The Longest Road (Book 2): The Change

by Thompson, A. S.

  Diane, Eddy, and Alex gazed down and saw the horror. Fingernail lacerations covered Wes’ chest and stomach. Both arms sustained multiple bite wounds, ranging from shallow punctures from canine teeth to deep craters of disappeared flesh. The worst of all the wounds was a dime-sized puncture into his carotid artery.

  Despite Diane’s concern that Wes’ blood was “hot” and not to be touched, Charlie plugged the artery like he had been trained. Sadly, it was no use. Wes' heart had pumped too much blood out. Now, only a very small amount trickled around his finger with each beat.

  Charlie's eyes glossed over in anticipation of certain tears.

  “Hang in there, Wes! We’re gonna get you help!” He knew it was a lie, but he wanted Wes to believe it. He wanted himself to believe it.

  Everyone wanted to tell Charlie that his friend would be okay, but they couldn't. It would be a disservice, a false hope. Instead, Diane put a gentle hand on Charlie's shoulder, while Alex and Eddy whispered, “I'm sorry.”

  Seconds later, Wes's eyes closed and never opened again.

  “Wes,” Charlie mumbled, tears dribbling down his cheeks.

  Alex signaled to Diane, and then relayed the same message to Eddy in a whisper. “Get him out of here, I'll take care of this.”

  “Charlie, I'm sorry but we have to go,” Diane said, helping the security guard to his feet. “Alex will make it quick, I promise-”

  “No,” Charlie replied adamantly, pulling away from Diane’s grasp. He wasn’t reluctant to leave, just unwilling to leave this final act to a stranger. The demoralized security guard understood that Wes was gone, but what remained, was a task that only he could undertake. It was his duty as a fellow serviceman; as a coworker and as a friend.

  So, Eddy, Alex, and Diane walked away, and left Charlie to take care of the fallen soldier.

  “Sorry, Wes,” Charlie whispered, raising his baton. “See ya in Heaven, brother.”

  1550 hours

  “What'd I say, piece of cake, right?” Matty declared, scribbling down a lengthy numeric code on a notepad. He tore off the paper and handed it to Diane. “You should be good to go.”

  “You. Are. Awesome. Thanks, Matty,” Diane replied, marveled by the man’s computer hacking abilities. “Or should I say, 4Licks?”

  Matty laughed. “4Licks,” he repeated. “Seems like so long ago. I still remember when I got the nickname. I was skating in Portland…”

  Diane cut him off as politely as she could.

  “Sorry to be rude, but let’s save the walk down memory lane for when we get back to Camp. I do wanna hear about your hacker stories and fugitive days, but until then, I need to go make this vaccine,” she said, giving Matty a hug for his quick work. “While I'm down there, I need you to guard the roof door. I'll talk with Charlie and get you on a rotating shift, but we need to make sure no one leaves until I'm done.”

  “Sounds good,” he said, getting up to exit the security office. “I'll go get Dr. Bauer and tell him to head down. Good luck, Diane. We're all pulling for ya.”

  With the first floor now secured, the survivors turned the elevators back on. Matty waved goodbye as the stainless steel doors closed in front of him.

  Diane turned and rested her back against the wall. She hoped to indulge in a minute of relaxation, but from the corner of her eye, she saw Eddy walking over.

  “Hey, Diane, all set to head down?” Eddy asked.

  “Ya, just waiting for Dr. Bauer. How's Charlie holding up?”

  “I think alright. I just came from the garden. I was helping him and Dylan dig a hole in that grassy patch next to the Maple tree. It’ll be a fine resting place. I could tell they wanted some privacy, so I took off.”

  Diane shook her head. “Wes. What a shame.”

  “Tell me about it. Let's just get the hell out of here, ASAP.”

  Diane turned to her left and saw Alex jogging over. She could tell something was wrong.

  “What is it?” she asked in anticipation.

  “Well, I got bad news and worse news…”

  “Bad,” Eddy and Diane said simultaneously.

  “No one is going to call jinx?”

  “Alex,” she grumbled.

  “Right, focus. Alright bad news. We are one hundred percent, completely out of ammo. We have zero bullets, zilch, nada.”

  “Great.”

  “And the worse?” Eddy asked.

  “There’s a bunch of cracks in the main entrance door…”

  “Are they going to break?” Diane interjected, making a move to observe the damage.

  Alex stopped her. “Hold up. No, no, it looks like they are good for now. It’s gotta be some kind of reinforced glass. Those bastards out there have been doing a number to it for a long time. It's just a matter of time until it gives, ya know?”

  “Eddy, you think you can maybe do some patch work? Or at the very least, block the entrance as much as possible in case they breach.”

  The giant scratched his beard and thought hard. “I don't know. Not my area of expertise. But from what I do know, those things can't really be patched. Our best bet will be to block it.”

  “Okay, see what you can do. Grab that reporter guy and some others to help you.”

  Before she could continue directing, Diane heard the ding of the elevator. Moments later, Freiderik Bauer and his assistant, Laura Gonyea, stepped out.

  “I'm on it,” Eddy said, shuffling away to assess the damage. “I'll have a radio if you need me.”

  “Sounds good,” she said waving goodbye. “Doctor, Laura, shall we?”

  1600 hours

  Doctor Bauer swiped his access card, and then input the thirteen digit numeric code, courtesy of Matty. When the screen prompted him to, Freiderik placed his right hand on the panel. The screen lit up with the large green words "Access Granted.”

  As Diane, Alex, Laura, and Freiderik waited for the elevator to reach the first floor, Charlie and Dylan sauntered over.

  Their eyes showed the telltale signs of loss and depression.

  “Mind if we join you?”

  “Ya, can we? Gotta keep our mind off Wes ya know?”

  Everyone turned to Diane for an answer. She didn't need the help and recent experience proved that extra bodies just tended to get in the way of her work, but she knew the Canadians could use the distraction.

  “Fine,” she said, waiving them over. “But just make sure you don’t get in the way, okay?”

  “Diane,” Alex said, getting her attention. “I forgot to ask. We have that crawler gagged and all tied up to a roller chair. Should we bring him down now?”

  After the battle in the garden, Alex had swept the first floor and found a handful of what he called “crawlers.” The lower limbs on these undead were so badly mutilated- if not missing altogether- that they were forced to crawl in order to attack.

  “Let’s wait until I get completely prepped,” she said. “I don’t want another incident like Willop.”

  Seconds later, above the door, a white light flashed, indicating the elevator’s arrival.

  “Stand back, everyone,” Alex said, readying his machete. “Just in case any infected are inside.”

  Slowly, the steel doors opened. Everyone pulled back and held their breath. Alex stood strong and twirled his blade in wishful anticipation. However, the tense moment soon passed in an anticlimactic fashion as the doors opened, revealing an empty interior.

  Everyone sighed in relief.

  Alex stepped in and turned around. “Like I said, just in case.”

  Dylan was the last to step inside. He stood next to the buttons and asked, “Which floor? One, two, three or four?”

  “Three should be fine,” Diane answered.

  “What is with the different levels, Diane?” asked Alex.

  “The floors indicate the different BSL's.” She could tell Alex had no idea what the abbreviation meant, so she spelled it out. “It stands for Bio-Safety Levels.”

  Alex maintained the same puzzled stare,
and the two Canadians shared his confusion.

  “Okay, think about it in two terms: Harmfulness and transmission. Researchers on Level One, study agents like E. Coli; not really harmful to an adult human. Level Two is home to things such as HIV or the Hepatitis B. Agents that cause mild disease but are difficult if not impossible to contract via aerosol. Then comes our stop, Level Three, which has an assortment of nasty bacteria, parasites and viruses like Yellow Fever or West Nile Virus.”

  The elevator signaled its passing of Level One, but everyone was staring at Diane. To Alex, Dylan, and Charlie, all of this was information they had never heard of before. Or at least, had never gone on Wikipedia and checked out. Despite working at this facility day and night, Laura and Freiderik never grew bored of the place or hearing about the hundreds of deadly diseases being studied here.

  “What's on Level Four then, eh?” Dylan asked.

  “Ya, didn't think it got much worse than that stuff?” added Charlie.

  “Unfortunately it does,” Diane said. She looked up and saw that the elevator was just passing Level Two. Since she still had time, she continued. “Level Four is home to the worst of them all. Things like Ebola or Lassa that don't have treatments or cures. And everything studied on BSL4 are high risk, air-transmitted infectious agents. Scientists have to go through hours upon hours of training. Once inside the testing rooms, they have to wear positive pressure suits, go through multiple decontamination rooms…”

  Before Diane could finish her explanation, the elevator slowed to a stop at Level Three. After a very sluggish ride, they had finally arrived at their destination, but no one was prepared for what happened next.

  A split second after the doors opened, an infected man dressed in a bloodied lab coat with a long ponytail flopping behind him, hurled himself at the occupants. Unfortunately for Laura, she was standing in front of the pack, and she took the full force of the impact. The man grabbed onto her shoulders and snapped his mouth like an alligator trying to get at her pale flesh.

  From both sides, Charlie and Diane grabbed the man's coat and did their best to hold his deadly mouth at bay. After the initial shock, Dr. Bauer attempted to help, but he was in an awkward position behind Laura. As much as Alex wanted to do something, he too, was pinned in the back, unable to move.

  As the struggle ensued, Dylan managed to squeeze out of the elevator and get behind the infected scientist. Without thinking, he grabbed the man's ponytail, and with all of his brute strength, yanked backwards.

  Pop. The force of the whiplash instantly snapped the man's neck.

  Everyone was stunned by the surprising turn of events. The elevator doors attempted to close, but the dead body impeded them.

  Slowly, those remaining inside cautiously stepped over the body.

  “Unorthodox,” Alex said, breaking the silence. “But I like it. Dude, I thought my hatchet throw was pretty kick ass, but you definitely got my vote for kill of the week!”

  “Hell ya, I'll second that, eh?” Charlie said, high-fiving his friend.

  “Boys,” Diane said, drawing her expandable baton. “Apparently we don't know if this floor is clear yet. Let's do a full sweep before I get to work. Freiderik, you and Laura wait here until we're done.”

  As Freiderik held Laura’s weeping face against his chest, he watched Diane, Charlie, Alex, and Dylan head off and clear the floor.

  “It is going to be okay, Laura,” he said, petting her hair.

  True to his word, Laura would be okay. She had come out of the vicious attack unscathed.

  Freiderik, on the other hand, wasn't so lucky. He looked at the fresh bite wound on his wrist and grimaced.

  Chapter 5

  Northwestern Maine

  November 25, 2008 (one year ago)

  1943 hours

  After barely surviving the explosion at his safe house in Quebec, Sergeant Major Craig West stole a sedan and booked it out of the city. His destination was a private residence in upstate Maine; one where no one knew about, not even the government he served.

  The two-bedroom cabin was located in a sparsely populated Appalachian Mountain community named Quigley. Many of the homes on the track were rental properties, and as such, the full time residents stuck to themselves.

  Craig finished stoking a fire, then he sat down and tended to the injuries that he sustained from the explosion. Most were superficial wounds- abrasions, bruises and embedded pieces of wood and metal shrapnel- rubbing alcohol and clean dressings took care of those. The worst of it, Craig diagnosed, was a mild concussion from being tossed like a rag-doll into the backyard.

  After, he turned on the twenty-two inch tube television and surfed through the channels. Every station was broadcasting the same thing. Riots.

  A thousand thoughts ran through Craig's mind.

  That explosion was no accident.

  Who is after me?

  Why do they want me dead?

  Why are they calling Freddy Diggons a terrorist?

  What's my plan?

  The last thought hit home. Intelligence was his best friend. He needed to trace this conspiracy back to its genesis.

  He powered on a burner cell phone and called the home phone number of Colonel Clark Kelly.

  The line rang three times, and then a female voice answered, obviously distraught.

  “H-hello, this is Meredith,” she said, sniffling.

  “Yes, hello, Mrs. Kelly. This is General Tinsley calling for Clark,” Craig said, lying. He wasn't sure who might be listening.

  The woman did her best to maintain composure. “C-calling for Clark? You haven't heard?”

  “Heard what, ma'am?”

  “Clark k-killed himself two days ago.”

  “I had not heard. I am terribly sorry for your loss, ma'am,” Craig said, pausing. “Clark was a great man. If there is anything myself or the Army can do for you, please do not hesitate to ask.”

  “Th-thank you. I'm sorry, but now is not the best time. I need to get back to the funeral arrangements.”

  “I understand. And again, my condolences, Mrs. Kelly.”

  Craig hung up the phone and paced the room.

  There’s no way Clark would kill himself. Ever, Craig thought.

  Next, he dialed a number for Skinny Hepson. The phone went straight to voicemail. Craig opted not to leave a message. He and Skinny had already made plans to meet the next day at the Wet Net.

  When Skinny didn't answer, though, more questions surfaced.

  Freddy is dead, is Skinny alive?

  Clark's death is no accident, who's behind this?

  What's next, Craig? Think!

  For a man who survived and relied on planning and execution, Craig West was stumped. He wasn't sure what to do or where to go. He had one lifeline left but prayed that he wouldn’t have to use it. He racked his brain searching for an alternative, some way to keep her from getting involved, but there was no other option.

  Craig entered the numbers on his cell phone that he had committed to memory a long time ago. He cringed as he pressed, "call.” On the fourth ring, a woman picked up.

  “Yes, who's this?”

  Craig hated himself for calling, but hearing her voice soothed what little soul he had left.

  The woman repeated herself. “Hello? Who is this?”

  “Shanna, is-is that you?”

  “Yes, this isMs. Finley. With whom am I speaking?”

  “Shanna, it's me. It's Craig.”

  The woman paused, unsure how to continue. “Craig. You have got a lot of nerve calling me…”

  “I know, trust me I wouldn't be bothering you unless I had no other choice.”

  “You had no other choice,” she repeated slowly. “I remember you using those exact words once before and that didn't end very well for us…”

  “Shanna, please…” Craig said, trying to cut her off, but Shanna continued.

  “No, you know what? I'm not going to do this. I'm not going there. In case you haven't noticed, the world is goi
ng to hell in a hand-basket, and everyone on staff here at the White House doesn't even have enough time to eat or sleep, myself included. What do you want, Craig?”

  “It’s bad, real bad...”

  For the next few minutes, Craig confided to her about the top secret mission. He chronicled everything from the recruitment in Colonel Kelly's office to the completion of his assignment. Then, he described how he was the target of an assassination attempt subsequent to the completed mission. He also included how Freddy Diggons was being labeled a terrorist and Clark Kelly had died of a supposed suicide.

  “...Now, I'm on the run, and I have no idea what to do. Believe me, I wouldn't be involving you if I didn't have to.”

  “Some story, Craig. You sure it's not paranoia coming back to haunt you?”

  “Shanna, please! Check it out, I swear!”

  “Fine. I will. I'm busy here, but give me some time and I'll get back to you.”

  The call ended before Craig had a chance to thank her and say goodbye.

  Two hours later, Craig wasn't any less stressed. To keep his mind occupied and body fueled, he took out a freezer dinner of four-cheese and meat lasagna and placed it in the oven. After the designated time lapse, he pulled it out and sliced two servings for himself. As the lasagna cooled, he sat at the wooden kitchen table and twiddled his phone, waiting for it to ring. Finally, like an answered prayer, the phone lit up and vibrated.

  “Shanna, tell me you have something-”

  “Craig! What the hell have you gotten yourself into?” Shanna asked, panicked.

  “I told you…”

  “Let's save the I told you so for later. I just got pulled into an operations meeting, but I managed to step out for a minute. Listen up, I don't have much time...”

  As quickly as she could, Shanna explained that the President was currently in the Situation Room, being briefed on an active antiterrorist operation.

  “...I just got done staring at multiple pictures and a complete dossier on you! They had similar write-ups and photos of other terrorist cell members. Including the man you mentioned, Freddy Diggons!”