Apocalyptic Fears II: Select Bestsellers: A Multi-Author Box Set

by Greg Dragon

  “What’s on it?”

  “My brain treatment.”

  Her finger pads slid through his hair, not unlike Eddie Jean had done, but Cindy searched for scalp punctures. “You won’t find any holes or scabs on my scalp. They didn’t even shave my hair first.”

  She gulped. After a few seconds of silence, Cindy put her hand on his thigh. He jumped.

  “Excuse me.” Flushing, she removed her hand, but he caught it and put it back.

  “Didn’t want to gross you out by letting you get close. I stink,” he said.

  Cindy smiled.

  God, she was sweet, but it never felt right to act on his feelings given his AL future. He decided to tell her he loved her, but felt foolish after what had transpired with Ava.

  “I’m going to walk to your condo pretending to look for you.” She leaned over to grab a Sharpie pen from his desk and wrote directions on his palm. “I rented a Shady Lane apartment last week. Number 205. I couldn’t take the daily commute. Wait for me there.”

  “Why did you rent an apartment?”

  She blushed. “If I have to explain, you’ll never understand.”

  He didn’t want to gross her out by kissing her after vomiting. “I’m your boss, but I wanted to reach out to you so many times.”

  “Why didn’t you? Because we’re so different?”

  He smoothed hair from her eyes. “There’s no future with me, and you have small children.”

  “I don’t care about AL. Let me take care of you. I love you, Louis.”

  Louis hugged her. He wanted to pull her down on the sofa with him, but he had to get the jump drive to the authorities first. “Will you help me?”

  “Of course,” Cindy said, “but you must go to my apartment.”

  “Why?”

  “In case the microbiologist you mentioned is in your condo—dead.”

  His fist tightened around the jump drive. “That’s crazy.”

  “Crazier than having acid injected into your brain? If your story is true, then she’s probably dead and you’ve been set up.” She pressed her car keys in his hand. “Get moving.”

  “No, you can’t be involved.”

  “I already am. The man I’m crazy about asked for my help.”

  Louis hugged her again.

  She kissed him all over his face, but he enjoyed the light smooches on his eyes the most. Cindy jumped up, turned, and blew him a kiss at the door.

  Grinning, Louis stared at Cindy’s car keys and the instructions. He placed the jump drive into the paper-towel dispenser in his tiny bathroom. Damned if he’d let Ava make him run and hide. Stripping off his stinky clothes, he grabbed a towel and ripped paper from a bar of soap before stepping into a shower.

  He stayed long enough to get the job done, used the soap to wash his mouth out, and climbed out feeling hungry. Louis toweled dry and dressed from the emergency stash of clothes he kept on hand. From his desk drawer, he removed a can of Boost and gulped it down. He removed the jump drive and went down the hall, greeting lab workers and secretarial staff.

  Inside the residents’ room, he loaded up the jump drive. Louis saw enough to make goosebumps tumble down his spine. He wrote a short explanation and then e-mailed the contents to the COGS. Last, he uploaded it to YouTube. Publicity was the best way to stop Ava Allen.

  “Lie your way out of this, bitch!” He hoped it went viral.

  He removed the jump drive and hid it in a pocket of a brown jacket hanging from a hook on the door. Louis stepped out whistling, and a policeman shouted, “Police. Freeze!”

  Eddie Jean

  When Eddie Jean and Scot reached the first door in their sprint, they turned right and ran down another corridor. Eddie Jean estimated the last stretch equaled the length of an Olympic swimming pool. They were well ahead of Swarmers, but one stumble would close the gap—permanently. Running in too-tight boots slowed her speed.

  “Hurry!” Scot yelled, taking her weapons bag and floating ahead.

  Scot leapt through the exit first, and she went through as the heavy door began to close. He waited for her and he wasn’t winded. “Lose those boots!”

  She leaned over, hands on her thighs, to catch her breath. If he hadn’t taken the bag, she’d be on the other side. A grating sound and then the door locked. Seconds later, Swarmers banged against the door.

  “EJ?” he asked.

  “I’m not losing the boots until I find shoes.”

  “My mom could’ve outrun you.” Scot’s face changed, and he tuned into telep.

  Morning painted the mountain in swirls of tangerine colors. A crisp October breeze cooled Eddie Jean’s forehead. Adrenalin saturated her blood, making her jittery. Her eyes scanned the shadowy woodlands, searching for movement. Far to the left, Eddie Jean saw five lab workers run into the woods, pursued by two Swarmers.

  “Don’t move,” Scot warned her. “Let them pass.” He knelt down and removed a hunting rifle and checked the rounds. “Brodie beamed me. Five Swarmers are in town and electricity went down. People will wake to Swarmers running up their street. He and Trev killed two. They’re holed up in your church’s bell tower.”

  “Did you tell them first priority is to survive the Hum?”

  He nodded.

  Screams made Eddie Jean wince. “Aren’t you going to shoot?” She couldn’t take her eyes off the straggler both Swarmers brought down. She’d seen wild tigers bring down prey in the same manner on Nat Geo.

  “Not before we’re clear and ready. Noise draws them and they pile on. Follow the flagstone pathway.” Scot dropped the heavy bag on her shoulder. She stumbled forward.

  “Where’s Cara?”

  “With Bill Franco. I told her to go higher but to alert the sheriff first if they can.”

  She noticed the light-colored stones glowed green under weak light, like glitter. Her peripheral vision had blurred, and her gaze jumped from dark clump to gloomy shadows. “Where are we headed?”

  Scot brought up the rear, checking for pursuit. “Quitman kept a private, fenced parking lot. My Jeep is there.”

  Behind them a woman shrieked, “Help!”

  Eddie Jean stopped, and Scot bumped into her.

  “Faster, EJ. We can’t stop to help.”

  “You have a gun.”

  He sounded annoyed when he answered. “It’s a rifle. Have you changed your mind about pulling the town’s emergency alarm? If so, feel free to fire.”

  Frustrated, she jogged faster and wondered if she carried the heaviest bag. Scot moved with ease and seemed comfortable. “Fence is twenty feet high,” he said.

  Inside, she saw Q’s red truck and Scot’s Jeep. Scot tossed his bag over the fence and did the same to hers.

  “Climb,” he ordered, using a strap to secure the rifle on his back.

  Freed of the extra weight, she jumped up, but her boots’ tips wouldn’t fit inside the fence gaps. She pulled herself up with her arms. On top she paused because her biceps ached. She heard running through the brush.

  “Swarmers caught our scent.” Scot scrambled over the fence. “Better hurry.”

  Eddie Jean swung her body over the top and made her way down. Her arm muscles cramped. Scot shouted, “Drop now.”

  She did, and he caught her, breaking the fall. A Swarmer rushed to the fence with a bellow. The sudden noise made him sound like a wounded bear. Its attack speed startled her.

  “They’re faster,” Scot said. “If we weren’t XO, he would have infected us.”

  Another joined the first, and then another. Swarmers tried to push down the fence and then settled for biting it. This group looked different—in fact, they leered at her as if they could see.

  “They see me,” she said.

  “No, their smell senses are better.”

  “No, they’re watching and learning. What if they start climbing?”

  “Fence is built high and climbing requires skill.”

  “All the lab doors didn’t seal,” she said, unable to watch them learning h
ow to attack. “Are Swarmers different? One skill set for those who inhaled the yellow mist, another for those infected by bites or scratches. We know the airborne version causes eye differences.”

  Scot shrugged. “All that matters is how to drop them.”

  She jumped when the fence bent under their weight.

  “Chill. The fence will hold,” he said.

  “One’s climbing.” Her heart galloped and her breathing kept pace. “How can people escape?”

  Scot brought his rifle up, moved in closer, and fired through the right eye. The shot made her flinch, and the noise blocked out the Hum. She saw a dark splatter exit the second one’s head as Scot repeated the shot. The third growled and snorted while beating its hands on its chest. Scot lowered the barrel. The third one worked itself into a rage as Scot walked closer to the fence. Scot stopped and said, “Dad?”

  Eddie Jean put her hand to her mouth.

  The Swarmer quieted and watched Scot. It sniffed the air. The Swarmer turned its head left and right, and the sun reflected off his blond hair patches. With a grunt, the Swarmer climbed and used its arm strength as she did.

  “Scot? Let’s go.”

  Eddie Jean wanted to close her eyes, but instead she moved up behind him. She put her hand on his shoulder. A few too many heartbeats slipped past before Scot fired and his dad fell.

  Eddie Jean sobbed and then wiped tears.

  Scot turned and said, “Get the bags.”

  “Scot.”

  More Swarmers piled against the fence, growling and watching them.

  “Move!”

  She leaned over and picked up both bags.

  Scot began nonstop firing.

  When she looked back, she saw more rushing the fence. She dropped the bags at the Jeep’s rear. Scot reloaded. She heard them running to pile on. At least their gunshots drew Swarmers away and gave the other people a chance.

  “They’re stacking the dead to get a higher start up the fence,” Scot shouted, jogging back to her. “Swarmers have changed.” He removed the keys from a leg pocket and unlocked the vehicle. She opened the back hatch. It was packed with clothing, camping gear, and footballs.

  She looked at him.

  “Mom moved out, remember? I kept what I needed.”

  She tossed her bag in, but Scot unzipped his and took out more rounds. He also loaded another rifle for her before they slid into the seats. Swarmers surrounded them on all four sides. They shook the fence so hard it rattled.

  “Safety,” he said, and pointed to it. She carried the rifle in her lap even though she’d never shot a weapon. He put the gun barrel beside his leg with the rifle butt resting near his hands.

  She licked her lips. “I liked your dad. He offered to sell my necklaces in his shop without charging me rent—”

  “He wanted to impress Jenna.”

  She didn’t want to argue. “He was humble and kind.” She sniffed.

  “Told you, that thing wasn’t my dad! Don’t cry for it.”

  She swallowed and sucked in her lower lip.

  “Buckle up.” Scot cranked the engine. “Let’s hope the gate opens.”

  Engine noise agitated the ones on the fence. Eddie Jean saw a Swarmer reach the top and it fell over to the asphalt below. It staggered forward, dragging a broken leg.

  “Q said they don’t feel pain, but I think they do,” Scot said, looking in the rearview. “The drive to feed is why it keeps moving.”

  Scot opened the gate, and the Swarmers jumped back when it moved. He stomped the gas. They ran down two and behind them the gate rolled shut.

  “Let’s get to the emergency alarm. Find my phone and call the sheriff. Warn him Swarmers are on the loose.”

  He turned on his lights as they sped down the narrow road until they merged to the county road. Scot drove fast, and she didn’t dare tell him to slow down. She found his phone between his seat and the seatbelt lock and yanked it out.

  “It’s dead. Charger?”

  He shook his head and muttered, “Smart phones are an oxymoron.”

  Scot turned off paved road onto dirt a half-mile from the private airport. He switched to four-wheel drive. The recent rains had created potholes, and they bounced over them. She watched him wrestle with the wheel to keep the Jeep from sliding. A few minutes later, he stopped and stared at the muddy road. “Look at all the animal prints.”

  “A herd of deer passed through here.”

  “Or animals are heading for higher ground,” he said, shoving hair from his eyes. He turned on the radio and country music blared. After a while they came to another paved road, and then, a mile later, a dirt road. “Almost there.”

  She braced herself as they bumped up and down. The washboard road loosened the rearview mirror and it dropped to the floorboard.

  “There’s the gate.”

  She saw a lock and thick chain. “You have the key?”

  “Bolt cutters are in the bag. Get out and cover me.”

  “I can’t shoot people.”

  He grabbed her chin and forced her to look at him. “No more, emo. You’re XO and welcome to the new world. Aim for the right eye. You miss and it enrages them.”

  She licked her lips. “You didn’t see my mom or sister?”

  He shook his head. “Would you want me to shoot?”

  Eddie Jean jumped out, and her boots sank into mud. She lifted the rifle out and released the safety like she saw her uncles do during hunting season.

  Scot retrieved the bolt cutters and went to the gate. While he worked on the chain, she stood at attention, rifle ready, and listened to the silence. Even the insects were mute.

  “Got it,” Scot sang out. He threw open the gate and got back in. Scot moved the Jeep inside, and she walked back to close the gate. Scot got out and together they threaded the chain around to keep the gate closed.

  “You think Q got lazy and released Swarmers?” she asked.

  “No. Heads up.”

  Unnerved, she climbed back into the seat. He drove to the square concrete building. Eddie Jean marveled at her vision. It had improved since Q exposed her to Scot’s father’s virus.

  “Q got Flameion to build the bunker, you know, just in case. He showed us where he kept a spare key. Said he’d skin us if we ever broke in and used the place for a hangout. Charged phones are inside, and it’s stocked with MREs and water.”

  “You brought Tayla here?”

  He glared at her guess work. “Once or twice.”

  She glanced at the radio antenna high above the roof.

  “Tower platform is about twenty feet behind the building,” he said. “We can emergency broadcast, but I’m not sure how far. Get the bags. For now on, we leave nothing behind.”

  He slid out and took both rifles while she went to the hatch to yank out the bags. She heard the doors lock as she walked back to the emergency shelter. He slipped the keys into his leg pocket and jogged ahead to open the building.

  By the time she walked inside the door, he had activated the emergency siren. The sound drowned out speech as lights flickered on inside.

  “Town is warned,” Scott shouted, and pumped his arm.

  They grinned at each other. The siren would save lives.

  She dropped one bag and went out for the other. Halfway back she stumbled and almost fell. She managed to carry the second bag in and dropped it.

  “Hey, careful,” he said.

  Eddie Jean locked the door and then pain stabbed her ears. Blood oozed out. She wobbled, feeling nauseous. The ground rippled and heaved before the Hum exploded. Screaming, she fell on the floor and writhed in pain.

  She lost track of Scot. Her lungs ached for air, and she rolled to her side, gasping. A loud noise erupted like a passing train. The ground shook and vibrated.

  Scot lifted her up and pulled her to a metal desk. He pushed her underneath and then joined her. “Sounds like a tornado,” he yelled.

  She cried out, not caring if he saw her suffer from her insides knotting up and t
wisting. He grunted, but kept calm. Eddie Jean wrapped her arms around him as the wave of vibrations affected everything—ears, eyes, bones, even creating a shrill ringing within her skull like a bell. Blood seeped from Scot’s nose and ears. They thrashed against one another bumping into the sides of the desk. She couldn’t even feel her legs.

  Equipment crashed to the floor and fell on the desk. Something heavy struck the roof.

  “Percussion waves,” Scot shouted.

  She felt his arms encircle her waist. They cracked heads. Then their bodies slammed against the desk. The light fixture crashed to the floor, plunging them into darkness. Her muscles turned gooey and they twisted into shapes that shouldn’t be possible.

  Eddie Jean closed her eyes and tried not to resist. Acute pain numbed all nerve sensations. Beside her, Scot went into a seizure before she did the same. She was grateful when everything went dark.

  Louis

  Louis stretched his arms upward. He guessed this meant Susan Cho must be dead in his condo. Grief made him blink his eyes and bite his lip. He didn’t anticipate this scenario.

  He saw people peer around doorways and then dart back to safety. A housekeeper in a brown uniform stepped from the coffee room. She saw the gun, dropped her caffeine fix, and scrambled back inside.

  The pain in his ears reached a pitch he could no longer tolerate. He could barely hear normal speech and keep his balance. The Hum reminded him of a huge crowd whispering at a sold-out concert right before the band takes the stage. Sweat beaded his upper lip. A powerful force headed straight for them. What should he do?

  “Turn around, slowly,” the policeman ordered. Three other officers advanced with guns drawn—to handcuff him, Louis guessed. He tried to smile, but feared he might look sinister. In the background, he noticed an older officer decked out in gold medals and gold hash marks on his uniform arguing with Cindy Van Zant.

  A sleepy-eyed pathology resident threw open a lab door and blocked Louis from the line of fire. Louis shoved the resident forward, ducked into the lab, and locked the door. He heard shouting in the hallway as the poor resident hit the floor. Louis went through another door and jogged to the AL lab.