A Violent World

by Paul Seiple

  "Sir, Dawson is on the move," the guard said. "Much too fast for walking. He's traveling by vehicle."

  Mitch moved closer to the screen and smiled. "Take me to Preston."

  Six

  It took a few tries and a bout of lightheadedness from holding his breath, but Alan finally got the Grand Cherokee cranked. His first stop was a convenience store a few blocks from his house for fresh gas, snacks, and a thirty-two-ounce iced coffee. The store boasted for being open three hundred and sixty-five days a year, sometimes three-hundred and sixty-six. Alan didn't care for the store. The majority of its employees were sarcastic young adults, but it was the only place open at this hour on Christmas Eve.

  Alan fumbled through his spare wallet. He estimated it held around eight hundred dollars. It wasn't much, but he was better off than several hours earlier. He was thankful that he listened to Liz about stockpiling cash in the house in case of the apocalypse. He chuckled as he paid the cashier. An apocalypse was such a ridiculous thought back then.

  "You've got balls, man," the cashier said.

  "Excuse me," Alan said.

  The cashier held up the iced coffee. "It's twenty degrees out there."

  "I like my iced coffee. What can I say?"

  "Cheers to you, balls of steel." The cashier handed the cup to Alan.

  Alan stepped outside into the cold. He took a sip of the coffee. It was one of the things he missed most in captivity. He didn't care that his fingers were aching. Alan took another sip and instinctively reached for his phone, which was still in Mitch's possession.

  "Shit, I need a phone."

  Alan opened the door to the store. The cashier was watching videos on his phone.

  "Hey, you sell prepaid phones here?" Alan asked.

  "Back right wall." The cashier never took his eyes away from the screen.

  Alan grabbed the first phone he could find and placed it on the counter.

  "What's so interesting?" Alan asked.

  "Someone uploaded a video claiming he was almost attacked by a zombie. It's totally fake, but it looks real."

  "Let me see," Alan said.

  The cashier tilted his phone toward Alan. The video was shot from the POV of the man filming. After a few expletives, it showed the man running from a woman. Her face was covered in blood. She walked slowly with her right leg dragging behind.

  "I swear to God. She's a fucking zombie. I saw her bite someone on Second. Oh my God, she's coming for me," the man on the video said.

  "Where's this from?" Alan asked.

  The cashier looked at his phone. "Says Charleston."

  "It's obviously fake," Alan said, knowing it wasn't.

  "Yeah, man. It's cliché zombie shit, but that's some good special effects. You need a card with the phone? I got ten, twenty, and fifty buck cards."

  "Give me three fifty-dollar cards," Alan said.

  "Just call the number on the box to add the cards. I'm sure someone's there today. People love getting phones for Christmas."

  The cashier returned to the video. Alan nodded and left the store. The snow fell heavy again. Alan looked over his shoulder at the cashier. The kid couldn't have been much older than twenty-one. He should have been home celebrating with his family. Alan shuddered when he thought there was a good chance the kid wouldn't see another Christmas.

  Alan barely saw a car on I-95 North. The lack of traffic had an eerie feel to it. With the holiday in high gear, most people were spending time with their families. In a few days, the interstate would be bumper-to-bumper again. Alan took advantage of the open highway. He sipped his coffee and snacked on a protein bar while classic rock rode shotgun. He sang along with Journey, forgetting for a moment the dangers surrounding him.

  Steve Perry's voice faded, giving way to a deep tone of the afternoon D.J.

  "That was 'Lights' by Journey. I hope you're having a bright Christmas with your loved ones. There's no easy way to segue into this news. Two more cases of the new flu were reported in Fairfax. The CDC is asking for anyone who thinks they may have the flu to contact them."

  Alan changed the station. The Carpenters' version of "Sleigh Ride" came through the speakers. Alan changed the station again and settled on a horrible country song. The news report and Christmas music brought him back to reality. He needed to get to Liz. Alan looked at his watch. He had been driving for a little over five hours. Alan estimated that given the lack of traffic, he had another hour and a half before he arrived at Liz's house. He spent that time practicing what he was going to say to her, editing each version. There was no easy way to tell someone the world was ending. It was impossible to tell her that he caused it.

  Liz Stanley sat on the sofa with her feet curled underneath her butt, sipping on hot chocolate and watching a marathon of Christmas movies. This was not the way she had planned to spend the holiday, but her boyfriend was sick in bed with what Liz diagnosed as Norovirus, a highly contagious virus known for causing bouts of projectile vomiting. Hours earlier, the walls in Liz's guest bathroom were target practice for such vomiting. Elliot was resting comfortably now, and Liz went into doctor mode and disinfected the entire house. She was exhausted.

  "Honey, I think I'm hungry."

  Elliot's voice shook Liz just as she closed her eyes to doze. She flung her head against the back of the sofa and sighed before dragging to the spare bedroom. She stuck her head in the doorway.

  "You just puked up your insides a few hours ago."

  "I know. It's really weird. The thought of food makes me gag, but there's a gnawing in my stomach."

  "You've got Norovirus. It's probably that. I'll get you some crackers and Gatorade, but I'm not letting you eat anything other than that."

  "Yes, Doctor Stanley," Elliot said.

  "Be right back."

  As Liz turned away, the doorbell rang.

  "If that's Santa, tell him I'll take my presents back here." Elliot tried to laugh but coughed, and then dry-heaved.

  Liz pointed to the trashcan by the bed. "Puke in there. I'm exhausted."

  Elliot hung his head over the side of the bed and vomited into the trashcan.

  The doorbell rang again.

  "Jesus. I'm coming."

  Liz opened the door and took a step back.

  "I know you weren't expecting to see me," Alan said.

  "I haven't seen you in two years," Liz said. "Why are you here?"

  "It's Christmas," Alan said.

  "I didn't ask Santa for an asshole this year," Liz said.

  "It's important, Liz."

  "You can't be here," Liz said.

  She tried to shut the door, but Alan blocked it with his forearm.

  "Wait, Liz, something bad is happening," Alan said.

  "Yeah, I know, you're here. Leave, Alan."

  "This isn't about us, Liz. Well... it is, but it isn't. Please hear me out."

  "Who's at the door?"

  The weakened male voice caught Alan off guard. He took a step back.

  "Are you remar..."

  "He's my boyfriend," Liz said. "You have two minutes."

  Liz stepped to the side and opened the door.

  "How long have you..."

  Liz cut Alan off again. "You have a minute and a half now. Use it wisely."

  Alan sighed. "All right. Have you heard about the new flu? Of course, you have, you're a doctor."

  "Get on with it, Alan," Liz said.

  "It's not as it's being presented. It's much worse."

  "And what does this have to do with me? Why did you drive six hours to tell me this?"

  "It's a man-made virus named Judas. There isn't a cure, and it turns people into zombies," Alan said.

  Liz laughed. "Really, Alan? Is this one of your comical prepper scenarios to get me to run back into the safety of your arms? That ship has sailed."

  "Judas is real..." Alan hesitated. "... I helped create it. It's out of control..." Alan's attention shifted to the man's voice down the hall. There was retching, and then coughing, followe
d by vomiting.

  "Elliot's got Norovirus," Liz said.

  "How long has he been sick?" Alan asked.

  "He woke up sick," Liz said.

  She chuckled. Alan recognized it as a trait of Liz’s nervousness.

  "Don't tell me Elliot has this Judas virus," Liz said.

  There was a crash coming from the spare bedroom. Elliot stumbled into the hall. He placed his forearm against the wall for balance and crept toward Liz and Alan.

  "Elliot, go back to bed. You shouldn't be up," Liz said.

  Elliot ignored her and dragged himself closer to the living room. Liz started toward him.

  Alan grabbed her arm. "Don't go near him."

  Liz jerked free. "Don't tell me what to do, Alan."

  "Alan?" Elliot asked. His words were barely above a whisper. "Your husband, Alan?"

  "Ex-husband," Liz said. "Get back to bed. I can't get sick. I have two deliveries scheduled for Monday. You need to stay contained to one room."

  "You're a real son-of-a-bitch to treat her like you did," Elliot said.

  "Stop it, Elliot," Liz said.

  "No, this asshole needs to know the pain he caused you," Elliot said. “You’re the reason she won’t marry me.”

  As Elliot grew closer, the milky white film over his pupils confirmed the misdiagnosis. Elliot didn't have Norovirus. He was infected with Judas.

  "Get back, Liz. He has it," Alan said.

  "Has what, asshole?" Elliot lunged at Alan, catching him off guard. Elliot scratched Alan's cheek with a nail.

  "No, Elliot," Liz said.

  Alan pushed against Elliot's shoulders, keeping him at arm's length. Elliot drooled and snapped his mouth like an angry snapping turtle. Alan turned his face away to escape Elliot's breath. Liz moved toward them.

  "Stay back. If he bites you, it's over," Alan said.

  "Hu...ngry. I'm hu...ngry," Elliot said.

  His words were garbled. Alan didn't need to hear them any more clearly. He knew what Elliot wanted. Elliot pushed against Alan, causing him to fall backwards over the sofa. Elliot fell on top of Alan.

  "Get off him," Liz said.

  She picked up a lamp and broke it over the back of Elliot's neck. The slight distraction allowed Alan to slip free. Elliot turned his attention to Liz. He tried to speak, but his words had devolved into a mumble. Sensing that Elliot was going to lunge at Liz, Alan grabbed a shard of glass from the lamp and plunged it into the side of Elliot's neck, catching the jugular. Blood spewed over the sofa and pooled onto the floor. Elliot slumped and slid onto the puddle.

  "What the fuck, Alan? You killed him?"

  Alan sat on the armrest of a chair and caught his breath. "No. He's not completely dead yet."

  Alan pulled the glass from Elliot's neck and told Liz to turn away. At first, she argued until Elliot's eyes opened and he started snapping at Alan again. Liz turned away. Alan jammed the broken glass into Elliot's ear and pushed it through to the brain.

  "Now he's dead," Alan said.

  Liz kept her back to Alan. "What is this thing?" she asked. "Is it contagious?"

  Alan rubbed the scratch on his cheek, noticing a speck of blood on his fingertip. "It's highly contagious."

  "And there's no cure?"

  Alan saw the despair on his ex-wife's face. It was a sight he witnessed all too often during the last six months of their marriage. In the past, the look was due to the failing relationship. Now Liz couldn't take her eyes away from the mark on Alan's face. She didn't want him to end up like Elliot.

  "No," Alan said. "Got any rubbing alcohol?"

  Liz didn't answer. She ran to the bathroom. Alan nudged Elliot's shoulder with his foot. No movement. No threat.

  "Do you think he infected you?" Liz said, returning with a bottle of alcohol and some cotton balls. She dabbed a soaked cotton ball against Alan's cheek. He moaned.

  "I've been lucky so far," Alan said.

  Liz stepped away. "You helped create this?"

  "I knew it was being developed," Alan said.

  "How could you?"

  "I'll tell you everything, but we need to go," Alan said.

  Liz sat the alcohol on an end table. "I'm not going anywhere with you."

  "You're not safe."

  "I'll take my chances," Liz said.

  "Look, I worked for the FBI, but I also worked with a secret organization developing special products..."

  "Like this doomsday virus?" Liz asked without attempting to hide her sarcasm. "Is this why you were late every night? I thought you were fucking another woman, but you were fucking the world."

  "It was supposed to be... you know what... it doesn't matter right now. I've done a lot of things I regret. Leaving you here will not go on that list. Pack a bag and let's go."

  Liz turned to Elliot. Guilt overcame her as she watched blood pool beneath the side of his face. She didn't love him. She never did. She always loved Alan. But she also hated Alan.

  "You cannot tell me what to do, Alan," Liz said. "My boyfriend is lying on my floor dead because of you."

  "You look really torn up about it," Alan said. He regretted the words as fast as he spit them out.

  "You're such an asshole. How the hell do you expect me to react? You show up at my house after two years and tell me you've created a fucking doomsday virus. And then you murder my boyfriend. On Christmas."

  "I didn't murder him," Alan said.

  "You confessed to me that you helped created this Judas that infected Elliot and god knows who else. Yes, Alan, you murdered him."

  Liz was right. Alan murdered everyone who succumbed to Judas. Alan felt sick. He cleared his throat, fighting back the urge to vomit.

  "Please, just pack a bag," he said. "You're not safe."

  "I probably already have the virus," Liz said.

  "I've spent the last month or so locked in a cell. The people who held me captive will try to find me. I know too much. This will be one of the first places they look. They will kill you, Liz. Please."

  Liz fought hard against the part of her that wanted to embrace Alan. She wanted to hold him, kiss him. It's just the situation, she thought. It's perfectly normal to seek comfort, even from someone you despise, during a tragedy. "Where will we go?"

  The bewildered look shadowing Alan's face told her everything she needed to know.

  "Do you even have a plan?" Liz asked.

  "I escaped this morning. I haven't had time to think of anything other than getting to you," Alan said.

  "Who are the people after you?"

  "ARMA. It's the organization I worked for that created Judas," Alan said.

  "What did you do to make them want to imprison you?" Liz asked.

  "I'll tell you everything once we are on the road."

  "You're asking me to pack up my life and go on the run with you. You're going to answer my questions before I go anywhere."

  "Fine, Liz. I didn't go into this thing planning to end the world. Judas was pitched to me as part of a bigger project to eliminate the threat of war. When I found out the true intentions of my colleagues, I turned on them."

  "What were the true intentions?" Liz asked.

  "I'm not completely sure. I just know ARMA had no intention of ending war. I helped some people escape who seemed very important to ARMA. For that, I ended up locked in a cell, and roommates with a horde of the infected."

  "If you didn't murder my boyfriend, I would say this is an elaborate ruse to win me back."

  A brief blast of laughter escaped Liz. Alan used to call it a machine-gun laugh. It was another telltale sign that Liz was nervous.

  "Did you keep those zombie escape plans we wrote on the back of that Yahtzee score card?" Alan asked.

  He always followed her nervous laughter with a joke. It was a subtle way of assuring Liz that things would be all right. Alan wasn't sure this time, but the machine-gun laughter reminded him how much he missed Liz, and how he had to keep her safe.

  "Sold the Yahtzee game at a yard sale. Some ten-year
-old kid probably has those plans now," Liz said.

  "How much did you sell it for?" Alan asked.

  "What? I don't know. Two bucks?"

  "The kid got a hell of a deal. That escape plan was top-notch," Alan said.

  "Alan, why the hell did you get involved in something like this?" Liz asked.

  Alan hesitated. It was a fair question. He didn't have a good answer. Alan never questioned his actions with ARMA. He knew deep down that greed was leading him but hid it underneath the bullshit veil of "doing good."

  "I thought I was part of something that would help the world..." Alan hesitated again. "No... I'm tired of lying, Liz. I got involved for the money. Once I learned we weren't creating something helpful, I stayed involved for the money. I didn't fight it until I saw Judas was killing people."

  Alan braced for the barrage of insults from Liz. There was nothing she could say that he wasn't already feeling. Liz gave him a slight smile.

  "Honesty is the first step towards retribution. I'll pack a bag," she said.

  Seven

  Mitch Ashe sipped hot black tea as he viewed the video of Ken Barber's body being extracted from Sector Seven. This was the third time he had watched it. The extraction was boring. Mitch was fascinated with the infected prisoners' reactions to the living, breathing humans. Judas made them slaves to the flesh. This was never a tragedy to Mitch. It was an opportunity. He worked out scenarios on how he could use the dead to his advantage.

  World domination with an army of dead wasn't in Mitch's original plan. He had a different vision than his partner Tom Hendricks. Tom wanted to sell the Judas Kiss to the highest bidder. Money was Hendricks's motivation. Mitch wanted bidders to kiss his ass for the "ultimate weapon," and then he wouldn’t sell it. The Judas Kiss had the power to end a war, end a terroristic threat, or eliminate an evil dictator. The person holding a Judas Kiss in the palm of his hand could rule the world. Mitch was going to be that person.

  Plans shifted after the incident in Black Dog that led to Tom's death and the death of The Judas Kiss. The smart bomb wasn't the most powerful weapon in The Judas Project. The virus created solely to show the bomb's ability at pin-point eradication proved to be the ultimate weapon. There was no cure, but there was an antidote. Mitch controlled that as well. Mitch needed a symbiotic relationship with Judas. In his eyes, Mitch would be a god. The thought was almost enough to satisfy his ego.