The End Time Saga Box Set [Books 1-3]

by Greene, Daniel

  “I do,” Tess responded.

  “Let her stand up, won’t matter,” Bessie said.

  Tess rotated her body so her hips were in line with her shoulders and arm. I must pull fast and hard toward myself to negate her great strength and size.

  “Then let’s begin.” His weathered, cracked hand rested briefly on the two women’s.

  “Ready. Set. Go.” He raised his hand with a flourish, standing back to watch the mayhem with a smile.

  Bessie grunted as Tess hooked her hand, pulling Bessie toward the edge of Tess’s side of the table. The booze was starting to kick in and she felt invincible. Bessie saw it too, glaring intently at their hands as Tess moved her inch by inch, her thin muscles straining as hard as they could in her arm.

  Bessie turned red with effort. “Rarrr,” she screeched, focusing her energy on bringing their hands back toward her. Tess’s arm quivered as Bessie gained the advantage, pushing Tess’s hand further and further from victory.

  Tess’s arms were skinny at best. She wasn’t going to win a pushing match. The pressure on her forearm made her think her arm was going to fracture and explode.

  Bessie exhaled and sucked in more air, her face looking like a red balloon. One more inch and Bessie’s weight would finish Tess over the top.

  Tess twisted her hips in her seat, using her shoulder to gain leverage. With a slight maneuver of her hand, which Bessie would never notice, she forced her competitor to grip the bottom of her palm. Then she pulled Bessie’s hand directly in toward her body, displacing her challenger’s center of gravity. Using her momentum, she slammed Bessie’s hand home, letting the table be a backstop. Releasing the woman, Tess stood to the cheering of the crowd and the jeering of her defeated opponent.

  Tess held her hands open wide in the air and spun around in a circle.

  “Are you not entertained?” she yelled at them.

  Pagan wrapped an arm around her. “That was great, babe.” From the side, Thunder nodded his head approvingly like a proud father.

  “You never cease to amaze me, Miss Tess,” he said.

  Bessie rubbed her hand. She stared at it, confused as to why it had betrayed her. “Bessie, you can leave those supplies by the camper.”

  “How did you do that?” Bessie said. She cradled her hand in the other.

  “If I told you, I’d have to kill you,” Tess said, raising an eyebrow.

  Bessie stood up from the table. “I’ll drop off the food. You are a strong little bitch; I’ll give you that,” Bessie said.

  The crowd dispersed to their separate campsites. Tess and Pagan crossed back to their camper, his arm hooked around her waist. Tess stopped, turning back to Bessie.

  “Bessie, you are free to stay here as long or as short as you would like. You need not be alone.”

  Bessie smiled faintly. “Thank you, Tess. I’ll stick around for awhile, but I want a rematch.”

  “You’re welcome to try,” Tess said with a smile.

  Back in the camper, Tess had sex with Pagan. The combination of her victory and the pleasure made her feel alive again if only for a fleeting moment.

  They lay next to one another in their musty camper from the ’70s. Fake wood made from plastic covered its interior panels. Long thin vertical lines of brown, tan, and white decorated the couches. It was the worst color scheme she’d ever seen, but the camper was home. She looked up at the yellow-stained ceiling, hands behind her head, naked aside from an old patchwork quilt covering her lower half.

  The man next to her was lean and hard. His body had more muscle when they first had met during the beginning of the madness, and now he was only thin muscle. She had been with Darren Pagan ever since. Tess would never call it a relationship—she didn’t have relationships—but it was a mutual agreement they had fallen into. More of a person to pass the time with. She felt the former Marine although there were no former Marines, only Marines, stir next to her as he woke up.

  “Can’t sleep?” he whispered. He shifted his weight in the futon-style bed and the whole camper creaked.

  “You know I don’t sleep.”

  “You want to talk about it?”

  “Nope.”

  He paused. “Thunder and his gang said they saw torched homes along the lakeshore again while they were out collecting.”

  “Who do you think is setting them?” she asked. She rolled over to pull a joint from a baggie beneath her pillow. Lighting it up, she took a hit and passed it to Pagan. He burned the weed, its deep red embers glowing brightly. It always surprised her that the Marine would smoke weed with her, but then again she never expected to be a de facto leader of a group of survivors in the apocalypse either.

  “From what I can gather,” he said, his voice rose as he tried to hold it in before exhaling the light blue smoke through his mouth, “it doesn’t seem to be diversionary or random. The fires seem to be set on purpose.”

  “But to what end? You don’t think it’s those nutjob Christians.”

  “I’m not sure. This is pretty far north for them, but I won’t know unless I get up close and investigate.” He passed the joint back to her. She placed it in her mouth and inhaled.

  “I don’t want any surprises from anyone. Tomorrow you should go check it out.” She put out the weed in an ashtray. Her body felt light and relaxed. The only way she could feel relaxed now was by smoking. Survival was a constant anxiety that never went away. That’s what happened when everywhere you went people tried to kill and eat you.

  The Little Sable Point community had started with her and Pagan holed up inside the lighthouse. Narrow steps led upward three floors to the lighting chamber. They had slept on the top-level observation deck, wind howling around them with views of the lake and dunes for miles and miles. It was breathtaking in more ways than one. The land had been summer green, the dunes sandy gold, and the water ocean blue. The old age of the lighthouse had made her wonder if it would even stay up in the gushing wind.

  Within a week, others had found their way to Little Sable Point. Refugees that fled the infected were drawn to its rotating lights while there was still power.

  The surrounding woods and few houses isolated it from most people. Soon after the people came, the infected found them. She and Pagan had killed the most, gaining them the loyalty of the others.

  Now it was a refuge for roamers and the unaffiliated, the lost and the broken. They all came here and found a bit of solace from the storm. While the power still worked, the light shone, calling to the fleeing people. No one made them stay. A loose rule of law was set forth, mostly from the Red Stripes who enforced it. It was enough to keep everyone safe.

  They came in campers, semis, buses, pickups, and cars that all encircled the lighthouse, providing a protective barrier to the outside world of the infected. When one left, the others closed ranks. Any large packs of infected were sighted from atop the lighthouse, and the small groups or individual infected that came upon them were forced up against the sturdy ring of vehicles.

  Gunfire echoed from the edge of her camp.

  Pagan pulled the blinds back, eying the outside suspiciously.

  “Infected?” she asked, slipping on her loose tank top.

  Bullets sounded off in quick succession.

  “No.” Pagan hopped out of the bed, slipping pants on over his muscled legs.

  “We’re under attack.”

  JOSEPH

  Cheyenne Mountain Complex, CO

  Joseph stood at the end of a reddish wood conference table. The MIM team of doctors looked exhausted after hours spent debating the future of Richard Thompson, patient zero of the worst pandemic in the history of mankind. Soda cans and coffee cups lay scattered around the table. Stale, dried out sandwiches sat on a platter in the corner. No one’s appetite was very big today aside from Dr. Hollis. With his unslung hand, Joseph pointed at the projector screen. He cleared his throat. “Let’s get back to the basics.”

  Clicking a controller, the slides switched on the screen with
a lazy-blinds transition. The people before him looked tired to say the least. Colonel Byrnes sat on the side of the table farthest from Joseph. Dr. Weinroth sat closest to Joseph. Dr. Nguyen next to her. Dr. Hollis nodded off next to Colonel Byrnes, and Dr. Desai sat on the other side.

  “Since we are all in agreement that a cure cannot be found, we must attempt to move forward with the development of a vaccination. There are four different types of vaccines that are possible: the first is a live virus attenuated vaccine. Measles, mumps, and chickenpox operate like this.”

  “Is this even feasible for the subject virus?” Dr. Desai said. She looked down at her papers. “The virus is highly contagious with bodily fluid contact.”

  “If Patient Zero is any indicator of behavior associated with live virus inoculation, then it’s not a plausible method of vaccination,” said Dr. Nguyen.

  “I agree,” said Dr. Weinroth.

  “As do I,” Joseph said quickly after her. He smiled something only meant for her. He pushed the button again, and the device made an audible clicking noise.

  “How do we feel about a killed or inactivated vaccine option?” Joseph asked the group.

  “We don’t know the affects pieces of the virus may have in a live host,” Colonel Byrnes said. His mood never changed from a natural glower.

  Dr. Nguyen tapped his pen on the paper in front of him. “The mutations are too fast. You’ve seen infected blood work. We are lucky the computers can keep up with such fast mutations. How can we possibly defend the host cells while the virus mutates?”

  The doctors looked down at their notes. Papers shuffled. They took swigs of coffee, tea, and soda, hoping that a jolt of caffeine might somehow push their drained brains beyond the fog to find an answer.

  Byrnes frowned up at Joseph, rubbing his forehead. “Joseph, we don’t need an explanation on how vaccines work. Why don’t you take a seat?” He gestured with a free hand. “We already know your next few slides: nanoparticles, toxoids, and biosynthetic vaccines.”

  Joseph sighed and took a seat, letting his arm settle on the armrest. He tossed the controller on the table. His knife wound was healing with Dr. Weinroth’s help. Joseph made sure to give her a friendly smile.

  “When stuck, it can’t hurt to go back to the basics,” Joseph said.

  Byrnes exercised his fingers in front of him, his scowl deepening. “I’m not sure we have the technology here to create a virus-like nanoparticle. Toxoid vaccines are primarily used for bacteria-related illness. That leaves a biosynthetic vaccine as the best option. We will change the antigen that the virus injects into the cells. The immune system will recognize the virus upon infection and respond positively, providing defense against the virus.”

  Dr. Weinroth coughed into her hand. “With all due respect, and I mean all due respect. Do you know how long it takes and how much live testing we have to do in order to create a biosynthetic protein that not only does what it’s supposed to do but is safe for the patient?”

  “About fifteen years,” Byrnes said. His face was flat as if he had already lived every day of those fifteen years, watching all those around him die in the process.

  “And we have at most a month,” Dr. Weinroth said. She peered down at a piece of paper. “Two. If the military holds.”

  “That’s a big if,” Byrnes said.

  Dr. Desai looked perturbed by their assumptions. “I’m not sure we can even discuss it. It isn’t realistic.”

  “None of this is realistic, doctor, but we have to try. I am advocating for open surgical tissue harvesting to increase tissue mass available for analysis.

  Joseph’s brow creased. Patient Zero is not an autopsy. “Hold on, Colonel. Patient Zero is still alive. He’s a person, not a walking corpse like the others. An open mass tissue harvest will greatly increase his chances of mortality.”

  “That’s true,” Byrnes peered down at his notes. “But we don’t have time. We must extract lymph nodes, liver tissue, and lung tissue from the host immediately. We will need a quick analysis of the material and original virus if we want to stand a chance at getting something. Really anything.” He eyed Rebecca as though speaking to his daughter. “Put him under. He’s dangerous anyway. Take the needed specimens and keep him in an induced coma. He won’t feel a thing.”

  Dr. Weinroth shuffled her papers, uncomfortable under his gaze.

  “I don’t think that’s necessary. I believe we can get all the information we need from non-invasive testing.” Joseph nodded his head in agreement. “If that doesn’t work, I will agree to more dangerous harvesting methods.”

  “Time is our enemy. Dr. Nguyen needs time if he is to—work his magic. Don’t have a bleeding heart over this man. If we can still call him that.”

  Joseph frowned. “You can’t just cut him up into pieces. He’s a human being.” He adjusted his glasses up the edge of his nose. The crack in his lens split Byrnes into two unhappy pieces.

  “He’s infected. It’s between us and the virus. The faster we can figure out how this thing ticks the faster we can defeat it. Plain and simple,” Byrnes said, letting Joseph know his displeasure at being debated with a frown.

  “If you want to kill infected, go outside this mountain, Colonel. There are plenty of infected to hack up out there. We need to exercise some caution. Potentially killing Patient Zero does us no good either.”

  “And what would you know about what’s happening out there?” Byrnes said. His voice was sharp and poignant.

  “Plenty,” Joseph said. His eyes met the colonel’s. His gut went from a simmer to a boil.

  Byrnes gave him a sneer. “Like you’ve killed a thing. Please back me up on this one. You understand the importance of gathering good expedient data. The more data we can get the better.”

  Joseph cut in. “Infected aren’t the only things I’ve killed.” Joseph fixed his eyes on the two Byrnes. Both of them infuriated him.

  Byrnes ground his teeth at the other end of the table, his eyes reaching out to slap Joseph’s face. I don’t care if he tries to whoop my ass.

  Dr. Nguyen’s eyes grew large underneath his small round glasses. He coughed into his hand, breaking the stalemate. “Colonel Byrnes is correct, Dr. Jackowski. During the Ebola outbreak in West Africa, we made the most progress when conducting high volume tissue harvesting through more intrusive procedures.” Dr. Nguyen flattened his lips. He didn’t need to spell it out.

  More intrusive operations on patients to contain the outbreak were easier to authorize when the disease was abroad, in a jungle, infecting people that weren’t Americans. Doctors would eagerly use the data, ignoring the higher risk operations conducted as a necessary risk.

  Dr. Weinroth flipped her auburn hair over her ear before she spoke. “Although, I too would like an expedited solution to this pandemic,” she said. She gave Joseph a glance out of the corner of her eye. “I believe we should try non-invasive testing as a medical priority. The patient may benefit, and more importantly, may provide us with even more clues with less trauma to his body. Clues that if he has expired, we may not find.”

  Dr. Desai’s long black curls shook around her shoulders. “Yes. Perhaps he will provide us with a way to manage the disease.”

  “Manage? That’s ridiculous. We need results now.” Byrnes slammed his fist on the table. Exhaling sharply, he calmed himself. “People are being slaughtered,” he said softly.

  “He’s not some sort of lab rat for us to grow an ear on. Those that can feel, judge best,” Joseph said.

  “His humanity is debatable.” Byrnes crossed his arms.

  “Regardless, we have a responsibility to find a vaccine for this disease. The last data report we ran, inoculation of the surviving populations and military forces, will bring our success rate up to seven percent.”

  “Up from what?” The words tumbled out of Joseph’s mouth.

  Dr. Weinroth picked her papers up and straightened them out. Her throat moved as she swallowed tentatively. She thumbed through her stack an
d slid a single sheet over to Joseph. He hesitated a moment before he touched the paper as if he reached for the virus in eight-and-a-half-by-eleven standard letter form.

  He lifted the paper up to his eyes and bent his head downward so he could look over his glasses. The paper was filled with charts of data and corresponding graphs. Everyone was silent as he read.

  Dr. Weinroth broke the silence, her voice rushed as if she were trying to outspeak his internal reading. “Within the Cheyenne Mountain Complex, we have stockpiled a host of vaccines for every known infectious disease. Enough for tens of thousands of people. If we can find one that we can modify, we may have success.” Joseph ignored her, digesting the numbers on the sheet.

  “That’s a big if,” Joseph said, studying the information. He felt his gut drop inside of him.

  A list of calculations ran down the sheet. A pie graph was one hundred percent red. The next graph had a sliver of blue in it, time tables and numbers in separate columns.

  “Our success rate is between zero and seven percent,” Joseph said under his breath.

  “That is correct, Dr. Jackowski,” Byrnes said from across the table. His hard-as-bullet eyes softened a tiny bit. “If we move fast, we only have a small chance of success.” He capitalized on Joseph’s digestion of the morbid information. “One man’s life means little in the face of this threat. We should bring this to a vote.”

  Everyone around the table nodded in agreement.

  “Should we move forward with invasive testing for mass volume harvesting or continue with less credible non-invasive procedures?” Byrnes said.

  Joseph locked eyes with Dr. Weinroth.

  “All in favor of invasive, say aye.” The colonel nudged Dr. Hollis with an elbow. Dr. Hollis stared around the table, blinking rapidly, entering the conversation for the first time. “Doctor, we are taking a vote.”

  “Yes. Of course we are,” Dr. Hollis said.

  “Aye,” Byrnes said. His mouth clamped shut as if it were an order to the rest of the doctors. He raised his hand slowly in the air.

  Dr. Nguyen glanced at Joseph. “Aye.” His hand went up.