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

by Paul Seiple

  "So, what's our next move? We can't let them get away with this," Marshall said.

  "We need to find someone who is infected. I need blood. It's the only way I can hope to stop the virus," Q said.

  “Well, hopefully no one in this little circle of friends is infected,” Emily said.

  “Our best bet is Charlotte,” Q said.

  "I guess it's off to the city, then," Marshall said.

  Phase VI

  Pandemic

  The unique nature about the influenza virus is its great potential for changes, for mutation.

  -Margaret Chan

  Twenty-One

  Alan Dawson read over the script for what seemed to be the tenth time. President Herschel Stephens was on his fifteenth read.

  "How are you feeling?" Dawson said, prying his eyes from the paper.

  "I'm confident," Stephens said.

  Dawson tapped the new president's shoulder.

  "Once we get through this, you need to get Ashe under control. This virus is close to becoming an epidemic. I understand he has the cure, but I've yet to see it. That makes it as real as Bigfoot," Stephens said.

  Dawson smiled. "Look at you acting all presidential."

  "I'm serious, Alan. Once I step out there and assume the role of leader of this great country, all this evil must stop. It would have been great to have the weapon to end all weapons. It didn't work out. It's time to clean up the mess."

  "Understood, Mr. President."

  "What's the latest on what happened in Charlotte last night?"

  "It's under control. Just another synthetic cathinone-related incident. Bath salts, now there's the real epidemic," Dawson said.

  "How many died?" Stephens asked.

  "Two, maybe three."

  "Were the infected contained?" Stephens asked.

  "They got away."

  "Clean up this mess, Alan."

  Alan Dawson paced the hall going over the conversation in his head. He wanted a response mapped out to every question Mitchell Ashe would ask. He flipped his iPhone in the palm of his hand, pausing to stare at the embossed owl on the back of the leather case.

  Dawson belonged to a secret society embedded deep inside ARMA. Ashe and Tom Hendricks cofounded ARMA under one common trait——a lust for power. Ashe's infatuation with the Illuminati led him to form the Minerva, a group of six that acted like the cerebrum of ARMA. All decisions would be made by the Minerva. Dawson was the last to join the society. Ashe was heavily influenced by the Alchemical treatise "It is finished when seven become one." It served as a form of rebirth to Ashe. Six members plus the Judas virus were to become one and rule the world.

  Secretly, Ashe had become one of the most powerful men in the world. He didn't have his finger on the button to start a nuclear war. Ashe had the means to end the world with one infected cough.

  Dawson had to present the idea of eradicating the virus cautiously. With three members already dead, the Minerva was unraveling. Dawson wasn't as important to the equation as he was days ago. He gazed out the window into the blue sky and dialed Ashe.

  "Alan, my friend, give me the good news."

  "Stephens will put people at ease," Dawson said. “He’s ready for this.”

  "Excellent. Is he Minerva material? Having the president included would make things much easier."

  Dawson didn't answer.

  "Alan?"

  "He wants you to forget about the weapon."

  Ashe laughed. "This was never about that bomb. I only went along with that to appease Tom. Judas is the real prize."

  "He wants you to eradicate the virus," Dawson said.

  "Nonsense. Holding the biggest threat to man's survival and the cure for it makes the Minerva stronger than God. That is if one existed. Man makes his own gods, Alan, and we are about to make the most powerful god the world has ever seen. Nations will bow to us. Convince Stephens."

  Dawson alternated between staring at the words CALL ENDED on his phone and the blue sky. The scent of power seduced him to join the Minerva. As a child, he wasn’t one of the cool kids. He didn’t belong to any of the popular cliques. Dawson was a loner, not by choice. Shyness made it impossible to form relationships. Dawson overcame shyness in college when he met his future wife, but he regretted never being a part of something in high school. It was one of the reasons he joined the FBI, and the main reason he accepted James Turner’s offer to join the Minerva. The secret group was the ultimate popular clique, and now Dawson was going to have to find a way to destroy it.

  Twenty-Two

  "Emily, you can't be seen. You're too recognizable," Q said.

  "I haven't showered in two days or changed clothes. I don't want to be seen,” Emily said.

  Daria hopped out of the Jeep and grabbed a newspaper. In huge black font on the cover read ZOMBIE APOCALYPSE?

  "Look at this." Daria tossed the paper onto Q's lap.

  "Blaming bath salts," Q said.

  "Looks like we are a day late," Marshall said.

  "There will be plenty more," Nick said.

  "OK, how do we do this? I've never kidnapped anyone before," Marshall said.

  "You're recognizable too. You need to stay with Emily," Q said.

  "I'm just a kid, but this is insane. You know that, right? We can't abduct someone in broad daylight even if they are dead," Daria said.

  "She's right," Nick said. "You're the freaking surgeon general, Q. Can't you make a call and get a blood sample?"

  “Wait, you’re the surgeon general?” Daria asked.

  A tap on the driver's window startled Nick.

  "Nick Preston?"

  Two men in three-piece suits blocked the driver's door. Three more surrounded Daria on the sidewalk.

  "I'm Agent Walker. We are going to need you all to come with us."

  Nick rolled his eyes and caught sight of a black SUV parked across the street. He sighed.

  Agent Walker stood in front of the dull gray door. The walls of the tiny room were white. Q and Nick sat on a bench against the wall. Emily and Marshall sat a small table. Daria stood against the wall and smeared the dirty sole of her Chuck Taylor on the white wall.

  "I've seen cop shows. You can't hold us here," Daria said.

  "I'm not a cop," Agent Walker said.

  "Why are you holding us?" Q asked.

  "I was given the order to bring you in. That's all I know."

  "How did you find us?" Nick asked.

  "Kent's phone. It pinged in Huntersville this morning," Agent Walker said.

  Nick turned to Marshall. "Did I not tell you to keep your phone off?"

  "I did," Marshall said.

  Emily sighed. "You checked the time this morning."

  "Shit. My bad," Marshall said.

  There was a knock at the door. Agent Walker stepped to the side. A man of average height, red hair, and matching five o'clock shadow entered.

  "Is the room clean, Agent Walker?"

  "All clear, unless you count the brat's dirty footprint."

  "Wait outside the door. Notify me if anyone approaches."

  Agent Walker nodded and left.

  "I know you have questions, but bear with me first. I'm FBI Deputy Director Alan Dawson. Believe it or not, I brought you here to save your lives."

  "The jury's still out," Nick said.

  "And you must be Nick Preston, right?" Dawson asked.

  "You already know that," Nick said.

  "You know all of us," Q said.

  "Not her." Dawson pointed to Daria.

  "Let's keep it that way," Daria said.

  Dawson shrugged. "I can see we're not going to be friends, so I'll get down to business. What do you know about the virus?"

  "What do you know about the virus?" Nick asked.

  "There's no time for childish games. I’m risking my ass bringing you here. I could turn you right back out on the street and let Mitchell Ashe find you. I promise you that conversation will not be this pleasant."

  "How do you know he hasn'
t already? You found us," Nick said.

  "I was given the task of finding you. Only I know where you are as of now," Dawson said.

  "You work for Ashe?" Q asked.

  "With Ashe. Let's say I'm not happy with the direction he's headed," Dawson said.

  "Why are we here?" Q asked.

  "I need to stop the virus from spreading."

  "Too late for that," Nick said.

  "I don't know anything about it other than what I've seen on video," Q said.

  "If I get you a sample of the virus, can you create a cure?" Dawson asked.

  "I'm not sure that's possible," Q said.

  "Ashe has a cure," Dawson said. "But he's not planning to use it yet. I fear it may be too late when he does."

  "Again, too late," Nick said.

  "I'm afraid the evolution of the virus has surpassed Ashe's cure. If you can get a sample, it's a start," Q said.

  "You'll be safe here. Agent Walker will get you some food. I'll get a sample and be back before dark."

  "Great. I'm a prisoner again," Emily said.

  "No, Miss Morgan, you're free to leave. I'd advise against it, though."

  Alan Dawson reached out to Q with an open hand. Q reluctantly returned the gesture. Dawson's hand wasn't cold, wasn't slimy like the beast Q portrayed him to be.

  "I'm fully aware you think I'm a horrible human being. And you're right. I've made mistakes. Give me a chance to correct them. Trust me."

  Q was good at spotting a lie. He attended a lecture on body language and lies when he went to Quantico a few summers ago. It was harder to read Dawson given he probably the knew the signs and how to hide them, but something told Q Dawson was sincere.

  "I attended the Safety and Security conference at Quantico a few years back. I didn't see you there."

  "In 2014? I missed it. My wife and I were having our first child," Dawson said.

  "What part does James Turner play in this?" Q asked.

  "I know what you're doing, Warren. You may have learned something at the conference, but understand this, I wrote the book. As far as FBI Director Turner, he met an unfortunate end."

  "You killed him?" Q asked.

  "OK, I can see this is a trust thing. Turner worked with Ashe also. Unfortunately, he felt the effects of the virus. Now, did I pass your trustworthy test?"

  "For now," Q said.

  "Do you really trust him?" Nick asked.

  "Do I have another choice?"

  Dawson was Q's best line to the virus. Daria was right, the plan to abduct a person in broad daylight was insane. Q had nothing to subdue someone suffering from the infection. He had to trust Dawson.

  "Well, I don't trust any of these bastards," Emily said. "How do I know this salad isn't drugged?" She spun her fork into a bed of lettuce.

  Marshall reached over and plucked a tomato from the salad, popped it in his mouth, and smiled.

  "Taking a bullet for me is gentlemanly and all, but did you wash your hands? I hear there's a virus going around," Emily said.

  "Gross. I'm trying to eat here," Daria said, dropping her double cheeseburger onto the plate.

  "The truth is someone in this room could be infected," Q said. He reached into his shirt pocket for a Field Notes book. "We need to do a symptom check. This is small quarters. If someone turns, there's no escape."

  "Well, good morning, sunshine, to you too," Daria said.

  "I'm not really good at this symptom checker stuff," Nick said. "Five minutes on WebMD and I can convince myself I have Ebola."

  “Same,” Daria said.

  Q jotted the date onto a clean sheet of paper. He wrote out a list of questions. "OK, does anyone have a headache?"

  Everyone raised their hands.

  "It's pretty common when you haven't slept. Are you a real doctor?" Daria asked.

  "Is anyone experiencing nausea?" Q asked.

  Again, everyone raised their hands.

  "Hey, this is the first real food I've had in a long time. Of course, my stomach is going to hate me," Daria said.

  "Well, Q, looks like we could all be infected," Nick said.

  And that was the scariest thing about the virus. The person sitting next to you could be fine one minute, and the next tearing at your throat. Q surveyed the small room. Marshall was drowning the last few fries on his plate in ketchup. Emily stabbed a piece of cucumber with her fork. Daria eyed her cheeseburger with disgust. Nick dabbed a napkin with water and tried to rub out a mustard stain on his vintage Star Wars T-shirt.

  Any of them could be infected, Q thought. "Does anyone have problems with vision?"

  Emily raised her hand. "Contacts."

  Q wrote something in the notebook.

  "Wait. I just need to change my contacts. I'm not turning into a goddamn zombie," Emily said.

  "Relax. I made a note about things I need when Dawson brings back the sample," Q said.

  Anxiety built with each question. Until this moment, there wasn't time to sit back and truly gauge the situation. Surviving was the only thing on the group's mind. In the safe confines of the small room, realty took hold. They were running from something that would never tire, never give up chase. Something, that unless Q could find a cure, would catch them. Death by the hands of Mitchell Ashe would be swift. Death by Judas would be never-ending unless someone found the decency to put a bullet through their brain. If everyone else was infected, that peace would never come. They would all aimlessly roam forever.

  "All right, last question," Q said. "Has anyone developed a taste for human flesh?"

  No one raised their hand.

  Twenty-Three

  Alan Dawson waved his level six security badge over the sensor in the elevator and pressed SIX on the keypad. There was a seven-floor building housed beneath Ashe Pharmaceuticals. Less than twenty people knew of the underground facility. To get there, one had to enter through Mitchell Ashe's office, and that required a retina reading.

  Each floor was named a level. Except for a few stalled projects, levels one through three were empty. The Minerva's offices were found on level four. A special elevator access key was required for level four access. Research offices were on level five. Medical labs took up the sixth floor. Mitchell Ashe was the only person to have access to level seven. The Judas cure was kept there.

  The number seven was important to Ashe. In numerology, seven represents the truth seeker. The number seven is used over seven hundred times in the Bible. Seven is the complete number. The number of perfection. The day God rested. Ashe didn't believe in God or the Bible. But he did believe the number seven held power. It is finished when seven become one.

  Dawson exited the elevator on floor six. He walked by the three labs to the "virus locker." Judas wasn't the first attempt to create a manmade virus. There were many that failed before, and there were many variations of Judas that were harmless to man.

  Dawson lowered his head until he was eye level with the retina scanner. There was no way to take a vial of the virus without leaving a virtual fingerprint. In the end, he knew he would pay dearly for this, but he couldn't live with himself if he didn't try to stop this.

  The metal pocket door slid inside its casing. Dawson moved to a locker marked JSH1N1.

  "What are you doing, Alan?"

  The voice pierced Dawson with a sting down his spine, momentarily paralyzing him.

  "I thought you were shadowing our new president."

  Dawson turned. "He's got a strong grasp on the role. He'll be fine."

  "That's what Ashe told me. Now, answer my question."

  Dawson didn't have an answer that would appease Theo Ferris. There was no reason for him to be on level six. Ferris was the director of the Central Intelligence Agency, and a member of the Minerva.

  "What are you planning to do with the virus, Alan?" Ferris asked.

  "I'm going to give it to Q Warren and pray that he develops a cure," Dawson said.

  "How do you think Ashe feel about your deception?"

  "We have to
stop the virus. It's evolving, Theo. The cure Mitchell has is useless."

  "Is that something Q Warren told you?" Ferris asked.

  "It's reality. We're not going to be able to blame it on drugs much longer. It's spreading."

  "I'm sure Ashe will be disappointed in you. I'm disappointed in you," Ferris said.

  "I'm doing this," Dawson said. "Even if I have to go through you."

  Ferris chuckled. "I can't wait to gloat to Ashe. I told him you weren't Minerva material. I knew you were weak."

  Dawson reached for his revolver.

  "Don't, Alan." Ferris pointed a 9mm at Dawson's chest. "Drop the gun. I don't want to make a mess here."

  Dawson placed his revolver on a small table.

  "Wise decision. Come with me. I think I can change your mind about things."

  Ferris grabbed Dawson's arm and moved behind him. He pressed the 9mm into Dawson's back, forcing him from the room.

  "Don't move," Ferris said, pressing his thumb against a fingerprint reader next to a small door.

  The door opened into an elevator.

  "Where are you taking me?" Dawson asked.

  "The infamous level seven. Get in."

  The door shut. There was only one button on the keypad——an up arrow. Ferris pressed the button.

  "I thought Mitchell was the only person with access," Dawson said.

  "You're low man on the totem pole. Turner was the only reason you were a member. But don't feel bad. He didn't have access either," Ferris said.

  The door opened. A stench pushed into the elevator, nearly causing Dawson to vomit.

  "It's bad, right? You get used to it," Ferris said.

  "What the hell is this place?"

  "Quarantine 7," Ferris said. "Think of it as Dante's seventh circle of hell."

  "What's that smell?" Dawson asked.

  "Death. It wasn't supposed to make it into this area, but death doesn't obey rules."

  Ferris flipped a switch. Two metal doors parted, exposing rows of glass-encased cells. Each one housed a group of the infected.