A Violent World

  A Violent World

  The Great Dying Book 3

  Paul Seiple

  Contents

  Charles Darwin Quote

  I. Hero Versus Villain

  Harlan Ellison Quote

  1. December 2016

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  II. Order in Chaos

  Napoleon Bonaparte Quote

  12. Fall 2018

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  III. The End of The World As We Know It… Again

  Sun Tzu Quote

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Epilogue

  The Living War

  The Great Dying Series

  About Paul Seiple

  Charles Darwin Quote

  “In the long history of humankind (and animal kind, too) those who learned to collaborate and improvise most effectively have prevailed.”

  -Charles Darwin

  Part One

  Hero Versus Villain

  Harlan Ellison Quote

  “History will decide if I am a villain or a hero.”

  -Harlan Ellison

  One

  December 2016

  "What's your favorite Christmas song?" Alan Dawson asked.

  Ken Barber ignored the question. He was hypnotized by the dead eyes staring at him through the glass cells. The pupils grew murkier the longer the infection wrecked the host. Ken watched the infected spiral downward in appearance from sick humans with flush cheeks and cloudy eyes to a horde of dead bodies with grey, sagging flesh clinging to bones.

  "Why do you think they feed some of them but let the others starve?" Ken asked.

  The question caused Alan to cringe. He knew the answer. Mitch Ashe and the Secret Seven who operated within ARMA were the reason for the outbreak. Alan was one of the seven. Ken didn't know that. Alan planned to keep it that way. Mitch kept secrets, even from the Secret Seven. The Judas Project was supposed to be an "end to war as the world knows it." At least, that was the way the majority of ARMA saw it, but for Mitch and a select few, the virus named Judas held the power to rule the world, not save it. Judas would allow Mitch to control the population. But, one thing went wrong. The virus couldn't be controlled. It used the infected hosts as armor while it evolved inside the human body.

  "Hey, you with me?" Ken asked.

  Alan heard Ken but kept an eye on the infected in the cell adjacent to him. Mitch Ashe wasn't giving up on Judas. He saw this as a minor setback to the bigger picture. All scientific and military advances had obstacles blocking the path to success. Mitch chose to feed some of the sick because he wanted to see how the virus performed in a "healthy" host. The word "healthy" was left to interpretation. These people were dead, but Judas was alive. As long as Mitch fed the disease, he could monitor the physiology of the infection. Mitch didn't care about saving the people. They were gone. He cared about keeping Judas happy. And the ones he chose not to feed wilted away. Decay was like old age to the virus. It couldn't escape the inevitable. Mitch monitored Judas in the starving dead to see how it reacted to the deterioration of the host. Judas was remarkable on many levels, but its will to avoid extinction was the most impressive.

  "If I had to guess, I'd say they are studying the different stages of the virus," Alan said.

  "But how is feeding some of them doing that?" Ken asked.

  Alan clammed up, realizing if he continued the conversation, he would give too much away. "Who knows? I'm probably wrong. I'm no doctor."

  Brenda Lee's version of "Santa Claus Is Coming to Town" blared through the speaker system at an excessive volume, so high that the living prisoners couldn't adjust to the loudness, even after weeks of Christmas songs. Alan and Ken made makeshift earplugs out of used napkins. It muffled the music enough to ensure they didn't go deaf, but Alan started to think deafness might be a welcome gift if he had to hear The Beach Boys' rendition of "Frosty the Snowman" one more time. It seemed to be a favorite of the captors.

  Alan lost track of how long he had been held prisoner. It really wasn't that long, given the Christmas music, maybe a month at most, but it felt like an eternity. He ignored the beady eyes that never wavered from him. Fear wasn't the reason he avoided eye contact. Guilt consumed his soul. Alan was responsible for what happened to the people in the other cells. It was his fault they were dead. Part of him felt as if the dead weren't sizing him up for dinner. Their stares were screaming, "Look what you've done to me."

  "I don't really have a favorite Christmas song," Ken said. "If you put a gun to my head and forced me to choose, I'd go with something by Louis Armstrong or Ella Fitzgerald. But honestly, with it playing nonstop, it's like eating too much pizza and puking. You never want to see a pepperoni again. I never want to hear Burl Ives again."

  There was a brief pause between songs. "Rudolph The Red-Nosed Reindeer," the Burl Ives version, played. Both men laughed.

  "They are listening to us, you know?" Alan said. "Trying to drive us insane."

  "I've been at level-four insane for the last few weeks. It's really a shitty place to be," Ken said. "OK, what's your favorite Christmas song?"

  Without hesitation, Alan said, "'I'll Be Home for Christmas' by Bing Crosby."

  A brief smile slide across Ken's face. "Safe choice. How close do you think we are to Christmas?"

  Alan counted the prongs he had broken off from plastic forks. He started placing them in a pile after the first day of Christmas songs. The first song played was “Santa Claus Is Coming To Town” by The Jackson 5. Alan couldn't forget it. The song was like the opening credits of a horror movie.

  "If the songs started on December the first and my math is right, I'd say today is Christmas Eve." Alan fumbled with the plastic prongs in the palm of his hand.

  "My family has..." Ken hesitated. "... had a tradition of eating dinner at my in-laws on Christmas Eve. This is about the time Maggie would start fussing at the kids to finish getting ready or Santa would skip the house."

  "Same with my family, except we ate at my parents’. Liz and I have no kids."

  "Why is that? You hate kids?" Ken asked.

  Alan laughed. "No. We talked about trying next year. Liz is finally at a place in her career that she's ready."

  Alan told the lie convincingly. He almost believed it himself. The truth was Liz had been gone for a little over two years. The long nights away from home and the unbelievable answers to the most common questions became too much for her. Liz was convinced Alan had a mistress. In a way, he did. He couldn't tell Liz about the work he was doing with ARMA.

  "What does she do?" Ken asked.

  "She's a pediatrician at a children's hospital in Roanoke," Alan said.

  Another lie. Liz was no longer in Roanoke. She moved back to DC after the divorce was final.

  "I guess you can't be a pediatrician and hate kids..." A low moan escaped Ken's lips as he reached for his temples.

  "You OK?" Alan asked.

  "I've had this headache for the last few days. I'm fine for a bit, and then these sharp pains jab at my skull."

  There was another pause in the music bef
ore Elvis sang about a blue Christmas.

  "It's this continuous music," Alan said. "I have a dull ache too."

  "I don't think so. You know how you can sometimes tell you're coming down with a cold by the burning in your nose and the funny taste in your mouth?"

  "Yeah," Alan said.

  "Well, I have the burning. It's in my eyes, though. And I have this weird taste in my mouth. It's like I've been sucking on a penny." Ken coughed into his hand. A few crimson dots speckled his palm.

  "Is that blood?" Alan asked.

  "What are the symptoms of the virus?" Ken asked.

  "I... don't... know," Alan said. Another lie. Alan watched the blood pool in the creases of Ken's palms. He knew Ken was sick. "The only thing I know about the infected is they crave flesh. Are you craving flesh?"

  "Does a double cheeseburger count?" Ken tried to laugh but gagged instead.

  "We have to get out of here today," Alan said. "Like Bing says, we're going to be home for Christmas."

  "Nice pipe dream. We both know there's a good chance there is no home to go to," Ken said.

  "There's always hope," Alan said. He believed that. Alan had a burning too. It wasn't from the virus. He needed to right the wrongs.

  Silence interrupted Frank Sinatra singing "Jingle Bells."

  "Slop in five minutes," the robotic voice echoed through the sound system.

  Ken turned his head and vomited on the white wall. The infection spread over the concrete in a pattern that Jackson Pollock would envy.

  "Damn, you really are sick?" Alan said.

  Ken wiped his mouth on his camouflaged sleeve. He faced Alan. There was a faint cloudy film over his right eye. Alan flung himself against the wall at the sight.

  "Is it that bad?" Ken asked. He turned his head and dry-heaved.

  "I'm sorry," Alan said.

  "I no longer want a cheeseburger," Ken said.

  "I can understand that."

  "No. I mean... this nausea is more like a pang."

  Alan stood up and backed into a corner of the ten-feet by ten-feet cell.

  "Relax. I think I can wait five minutes," Ken said.

  "What?"

  "I'm going to make sure you get home for Christmas... or at least out of this hellhole." Ken cleared his throat. "When Morales opens the door, I'm going to attack Reynolds."

  "He'll kill you," Dawson said.

  "There's no time to sugarcoat the diagnosis. I'm already dead. We both know it. When I hit Reynolds, you take out Morales. Don't give him a chance to grab his gun. Then, you get the hell out of here. You won't have long, so don't worry about me. Consider it my Christmas gift to you," Ken said.

  "But I didn't get you anything." Alan let out a blast of nervous laughter. "Sorry, too soon?"

  "Well, your joke wasn't funny. I'm sacrificing myself for you." Ken laughed at the terrified look on Alan's face. "Relax, I tell jokes at inopportune times too."

  "Maybe you don't have the virus," Alan said.

  "Your left arm looks like a T-Bone to me at the moment. I have it."

  "I'm sorry," Alan said.

  "Don't be. We all have to die. I'm going out on my own terms. But you can do something for me," Ken said.

  "Anything."

  "When you get out, find my wife and kids. If they are alive, make sure they are safe." Ken ripped dog tags from his neck. "Give these to Maggie and tell her I love her and the kids. The address is 2610 Randle Street."

  Alan eyed the dog tags in his palm.

  "All right, let's run through this. Morales opens the door. I push by him and take out Reynolds. You won't have time to hesitate. Take out Morales, get his gun, and don't look back," Ken said.

  Alan clutched the dog tags before putting them in his pocket. He nodded.

  "Parade of the Wooden Soldiers" by The Crystals played through the speaker system. The clanging of a metal door cut through the horns in the song.

  "You're not looking too good today, Mr. Smith," Morales said, passing the first cell.

  "You look like shit too, Bob," Reynolds said, slapping his palm against the glass.

  Ken whispered, "You ready?"

  "Lunchtime, assholes," Morales said as he waved a key card in front of the cell door.

  "Don't try anything, I'll shoot you as dead as the rest of the bastards in here," Reynolds said tapping his finger against his holstered gun like someone preparing for an old west duel.

  The door opened, Ken sprang to his feet, dug a shoulder into Morales, knocking him against the wall, and grabbed Reynolds's arms as he fumbled to free his revolver. Alan landed a right jab against Morales's cheek before the first shot.

  "Get off m..."

  Reynolds's words sank into a gurgle as Ken tore at his throat. Alan shook his head, trying to rid the ringing from the gunshot as he reached for Morales's gun.

  "Goooo..."

  The simple word was drawn out, but it came from Ken. There was another shot, followed by a muffled scream. Alan stumbled. Finding support against the wall, he maintained his balance and headed for the exit. Once outside the room housing the cells, Alan stared through the small glass window in the door. Ken staggered to his feet. His face was unrecognizable from the crimson liquid that clung to him like war paint. The key card dangled from his right hand. The milky film covering his pupils was more prominent as Ken made eye contact with Alan.

  "Don't do it," Alan said. His words ricocheted off the metal door.

  Ken made his way to another cell of infected who weren't being fed. He waved the card over the sensor, and the door opened. The dead swarmed by Ken and pounced on Morales and what was left of Reynolds. They shredded flesh like a pride of hungry lions. Alan watched in horror as blood splattered against the white walls. Ken made eye contact again as he waved the card over another sensor, freeing more monsters.

  "You can't let them out," Alan said.

  Ken was no longer human. Alan wasn't his ally. He belonged to the dead. Ken moved to another cell. Alan couldn't let the dead escape. He opened the door and aimed the gun as Ken swiped the card in front of the sensor. There was one shot. The side of Ken's face splattered against the glass. He crumbled to his knees. The dead fell over his body as they left the cell, giving Alan time to escape.

  "I'll find your family," Alan said as he locked the door.

  Dead eyes glared at him through the small glass window in the door. Alan looked left, and then right. Soon, guards would swarm the hallway. He sprinted to the stairs to the left. Alan peered up the stairs, surprised to see no one coming. He took a deep breath and climbed the stairs two at a time.

  Two

  "Sir, he's in the east wing of Sector Seven. I can dispatch Team Two."

  "It's fine. Let him go," Mitch Ashe said, watching Alan scale the stairs.

  "You're just going to let him get away?"

  "Alan's not getting away. He is going to lead me to Nick Preston," Mitch said. "Have a tracker team follow him and send Team Two to Ken Barber's house with 5455 orders."

  "Yes, sir."

  In short, 5455 meant kill. For Mitch, it meant extermination. Alan could not be allowed to find Ken's family alive. It was becoming more difficult to keep the true identity of Judas out of the media. The impromptu press conference from Dr. Q Warren almost derailed the project. But, with help of fellow ARMA member and CIO of the Centers for Disease Control, Chuck Mannis, the culprit of the illness was discovered to be a new strain of flu, just not of the man-made variety.

  Alan Dawson was a loose cannon. A vigilante hellbent for revenge. Mitch needed Alan to stay alive. But he didn't need Alan spreading the truth about the outbreak. Ken Barber's family held no worth to Mitch. They were just another sacrifice on the way to a better world.

  "Team Two should arrive at 2610 Randle in fifteen minutes."

  "Good. If Alan shows up while they are carrying out the order, he is not to be harmed, and not to be captured."

  Mitch left the control center located four floors above the holding cells. He thought about
stopping by the two-way mirrors to see if Alan passed by but decided it would be a waste of time. In truth, he didn't care about Alan's life, but he was important to Mitch's grand vision. With most of ARMA's technology team wiped out, Mitch needed a brilliant mind to evolve the Judas Kiss, which was the main reason for The Judas Project. The Kiss was a smart bomb that resembled a bug about the size of a lapel pin. It was small but packed a powerful punch.

  Judas was originally created to serve as an example of the bomb's power. But its creators underestimated its strength. The Judas Kiss was presented as a method to limit civilian casualties in targeted attacks on terrorism. It had the ability to pinpoint a subject with precise accuracy. The bomb could "kiss" a target without harming a person standing next to it. The Judas Kiss worked in the small town of Bad Dog. The survivors were the proof. The bomb was programmed to seek out only the infected. The error came because Mitch didn't plan on any survivors. He thought everyone in Black Dog was infected.

  Mitch took a seat at his computer and pulled up a report noting the latest cases of illnesses that carried the symptoms of Judas. The rate of infection was on the decline. Judas, like any other virus, needed a host to survive. If the host died, the outbreak would slow and eventually fall dormant. This news was good for the world and bad for Mitch. With Judas, he had the power of a god. Mitch could control the world. He wasn't going to let those aspirations die. Mitch needed to find Nick Preston to create and evolve the bombs. It wasn't spreading fast enough. And if Judas showed another evolution, he had a team of doctors to tweak the virus.