The Remaining - 01 Read online

  "The plague acts by infecting the cells of the body and quickly multiplying within the lymph nodes. The bacteria then causes the catabolic breakdown of urocanic acid and spreads to the brain and nervous system causing hemorrhaging in the frontal cortex of the brain, which stimulates aggression, hunger, and thirst, and suppresses the patients instincts for self-preservation. It also affects cells of the thalamus and cerebral cortex that perceive pain, making patients unresponsive to painful stimuli. The bacterium appears to eat through brain tissue quite selectively, leaving primary biological functions intact, such as heart rate and respiration.

  “Our main concern with FURY, and the reason you are sitting in your bunker right now, is the incubation period, and the fatality rate. As far as we have been able to determine, the bacteria will lie dormant for between 24 to 48 hours before symptoms even begin to show. In addition to that, we have failed to find a single instance of an infected patient actually dying from the plague. It appears that after the late illness stage, the patient’s vital signs regulate themselves, and the fever will drop off, but the damage to the brain is done. This makes the likelihood of a wait-it-out strategy very limited in its chances for success. It does not look like the plague will burn itself out, but will likely go pandemic if initial attempts to contain it fail.”

  The red dots around the four largest airports began to trickle outwards. Dots appeared at the locations of other, smaller international airports throughout the country and spread from there. The map looked like a piece of paper soaking through with blood.

  “According to calculations, if initial attempts to contain the plague fail, the probability of containing all infected persons is essentially zero, as they are infected for up to two days without showing symptoms. During this asymptomatic time period, they are extremely contagious. We must assume that we will be unable to stop this threat before it affects the entire population.”

  Lee leaned forward in his chair and cupped his hands around his face. He found himself breathing heavily and his heart beating a step faster.

  Probability of containment: zero.

  “Operating as always under the assumption that we will be dealing with the Worst Case Scenario, we set the survival rate at 9%, at least within CONUS. In addition to the lives taken by FURY, there will be wide spread rioting and looting, which will lead to more casualties. WCS, we are looking at a complete governmental collapse due to the plague. The power vacuum created by the fall of the institutional United States government will be huge, and there are many crazy people inside our borders that will be more than willing to take control and kill anyone that opposes, should they survive the plague. If WCS occurs, you will be fighting a war on several fronts. You will need to protect yourself and your group from infection, you will need to protect them also from the violent tendencies of those who have already been infected, and you will need to outmaneuver the warlords that will be popping up across the country.

  “Tactically speaking, you will need to keep yourself on constant quarantine. No physical contact with anyone at any time. Immediately decontaminate if you are exposed to physical contact with anyone. Prepare your own food and do not share others’ food or water. Wear PPE at all times when in the presence of others, particularly if you have reason to believe they are infected. There is no known cure at this time, so attempting aide to infected will be a fruitless endeavor.

  “Again, be aware that due to decreased mental functioning, some infected persons will be unable to speak, and most will not be able to reason. Do not attempt to speak with infected persons. If an infected person attacks you, attempt to gain distance. Use firearms to dispatch hostile infected persons and avoid hand-to-hand combat if at all possible. When engaging infected persons, you will find that due to brain impairment, they don’t go down very easy. We have many reports from police departments and municipal authorities around the country describing the infected individuals as overcoming apparently mortal bullet wounds and continuing to attack. Bring plenty of ammunition that packs a stopping punch.

  “Also keep in mind that even though they have impaired mental functioning, the infected subjects are still human and still have some vestiges of basic predatory instinct. They can even prove to be clever, especially in the early stages of infection before it begins to affect their motor skills.”

  Lee’s stomach soured. Was he being told to kill United States citizens because they were sick? Why not hospitalize them and attempt to find a cure? Yes, they were violent, but so were millions of mental patients around the country and we didn’t go around shooting them in the head.

  “This concludes the brief for Project Hometown regarding Febrile Urocanic Reactive Yersinia. Gentlemen, you are all that is left of the United States government. Good luck.”

  Frank’s voice was rote. Just reading a script that some scientists had put together.

  At the time he recorded this message, just prior to Lee’s restriction in his bunker, he didn’t believe it himself. Just more nonsense from the Washington Worry Warts. They always believed the Worst Case Scenario was right around the corner.

  “Fuck...” Lee whispered. The screen once again faded to the seal of the United States Army. Lee stared at the screen. He sat motionless, except for the rapid pulsing of his carotid artery. In his mind, he had an image of himself taking the thumb drive out and throwing it against the wall, then stomping it into pieces. Losing control.

  But instead, he leaned forward and removed the thumb drive from his computer, moving as though stuck in a tar pit. He placed the thumb drive back in the black box it had come from. He didn’t close the lid. He wanted something to remind him that 48-hours had gone by, that he had already opened the mission packet and watched the briefing. A part of him hoped that perhaps he would wake up next morning and find the box closed again. Then he would realize none of this ever happened.

  A fleeting, pathetic thought.

  He stood up from his computer chair and looked at the sealed hatch to the outside world, and the plaque that hung above it.

  “The only easy day was yesterday.”

  Thank you, Navy SEALs. One of his instructors was a Navy SEAL, as the Coordinators received cross-instruction from several different Special Ops communities. They never received a ranger tab, or a trident, or any other marker that designated them as Special Forces. But what they received was a vast knowledge of tactics and strategies and most of all, a drive that never quit. Master Chief Reynolds had successfully beaten every ounce of quit out of the entire group of Coordinators and that was his favorite phrase: “The only easy day was yesterday.”

  Sitting in shocked silence at his computer desk, he thought about the other Coordinators stationed across the country. The last he’d seen any of them was in late January when they had their annual get together to catch up, and drink too much.

  Standing orders included that they never communicate with each other while on restriction inside their bunkers. Lee had never tried, but as far as he could tell, there was nothing to stop him. He looked at the bottom of the computer screen and saw the internet connection appeared to still be in good working order. Surely one of the others could tell him that this was all a mistake and that Frank had contacted them all and there was no violent insanity pandemic sweeping the nation.

  He sat back down and opened his email account and found that it appeared to be working fine. He typed in the email address of his closest friend, Captain Abe Darabie. His message was short:

  You hear anything from Frank?

  He left out the fact that he had already passed the 48-hour mark and had opened the mission packet. He considered the message for a moment. If this was all a big mistake, he would be written up for violating directives. If it wasn’t a big mistake, who gave a shit about directives? And Lee had to know. He needed someone else to tell him this was real, because sitting by himself made it seem like he was just going crazy.

  He clicked send. It almost solidified that concept that all of this was real in his mind. Al
most. It was too big to just accept. He needed something more than a 48-hour lapse in communication to make him believe that the United States of America had ceased to exist in the matter of three weeks. He waited at his computer for a long moment, then realized that Abe was probably not sitting at his computer, waiting for emails. He stood up and walked to the kitchen. He eyed the contents of his refrigerator, paying close attention to the case of Coors Light bottles. He decided now was as good a time as any to have a beer. After all, it was the Fourth of July.

  As he twisted the cap off, he heard a tone from his computer.

  He sprinted across the den area to his computer and sat in his chair, the beer forgotten. He put it down so hard on the desk it fizzed and overflowed, but he barely took notice.

  Abe apparently had been waiting for emails.

  Neg on coms with frank. I’m at 48 hours...did you open your box?

  Lee thought about it for a moment. There was no harm in admitting that he had. In fact, all the Coordinators probably had. He responded:

  Yeah, I opened mine. Is this for real?

  He clicked send, then waited. He took a nervous sip from his beer, after the head had gone down. Cold drips fell from the bottle onto his bare chest. He ignored them. The reply came after about a minute.

  I hope not...proly shouldn’t be talking...just keep your head down and wait for them to cancel us...I’m sure they will.

  Lee read the message three times. Abe’s confidence that it would all blow over eased the jittery feeling in Lee’s gut. Although they were equal rank, Abe had more time on and more combat experience than Lee. Though Lee had done time as a Ranger in Iraq in ’03 and ’04, Abe had served as a Delta operative for five years in Afghanistan before being looped into Project Hometown. Most of the Coordinators regarded him as their de facto leader.

  Lee didn’t respond to the message. He took his beer and left the computer.

  ***

  Lee spent the remainder of the day watching a couple movies, because he didn’t know what else to do. He went through several beers and carefully lined the bottles in a row on the end table. At 1650 hours the second movie ended and he realized he was hungry.

  It was the Fourth of July, so he opened another beer and decided to grill up two porterhouse steaks that he had defrosted in anticipation of being locked in The Hole on Independence Day. He couldn’t grill them outside, so he cooked them in a pan. He cut the bone off one and gave it to Tango who was waiting ever-so-patiently at Lee’s side. Tango made quick work of 22 ounces of meat while Lee took his time enjoying it.

  At 1815 hours Lee was on beer ten and, in a rush of alcohol-fueled energy, decided more pushups, sit-ups and pull-ups were in order. After these he felt better in general. He felt pumped-up and ready.

  At 2000 hours Lee attempted to log onto redtube.com but found the server was down. He cursed himself for not bringing adult DVD’s with him.

  At 2030 hours he was on beer twelve and staring at the computer, willing Frank to call and tell him it was over. He would look like shit, unshaven, half-dressed and obviously drunk, but who cared? He was in a damn bunker.

  At 2100 hours he decided to switch to water to avoid a bad headache. He moved to the couch and decided to try his hand at the video game console he had purchased but never played. He fumbled with the controls for a few hours before passing out on the couch, the game still running. On the screen, his video game character stood stoically in one spot while he was assaulted from all angles by a horde of enemies.

  Eventually, while Lee slept, the video game warrior collapsed and died.

  CHAPTER 3: 30 DAYS

  Lee spent the next few days doggedly learning how to play the video games. Tango was feeling left out and spent his time on the floor, looking at Lee and whining when he needed to use the bathroom. Lee would pause the game, take him into the back room where he had absorbent pads laid out for Tango to do his business. Lee would gather up the soiled pads and flush them down the toilet. The toilet was like an airplane toilet and would flush almost anything.

  The video games were a good distraction.

  So distracting that Lee forgot to exercise for two days in a row. He found himself only occasionally glancing at the computer screen to see if Frank was there, trying to communicate with him.

  He never was. Lee felt horrible for a few seconds after each time he checked the computer, and then he would refocus on the video game and push everything else out of his mind. Was this denial? Or maybe he was just being reasonable and avoiding panic. If he started to worry about things, then when it all blew over and turned out to be nothing, he would feel awful stupid.

  Eventually he stopped looking at the computer. He beat the first video game on July 10th. For the next two days he punished himself for skipping his workouts. He did pushups, sit-ups and pull-ups every hour on the hour from the time he woke up to the time he went to bed. The time in between he spent reading a book or exercising Tango.

  Tango was a good working dog and had been Schutzhund trained since Lee had bought him four years ago from a breeder in Germany. He was trained mainly to defend Lee or attack a specific person upon Lee’s command. Recently, Lee had been training Tango to protect an item or a person on command. Though children and Schutzhund trained dogs weren’t usually a great mix, Lee had found that Tango was protective of children, and was noticeably gentler around them.

  Lee wondered if Tango attacked a person infected with FURY, would he become infected? How contagious was the plague? If it were a bacteria, it could presumably transfer from person to person from something as simple as a touch.

  How many people had already been infected? The outside world worried him.

  What was going on up there?

  Lee had no family to worry about. His father had died from a heart attack when he was in high school, and his mother had died in an automobile accident while he was in Iraq in 2004. He had girlfriends off and on, but never anything serious.

  He thought at length about his last girlfriend, Deana. He wondered if she was still alive, or whether she had found her way to a shelter. It wasn’t that he planned on finding her during the end of the world, but she had been a genuinely good person, and he hoped she was okay, wherever she was. They had split on good terms in March. Since then, aside from casual encounters, Lee hadn’t been with anybody meaningful.

  He pushed her out of his mind. There was nothing he could so for her now. Was this acceptance?

  ***

  It was July 15th when Lee woke up and finally admitted to himself that Frank was not going to call. There was no conceivable technical problem that could last for nearly a week and half and not be repaired. If Frank needed to contact them, he would have been able to do it by now. He would have told them to stand down by now if they were not needed.

  After realizing this, Lee laid in his bed for the first half of the day. He didn’t get up to take a leak or to eat or drink until almost 1500 hours, when Tango was restlessly growling at the side of the bed. Although Tango could have easily walked into the other room and relieved himself, a good Schutzhund trained dog did nothing without the consent of his master.

  Lee accompanied him to the back room to do his business and realized he had to use the restroom himself. He threw Tango’s soiled pads in the toilet and relieved himself before flushing the entire package down.

  The only easy day was yesterday, because yesterday is done. Time to man up. Lee exercised. He wasn’t excited about being thrust into a dying world and watching civilization crumble—God, that sounded crazy—but he did feel a sense of urgency now. He didn’t know what lay beyond the sealed doors of his bunker. He wanted to be in the best shape of his life. He wanted to give himself the best chance at survival.

  Yes, this was really happening.

  How bad it had become topside was anyone’s guess, but the fact that he had not received any sort of communication meant only one very bad thing: The United States government no longer existed.

  ***

&
nbsp; It was July 18th, fifteen days until he was on the move.

  Lee could no longer stand it. He had had enough of lounging around and entertaining himself. He had gone through almost every film, wasn’t interested in any of the books that remained, and had beaten all of the video games (except one that was based in a post-apocalyptic world, which Lee found too disconcerting to play).

  He needed to do something. He opened the door to a large closet behind his couch and flipped on the light. The florescent bulb flickered then glowed brightly, illuminating several wire racks of equipment. Lee always thought he could have spent the rest of his career as the quartermaster of a base—there was nothing he loved more than the sight of neat racks of equipment.

  From the bottom of the closet he yanked out a very large, coyote-tan backpack and tossed it on the floor. The pack would hold everything he would need. Fully stuffed, it would weigh over 100 lbs. There was a smaller pack which he also removed and tossed next to the large one. It was also coyote-tan, as Lee was a firm believer in light colors being the best for camouflage. Dark colors attracted the eye. Even in woodland or swamp environments, desert colors were still good. And since Lee could potentially need to work in several different types of terrain, most of his gear was in coyote tan.

  The Coordinators had spent the largest amount of their full year and a half of training with the Green Berets, due to the similarity of their missions. The large and small backpacks were a bi-product of his association with the Green Berets.

  The large pack, or main pack, would hold most of the items he would need on the trip. Various medical supplies, computer equipment, equipment for the maintenance of weapons, food, water, clothing, his sleeping bag and bivy sack, etc. The smaller pack was known as the “go-to-hell pack” and would never leave his side. Because the main pack would be so heavy, it was not realistic to become involved in any sort of tactical engagement while wearing it. If shit hit the fan, the main pack was dropped and Lee would finish the engagement wearing only his go-to-hell pack, which contained the basics: food and water for a few days, extra magazines for his weapons, very basic first aid supplies, and a single change of clothes.