Born In The Apocalypse (Book 3): Jericho

by Joseph Talluto

  “Sir!” A drone tech came in.

  “What now? Jesus, I don’t have time for this,” Vega said.

  “Sir, yes you do, sir,” the tech said.

  Vega cocked an eyebrow at the tech who stood unflinching at the door.

  “Sir, I was going through some old drone files, and you need to see this,” he said.

  “What is it?”

  “An image, sir, captured by a drone about two weeks ago.”

  “Two weeks? What took so long?” Vega asked.

  “The tech who was flying it took ill and we just got around to getting the files up. We’ve been busy, sir,” the tech said.

  “All right, here, use my computer,” Vega said.

  The technician plugged a flash drive into the side of the computer and pulled up the video files. The picture was dark, and it showed very little, until it came to a spot where the drone showed a man standing on the wall. The drone came in for a closer look, and the man held up a small sign with one hand. In the other, Vega saw him holding a small object.

  “What the hell?” Vega asked.

  “Let me zoom in, sir. It took some time for the resolution to get adjusted. But you need to see this, sir.”

  The screen blurred, and then the picture got clearer, zooming in. It blurred again, then it cleared. When it was legible, Vega found himself staring at the man he had chased on the other side of the wall. The man whose horse he had killed. The man whose woman he himself had shot.

  The young man was holding one of the controllers the tracking teams used to open the gates in the wall. The other thing he was holding was a note, and it read very clearly:

  Captain Vega-

  You killed my world.

  Now I’m killing yours.

  You should have left me alone.

  J. Andrews.

  The technician left the flash drive where it was and exited the room. Captain Vega read the note over and over again. He didn’t hear the phone ringing, didn’t hear the alarm sounding. All he could do was stare at the screen.

  He didn’t hear the screams and gunshots, and he didn’t hear the wheezing of the Trippers as they crowded into his office. The only thing Captain Vega heard was the sound of his own screams as the Trippers tore him apart.

  The End

  Read on for a free sample of Awake: A Post-Apocalyptic Thriller.

  Chapter One

  Years of experience investigating anomalies kept Don from emptying his Glock 19 into the monstrosity huddled next to the beat-up recliner in the corner of the living room. A middle-aged woman with short, jet-black hair sat in the opposite corner with a rifle pointed at the thing. Don assumed she was Mrs. Marie Redro, the homeowner who had called the police.

  “Where did that creature come from, Mrs.…?”

  “That creature is my husband, Phil,” she said, and Don stepped forward to help her. She turned the weapon on him. “Step back. And put your gun away. Now!”

  Don froze, and dropped his Glock into its shoulder holster. He wore his usual blue suit, its once sharp lines faded and stretched. His red tie had a small spot of chili on it, and above that a yellow dot of mustard. One chilidog, two stains.

  “I only agreed to let you in because you sounded different than the rest.” She jerked the gun barrel toward the door. “I called those asshats for help and they show up in a tank. All they wanna do is shoot him. That’s not the help I need.”

  Mrs. Redro had called the police two hours prior at 12:51AM local time, and law enforcement had laid siege to the house, creating a standoff. The delay gave Don enough time to travel to the suburbs of Miami and be on scene before the natives did something really stupid.

  “What happened here, Mrs.…?”

  “You can call me Marie.”

  “Okay, Marie.”

  Emergency lights streamed through the windows, and the house creaked and moaned as the thing Marie called her husband shifted back and forth, pounding the walls. Engorged blood vessels pressed against tightened skin, creating a spider-work of black lines across the creature’s pink and purple face. Orbitals that looked like a Botox treatment gone wrong encircled eyes with huge pupils and shrunken red irises that stared at the floor in a sleepy daze. Saliva leaked from swollen lips as it ground its teeth and snarled, but kept its distance.

  Marie said, “Why did they send you?” She considered him, obviously unimpressed. “You piss-off your boss or something?”

  “I work for the government, and this,” he said, gesturing toward her husband, “is my job.”

  “This kind of thing happen often?” Marie said. She shook her head. “Don’t tell me. I’m never going to be able to sleep again as it is.”

  The creature who had been Phil started forward, but pulled back when Marie screamed. He squeezed his eyes shut, and shuddered like he was having a violent dream. His skin writhed as muscle and tissue swelled.

  “What happened here?” Marie shook her head, tears welling in her eyes. “This will be off the record. Tell me so I can help you.”

  “We were just sitting, watching the TV. Phil had just finished dinner, and…” She paused, her eyes shifting to Don, then to the floor.

  “Just between us,” he said.

  Phil wailed, clawing at his face.

  “Oh, hush, you fool,” Marie yelled.

  Phil sprang back like he’d been smacked and retreated into his corner.

  “He had a few beers, then took some ride.”

  Don knew what ride was. “I’ve heard of that psychoactive crap. A new designer drug, a stimulant, and what’s in it depends on who you get it from.

  “That it?” Don asked, pointing at a gold pillbox with black skull and crossbones on the lid.

  She nodded.

  “Please, go on.”

  “That’s it. There is no more. We were watching TV. I heard him snore, looked over at him, and he was changing. Blowing up like a tick.” Tears streamed down her cheeks, and she sniffed between words. Phil pounded the walls harder, and the sheetrock cracked, letting loose a cloud of dust.

  Marie shot him a glare, and he stopped pounding. He tore at the remnants of his shirt instead.

  Marie continued. “When I got the gun, he went ballistic. I ain’t gonna let them kill my Phil.” Desperation filled the woman’s eyes, fear and pain cutting across her face.

  “Did you take anything?”

  “No, I don’t do that shit. It can kill you.”

  “Seems like it’s done more than that. You heard him snoring? Like he was asleep?” Don asked.

  “Yes.”

  “And he was fine prior? Nothing else you can think of? Any other drugs?”

  Her eyes shifted to the floor again, then she said, “Not that I know of.”

  Phil growled and moved towards them.

  “Stop that! This man is trying to help,” Marie said. Phil understood her because he stopped and focused his red eyes on Don. “You look terrible!” she said. “Go sit on the sofa.”

  The thing did as it was told.

  Don was running out of options. In five minutes, the SWAT team would join them, and Phil Redro would be riddled with bullets. So the time for sugarcoating had passed.

  “I have to take him in, Marie.”

  The thing that had once been Phil Redro clawed at the walls and moaned.

  “Nope. That wasn’t our deal.” She swung the gun in Don’s direction again. The weight of it pulled her arm down, and she almost dropped the weapon, only pulling it level at the last instant.

  “You fire that thing and I won’t be able to hold them back. Then it’s over for him.” The tip of the gun barrel dipped slightly. “We can knock him out with a tranquilizer and bring him to the hospital.” Don sold bullshit for a living. It was one of the unpleasant tasks that came with giving people bad news. He saw no way Phil would live unless he figured out what had caused his transformation and there was an antidote to bring him back. Both would take time, and might not be possible. Don’s five-man support team waited outside
with a portable quarantine unit and by sun up, Phil would most likely be on ice, his ride over for good.

  “No. Let’s just give it some time and see if it wears off. The ride will end. It always does,” she said.

  “And you’re always there to bring him back. Nurse him to health.”

  “I try,” she said.

  “He listens to you. If you told him to go with us, do you think he would?”

  “Not happening. And he doesn’t always do what I say. When I tried to get close, he went for me,” Marie said. She was relaxing a little, and had lowered the rifle so it pointed at his kneecaps.

  “Who did he get the ride from?” Don asked, assuming that to be his line of investigation going forward.

  Marie’s face twisted. “That loser Teapot on 45th Avenue. He stands on the bridge that goes over the Blue Lagoon, right in front of the cops. They don’t do nothin.”

  “How long has he been copping from him?”

  “Shoot… those two fools go way back.”

  “Any reason Teapot might want to hurt Phil?”

  “None that I know of. Phil always paid cash, so I can’t imagine what the problem would’ve been.”

  Don could imagine many possible problems. Phil’s last batch of ride might not have taken him anywhere, or perhaps it took him some place he didn’t want to go. Or maybe he was shorted a pill, or Teapot didn’t give him back the proper change. With drug deals, there were an infinite number of things that could go wrong.

  “Do you know where Teapot lives?”

  Marie jerked back, and her lemon lips returned. “Why would I know where that dirtbag lives?” She looked over at her husband and frowned. Drool dripped across his swollen chin, and his face undulated like tiny worms were burrowing beneath his skin.

  Don glanced at his watch, and Marie noticed. “What now?” she asked.

  He didn’t want to answer her because she wasn’t going to like what he had to say. The two of them stared at each other, hoping something would give, and when the bullhorn outside started issuing ultimatums, Marie vaulted from her chair. “You said you’d help keep the cops away.”

  Don closed the distance between them, trying not to look at Marie’s gun. “Help me work through this.”

  Marie scowled, lifting the gun as Don moved for the weapon.

  Phil sprang, jaws snapping, arms reaching out to tackle Don, who dodged, letting Phil crash into the entertainment center. The old pressboard unit teetered, the heavy tube TV toppling the cabinet and its years of accumulated crap down onto Phil.

  Don went for Marie but was met with the point of a gun. Marie sucked her teeth and gave Don a look that would have wilted fresh lettuce. She trained the rifle on his head.

  Don dropped to the floor and pulled his gun.

  He swung the Glock forward, only to have the Phil-thing clamp its bloody hand around his wrist. He got tossed across the room, the gun flying from his grasp as he hit the glass doors enclosing the fireplace, shattering them. Blood trickled from a cut on his cheek, and suddenly Don was very aware of the open wound, no matter its size.

  Bleeding in front of monsters could be a very bad thing.

  He backed against the wall and looked for his gun, which lay in the rubble of the entertainment center. His belt buckle was a small throwing knife, but that was the only remaining weapon. Footsteps echoed on the porch outside, and the bullhorn issued one last warning. They would break down the door with a battering ram in sixty seconds.

  “Go,” Marie said, as she pointed the rifle toward the door.

  Don’s mind swam, and for an instant, he thought he might leave. Who said he had to put his ass on the line every time?

  The cops would blow Phil apart, and before he and his crew could get control of the situation, countless officers and emergency workers would be exposed to an anomaly they knew nothing about.

  Don dove for Marie, trying to draw Phil in.

  Phil caught Don in the head with an elbow as he flew passed, and Don crashed into the pile of entertainment center rubble. His Glock lay right next to him, and he grabbed it.

  “Enough!” It was Marie. Phil snarled at her, and she pivoted her rifle towards him, and then back at Don, and back to Phil again. Tears streamed down her face, leaving dark mascara trails.

  When Phil went for Don again, she shot him.

  The rifle blast caught Phil in the arm and spun him around. He went down then, taking bookshelves with him. The police were pounding on the door with their ram, and in seconds, they would be through. Don scurried across the room to where Phil lay, and when he arrived, he stopped short, his mouth hanging open.

  Phil’s eyes were clearing, the blood draining away like dirt down a sewer. He looked bewildered, and when he saw Don, he said, “Who are you?”

  The door broke open, and Don’s men came in before the local SWAT team. “You okay, Boss?”

  Don didn’t have time for that. He positioned himself between Phil and the police, shielding him. “Hold your fire.” The cops were in full body armor, their identities hidden behind tinted face shields. They poured through the door showing no signs of halting. “I will shoot the man who fires his weapon.”

  One by one, the officers lowered their guns when they saw a middle-aged man in torn clothes staring up at them, his eyes glassy, eyebrows furrowed. Phil’s natural color was returning, his face smooth. The gunshot leaked blood down his arm, but he didn’t appear to notice. Dark bags hung under his eyes, and thin white lines ran across his face where the blood vessels had pushed against tightened skin.

  “Why are you all here?” Phil asked.

  “You don’t remember anything?” Don said. His men were clearing the room, and the locals retreated.

  “No. I dozed off, then… you woke me?” He hadn’t seen Marie yet. She lay on the couch. She’d fainted. As if reading his mind, Phil asked, “Where’s Marie?”

  “Here,” she said.

  When Phil saw her, his features softened.

  “You’re awake,” she said, and went to him.

  Awake is available from Amazon here.