End Days Super Boxset

by Hayden, Roger

  Pete rushed in to finish the job, startled to see a man in a full HAZMAT suit, which Greg took full advantage of. He leapt against the wall and pushed himself off into the air with his feet while plunging the blade of his thick Ka-Bar directly into Pete's thorax. As Greg landed, Pete dropped like a wet towel, gargling blood through his open mouth.

  “Quick, toss me the shotgun!” Greg shouted to Veronica as he crouched near the front door, knife in hand. She quickly crawled from her position, picked up Pete's shotgun where it had fallen, and tossed it to Greg. He immediately aimed outside the door and fired blast after blast in rapid succession. Silence followed, save for the ringing in their ears from all the gunfire.

  “There,” he said. “That oughta do it.” He tossed Pete's shotgun aside after emptying it and grabbed his own shotgun from the nearby coffee table.

  Veronica didn't know what to say. She had never thought that Greg could pull off acrobatic moves like the one he did on Pete. She stared at Pete's twitching body as blood oozed from the open wound on his neck. Greg turned to her, his shotgun still aimed outside.

  “I wanted to reduce the blood splatter,” he said, breathing heavily, his voice muffled by his mask. “That's why I used my knife. Guess I kind of messed that one up though. That was good shooting on your part.”

  “Thanks.”

  Greg then turned back to the swaying front door, certain that there was one more to take care of.

  The last one may have gotten scared and run off, but Greg's instincts told him better. It was strange that all the gunfire hadn't brought a single siren to their neighborhood. Greg signaled to Veronica to remain calm as he held his position. He could sense someone close, and he was ready to end the entire ordeal once and for all.

  The assault had been bad for the intruders. Dead bodies riddled with bullets lay outside the house while Pete bled out in the living room. Greg was upset that one had even managed to get in. He couldn't make the same mistake twice. Empty shells littered the ground, and not a soul was moving.

  In a moment of calm, shots suddenly burst through the living room window, shattering the glass into tiny little shards. Several pieces hit the side of Greg's hood, and he immediately went to the ground, flat on his back, to avoid the relentless gunfire. Veronica screamed and took cover behind the bookcase as Greg inched himself toward the wall near the front door. Captain's barking reached its loudest yet.

  Greg could then hear the doorknob to his bedroom turning as his heart seized. Captain was doing it again, using his mouth to turn the door handle. Greg should have known better and locked the door, because Captain was a uniquely intelligent dog. He saw a man’s shadow in the light that beamed into the living room from the open front door, and immediately rose to take a shot.

  At that precise moment, Captain stormed down the hall like mad hellfire.

  “Captain, no!” Greg shouted.

  Veronica shouted as well and tried to get to him before he ran out.

  From outside, Jake was poised to ambush Greg from the living room window as Captain bolted out the front door, tackling the man and tearing into his side, shredding the old flak vest he was wearing. Jake fell to the ground screaming as Greg jumped up, shouting at Veronica. “Toss me your piece!”

  He threw down his shotgun and caught the pistol. He couldn't fire the shotgun at Jake with Captain on him.

  “Just stay there!” Greg yelled to Veronica as he ran outside. Jake was in the grass trying desperately to get Captain off him. His own weapon, lost during Captain’s attack, was sitting near the bushes, too far out of reach. Greg ran toward them, ready to fire a shot into Jake's head, when the he put his massive hands around Captain's neck and broke it with one quick and brutal jerk. Captain yelped and went limp. Greg watched, stricken with horror and disbelief. It didn't seem real.

  Jake sat up and threw Captain's body aside. “That's one mean son of a bitch,” he said, trying to catch his breath. “Tell you what, let's call it even for killing my men. How do you like that?” Obviously, he was now at a disadvantage, on the ground wounded and without a weapon.

  Greg aimed the gun at Jake and pulled the trigger, but nothing happened. The gun clicked, but it was out of rounds. Jake looked up and laughed. Not amused, Greg simply tossed the pistol on the grass, ready to deal with Jake another way.

  Veronica peeked out the front door, not sure what had happened. She only knew that, for some odd reason, Greg was standing over the large man in the yard with the pistol on the ground near his feet. Greg, consumed with rage, stared at Jake with both fists balled.

  Jake held the wound on his side and tried to get up when Greg vaulted at him in a fury. Jake hit the ground like a rock with Greg on top of him, pummeling his face with savage blows. Jake struggled to defend himself but was knocked delirious by Greg’s rapid blows, making his eyes swell and bloodying his nose. He was almost unrecognizable. Greg shouted the top of his lungs as Veronica ran outside in confusion. He smashed his fists into Jake’s side injuries, directly over the open gashes, when Jake suddenly saw his moment and clutched Greg's hands, pulling him to his side and on the ground.

  Veronica stopped dead in her tracks when she saw Captain's body lying in the grass near the two struggling men. She knew immediately that something was deadly wrong. Her body seized, as if someone had just stabbed her in the gut.

  “No!” she screamed. Before she could run to Captain, she saw that the men were rolling toward the shotgun resting in the grass. Both men were struggling to get on top of the other, and it looked as if Jake was getting the upper hand, even though his face had been beaten beyond recognition and he was struggling to see. She saw Jake move one hand down his leg and pull out a large knife from an ankle holster. He raised the knife in the air and with lightening strength swung it, only to have Greg grab his arm in a vise-like grip, bending his arm back.

  Jake moved on top of Greg, trying to push the blade into his face. Veronica, terrified, grabbed the shotgun and buttstroked Jake on his head. It sounded as though something had cracked. Jake immediately pulled his knife away from Greg and slashed at Veronica. She felt a sudden sharp pain and began screaming. The knife had torn directly through the HAZMAT suit, right over her stomach. She jumped back, clutching the wound as Greg kicked Jake off him, pushing him back on the ground.

  Before Jake could stand, Greg grabbed the shotgun, pointed it at Jake’s chest, and pulled the trigger. A blast of pellets exploded inside Jake’s body, sending an orgy of internal guts and blood and muscle shooting into the air. Jake collapsed on the ground in a heap. Greg tossed the shotgun to the side and rose to his feet, now noticing Veronica at his side, clutching her stomach.

  “What happened?” he yelled. “Did he cut you?” He ran to her and placed his hands on her shoulders. She was covered in splatter from Jake's insides.

  Greg looked down as Veronica slowly removed her hand from the tear in her suit. There was a noticeable cut, small, but there. Greg's heart seized again as panic struck him.

  “We have to get you inside now.” He pulled her back down the concrete walkway into the house and into the garage. She was confused and disoriented, still in a state of shock after seeing Captain's lifeless body in the yard.

  They had little, if any, time. Greg could remember quite clearly, before he pummeled Jake's face: the man had red eyes.

  Prologue: An Urgent Message

  Monday: June 15, 2015

  To: theodore.robbins1@cdc.gov

  From: joshua.griffin@hhs.nevada.gov

  Dr. Robbins,

  The situation is imminent, and despite our best efforts, the population of Nevada cannot be contained. The National Guard has gone above and beyond what we've asked of them, but I've received word of several abandoned Ebola Treatment Centers that have “gone rogue,” if you'll pardon the expression. We don't currently know who is in charge of them. Travel throughout the state is limited, and we've lost contact with many of our centers.

  One such center was a former military outpost referred
to as Base 42. We had a total of 11 treatment centers there with 29 hospital personnel. Last they reported, they were dangerously close to overcapacity with approximately 1,000 people quarantined.

  We were guaranteed military support to keep these treatment centers under control, but this does not seem to be the case any longer. I believe that the scope of this outbreak has gone beyond anything we could have imagined possible in the US, let alone Nevada. It is the opinion of our team that the federal government has been astonishingly slow in responding to this outbreak, similar to their delayed response to the epidemic in West Africa. And for the life of me, I can't figure out why.

  I understand that the CDC is doing all it can to not only contain the outbreak, but to operate centers and provide control and prevention. That is why I wish to provide the most frank assessment of our current situation. The statewide quarantine mandated by the federal government has made the situation worse, and compromises our ability to combat the disease.

  In addition to an abundant lack of resources and personnel, we've received reports of “bodies littered on the streets” as well as “sick men, women, and children dying outside of overwhelmed clinics.” This is simply unacceptable. We have done our best to try to figure out how and why the disease has spread so quickly and easily, and our only hope is that the epidemic has reached its peak.

  Just to give you some perspective, Nevada has a population of 2.8 million. Roughly three percent of the population has been infected given our best estimates. That makes a total of 90,000 infections and around 55,000 reported deaths. I can't even believe the numbers when I read them. It's astonishing.

  We need urgent intervention on the part of the CDC, HHS, and the White House to manage this crisis. I fear that with further delay, the epidemic could spread beyond state borders, even with the supposed travel ban and quarantine put in place.

  My team and I are currently housed in a lab, unable to leave. The power has been going out intermittently, and I fear that even e-mail correspondence will soon be unavailable. If there is any doubt that an outbreak of this magnitude could occur in the US, let my message be evidence of it. Please do everything in your power to bring relief to this state before it's too late. We need more assistance, or I can guarantee the situation will get much worse.

  Sincerely,

  Dr. Joshua Griffin

  Department of Health and Human Services

  Health Division

  4150 Technology Way

  Carson City, NV 89706

  -----------------------------------------------------------

  Tuesday: June 16, 2015

  To: joshua.griffin@cdc.nevada.gov

  From: theodore.robbinsl@cdc.gov

  Dr. Griffin,

  I am greatly concerned, as you are, about the size and scope of this deadly epidemic. As you may know, we're dealing with similar circumstances in Florida, Texas, and California as well. In all instances, the outbreak started out small. The carriers were easily identifiable: returning military personnel from West Africa under Operation United Assistance. We've since updated our approach to the disease and are trying to disseminate the proper information to the public.

  Unfortunately these things take time, as does an effective response to a disease like this. The federal government is doing all it can to contain it. In their haste, dispatched health personnel contracted the disease themselves in their effort to provide assistance. This has now changed the government's response to the crisis.

  They believe that it is in the best interest of public safety that infected areas are sealed off and quarantined. Due to the rampant nature of the disease, official policy dictates that “no one goes in and no one comes out.” This, again, is unfortunate for those in infected areas, but it is only a temporary measure meant to ensure containment.

  I will push all of your immediate concerns up the chain for I have recently stepped down as director of the CDC due to some administrative reshuffling. My replacement, former CDC Assistant Director, Ronald Taylor, has been appointed now, and I would urge that you contact his office ASAP. On a promising note, I'm aware of some encouraging advancements in treatment that may soon provide a cure and render this epidemic nonexistent. I will personally let you know what I hear in this department.

  Please understand that I'm gravely concerned about everything that you've told me, and I wish there was more that I could do. I'd advise that your team remain away from the general population until long after the outbreak has peaked. Please stay in touch, and I will do my best to provide guidance in my currently limited role with the CDC.

  Respectfully,

  Dr. Theodore Robbins

  United States Center for Disease Control and Prevention

  1600 Clifton Road

  Atlanta, Georgia 30333

  Base 42

  Nevada, United States: Where it all started

  Following the outbreak, Ebola hit Nevada hard, spreading through cities and towns like wildfire. On the outskirts of Sun Valley, far removed from the population of nearby Reno, there was a small Air Force base chosen to house several Ebola treatment centers, known as ETUs. Prior to its role as a quarantine station, the base was a highly secretive outpost that housed several high-tech drones.

  Chosen for its remoteness and security, Base 42 was initially an ideal place to set up treatment centers, far from the public eye. In an amazing act of foresight, the Health and Human Services Department worked with the Army Corps of Engineers and constructed the centers months before the official outbreak.

  It was a precautionary measure, almost as if they had been anticipating an epidemic of some kind. The $300 million project created treatment centers that could house hundreds of patients. Behind the heightened security walls of the base were long, newly constructed warehouses enclosed by clear plastic tarp hanging on all sides instead of walls.

  One of the many off-site treatment centers set up around the country, Base 42 had been outfitted with enough equipment to meet any threat. It had a surplus of HAZMAT suits, medical supplies, food, and water, all stored in secure facilities. They had decontamination and detection equipment and enough cleansing and hygienic products to last a year. Base 42 was officially a military installation, so there were plenty of weapons.

  A small crew of Air Force personnel had occupied the base before the National Guard was sent in to provide civilian transportation to the base as well as security and manpower once the treatment centers were operational.

  The soldiers, a platoon of thirty military police, had received orders to report to the base weeks prior to the outbreak as part of a training drill. Base 42 was considered the “Fort Knox” of Sun Valley. None of the soldiers had ever been inside its walls before. Few of them even knew that the place existed.

  Before the outbreak, several health specialists were sent to the base only to marvel at the remote fortress filled with unoccupied treatment centers. They could understand choosing a remote location from which to treat infected patients and assumed their presence at the base was classified. This was verified the day they arrived by the resident medical officer of the base, Captain Sherman Wallace, a tall, pencil-thin man with short, graying hair.

  “No one is supposed to know about this place,” he said. “Not your friends, not your families, and especially not the news media. No one. Upon signing nondisclosure agreements, you are legally forbidden to discuss what we're doing here with anyone outside these walls.”

  The main reason, they were told, was to prevent inciting public panic. If nearby residents got word that major treatment centers were being constructed near them, it would compromise the safety and security of the base, along with their mission—or so they were told. In a later briefing from a Major Thomas Greene, they were told that such measures were precautionary.

  For the first time since arriving, Ebola was discussed. They were to train and prep for a potential outbreak. They received classes on biohazards and containment of biological agents from army chemical specialists. It was all v
ery intensive, and for two weeks, they learned how to properly handle Ebola patients. From that point, they had expected to leave the base and be on call. The potential of an Ebola outbreak seemed an unlikely scenario. Soon enough, they would find out they were wrong.

  ***

  Bill Hodder awoke in the early morning and immediately grabbed a cigarette from a small bedside nightstand. It was nice to have his own room, separate from all the daily noise and aggravation. He wasn’t a military man, and running a military outpost was harder than he imagined, especially when trying to maintain order among a population the size of a small town.

  Two months after the outbreak, Bill had become increasingly less trustful of people, even his own men. His close team of “enforcers” was tasked with carrying out his orders. The rules he had established on the base had grown more excessive over time, to the point of brutality. Strict enforcement of the rules, he believed, was the only way they would make it. Their supplies were limited, their resources were dwindling, and fear of Ebola was continually in the air.

  One method he had employed to keep the population under control was the use of public trials, often used to shame offenders. Sometimes tactics involved humiliation, other times they were far worse. After a recent theft from their food storage, Bill had the accused brought into the “public square” of the base to answer for his crimes. The man, a trusted guard, was convicted of stealing food during his shift. Bill had his enforcers promptly hack both of the man’s hands off. After this public display of “justice,” there hadn’t been any more incidents of theft on the base.

  Sitting upright and shirtless on a bed in the small quarters that he had made his own, he ran his hand through his thick, dark-brown hair. He felt the stubble on his sunken face, realizing that he hadn't shaved in days.

  He was a moderately fit man but hadn't exercised in weeks. His daily duties were where the real work was. By the end of the day, he could barely see straight. He was responsible for over two hundred people, and it had long taken a toll on both his mental and physical state. The changes in him were noticeable to all who knew and feared him.