Book Read Free

The Susquehanna Virus Box Set

Page 1

by Steve McEllistrem




  The Susquehanna Virus Series

  Steve McEllistrem

  Minneapolis, Minnesota

  Minneapolis

  FIRST EDITION AUGUST 2019

  THE SUSQUEHANNA VIRUS SERIES. Copyright © 2019 by Steve McEllistrem, All rights reserved.

  Published by Calumet Editions, Minneapolis, Minnesota 6800 France Avenue South, Suite 370, Edina, Minnesota, 55435

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author.

  Author website: www.mcellistrem.com.

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Table of Contents

  About the Author

  Introduction

  The Devereaux Dilemma Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thiry-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  The Devereaux Disaster Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thiry-Four

  The Devereaux Decision Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  The Devereaux Deity Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  About the Author

  Steve McEllistrem is the author of seven novels and numerous nonfiction works. He has been a finalist for a Minnesota Book Award, two Midwest Book Awards, and four consecutive International Book Awards for Science Fiction – all for his “Susquehanna Virus” series, which consists of The Devereaux Dilemma, The Devereaux Disaster, The Devereaux Decision, and The Devereaux Deity. He has been a writer and editor for more than twenty-five years, and was also a long-time producer and host of Write On! Radio.

  Introduction

  The Susquehanna Virus series consists of four highly acclaimed sci fi thrillers – The Devereaux Dilemma, The Devereaux Disaster, The Devereaux Decision, and The Devereaux Deity – that examine our potential future. Biologically enhanced humans; nanotech-enhanced people; a killer virus created by terrorists who want to wipe out humanity; and a genius named Walt Devereaux who might be able to save Earth, with an assist from Jeremiah Jones, one of those enhanced humans: this series begins in a small town in Minnesota before leaping to the Moon, Mars and back to Earth again. Can Devereaux and Jeremiah save the world? And if they do, what will it look like?

  Chapter One

  “Exit 29,” the computer said in a breathy female voice as the car veered to the right. Jack Marschenko took the wheel, deactivating the autopilot. He swept through the intersection onto Seventy-Third Street, where the abrupt change in the road’s conditions tested the vehicle’s suspension, evidence of the District’s half-assed efforts to maintain the infrastructure in the poorer neighborhoods. Marschenko, having grown up here, knew the area well. At Eighty-third he swerved to avoid a large pothole without slowing.

  He turned left on Eighty-Fifth Avenue, slowing as he drove past pawnbrokers, a tattoo parlor, quick-loan services, run-down apartments and hotels. He spotted a guy inside a dumpster, tossing out items he could use, then noticed a gang of hooded teenagers closing in on a solitary civilian. Marschenko shone his spotlight on them, forcing the gang to scatter. Unlocking the door to a housing complex, the man waved his thanks.

  Marschenko sped off. Another innocent temporarily saved—the gang was probably stalking the next victim already, he thought. Can’t sa
ve everyone in this neighborhood. So why keep coming back here? For a strip-club waitress?

  Yet as the image of Lily appeared in his mind, he found himself smiling. He’d planned an expensive dinner at Horatio’s. Then he’d take her back to her place and delve into her nether regions, bringing her to a shuddering climax. He reveled in her deep and honest laughter. God, her laugh was infectious. For the rest of the evening, she’d devote herself entirely to his needs. Marschenko’s body tensed in anticipation.

  Up ahead he saw the large pink neon cat above the doorway of Kitty Kat’s Korner. The Korner shared a parking lot with Romy’s Bar. From the outside the two buildings looked much the same; inside they couldn’t be more different. The Korner boasted a high-class clientele and décor to match. Romy’s—a dark, dirty place—catered to alcoholics. His mom used to drink there.

  Marschenko pulled into the lot and swung into an open spot next to a sleek sports car. He shut off the engine and stepped out of the car, leaving his Elite Ops helmet and Las-pistol on the passenger seat. He’d only be inside a few minutes, and the Korner barred weapons. He locked the car and set the alarm with a voice command, then visually swept the lot as his car windows became opaque. Eight rusted junkers belonging to patrons of Romy’s sat on the other side of the lot. Half a dozen luxury vehicles were parked near the Korner’s door. A slow night.

  As Marschenko strolled through the lot, a shape lunged at him from between two cars, hitting him hard just above the knees. Marschenko fell to the ground, the man landing on top of his chest, straddling him, a knife pressed against Marschenko’s throat.

  “Give me your cash card,” the man rasped. He wore dark camouflage clothing, his face blackened.

  Marschenko reached for his wallet but the man’s weight on his chest made it difficult to move.

  “I can’t get at it,” Marschenko said. “You’re too heavy.” He tried to sound terrified, hoping to put the mugger at ease. As the mugger shifted position slightly, his knife blade left Marschenko’s throat for an instant.

  Marschenko swung his legs up, forcing the man off. Leaping to his feet, Marschenko barked out the emergency command that opened his car door. He reached in for his Las-pistol but the mugger scrambled up and darted across the lot before Marschenko could retrieve it, so Marschenko grabbed his helmet too.

  Two of the Korner’s security guards ran out of the building but Marschenko waved them away. “I’ll take care of it,” he said.

  Donning the spacious helmet, filled with communications and sensory software, Marschenko linked to Elite Ops HQ via satcom—allowing the night watch coordinator to see what he saw. He locked the Las-pistol into the port embedded into his left palm, enabling him to fire as quickly as he could think to do it, faster and more accurately than a man firing the same weapon conventionally.

  The two security guards retreated into the safety of the building. Using the infrared feed on the helmet’s visor, Marschenko tracked the mugger’s heat signature. Sprinting across the parking lot, he followed the infrared trail. When he reached the street, he spotted the mugger up ahead. He suppressed the urge to kill the man. The poor bastard was probably just trying to feed his family. Adjusting the setting on his Las-pistol from medium to low, Marschenko fired a blue pulse as the man dodged around a corner. An agile mugger—Marschenko had to give him that. Adrenaline coursed through Marschenko’s body as he sprang forward.

  The night watch coordinator spoke softly in his ear: “Do you require assistance, Jack?”

  “Adrian, that you?” Marschenko replied.

  “Yeah, you lucky dog. You got me tonight.”

  “What the hell did you do to pull night watch duty?”

  “Long story. Your friend looks like he’s been enhanced.”

  “That’s what I was thinking. He moves too quickly to be a Natural.”

  Marschenko reached the corner where the mugger dodged his first shot, noting the black mark on the building’s face left by the chem-laser. Still a half-block ahead, the mugger approached an open alleyway. Marschenko took aim and fired. Once more the mugger dodged around a corner. Marschenko sprinted after him, reached a dark alley and noticed with satisfaction that it ended with no outlet. Gotcha, he thought.

  “Alley’s dark,” Marschenko said. “A code violation.”

  “Got it,” Adrian replied. “Sending a citation now.”

  For a second, Marschenko regretted verbalizing the infraction, knowing some struggling business owner was going to be fined. But the problem had to be fixed.

  His helmet amplified the ambient light, illuminating the alley as if it were daytime. Despite the mugger’s camouflage clothing, Marschenko could see him clearly. The man moved left, then right, searching for a way out, then ducked behind a dumpster. Marschenko eased forward slowly and spotted the mugger cowering in a ball behind the dumpster. Maybe he wasn’t enhanced. Marschenko contemplated the best way to teach him a lesson, then took aim at the man’s buttocks.

  Before he could get off his shot, an explosion knocked Marschenko off his feet. The smell of cherries infused the air. It had been a trap. He’d been lured here. As he sent a distress call, the knockout gas dragging him under, he heard Adrian’s voice slowly fading: “Jack, Jack, stay with me, Jack.”

  * * *

  Marschenko awoke to a sharp pain behind his eyes, the lingering odor of burnt cherries nauseating him. He shook his head to try to clear it. Big mistake.

  He squinted against the glare of the single bulb hanging from the ceiling. Where the hell was he? A concrete room with no windows: maybe twenty feet square. A bank of electronic equipment stood against the far wall.

  Looking down, Marschenko saw that he was seated on a toilet. He was bound at the wrists and ankles, and tethered to rings embedded in the floor and the overhead beams by a plastic webbing—a virtually indestructible stretch polymer that allowed movement and prevented him from hurting himself. With no lock to pick, the only way to free himself was with a Las-knife or power saw. He still wore his T-shirt and shorts. His pants were folded neatly on a shelf opposite him, and his helmet lay on the floor in the center of the room, next to his Las-pistol. A small green light on the Las-pistol blinked slowly, indicating the weapon was still charged.

  A faint scratching sounded behind him. Marschenko turned, saw nothing. Probably a mouse. Mice didn’t bother him. Rats did. He stood awkwardly, his legs straddling the toilet, and moved toward the helmet and Las-pistol. He came up four feet short. Damn!

  He sat back down and looked around. The electronic equipment on the far wall was sophisticated stuff. Apart from that and a large TV, the room contained only a desk and chair. Directly across from him, stairs vanished into darkness above. Marschenko activated his subdural transmitter and broadcast an SOS. He got no response, sent the message again. Nothing but silence. Not even static. Whoever had taken him must have put a dampening field over the room. It might take a while for the Elite Ops to find him.

  A door opened and shut at the top of the stairs, then someone purposefully descended. Marschenko counted fourteen steps. Dark shoes came into view, followed by tailored blue trousers and a form-fitting black shirt. The man was of average height, his tightly knit frame muscular in his expensive clothes. He wore no rings, had no visible tattoos. His dark hair was closely cropped, his nose bent in the middle where it had been broken. Crow’s-feet surrounded the eyes, while the forehead was lined with the beginnings of middle age. Creases of sorrow made his face oddly compassionate. Yet when he stopped a few feet in front of Marschenko, his intense hazel eyes looked fierce. And he moved with a feline grace that reminded Marschenko of a panther.

  “This light too bright for you?” The man spoke softly.

  “Yeah,” Marschenko croaked, then coughed to clear his throat. “Who are you?”

  The man stepped back toward the wall and dimmed the bulb. “My name is Jeremiah Jones. You met my son Joshua a few year
s ago.”

  Marschenko’s stomach clenched. “Thanks,” he said, keeping the fear out of his voice. “What did you use to…?”

  “Stun grenade,” Jones said.

  “Stun grenade! You could have taken yourself out with that.”

  “That’s why I was curled up in a ball, Jack. Yeah, I know your name. I’ve read your file. I’ve been tracking you for the past month. I’m surprised at how easy it was to take you. I’d have thought you’d be on alert after I broke into Carlton Security’s archives and retrieved the vid-footage. Or didn’t they tell you about that?”

  “I have friends. They’ll be coming to look for me.”

  “They won’t find you, Jack.”

  “What do you want?”

  “You kidnapped my son,” Jones said, his voice cracking slightly. “Where is he?”

  Marschenko stared at him. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “You were just doing your job.” Now the voice was strong, back in control.

  Marschenko said nothing.

  “Classified, top secret and all that.”

  “That’s right,” Marschenko agreed.

  Jones moved back to the stairs. He sat on the third step, relaxed, in no hurry at all.

  “Who are you? You’ve been enhanced.”

  Jones didn’t respond.

  “You move like an animal. Are you a pseudo? That’s illegal.”

  Jones got up from the stairs. “I want you to tell me where Joshua is.”

  “I assume you’re going to torture me,” Marschenko said. “You won’t get anything from me.”

  Jones leaned back and crossed his arms. “I don’t need to torture you, Jack. You’re going to talk eventually. I know you—how you hate being alone. Your mother used to lock you in the cellar, didn’t she? All by yourself. No one to talk to. And I know what they’ve been pumping into you. You’re due for another dose of time-release capsules tomorrow. That’s going to be a painful withdrawal, especially cold turkey. You really think you could hold out?”

  Jones looked resolute, hard, feral. The brown-green eyes seemed to glow with an inner light. How could Marschenko ever have thought he was compassionate?

 

‹ Prev