone threw a drink at the car. "I want everyone in the company to get the original formula. Can we do that? Do we have enough?"

  "Oh, we have plenty for our employees, sir," replied Edith. "I’m looking at the reserve stockpile numbers right now."

  "Good," Desmond said, seeing a way out of the Minotaur’s maze in which he’d found himself. "Jerry, you take charge of the disbursement to our employees. Get on the horn right now and get everyone out of any public distribution areas they might be going to tonight. I want our people to come to work tomorrow and get the real Elixr."

  Mapp sighed. "It won’t be easy. I’ll need help—a lot of it."

  "You’ve got blanket authority on this, Jerry,” Desmond said, pinching the bridge of his nose and closing his eyes. “Just make it happen, okay? I’m sending over my personal authorization token now," Desmond added, tapping commands into his phone.

  A moment later: "Got it, sir. This will help a lot."

  "Good. Edith."

  "Yes, sir?" she replied, as Barry took the car onto the interstate heading toward the regional airport they routinely used for company business.

  "Reach out to our contacts in Washington and DOD. Give them the heads up now, and offer as many doses of the original Elixr as we have left after our people get it." He thought for a moment. “I want Centurion to have the original Elixr doses as well.” No point in having a team of crack ex-special forces warriors to do your bidding if they caught…whatever it was the terrorists had concocted.

  "On it. And sir?"

  "Yes, Edith?"

  "The LAPD has placed the Staples Center under lockdown—they’re reporting shots fired. The streets are clogged with people trying to get away. You got out just in time."

  Desmond leaned back in his seat and sighed. "What have we done?" he breathed.

  His phone buzzed. When he glanced down, he saw the face of his bride, his Spanish beauty, Catia. When he answered it, her voice filled the car before he could speak.

  "Tell me you are not there…” She slipped into Spanish and spoke so fast even he couldn’t understand her. “Tell me you’re on your way to the airport," she said, flipping back to English, her accent soft and lilting, the exoticness immediately taking the edge off the fear in her voice.

  "It’s okay, baby," Desmond replied in his calmest voice. Catia was loving and passionate, and had a temper to match her Spanish heritage, but he had patience and practice. "I’m on my way to the airport right now. I got out before…things went south. I’ll be in the air in about fifteen minutes, then I’ll see you in a few hours."

  "Just hurry…it’s creepy out here."

  “I’ll be home by dawn,” he promised. Beacon Point was only four hour hours from LA by air, just over halfway across the country.

  Desmond grinned. Catia had never liked their peaceful retreat in Michigan’s Upper Peninsula. She was a creature that blossomed in the warmth of the summer sun. She craved heat and clear skies, neither of which were in abundance in Beacon Point. But it was precisely the seclusion that had first drawn Desmond there.

  He’d built a private retreat and a backup headquarters for Martin Enterprises right on the shores of Lake Superior. There was an old Air Force Base nearby that he’d purchased and turned into a research facility second only to the main one in the hills around Los Angeles. That was where the precious original doses of Elixr had been stockpiled, in preparation for the Second Wave operation next month.

  "I’ll see you soon. I love you." Desmond looked at the phone in his hand. It was his backup. He’d lost his daily driver in the aftermath of Yang’s house exploding. He pulled out Yang’s phone from his pocket and looked at the dusty, cracked device.

  "Edith," he called out, as Barry cruised through the first airport checkpoint. The security teams had already contacted everyone who needed to know and cleared Desmond to roll right up to the hangar, followed by the other cars that evacuated his chief executives and Teddy’s men.

  "Sir?"

  "After Jerry Mapp, who was Norman’s go-to guy?"

  "That would be Selena Lourdes."

  Desmond cleared his throat. "Right. Go-to girl. Where is she right now?"

  After a pause, Edith replied: "She’s at our Seattle facility. She was about to join the rest of the research team in lockdown—"

  "No, no—I want everyone on Norman’s team flown to Beacon Point. I don’t care where they’re at—I know he did a lot of teleconference work—they need to come to Beacon Point. If there’s any chance at all fo figuring out what the hell is going on and what’s in this modified Elixr, I want our people in one spot."

  "Sir, what about their families? People aren’t going to want to just uproot and come halfway across the country right when everything is going crazy…"

  "The facility is plenty big enough—have them bring their immediate family. We’ve got the room. Norman’s team wasn’t that big, was it?"

  "No, sir, he preferred a smaller, agile group rather—"

  "Good. Make it happen. And Edith?"

  "Yes, sir?"

  Barry put the car in park and one of Teddy’s men reached for the door. Over his shoulder, Desmond saw his private jet waiting patiently to taxi out to the runway.

  "Make sure you get a dose of the real deal as well, okay? You’re more critical to the operations of this company than anyone."

  "You flatter me, sir."

  "I’m serious, Edith. Get out of New York and come to Michigan, okay? I’m going to have Teddy get someone to you. There’s no telling what might happen in the coming days."

  "I’ll be careful, sir. Have a good flight."

  As Desmond mounted the steps up to the plane, the wind tugged at his suit. One of the pilots stood in the hatch, a smile plastered to his face. He shook hands and offered a pleasant greeting, well covering his anxiety and irritation at being pulled away in the middle of the night to fly halfway
across the country. Desmond turned at the hatch and saw a line of black sedans pulling up to the hangar. His executives and Teddy’s security team. He didn’t know exactly how many people were coming with him, but by the number of cars, he figured they’d gotten most of his leaders out of Los Angeles.

  "How many people can we fit on this thing?" he asked the pilot.

  "Got room for eighteen, Mr. Martin. Don’t worry though," the man said upon seeing Desmond’s reaction. "They’re fueling up additional planes. No one’s getting left behind."

  "Can I offer you a cocktail, sir?" asked a perky attendant, intent on guiding Desmond away from the hatch to his plush leather recliner in the first row.

  Desmond sank into the seat and sighed. "Yes, please. I’ll have a MacAllen on the rocks."

  "Right away, Mr. Martin."

  Desmond pulled out Yang’s phone again and scrolled through the crazy images in the text messages. Why the hell was he texting about zombies right before his house blew up? And who the hell was he talking to? Their grammar was appalling. What was more appalling was who they were talking about.

  What does Kelly have to do with any of this?

  "Des!" Erik Rudy, the VP of national sales said, bursting onto the plane. His face, red and sweaty from the rush up the stairs and pre-game cocktails, fairly glowed in the cabin lighting. "What the hell is going on? Have you seen the numbers—"

  Desmond raised a hand to stop him, which was promptly filled with the Scotch he’d ordered. He nodded at the attendant and stood as the others entered the plane and headed for seats. More questions were fired in his direction.

  "Everyone, listen up," he called, his voice filling the airplane. "Let’s all get settled and we’ll have a briefing in the air. There’s nothing we can do right this minute except get in the way of our fine air crew, so let’s just stay calm and take our seats. We’ll all figure this out together. Am I right?"

  Desmond sipped his drink and tried to ignored the whispers of riots and violence that buzzed in the background. Soon enough the flight crew sealed the hatch, and the engines drowned out everything but the whistling wind racing past his window. As he watched the city lights fade beneath him, Desmond Martin stared into the blackness that enveloped the plane.

  Down there, thousands of feet below, people were panicking in the streets—not from his creation, at least not that he knew of, but from their own fear and desperation. And it was happening all around the world from Madrid to Moscow, from Sydney to San Francisco.

  Desmond closed his eyes and rested his head against the window. The mild vibration of the plane in flight soothed the pounding headache that threatened to burst through his forehead. Who knew what the hell was happening in London?

  What have I done?

  To Be Continued…

  What’s Next?

  The action doesn’t stop here! Episode 2, Infected, is available here. Have you read through the Elixr Plague story so far and need some more post-apocalyptic mayhem? Well, I have another series called The Wildfire Saga. You might want to check out my Future History of America series. Fair warning, it’s not for the faint of heart.

  If you want action, these books have plenty. If you want characters—lots of ‘em—these books are chock full of people, from presidents to foreign leaders, spies, rebels, soldiers, civilians, and even bikers.

  Want a paperback book you can sink your teeth into? The Future History books can also be used as doorstoppers.

  If you’re looking for something less action-packed, but more realistic, you may want to try my Solar Storm series. This post-apocalyptic story is set in the days immediately after the sun wipes out the global power grid and the entire world is essentially tossed back to the 1800s. Solar Storm is about one man’s quest to save his family and survive when the whole world goes dark.

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  About the Author

  MARCUS GRADUATED FROM the University of Delaware and later earn his law degree. Since then, he has at times been employed (or not) as: a highly over-qualified stock boy, cashier, department manager at a home furnishings store, assistant manager with a national arts and crafts chain, an acting store manager with the same chain, an unemployed handyman, husband, cook, groundskeeper, spider-killer extraordinaire, stay-at-home-dad, and writer.

  He currently lives with his wife, children, and one cheeky vizsla in Illinois—and he couldn’t be happier you’re taking the time to read this.

  Visit my website or follow me on Facebook and Twitter!

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  Books by Marcus Richardson

  THE ELIXR PLAGUE

  Book 1: Vector

  Book 2: Infection (Pre-order)

  OTHER SERIES

  The Future History of America

  The Wildfire Saga

  Solar Storm

  For my complete catalog, please see:

  marcusrichardsonauthor.com