Am I Dead?: A Post-Apocalyptic Thriller (The Great Dying Book 2)

by Paul Seiple

  "You two need to hurry it up," Dickson said. "We need to be back in D.C. by dark."

  Q froze again at the sight of a body in the middle of the road.

  "That's not the only one you're going to see, doc," Knox said. "If you're going to puke, get it over with now."

  The body, which was only bones, didn't bother Q. He lost count of the dead bodies he had seen. What stopped him was the clown mask beside the skeleton. Q bent down. Most of the paint had flaked off the mask. The cracks in the rubber resembled shattered glass.

  "Yeah, I saw that," Knox said. "Small towns hold the best secrets until they get blown up." He laughed.

  Q examined what was left of the body. Flannel shirt with a small shredded hole near the head. The shirt was covered in blood. A good portion of the skull was missing. Murder or euthanasia, Q thought. He got to his feet and sprinted to catch up with the others.

  "How did you know this Richie guy?" Dickson said, holding the notebook up.

  "Richard Kincaid, the microbiologist? He was the smartest person I knew," Q said.

  "You must not know many smart people, then, doc. He ended up here," Knox said.

  "Kincaid? The one who worked in Zimbabwe during the last Ebola outbreak?" Dickson asked.

  "Yeah."

  "He wasn't on Hendricks's payroll," Dickson said.

  "We found the last flight logs into Black Dog. Looks like this Kincaid guy and a couple other doctors were flown in to try and clean this mess up," Knox said.

  "Who were the others?" Q asked.

  "Jones and Fisher, I think," Knox said.

  "That's not important," Dickson said. "Obviously, whoever Hendricks brought in failed. We cannot fail."

  Knox stopped at a group of tents that resembled more of a traveling carnival than a multi-million-dollar operation. "Doesn't look like much outside, but the inside has that, how do they say it on those home shows, the ‘wow’ factor. Tiny and I will stay out here and let you check things out."

  Tiny backed against the side of a tent at the entrance. He looked like a bouncer at the roughest bar in town. Knox stepped to the side and ushered Q and Dickson in.

  Knox was right. Once inside, the tent looked like a high-tech research lab. On each wall was a seventy-inch television. Below the televisions were smashed laptops. A row of microscopes split the room in half. Beside each television was a white board. The boards were blank but streaked with smeared ink. Someone erased them in haste. A skeleton lay on a gurney in a containment area near the back of the room.

  "Probably a make-shift autopsy room," Q said.

  "Think the infected did this," Dickson said, holding up a laptop.

  It was the first time Dickson used the word "infected." This was real. This was a threat to man's existence. Q had no idea what the virus was or how it spread. The video of Broome attacking those officers flashed through his mind. This was potentially end of the world stuff.

  "Let's hope not. If Hendricks created a virus that has cognitive abilities, we don't stand a chance."

  "Think anything is salvageable?" Dickson asked.

  Q picked up a laptop. The hard drive was missing. "No. Kincaid may not have cleaned up the mess, but someone did."

  Dickson turned over the laptop he was holding. He noticed the hard drive was gone. "No one comes here without my knowledge. How did this happen?"

  "Maybe it was Hector," Q said. Sarcasm laced his stuttered laughter.

  Dickson didn't find humor in Q's remark. He took the laptop and left Q alone in the lab. Q checked each laptop. All were destroyed with their hard drives missing. There was no paperwork. Nothing. Someone definitely cleaned out the place.

  Dickson looked genuinely shocked, Q thought as he gave the room one last look before leaving.

  "I swear none of my guys took anything," Knox said.

  "Don't look at me," Tiny said. "I barely know how to send a Facebook message since the last update."

  "Well, these hard drives didn't get up and walk away," Dickson said.

  "Maybe the zombies took them," Knox said.

  "Zombies don't exist," Q said, joining the conversation.

  "Oh, really. So, human flesh is just the latest fad with hipsters?" Knox asked.

  "I can guarantee you the dead will not rise from their graves. We are dealing with a virus that affects living and breathing people. It does not resurrect the dead like some horror movie," Q said.

  "It's pointless to stay here any longer. We're not going to find anything," Dickson said.

  "Dickson's right. Let's get out of here," Tiny said.

  For the second time, the giant's fear struck Q. Was Rich telling the truth? Was he working for Dickson or someone else? The only thing Q didn't doubt was Tiny's fear. When a nearly seven-foot-tall behemoth of a man is afraid, there's a real need to worry.

  Putting fear aside, Q said, "I think we should check out a few of the houses first."

  "Why? We've checked everywhere and obviously someone else has too," Knox said.

  "It's safe here, right?" Q looked at Dickson. "What can it hurt?"

  "Maybe they missed something," Dickson said.

  Knox shrugged his shoulders. "Lead the way, doc."

  Q started up the walkway to a modest white house. He stopped at the steps to the porch, noticing an ashtray full of cigarette butts. A few empty water bottles littered the front porch. One hinge held the screen door on. The front door was open. He pulled on the screen door. It snapped at the hinge and came loose. Q propped it against a rocking chair. He pushed the bottom of the front door with his toes and entered the house expecting to smell death, but was relieved to smell only neglect and maybe a little mold. Dickson followed behind him.

  "It's a just house, Q. What do you expect to find?"

  "I'm hoping whoever stole the hard drives thinks the same way you do."

  Q picked up an iPod with a cracked screen that was lying on a table next to a picture. Being a doctor who has seen more than his fair share of tragedy, Q always tried to desensitize bad things, but as he held the iPod, he couldn't avoid the sadness. These people were just like him. Maybe they neglected a few runs here and there. Maybe they had a favorite running playlist. He put the iPod down and picked up the picture. It was of a woman hugging Mickey Mouse and a man standing to the side with his arms crossed, pouting. Q turned the photo over and read the inscription.

  Winston and Marianna, Disney World 2012.

  "Do you really think you're going to find anything here?" Dickson asked.

  Q didn't answer, but he had already found something…faces to put with the tragedy. He sat the picture down and walked down a small hallway to a bedroom. The room was ransacked. The bed was flipped over. A glass lamp splintered to pieces spread over a hardwood floor. But the thing that caught Q's eye was the claw marks. Everywhere. Deep enough to shred the pastel wallpaper and to create grooves in the door. In the doorway lay a piece of wood with nails protruding from it giving the impression that at some time the room was boarded up. Q ran his finger down one of the claw marks in the door.

  "Find something?" Dickson asked, walking up behind Q.

  "Are you being honest with me?"

  "What?"

  "Are you really clueless as to what this virus is?"

  Dickson noticed the claw marks. "Shit."

  "Do you know what this is?" Q's tone was desperate yet authoritative.

  "I hate to break up the party, but if you hope to get back before dark, we gotta go now," Knox said, peeking down the hallway. "Looks like a trapped animal was there, right?"

  "Listen, Q, I really don't know what this is. Hell, I didn't realize it was this bad until we got here."

  "You haven't seen this before?"

  "No, the only intel I've had is what James told me, and it mentioned nothing about claw marks."

  "Guys? We need to go," Knox said.

  "Do you trust Knox?" Q asked. His words were barely above a whisper.

  Dickson looked down the hall at Knox, who was tapping his Doc
Marten against the floor. He matched Q's voice. "At this point, I have to. Let's go."

  Q was good at reading people. The look of shock back at the lab. The hint of fear in Dickson's eyes now. Q believed him. He needed an ally in this, and like Dickson, he had no other choice at this point.

  Tiny paced on the porch. Q had a hard time distinguishing if it was impatience or something else. What was Tiny afraid of? The virus? Or Knox?

  Knox tapped his fingers against the butt of his 9mm housed in a faded holster with an owl's head etched into the leather.

  "Y'all done?" Knox asked.

  "Let's try one more house," Dickson said, surprising Q.

  "You're not going to find anything. This is a ghost town," Knox said.

  "One more house," Dickson said.

  "Suit yourself. But if you're not out in five, I'm sending Tiny after you." Knox smiled.

  Dickson picked the house to the right of them. Q followed.

  "What's going on, Gerald?" Q asked.

  "Speak low. Did you see the owl on Rich's holster?"

  Dickson walked into the house, which was smaller than the previous one and not as well kept.

  "Yeah, what about it?" Q asked, stepping over a pile of empty beer cans.

  "James has the same thing on his wallet," Dickson said.

  "And that's weird? They know each other, right? Maybe they were in a fraternity..." Q cut his words.

  "What is it?" Dickson asked.

  Insomnia meant a lot of late-night television binging. Q recalled a show on secret symbols. There was a segment about the symbolism of an owl. Most of it was conspiracy theory mumbo jumbo about the Illuminati, but there was brief mention of the owl in the customs of Cherokee Indians. The Eastern screech owl was called upon by the chief for its wisdom during disease and disaster.

  Q stopped at the entry to the kitchen. "Do you think the owl means anything?" He was not sure if he should divulge what he learned watching late night television.

  "There was another reason you were brought here…" Dickson hesitated. "I'm supposed to kill you."

  Q took a step back.

  "Don't worry. I decided I wasn't going to do that while we were on the plane."

  "That's reassuring."

  "Don't get too comfortable. I think the plan was for me never to leave here either."

  "You think Turner set you up?"

  "I was blinded by the need to keep the American people safe. James convinced me that shielding them from reality was the answer. The plan was to kill you here and if McClain didn't agree with the decision to end him too."

  "You're going to kill the president?"

  "No. But part of me feels James knew all along I couldn't go through with any of it, so he sent someone who could. And if that's the case, I can't leave here either. And the hard drives. I know everyone who has been here. I think Knox took them."

  "So, what do we do?" Q asked.

  "You look around and stall, while I think of something."

  "What's going on here, guys?" Knox said, stepping over the beer cans. "Jesus, did someone have an end of the world party or what?"

  Tiny stood behind Knox. The look on his face told that he would rather be anywhere than there. It was enough reassurance for Q that Dickson was right. Knox had job to do, and it wasn't to keep them safe. Q inched down the hallway, not out of caution. He was following Dickson's orders. Dickson had a gun. He could shoot Knox, but that left Tiny, and Tiny was a wild card.

  "Let's wrap it up," Knox said, gaining ground on Q.

  Dickson fell in behind Knox. He rested the palm of his left hand on the butt of his gun. The floor creaked behind him, letting Dickson know Tiny wasn't far behind.

  "What exactly do you think you're going to find in this redneck's house, doc?" Knox said.

  "Redneck?"

  "The beer? PBR? I'm observant," Knox said.

  "Maybe someone hid something hoping no one would look here for it," Q said, turning toward the back of the house.

  "No, don't go back there," Knox said.

  "Why?"

  "The back room is boarded up. I can't promise it's safe."

  "What's the magic machine say, Dickson?" Q asked.

  "No threat."

  Q ignored Knox's plea and headed to the door nailed shut with three two by fours.

  "You haven't tried to go in here?" Q asked, pulling on one of the boards. He pressed his foot against the door and jerked. One side of the board came free. "Help me out, Tiny."

  Tiny took a few steps, then hesitated.

  "Still nothing, right, Dickson?" Q asked.

  "Nope."

  Knox nodded for Tiny to join Q. The big man grabbed a board and snapped it away from the door.

  "You got this," Q said. He noticed something in the doorjamb when he stepped back. It was small, only a little bigger than a 9mm shell. He tried to pry it free with his fingertips.

  "What are you doing?" Knox asked.

  Tiny snapped another board from the door.

  Q didn't respond to Knox. He grabbed a Kershaw Cryo knife from his pocket and wedged the blade between the piece of metal and wood. The object popped free into Q's palm.

  "What is that?" Knox said. "Give it to me."

  Tiny popped the final board free. There was a slam against the door. Tiny fell back. The door swung open. Something lunged forward. Tiny screamed. The scene was a blur.

  "Give me the damn Judas Kiss," Rich said, pointing his 9mm at Q.

  Tiny screamed again. The picture became clearer. A man, or what used to be a man, tore a piece of flesh from Tiny's massive forearm. The man's face was sunken in. His skin was a pale grey, but his teeth were razor sharp. He snapped at Tiny again.

  "I'm not telling you again. Give me the bomb,” Knox said, ignoring Tiny’s plea for help.

  Dickson dropped the tablet and reached for his revolver. Knox was faster. He took one shot, catching Dickson in the chest.

  "The bomb. Now," Knox said, returning focus to Q.

  The man sank his teeth into Tiny's arm again. Tiny screamed, palmed the man's head, and plucked it from his shoulders. Tiny flung the head in Knox's direction. It hit Knox in the shoulder, causing him to drop the pistol.

  "Run, Q. Save the world," Tiny said.

  Q shoved Knox to the ground and fled the house. A single gunshot froze him. Tiny, he thought before leaping from the porch and running toward the lake. OK, Nick told me there's a storm drain near the lake.

  "Goddamnit, doc, I just cannot let you leave here with that bomb," Knox said, limping behind Q.

  A bullet whizzed by Q and lodged into an oak tree to his right.

  "Over here."

  Q stopped. Another bullet flew by him.

  "Unless you have a death wish, get your ass over here."

  Q followed the voice, stumbled, and fell between two bushes.

  "Who are you?" Q asked.

  "Who are you?"

  "I'm Q."

  "I'm Grish."

  Again, they spoke at the same time.

  "You first," Q said.

  "I'm Grish. I was part of the clean-up crew. Things were going smooth, and then Jack and the Giant showed up."

  "There's no way out, doc. Give me the damn bomb, and I'll think about letting you live," Knox said. His voice grew closer.

  "Who's that?" Grish asked.

  "Jack," Q said.

  "At least it's not the Gi..."

  A scream cut off Grish.

  "Get the fuck off me," Knox said.

  Both Q and Grish peeked through the brush. Knox was face down in the street. Dickson was on his back, tearing at his shoulder.

  "You have to shoot them in the head," Grish said.

  "What?"

  A gunshot. Knox flung Dickson off his back.

  "The kill shot. It has to be to the head."

  "Where is the storm drain?" Q asked.

  "Over there. It leads to the highway. Knowing what is going on, I figured it was safer here."

  "Well, it isn't. Come on.
"

  Q headed for the drain. Grish wiggled the backpack from his shoulders, gripped it with a fist, and ran behind Q.

  "You don't know what you're getting yourself into," Knox said, limping into the brush. He aimed in the direction of Q and fired. A bullet hit the side of the drain, cracking the concrete.

  "Come on," Q said, turning to face Grish.

  "Here, take this. It has answers." Grish tossed the backpack to Q. “I can’t leave here.”

  Another gunshot. The left side of Grish's head disappeared in a cloud of blood and grey matter.

  "Shit." Q stumbled and crawled through the drain. Q gained purchase and ran. He felt trapped in endless darkness. At least no one was shooting at him. Just as he thought his legs would give out, Q saw light. He flung his body out of the drain and onto concrete.

  "Hey."

  Q lowered his head. "Not again." He forced himself to his feet before noticing the black Suburban. "Shit."

  Q started to run in the opposite direction. The SUV U-turned. Its tires screamed against the pavement. Q told himself to run faster. He couldn't. His legs felt like jelly. His head swam with dizziness. He stopped running and placed his hands on his knees. It was over.

  The SUV slowed beside him. The tinted window lowered.

  "Need a lift?"

  A smile fought off Q's need to puke.

  "So, that's why you wanted to know what kind of vehicle they were driving," Q said.

  Nick popped the door open. "I always have a plan, old friend."

  Phase V

  Widespread Human Infection

  A virus is not just DNA; a virus is also packaged up, covered over with a series of proteins in a nice, elegant, well-compacted form.

  -Francis Collins

  Nine

  "This job should come with hazard pay."

  "Please, Marshall, I saved you from having to shoot council meetings at City Hall."

  "Hey, those things get heated sometimes."

  Emily Morgan slipped her right foot out of a fuzzy slipper and into a four-inch black Jimmy Choo. She kicked off the left slipper and checked her lipstick in the small visor mirror before sliding into the other heel.

  Marshall Kent reached for a scanner as the channel began to break up. The Mercedes van swerved toward the center line of the street.