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

by Greene, Daniel

  He tilted his head at the bodies in the sand. “Margie, you may fire.”

  She sighed as if his persistence had finally broken her down and hefted the weapon near her shoulder.

  “Hold it tighter. Now, keep your sight picture level.” He held out his hand in a level straight line. “Put it right on that ugly SOB’s head and gently pull the trigger.”

  She let the gun sights lower a bit. “I don’t know.”

  “You wanted to be here. Protect your family and friends. Pick the sights up and fire your weapon.”

  She gave him a terse nod and hammered on the trigger. The shot went wide, sending sand in the air.

  “Treat the trigger like a handshake with an old friend. Firm but gentle. No tension in your firing hand,” he said. He stepped down the line providing Larry with instruction before they switched shooters.

  ***

  Three hours later, he could see their patience waning and fatigue setting in.

  “Okay, Gregor. Hold.” The large long-haired man let his gun drop. The big welder gave off the impression he could play a bad guy in a horror film, but in actuality, was a gentle soul.

  “Who’s the best shot out here today?” All eyes ran to Margie. Steele was only a little surprised. After she had gotten over her fear of the weapon, she picked up its usage with some easy instruction.

  “Now, Margie. Do what you’ve been doing all day.” She gave him a half-smile and held the .22 to her shoulder. A few hours ago you were afraid; now you stand with some confidence.

  “Nice and easy now. Slow is smooth,” he whispered behind her. Seconds ticked by as she zeroed in on her shot. Long moments later, the gun’s barrel exploded. The closest infected’s head smacked against the stake, a dime-sized hole appearing in its forehead.

  “That’s a direct hit,” Steele exclaimed. She lowered the .22, looking down at the body in satisfaction. “Everybody give Margie a round of applause.” The volunteers clapped for a few seconds for her. She smiled over her shoulder at him. “Again,” he commanded, his voice stern. She took aim, slowly depressing the trigger. Boom. The infected’s head lolled to the other side. A red hole appeared through its cheek.

  Her brown eyes darted to him for approval.

  “Again,” he commanded, neither giving her a smile or any praise. She lined up her sights, taking her time.

  Steele leaned close to her gray-streaked hair. “Again,” he yelled in her ear. Fearful eyes darted back at him, nervousness dancing across her. “Why are you looking at me? Shoot the damn infected,” he yelled. He thrust his arm outward pointing a finger.

  Resting her cheek on the stock, she lined up her sights. Her right eye squinted.

  “I said again, volunteer.” His words seemed to whip her, but he continued on anyway. “In the time you took to line up your shots, they’ve butchered Larry because he couldn’t hit a fucking thing.” He gave Larry a sidelong glance. Larry’s eyes blinked with shame. He went back to Margie to break her down. “And now they’re coming for you. I said fire again.”

  The gun shook in her hands.

  “I said fire, goddamnit. They’re in your house murdering Brian. Save your husband. Shoot.”

  She jerked the trigger and the shot went wide, spraying beach sand in the air. She laid the weapon on the ground, looking abashed as color rose in her cheeks.

  He clenched his jaw. “Why are you looking at me? Why did you drop your weapon? Are you a hand-to-hand combat expert? Can you wield a knife like a Kali master? They are going to kill you. Keep shooting. Keep shooting!” he screamed, in his best drill instructor voice.

  She hesitantly picked up the gun and fired. Her shots went wide, high, and short. A few hit the bodies. Her magazine went dry. She looked at him from the corner of her eye, awaiting his reprimand.

  He put a hand on her back. She flinched under his touch. “To have died once is enough. Make sure your weapon is safe.”

  She slid the bolt backward and inspected the extraction port. He looked over her shoulder. “The weapon is safe. You may return to the line.” She hurriedly joined the other volunteers.

  Steele paced in front of them. He spoke in a calm voice. “I need you to be able to do that under pressure.” Margie nodded her head and gave a short smile.

  He addressed everyone. “That was only a taste of stress inoculation training. We must be able to fire under pressure. Your mechanics aren’t bad, but you all need work. Same time tomorrow. Unfortunately, we don’t have enough ammo to do this every day. So tomorrow is dry fire practice and tactical movement drills.” They all nodded and climbed back down from the trailer, walking back to their abodes. Steele watched them walk away. Alex and Jason talked excitedly to one another. Can they handle this?

  He was tired from the instruction. Shouldering the sling of his M4, he went back to his tent.

  Gwen looked up when he unzipped the front flap. He plopped down next to her with a grunt, his body finally allowed to rest. She watched him for a moment. “How’d they do?” she asked.

  He set his M4 near the side of his sleeping bag, its barrel pointed toward the door, and laid back.

  “There’s always tomorrow.”

  TESS

  Little Sable Point, MI

  Yells broke her sleep in the night like twigs snapping beneath the heavy tread of a combat boot. She sat up in her futon bed, reaching for Pagan’s side. A handful of blanket made her painfully aware that she was alone. His corner of the bed was a mess of blankets as if she had created a blanket Pagan to hold in the night. She kicked her feet free of them and threw on her harness, the weight of the 1911 weighing on her shoulders.

  Draping her silk robe over her naked shoulders, she shoved open the door to her camper. She hopped out into the darkness. The voices sounded off, trapped inside the ring of vehicles. Steele’s angry voice joined the fray, making her run faster. Her robe flapped around her as she raced past the lighthouse for the vehicle-made entrance of Little Sable Point.

  As she grew closer to the shouting, Steele stood out in his blue boxer briefs, pointing his M4 at a man in a pickup. Jack sat behind the wheel of his pickup, hands in the air. His wife, Julie, cried in the passenger side, holding their youngest in her arms. In the backseat, their oldest bawled.

  Julie looked out her window and saw Tess coming. “Please, Tess. You promised,” she cried. She held her child’s crying face to her chest.

  “What’s going on? What are you doing?” she asked. Jack was one of the few who didn’t seem enthusiastic about Steele’s new job title. She had taken note when she announced she was bringing him into the fold. His departure didn’t surprise her. Steele’s actions did.

  Steele spoke out without looking at her. His eyes never left Jack. “The Red Stripes caught Jack trying to steal from us and then leave in the cover of darkness.”

  Jack shook his head no. “It’s a lie.” He pointed at Tess. “You said we could leave anytime we wanted. It was one of your guarantees. Tell your fascist lapdog to stop pointing his gun at my family.” This shady bastard is right.

  She looked over the roof of the pickup at Steele. “He’s right, Steele. We agreed that people can come and go as they see fit.”

  Steele sidestepped to his left so he had a better angle to see her while keeping an eye on Jack.

  “We never agreed people could rob us. Let me search his car. Anything that’s ours stays and then he can go,” he said.

  People emerged from their shelters like curious lemurs, and a crowd was starting to gather to get a view of the dispute.

  “Jack has been here for a long time. He wouldn’t rob us,” Tess said. Her next words were directed at Jack. “Why are you leaving now?”

  “I think his actions speak for themselves. There’s a group out there that is safer than here. Why wouldn’t we all go?” Jack said.

  “Because they’re crazy. They’re holding Pagan hostage for Christ’s sake.”

  Jack faced her with a side glance at Steele. “In a few weeks, we could have snow on
the ground. They got a real roof over their head, food, and power. How crazy can they be? You ever think that maybe we’re the crazy ones out here, slumming it in the shadow of an antique lighthouse?”

  “No one said you had to stay.”

  “Then let me and my family go,” Jack hissed, his lip curling.

  More people were showing up, including some of Steele’s volunteers. Steele leaned, looking into the backseat of the pickup. He closed in on the driver’s side door. One hand on his weapon and the other on the door handle, he yanked the door open. He forced Jack from the car amidst the screams of his children. Pushing Jack’s hands on the back of the truck bed, he searched his pockets.

  “My gun’s wedged between the console and the seat,” Jack said.

  Steele called over to Trent. “Check it.” The hunter dug into the driver’s seat removing a Glock 22 from the car.

  Steele turned back to Jack. “You got anything in your pockets?” he asked. He frisked Jack from his waistband to his pockets and then Jack’s pockets all the way down to his boots.

  Tess circled the vehicle. Black plastic bags sat in the pickup truck bed. She inched one open with the muzzle of her .45 1911. A can clanked to the truck bed and rolled end over end away from her all the way to the tailgate.

  “That’s my food,” Jack said to her. His eyes were angry and dark in the night.

  “All of it?” she asked. He had three large trash bags filled with canned goods.

  “Where did you get all of this?”

  “Tess, it was selfish, but I had to keep some stockpiled in case we had to get out of here. And now that you’ve handed the camp over to Mr. Gestapo, I’m leaving.” Steele had finished searching the man and picked up one of the bags.

  “This is a lot of food. Our camp could use it.”

  Steele’s eyes met Tess’s. She shook her head no. She could read his mind. He would take Jack’s food and leave him hungry to feed the group for another week. Sacrifice the small for the group’s greater good.

  “Steele. You said you would hold to the rules. No one is a hostage here. They’re free to go.”

  He set the bag back in the bed of Jack’s truck. His brow crisscrossed in fury.

  “You’re right. But when we run low on food because this selfish bastard has been thieving, you can be the one to look the kids in the eyes and tell them to stop crying.” His words stung her like barbed arrows. But he had made a promise.

  “We will find a way. We always do.” Her words felt as hollow as an empty theater.

  “Sure you will, sweetheart.” Jack sneered. “You hear me, Little Sable. This place is going to burn. And your two fearless leaders here are to blame. Do yourself a favor and leave as soon as you can,” Jack yelled out to all the people.

  Steele glared at the man. Tess thought he was going to pull the trigger on him. “Get out of here,” he growled.

  Jack hopped into the driver’s seat. “My gun?” Jack asked, holding out an arm.

  Trent stepped up, handing it to Steele. Steele looked at the gun for a moment and then held it at his side, glaring at Jack. He dropped the magazine and racked the slide back, catching the round. He placed the pieces back into Jack’s hand. His eyes flashed into the backseat. “If you didn’t have the kids, you wouldn’t be getting this back.”

  Jack snatched the pieces away and shoved it in the seat.

  Steele waved his arm at the Red Stripes to pull back the pickups blocking the entrance. The trucks rolled back, and Jack gunned it through the opening, spinning his tires in an effort to escape.

  They all stood watching the red taillights of his pickup grow smaller and smaller and finally disappear into the forest.

  “We should have stopped him from leaving,” Steele said.

  “It’s not our right to prevent him from going.”

  “Maybe it should have been. What if he tells them where we are? Now, I don’t have the element of surprise if we are going to rescue Pagan. What if he leads them here? We have a motorcycle gang who is here on charity and a ten-person neighborhood watch who can’t handle a gun without shooting themselves in the foot.”

  “Hey now,” Trent said.

  Steele glanced back at the deer hunter. “No offense.”

  We cannot compromise the integrity of this place. I won’t. “If we don’t adhere to the things that make this place unique, then we are no better than those people out there.”

  Steele took a hand and rubbed his forehead. “I know what I promised.” He looked at the ground. “We’re vulnerable. Our position is weak and we are entirely dependent on the Red Stripes.”

  She glanced over at Half-Barrel and Bedford. They smoked cigarettes, leaning on a pickup blocking the entrance.

  The coolness of the night made her pull her robe tighter around her body.

  “I know,” she whispered. His body shivered a bit, but she could tell he was trying to hide it.

  “Shit, it’s cold,” he said. He wrapped an arm around his torso.

  She gave him a little smile. “Say, you want to come back for a nightcap? Warm up a bit. Pagan’s got a half-gallon of Lord Calvert sitting in the camper.”

  He scratched his head, looking back toward his tent.

  “Isn’t it bad luck to drink another man’s liquor while he’s being held hostage?”

  “Old wives’ tale.” She watched him squirm a bit under her gaze.

  His tone grew strict. “I’m only going to do one. I’ve got another long day of ‘don’t shoot yourself’ tomorrow with the volunteers.”

  They walked back to her camper and she flicked on an electric lantern. She set it on the camper table. A dim glow filled the musty inside.

  “Don’t look,” she commanded over her shoulder.

  “What?” he said.

  She let her thin black robe drop to the ground and removed her gun harness. Her body was bare aside from her thong. It sounded like someone had choked the words from his mouth. She could feel his eyes on her flesh. Grabbing a sweatshirt from a pile in the corner, she threw it on. Turning, she caught his eye. Hairy chested, big bearded, he stood there in his boxer briefs, nearly naked as well. His eyes were large and he looked like he was trying not to stare at her legs.

  “I’m a terrible host. Grab a blanket or something.” She waved a finger to a cupboard on the wall. But I wouldn’t mind if you stayed that way. “Unless you wanted to stay warm the old-fashioned way?” She smirked at him.

  His eyes ran down to her lips and she full-on smiled. “I’ll take a blanket,” he gargled out after a moment. He went into a cupboard, using it to block his view of her. He found one and wrapped it around his shoulders.

  She snatched a blanket off her bed and covered herself with it. “Don’t get your panties in a bunch. I covered up.”

  He closed the cupboard slowly.

  Opening up her futon bed, she pulled out the half-gallon bottle of whiskey and snagged a couple of shot glasses from the table. Clanking them upright, she poured the honey-colored booze into the glasses. She held one out and he took it from her. He eyed the alcohol with a small smile under his beard.

  “Been awhile since I had some of this,” he said with a smile. He hefted the alcohol to his lips.

  “Wait,” she commanded, and his hand stayed hovering near his lips. “You can’t crush the shot without saying cheers to something.”

  “Haha. Forgive me,” he said with a slight turn of his head.

  “To Little Sable Point. May it be a beacon of light for those in need.”

  “To Little Sable Point. May it be strong enough to weather the storm,” he added, throwing his head back and downing his shot. “Woo, that’ll wake you up in the morning.” He shook his head out.

  She smiled at him, her eyes filling with mirth. “How about another?”

  “How about it,” he said with a smile.

  JOSEPH

  Cheyenne Mountain Complex, CO

  Joseph rubbed his eyes beneath his glasses. His mind was foggy and his body weary. He
had spent two days with Rebecca trying to pour over the samples from Patient Zero, countless infected, and his samples from Africa, all having been digitalized for mass research.

  He hadn’t left her side in over twenty-four hours. A ball of tension and tired muscle had formed in the base of his neck from hunching over his laptop. The spot right below where the cranium connects with the spinal column. The spot that one could take out to stop the infected permanently.

  Rebecca drifted in and out of sleep. He felt guilty picking her brain when she was awake, knowing that she needed her strength to fight her losing battle against the pathogen.

  It broke his heart to have a front row seat as she degraded. She struggled to stay awake and help him, and she grew weaker by the hour. Pockmarks had appeared and begun to polka-dot her face like severe acne. They were eraser-sized bumps underneath her skin. Some of her lymph nodes had enlarged to the size of cherries, pushing out from beneath her skin. The swelling was due to the monkeypox virus, the gateway virus for their mystery satellite virus.

  New data popped up on the shared server from Byrnes’s experiments on Patient Zero. Joseph double-clicked the file, a yellow folder that read “Liver Samples.” Joseph skipped through dozens of videos of the virus as it infected live cells.

  Like a doorway, the monkeypox would latch onto the clean cell using tentacle-like receptors to hook in. A hose-like apparatus would punch into the host cell and the transfer of DNA would begin. It was a disgustingly simple process and fast.

  The injection took place and the virus shot its genetic material inside the host cell. The monkeypox virus moved its own genetic material inside. Close behind it, the satellite cell tailed behind like a little brother into the host cell. The monkeypox virus would disengage and float to its next cellular victim. Later, the satellite dealt out its own version of viral reprogramming of the host virus and host cell.

  He scrolled down to another video. There has to be a way to work through this. He covered his mouth over his surgical mask as he yawned.

  Rebecca coughed herself awake. “Hi, Joseph,” she said through her mask. A fleck of blood dotted her surgical mask. The virus is in her lungs, he thought. He inched backward in his chair.