Dead, But Not For Long (Book 2): Pestilence and Promise Read online

  Pestilence and Promise

  Dead, but Not for Long II

  ~*~

  Lesa Kinney Anders

  Matthew Kinney

  Copyright © 2014 Lesa Anders and Matthew Kinney

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the authors except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the authors’ imaginations or used in a fictitious manner or are used with permission.

  Any resemblance to actual persons, living, dead or living dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Cover photo and illustration Copyright © 2014 by Lesa Anders

  ISBN: 1496005090

  ISBN-13: 978-1496005090

  Published in the U.S.

  First publication date May 15, 2014

  DEDICATION

  To our brother

  John Wesley Kinney, who first got us interested in zombies

  and

  To our sister

  Mary Jo Kinney Strouse, who hates zombies but reads our books anyway

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  To Steve Serkaian, Director of Communications at Lansing Board of Water and Light, and Peggy Roefer, Microbiologist, Regional Water Quality Manager at Southern Nevada Water Authority, thank you for answering our technical questions. To David Daigle of the CDC, thank you for suggesting ways for us to examine the impact of a plague on public health. To Larry Karr, thank you for talking to us about your personal experience with a punctured lung. To John Kinney, thank you for your help with weapons questions.

  Any mistakes are our own.

  Font used on cover was Bad Grunge from Jaydefonts

  Tanks to our Beta readers: Annette, Ariel, Cindy, Dian, Kim and Mark.

  GO TO TABLE OF CONTENTS

  ~Prologue~

  Lab in the Colombian Jungle; February

  The sound of an engine broke the quiet of the evening and caused Javier to turn his head.

  “The doctor’s leaving early,” he said to Carlos, the young guard on duty with him. “It’s barely dusk.”

  Javier knew that Dr. Petrov wasn’t the only one working in the lab at the time, but he was the only one there with a vehicle. Most of the other thirty or so employees walked to work from the local village, as did the guards. There was also the doctor’s guest, but he was always dropped off and picked up by a driver from the city.

  A flash of lightning lit up the laboratory as Carlos turned to look. His automatic rifle was slung over his shoulder. “Is the doc going on another trip?”

  Dr. Petrov had to leave on occasion to deal with patients in other places; normal patients — not like the ones he kept at the lab.

  Javier shook his head. “Not for another week. He won’t go anywhere while his guest is here.”

  Neither of them knew the visitor’s name. He came to check on the doctor’s progress every now and then, but he never spoke to anyone else. The others seemed to be invisible to him.

  “Maybe the doctor’s just sick of this place,” Carlos said, frowning. “I would be. He must spend eighteen hours a day in there.”

  The engine grew louder as the Range Rover appeared from behind the laboratory and started down the dirt road toward the two guards. The doctor, who rarely exceeded five miles an hour on the bumpy road, was moving fast.

  “What the hell?” Javier frowned, gripping his rifle a little tighter. The vehicle had to be going at least forty, maybe more.

  As it got closer, the SUV began to fishtail, and both men had to jump away from the road to avoid the vehicle as it raced past them. There was no sign of brake lights as Petrov approached the sharp turn that would take him to the village.

  “He’s not going to make it,” Javier hissed, already taking off at a run.

  His words proved true as the Range Rover skidded off the road before slamming into a tree. The crunch of metal was swallowed by the sounds of the jungle as brightly colored birds took flight and filled the air with their raucous cries.

  When the guards reached the vehicle, the branches of the tree were still shaking from the impact. Leaves fluttered down around the two men as Javier struggled to open the door. He finally went around to the passenger side where he had better luck.

  The doctor was slumped over the steering wheel with his eyes closed. Blood ran down his face from a nasty gash on his forehead.

  “Are you okay?” Javier asked, slowly reaching a hand out to touch the man’s arm.

  There was no movement at first, but the doctor finally lifted his head.

  Javier pulled his hand away, watching as the wounded man’s eyes opened.

  “You scared me, doc. I thought you were dead.”

  Petrov seemed dazed as his head swiveled toward Javier, his gaze coming to rest on the guard. After a long moment, he reached down to unfasten his seatbelt and got out of the SUV with some assistance.

  “Are you all right?” Javier asked.

  The doctor’s response was a tirade in his native Russian. His words were incomprehensible to the Colombians, though the urgency was evident.

  He is terrified, Javier thought, glancing toward the gray building that could barely be seen through the thick trees.

  “We must leave,” the doctor said, switching to Spanish. His attention was fixed on the lab as he raised a shaking hand to touch the wound on his forehead.

  “Hey, man, is that a bite?” Carlos asked, staring at the doctor’s hand.

  The mark looked as though it had been made from a human mouth, round and jagged where the flesh had been torn.

  “Yes, a bite,” the doctor said quietly, his eyes never leaving the lab for a moment. “What has he done?”

  The words came out an anguished whisper, making the hairs stand up on the back of Javier’s neck. He glanced at Carlos and saw apprehension that mirrored his own.

  “Did one of your patients decide he didn’t like being locked up in that dungeon?” Javier asked nervously. He’d never actually seen the patients, but he’d heard stories; stories that made it difficult for him to sleep at night.

  “We must go,” Petrov said again, grabbing Javier’s arm.

  Javier caught a sudden glimpse of color in the trees just outside the lab. Probably just one of the workers, he thought, but the guards had to be ready for anything. He lifted his rifle and watched.

  Petrov’s eyes grew wide, and he began to back away. “He has set them free,” he said, trembling with fear. “We are doomed.”

  When the first of his patients came into full view, the doctor turned and ran.

  ~*^*~

  ~01~

  Malibu, California; Early August

  “It’s time,” said the voice on the other end of the phone.

  West walked over to look out his office window at the Pacific Ocean across the street. It was hard to believe that the world would likely be ending soon, at least as they knew it. The traffic appeared to be normal, and there were several pedestrians and skateboarders out, enjoying the beautiful day. West’s eyes lit on a truck with two surfboards in the back. The passenger turned with a grin and yelled something to a couple of young women walking by in bikinis. The women laughed, and one of them said something in reply. It could have been a typical summer day, West thought, but he knew that it wasn’t.

  He finally replied into his secure cell phone. “I’ll make the calls. Are we enclosing all six areas?”

  “Seven,” the voice said. “The
re’s been a change. We’re adding Yucca University Medical Center.”

  West sat down at his desk and unlocked a drawer then pulled out a map. Most of Malibu was marked off, including his office. There were similar markings around other areas of the valley, and these locations had all been carefully chosen. The walls would create small, but very comfortable communities in a sea of chaos.

  “I’ve got the map out,” he said, keeping his voice low though his office was swept for bugs regularly.

  The man on the other end of the phone started to name streets and intersections as West carefully used a red marker to outline the area on a map. It was an odd shape, meant to exclude certain undesirable residences and include the more affluent areas. It was how the selected areas were laid out all over the world.

  Yucca had never even been discussed, and while he’d heard of it, West knew that it wasn’t a major institution.

  “Why Yucca, of all places? How does it fit in? The property values in that area are nothing special.”

  “It’s not the properties we’re interested in with Yucca. We chose it for two reasons. It’s going to take some time to secure UCLA since it’s in a heavily populated area, and there’s a doctor that we need at Yucca.”

  “You could just move him.”

  “He has an office at Yucca, and we may need access to it. Just do your job, and let us worry about the locations.”

  West didn’t reply.

  “Also, you need to know that there’s been a problem. I’m sure you recall the immunizations we were each given to keep us safe after this, uh, little bug was unleashed?”

  “Of course,” West replied impatiently.

  “Apparently the parasite mutated or . . .”

  “How?”

  “If you would let me finish,” the voice on the other end snapped. “Either it mutated or, more likely, the vaccine was a placebo. We will probably never know since the doctor has disappeared off the face of the earth, and our friend isn’t admitting anything.”

  “Are you sure the immunizations don’t work?” West asked, gripping the phone a little tighter.

  “We lost some people to bites.”

  The blood drained from West’s face. “Who?”

  “We sent in teams as soon as we heard about the outbreaks in Salt Lake City and Lansing. They were supposed to contain the problem, but both teams lost people. They had all been given the vaccine.”

  “And they’re dead?” West asked.

  “I’m not sure dead is the term I’d use, but they’re certainly not alive. There are several who are missing, too. They didn’t check in today, and we fear the worst. This is why it’s critical that we start getting the walls up in your area immediately. This plague is spreading quickly.”

  “I’ll get moving on it as soon as I get off the phone,” West said. “I knew that nutcase was going to be a problem, but you had to have his money, didn’t you? I hope it was worth it. We’re screwed now.”

  “That nutcase’s money purchased the walls that just might save our asses. His money also paid off the right people to get things moving. Now quit your damn whining and do your part. We need to get some top minds ready to work on this at Yucca. We’re doing the same with Mayo Clinic in Rochester and a few other locations. The CDC was always on the list, of course, so that’s been enclosed already.”

  “And you’ll be sending someone over to Yucca to run things?” West had been put in charge of the Malibu compound, and a leader had already been appointed for each of the other walled communities.

  “He’s on his way,” the voice said. “We’re sending Robert Burnell.”

  “He’s a complete idiot,” West complained.

  “We realize that, but he’s good with the public. I’ll be there to keep an eye on him so he doesn’t do anything stupid.”

  “Anybody else you want over there?”

  “Yes. I have a few names to add to the list. The first one is critical. It’s the doctor I mentioned, and his name is George Rayburn. If he’s not at Yucca, he might be at his office in Malibu. We also have his home address if you need it.”

  West jotted down the information.

  “Will the Governor cooperate?” the voice asked. “Everyone else that we need is on board, though most had to be persuaded.”

  “The Governor wasn’t pleased,” West admitted, “but he has two small children, and I made it clear that we have someone watching them. He’s scared, and he’ll do whatever we tell him to do.”

  “Perfect,” the voice said.

  The line went dead.

  ~*~

  St. Mary’s Hospital, Lansing, Michigan; Mid-August

  “Get the gate!”

  Wombat rushed outside into the walled parking lot along with several other armed men. Gunner, one of the oldest in the group, climbed up onto a cabinet that was being used as an improvised tower. He was joined by Moose, one of the younger bikers.

  Peering through his scope, Gunner yelled down, “I see three live ones coming our way, and they’re gonna need some help!”

  He and Moose began to pick off the dead that were between the refugees and the hospital.

  Pulling out his machete, Wombat waited until the others were ready. They all carried firearms as well as other handheld weapons that could be used in silence. When he gave the signal, the gate was pushed open, and the small group raced into the street. The two snipers carefully continued to pick off targets, trying to clear a path.

  One of the survivors was being flanked by a man and woman who appeared to be supporting him. They weren’t alone, either. The infected were moving in from side streets and would soon have the trio surrounded. As Wombat fought his way down the street, he noticed that the man in the middle seemed to be having a hard time staying on his feet, slowing the others down. The woman begged her companion to keep moving, but he pulled away from her and told her to run. The blood on his shirt looked fresh. Before the bikers could reach the trio, the man in the middle was swallowed up, though the other two fought to pull him free.

  “Go!” a biker named Hawk yelled to the other two survivors. “It’s too late for him. He’s been bitten! Go!”

  “No!” the woman screamed. She struggled to reach for the man again, but her friend pulled her away. When she began to fight him, one of the bikers picked her up and ran with her toward the gate.

  Wombat lifted his pistol as the dead began to rip the wounded man’s flesh from his bones. The bloodcurdling screams ended with a gunshot, and the biker turned to run back to the hospital, fighting alongside the others to carve a path back to the gate.

  “Everybody okay?” asked one of the gate guards as the woman was put back onto her feet.

  “We lost one,” Hawk replied.

  “We saw the lights and have been trying to get here for days,” the man said. “One of those things attacked her husband about an hour ago, so we knew we had to get help.”

  “There’s no cure for this,” Wombat said. “He would have died anyway. What about you two? Have either of you been bitten?”

  “No bites,” the man said.

  Both of the newcomers looked like they had been through hell. The woman was sobbing, but her friend said, “Thanks for letting us in.”

  “You’ll be safe here,” Wombat said. He told the woman, “Sorry about your husband.”

  The two survivors were taken inside where their arms and legs were checked for bites.

  “You’re clear,” they were told once the inspection was done, “but you’ll still have to go through quarantine then get a blood test.”

  “That’s fine,” the man said, exhausted.

  Lindsey walked over and introduced herself to the two refugees. She was trailed by Autumn, a nine-year-old girl who had become her ward in recent days.

  “You can have a seat in the ER for now,” Lindsey told them. “It’s our quarantine area for the moment. We’ll get you something to eat and some water.”

  “Thank you,” the man said. “We’ve been drinking fr
om puddles for the last two days.”

  Autumn made a face but didn’t say anything.

  Lindsey left to arrange for food and water for the two survivors, but before she left the ER, Wombat walked over.

  “What happened out there?” she asked him quietly.

  “They got her husband,” he said, keeping his voice down.

  “That poor woman,” Lindsey said, glancing toward the distraught survivor. “Thanks for letting me know. I’ll talk to her friend later, and we’ll be sure to keep an eye on her.”

  “Thanks, Lindsey,” Wombat said, squeezing her shoulder before walking away.

  When Theresa, the cook, heard that they had some new residents, her eyes lit up.

  “I’m on it,” she said, moving across the kitchen in her wheelchair. Theresa had broken her leg in a skydiving accident and had been in surgery at the time of the outbreak. As a school cook, she’d been the perfect choice to run the kitchen. “Grab some water for them, and here’s some bread to get them started. I’ll warm up some soup.”

  Autumn returned to the ER with a couple of glasses and some slices of homemade bread, while Lindsey carried a jug of water.

  “There’s soup on the way,” Lindsey said as she handed over the water and bread, “but take it easy so you don’t make yourselves sick. Once you’ve had a chance to rest, I’ll come back and run you through our orientation.”

  The man thanked her and poured himself a big glass of water, though the woman just continued to sob into her hands.

  “Will you make sure she eats and drinks something?” Lindsey asked the man quietly.

  “Sure,” he said, taking a long drink of water before turning his attention toward the woman.