Elixr Plague (Episode 2): Infected

  Elixr Plague Episode 2: Infected

  A Zombie Apocalypse Serial

  Marcus Richardson

  Copyright © 2019 by Marcus Richardson

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Contents

  Books by Marcus Richardson

  INFECTED

  Author’s Note

  The Story So Far…

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  What’s Next?

  Author Contact

  About the Author

  Books by Marcus Richardson

  Books by Marcus Richardson

  THE ELIXR PLAGUE

  Book 1: Vector

  Book 2: Infection

  OTHER SERIES

  The Future History of America

  The Wildfire Saga

  Solar Storm

  For my complete catalog, please see:

  marcusrichardsonauthor.com

  INFECTED

  The Elixr Plague: Episode 2

  Author’s Note

  THIS IS A SERIALIZED STORY

  I’ll say that again: this is a serialized story. I mean, I certainly hope the shit I write about isn’t real.

  What is real is the choice I made on how to publish the story. This tale of the zombie apocalypse will be ongoing and there’s so much taking place that I didn’t want to try and cram it all into a single book, or even a series of books.

  From the first inkling of an idea that formed in my head, Elixr Plague felt better handled with a broad cast of characters in bite-sized installments.

  I realize this isn’t going to make everyone happy. Those of you who enjoy reading on phones and smaller devices may appreciate being able to finish an episode in one sitting rather than trying to hunt down the bigger device or e-reader and pick up where you left off when you were standing in line at the grocery store. If so, great! This story is for you.

  If you don’t like the serialized format, I may, depending on what feedback I receive, compile the episodes when they reach a certain to-be-ascertained critical mass into books with several episodes, or one big box set. That’s a decision for later.

  For now, I want to focus on the story. And the fastest way to get that story to you is break it up into smaller pieces and publish more frequently. This story is in Kindle Unlimited, so unless you actually buy a copy, I make the same amount of money whether it’s broken up or in one big book.

  When you’re knee deep in the zompoc boogaloo, speed is life.

  To that end, I plan to release the episodes of Elixr Plague every few weeks, to give me time to edit to something approaching professional standards. I’d love to just write an episode and fling it out into the wild, but y’all would take one look at all the typos and walk away. Fast.

  So I’m going to temper my need for speed with a good dose of editorial stoicism and see if I can’t maintain a decent release schedule right from the get go. Hey, if I find it too easy, I reserve the right to speed up.

  Right. Enough shop talk, let’s get to that boogaloo…

  The Story So Far…

  In Episode 1: Vector, terrorists led by Rashid Amahdi sought vengeance for a US airstrike that killed his family seven years ago. They hit on the idea to hijack Elixr, a miracle drug created using gene-editing by Desmond Martin and Norman Yang.

  Yang’s daughter Kelly was kidnapped to force him to modify Elixr to target people with Jewish DNA, but Yang refuses and tries to make it harmless to anyone but those who handle it—presumably the terrorists.

  Determined to go ahead with the release, and not knowing that Yang had modified Elixr, Martin unleashes an unknown threat upon the world, making him the new public enemy #1. He orders the activation of Centurion, his private mercenary group, to hunt down whoever was responsible for twisting Elixr into a weapon.

  And now…Episode 2: Infected.

  1

  Evacuation

  New York City, New York

  Martin Enterprises, Inc., World HQ

  Edith Traviers stared at the jammed paper shredder. It was 5AM, the day was just getting started, and it didn’t look to be getting better anytime soon. The shit had officially hit the fan with the federal regulators and Martin Enterprises—at least its New York HQ—was in full-on damage mitigation mode.

  “I can see by the look on your face that you’re angry,” the man to her left said by way of apology. Donnie Rallow had always been an ass, especially after she’d dumped him following a disastrous third date a few years back. He’d never forgiven her for that, or how fast she rose up the ranks.

  “I’m not angry, Donald,” she said sweetly, relishing the fact that he hated being called that. “I’m calculating the odds of your survival if—”

  “Edith,” the booming voice of Desmond Martin said through hidden speakers in the ceiling.

  She held up a finger to silence Donnie’s puerile comeback, then tapped the little speaker in her ear, channeling the incoming call from the public speakers to her private channel. “Go ahead, sir.” Turning on her heel, she left Donnie fuming over the jammed shredder. It was his problem anyway—her department had finished the document redaction procedure an hour ago.

  Martin snorted. “I may be a pariah, but I still have contacts. I’ve got—oh, are we private?”

  She walked down the hallway, her shiny black Louis Vuittons clacking on the marbled floor. Edith tapped the ear-pod again, and it chirped, signaling a secured link had been established. “We’re on a private channel now, sir.”

  “Good. Listen, I don’t have much time. The Feds are coming to Beacon Point again. You’ve seen the reports on the other facilities?”

  “Yes, sir—it appears the FBI is very interested in our production facilities. Any idea if they want to bring you in for questioning, or is this another sneak and peek?”

  Martin grunted. “I think this is their end game. Probably this morning—they like to make raids just about as inconvenient as possible. I’ve been followed now for almost 48 hours.”

  “Have you notified Legal, sir?” Edith demanded, her voice taking on the tone of a parent scolding a toddler. “And why didn’t you tell me—honestly, sir,” she sighed, “I don’t know how I can help you if you don’t keep me informed—”

  “No time, Edith, no time! Listen—that’s not why I called—“

  “But,” Edith tried to interject.

  “I just got off the phone with a friend in Congress,” Martin said, steamrolling past her indignation. “New York City—specifically Manhattan—is about to be quarantined.”

  “Quarantined?” Edith asked after a brief pause, receiving a shocked look from a young staffer carrying a box of paper to the shredder down the hall. She smiled and nodded, recovering her composure as she ushered him on his way then continued down the hall.

  “You have to get out of there, Edith,” Martin urged, his voice clipped and about as nervous as the normally ebullient philanthropist ever got. “Now.”

  A door opened next to her, and she paused, forcing a smile for the overweight, sixty-year-old vice president of acquisitions who insisted on wearing suspenders instead of a belt. He wiped at his sweaty jowls with a silk handkerchief, smiling at her with his beady eyes, already trying to figure out what she was up to.

  “I’m afraid I don’t
understand, sir,” she said, moving around the VP with the contemplative look on his face and an unasked question on his lips. “The logistics alone—”

  Martin interrupted her. “The quarantine plan has been in place since 9-11—a stopgap measure against future biological or nuclear terrorism on a massive scale,” Martin replied. “At least from what I was told. Look, the military is already rolling, Edith.”

  “What?” she asked, her mouth not able to form all the questions that popped into her mind.

  “First,” Martin continued, “they’ll start closing off the tunnels and bridges as natural chokepoints. I’m sending you the details to your secured email. They’re about to shut down the airspace, too—a no-fly zone with shoot-down authorization. You’ve got to get out. I can’t guide us through this disaster without you, Edith.”

  “I’m flattered you think so, sir,” Edith said, feeling warmth creep up her neck. She turned toward her private office and swiped her hand against the featureless wall. A glowing panel inside the wall lit up as the chip embedded in her wrist activated the reader, one of the latest security measures employed by Martin, a lover of all things high-tech and an avowed futurist. Before she could pull her arm back, a door opened where once had been a solid wall. She stepped through, and it sealed behind her with a soft hiss.

  “I hardly think—” she began.

  “Edith, they’re shutting down all internet access and communications when the quarantine goes live.”

  “I’m in my office, sir,” she advised him. “I can’t believe this is happening...is this real? How long before the military is in position?”

  “I have no reason not to trust my source. If he said ‘an hour’ about 15 minutes ago, assume you have less than 45 minutes to evacuate. You need to get the HQ core and the Elixr sample out of there.”

  She slapped a button on the wall and an embedded monitor flickered to life, showing a concerned Desmond Martin. “Why do we need the Elixr sample?”

  “It’s the last viable dose from the first batch, the First Wave batch. The government has taken control of most of our production facilities already, and the few to which we still have access will be gone by breakfast, I guarantee it. They’re very well informed, our friends in dark suits.”

  “You think we have a leak?”

  Martin scoffed. “Oh, I guarantee it, Edith.”

  Edith nodded. “And the staff?” she asked, getting back on track.

  He hesitated, then nodded. “Warn them, try to convince them, tell them where our emergency supplies are…but you and the HQ computer core—and that sample—are top priority, do you understand?” He leaned toward the camera, his bloodshot eyes wide and the cords in his neck straining. “I can have a new HQ set up in hours, anywhere in the continental US. I can hire an entire new company’s worth of employees. I can’t do it without that core, and I can’t do it without you.”

  “And the sample?” she asked, removing the bracelet and necklace, her only jewelry accompanying her austere outfit.

  “I’ve been told by Jerry Mapp, that it’s our best shot at finding clues as to what the hell happened on release night. If we’re lucky, he’ll be able to track down who caused that fiasco as well.”

  She nodded once, a short, clipped movement. “I’ll make the arrangements.” She cocked her head, her mind leaping to steps beyond her next move. “I assume with surface streets blocked, water taxis will be bombarded with requests.” It wasn’t a question.

  Martin leaned back from the camera. “Good bet, yeah.” He waved a dismissive hand at the camera. “I’ve already sent your usual private jet to the VIP hangar at LaGuardia.” Martin picked up his phone and thumbed out a text. “If you can get there, I can get you out. The pilot has your number.”

  “I can arrange a helicopter pickup on the roof to get me to the airport,” Edith replied. “But where am I going? Shall I come to Beacon Point?” She moved over to her desk, a wide, monolithic slab of granite, severe and imposing. Pushing a flush-mounted button only a select few people knew existed, one side of the desk opened in silence, revealing a black, nondescript backpack. Soft blue LEDs cast a glow on the floor at Edith’s feet. It looked like water.

  “No,” Desmond said, exhaling. “It’s too hot here—I’m worried Washington is going to try something stupid.” He had a hand over his close cropped hair. “Dammit, the timing on this is terrible. We’re losing our best chance to stop this...whatever it is, before it spreads, because some asshole on Capitol Hill wants to get his fifteen minutes of fame by dragging me in to face a hearing.” He shook his head and turned his tired eyes on her once more. “I need you offsite for a little while longer in case things go even more sideways.”

  “Beacon Point was always supposed to be the last hope, sir,” Edith replied in even tones, hauling her gear out of the secret drawer and stacking it neatly on the desk. “You had me declare all our other facilities compromised in the wake of…after the explosion…”

  “After those bastards killed Norman, yeah.” Martin’s voice was low. He looked down at his hands, splayed out on his own desk. It was clear to Edith that he still grieved for his friend and partner, the scientific genius behind Elixr’s complicated gene-editing. “I don’t want you on the other side of the country, but you need to be far enough away that if someone with a three-letter acronym on their jacket gets trigger happy, you won’t be caught in the cross fire.”

  “Sir?” Edith asked as she tapped a command into her desk computer, ordering the HQ mainframe to disengage itself from the network and prepare for retrieval. She only had to go up one floor to Martin’s office to extract the physical core, and he’d made sure long ago that her wrist chip granted her access to his inner sanctum sanctorum. “I don’t think we have to worry about the government. Not like that, at least.”

  “Oh?” asked Martin.

  “I’ve been doing some digging of my own,” she replied, kicking off her pumps. “Whatever happened to screw up the release events, it was bigger than just a random act—someone financed and carried out attacks at every one of our facilities—all around the world, within a fifteen minute window.”

  Martin looked up, his eyes tired, but determination fueled him now. “There’s only a few groups out there that would have the money, the means, and the balls to pull something like that off...” he mused, rubbing his jaw in thought.

  Edith agreed. “Just because we haven’t heard anything or seen anything since London went dark last week doesn’t mean they’re not still out there.”

  Martin sighed. “We still don’t know what the hell is going on there. The Brits have closed up tight and aren’t letting anyone in. According to my sources in Washington, that is.”

  “Is it possible your sources have been exposed?”

  Martin grunted. “In that cesspool? Always a possibility. But you’d think by now someone would have leaked something!”

  “I can set up shop anywhere there’s a power supply,” Edith said, seeing the hand writing on the wall. She may have grown up a country girl, but she’d been groomed by the CIA after college. She could spot patterns and see where events were leading better than most, which was one of the main reasons Martin had recruited her from Langley seven years ago. From the reports she’d read in the past couple days, she wasn’t convinced they were on the cusp of the apocalypse, but the shitstorm bearing down on them warranted at least a modicum of respect. “My family has a farm in—”

  “That’s perfect,” he said, holding up a hand to stop her. “Give me the details when you land. Carte blanche, Edith. Set up whatever you need, get the tools, anything. Just get it now. I don’t know how long my credit will hold up—or how long the vendors will. Okay?”

  “Of course, sir. I’ll make a list and start procurement operations in the air.”

  “Edith, enough with the ‘sir’ bullshit,” Martin said, his voice stern, with a lopsided grin on his face. “If my hunch is correct, things will get a lot worse before they get better. We need to focus all
our energies on finding a cure and undoing all this mess, not adhering to protocol.”

  “Okay…Desmond,” she said, pausing with her hand on the backpack. It felt weird to say his first name after seven years of calling him ‘sir.’ She squared her shoulders. Standing around talking with the boss would not get the backup HQ established any sooner. “I need to—“

  “And one more thing, Edith,” Martin said, staring straight at her, his eyes hard and his face rigid. “I need you to activate Centurion.”

  Edith swallowed. Centurion. Code name for a group of the most dangerous men she’d ever known—and as former CIA, that was saying something. A chill ran down her spine like little frozen mouse feet, leaving cold, rippling gooseflesh in their wake.

  In seven years with Martin Enterprises, she’d heard stories about the mercenaries he’d hired in the unwashed parts of the world to do the dirty work that had to be done to pave the future in glitter and gold. The work that no one wanted to think about—like dealing with petty dictators holding onto precious mineral deposits for the sake of simple-minded extortion, ignorant the hindrance they created for the advancement of the human species. There had been stories and rumors, but no matter how bad things seemed, Martin’s group of special forces cast-offs turned mercenaries had never failed.

  Martin prided himself on being able to talk or bribe his way out of any situation. But sometimes you just needed a big stick smash your way through a roadblock. Centurion was the biggest stick in his arsenal. Martin’s own nuclear option.