Catalyst (Book 3): Ghost Country Read online

  For once, he was thankful for the rickety condition of the house. The spaces between the loose-fitting flooring used to let in the cold air in the winters, the insects in the summer. Now it allowed him to locate where everyone was standing up above. Four men and one woman. He prayed again, this time for the good Lord to shield his aunt from what came next.

  He pointed the gun straight up between the shoes of the man closest to his aunt and pulled the trigger. He heard the man get hit, released the trigger and moved to the next position repeating the process. Three bodies had hit the floor when he heard the front door slam and saw legs running down the steps. He fired at the legs and that man fell as well. Blood was spilling between all of the boards now. The pain hit him as he realized he’d been shot as well.

  He thought it was mostly a fair exchange... at least they wouldn’t go to the camps. The smell of breakfast cooking and memories of his aunt shooing him and his brother out of the kitchen made him smile. Then darkness came.

  Chapter Three

  Harris Springs, Mississippi

  “It’s really beautiful down here, Scott. Thank you and your friends for making me feel welcome.”

  The two friends had only had a few chances to talk one-on-one and rarely to speak privately since Tahir had arrived.

  “No problem, man, just glad you made it out of there. Sounds like it was getting a bit hairy.”

  Tahir gave a sad shrug. “Bad everywhere, but yes, DC was very bad.”

  “Tahir, I am sorry about your family.”

  “Thank you, Scott, that means a lot.” The pained look spoke volumes. “You know, I was not an easy child for them to raise. I put them through a lot over the years. I regret that now, but I think they were proud of me…at least in the end.”

  Scott only knew parts of Tahir’s story but realized, with his intellect and curiosity, staying out of trouble had likely not been easy. “I am sure they were, friend. You’re a good man, Tahir.” Scott sat and leaned back on the grass. “Tell me what you think we are up against. Not the disease…you know, Catalyst.”

  Tahir looked at Scott and said, “I think we are likely facing extinction.”

  Scott took an involuntary step back. “No, no, don’t beat around the bush, dude, just tell me what you really think.”

  They both gave a chuckle that was totally absent of mirth.

  Scott looked at his friend, “This is about the other thing you mentioned when you were landing?”

  “Yes, sadly so. You read the docs. Those idiots put that whole plan in play within hours of the CME.”

  Scott shook his head, “Who are ‘they?’”

  Tahir gave one of his trademark shrugs as a non-answer. “I have some ideas, but I could only track it so far. A couple of families coming from old money—lots of old money. The closest I came was a scan of a document in the Library of Congress’ confidential archives. It mentioned a Council that was instrumental in helping shape the country during the mid-1800s. One of the men was named Church, the head was named Levi, and it included others named Warren and Pratt. After considerable digging, I came to the conclusion that these were simply cover names. No one in this group used real names.”

  Scott thought back to his former enemy, now friend, the Praetor commander called Skybox. He thought about the lack of names used throughout Praetor. “Did this group become the Praetor forces?”

  “Not exactly, no. But, they are connected. Praetor, or the Guard, is the modern Praetorian Guard which grew from a covert CIA paramilitary group formed around 2001, primarily to go after Bin Laden. They separated from the official government sanction a few years later and indirectly fell under the control of…well, they have no name. Let’s call them the ‘Shadow Council.’ It appears this group is still made up of the same number of people, and whoever they are, they are still using many of the same familial names, although the spellings have changed over time.”

  Scott stopped his friend, “But it can’t be the same people. Who is this Shadow Council made up of now?”

  “That is a question with no answer. I dug deep to find any clue and came up empty. You know how much I love a puzzle, and this one was a doozy. I broke into every computer system that I didn’t already have access to and came up empty. What I did find was those files, the Catalyst docs. I did come to the same conclusion that Sentinel did. These people have been running this country for a very long time. Probably other countries as well. Money is no object to them – they print the money. They own the banks, they own the politicians. When they got Praetor – they essentially owned the military.”

  Scott knew that the elite members of Praetor were embedded into units of every military branch as well as in the command structure. “Tahir, you’ve talked with Skybox. I’ve run into other members of Praetor. They aren’t the friendliest of people, but they aren’t out to destroy the country.” He thought back to his conversations with Skybox about the mission of his organization.

  Tahir quickly answered, “My friend, you won’t find any un-American sentiment with Praetor or the Council. They believe they are doing what is best for the country. They all think they are patriots. Maybe they are, but what they are doing goes far beyond what was in those documents we read.”

  “Like what?”

  “Genetic engineering, or more accurately, genetic editing. They are working on something called forced evolution,” Tahir stated. “I am no expert like your girlfriend, but I do know that evolution is not always a straight line. There are ups and downs, twists and turns. DNA doesn’t have the secret destination in its arsenal. Instead, it tries different combinations to see which adaptation works the best. This is normally a slow process making incremental steps over thousands of years.

  “Now, though, using a tool called CRISPR, they were able to quickly snip the DNA code and splice in something totally new just to see what happens. Like you and I trying out a new bit of software code to see if it fixes a problem or improves the program. With CRISPR, they can quickly and cheaply engineer biologic vectors to introduce this new code into a host to see what will happen. The DNA doesn’t even need to come from other humans, they could get it from anything. The goal must be to make the hosts, humans, into something else—something better.”

  “Huh?” Scott mindlessly scratched at some flaking rust on a railing as he thought. He knew Gia had referred to CRISPR, and Tahir had mentioned some of this earlier, but it still hadn’t connected in his brain. “They are making monsters, Tahir―this Chimera virus is not creating better humans, it’s killing them—killing…us.”

  Tahir nodded in agreement, “Yes, my friend. Homo Sapiens’ days are numbered, and what comes next is the real question, Scott.”

  “So, how bad is it…the pandemic, I mean?” Tahir avoided eye contact, something Scott was beginning to realize must be a coping mechanism his friend used when discussing sensitive topics with people.

  “Scott, it is very bad, very bad indeed. The Navy’s operation to bring Americans home has sped up the infection by months if not years.”

  “Homefront.” Scott said with a gloomy sigh. That was what Lt. Garret and his father had mentioned to them months ago. He rubbed the bridge of his nose. “They didn’t know…”

  Tahir cut him off, “They were stupid, Scott. They let their patriotic duty overrule common sense. They wanted their soldiers home to their families, and by doing so—they doomed us all. You said your friend, the super-soldier, saw what the virus did to people. The good doctor says there is no cure. I barely got out of DC before the city was overrun.”

  His friend’s voice was pitching noticeably higher as the memories and emotions took over. Scott knew Tahir had lost everyone after the collapse; coming to Harris Springs had been a ‘Hail Mary’ pass. “Any idea who it was defending the capital? You said jets were making bombing runs on the ships as they ran aground in Baltimore.”

  Tahir pondered this, his lightning fast brain retaking control from his erratic emotions. “The jets were small, unmanned, I would
say. UAVs, so that is likely the Guard, what you call Praetor. They have those, but we must assume the president’s National Security Force may have them as well.”

  “The NSF. His radio contact, Sentinel, had mentioned them before, too. Do you think the Navy may have deliberately done this?”

  Tahir thought again on Scott’s question. “That would be an interesting theory. Using the infected like a weapon. Unleashing them on Washington to bring down Chambers’ presidency.” He tapped his lip with a forefinger as he paced the room. “I don’t think so…that would give the Naval leadership way more credit than they deserve. Just not that smart to plan something like that, and even they would know there was no way to control the weapon once unleashed. So, no, this was not planned.”

  Scott nodded in agreement, “Just thinking out loud, considering all possibilities. You saw the infection spread rates from the Middle East and Europe. How long before the infection reaches here?”

  “My guess would be six months, but Doctor Colton would probably have a more accurate number. A lot will depend on the number of living hosts it finds between here and DC. Also, we don’t know if those ships only landed in Baltimore. If they were headed to other ports on the Eastern Seaboard like Charleston or Jacksonville, well, we could be seeing them here much faster.”

  “How do we know they will come west?”

  “The infection spread pattern appears pretty standard to me. Not unlike the flu, it will radiate in all directions from the initial area. Where it finds more hosts, it spreads faster. Before the CME, 60% of Americans lived east of the Mississippi River. That number was around 180 million. The statistical mortality rate since then is well known. Just about everywhere, the national average has been about 85% death rate. You guys here did much better than that, large cities faired much worse. That leaves around 27 million people alive, spread out over the twenty-six easternmost states. That is still a very large number, but due to the overall landmass, the density is not so great. Assuming Gia is right, and the virus is not being spread by non-human animals, I think six months is about right.”

  “We can’t stop this, we can’t prepare for it even—it’s coming,” Scott said.

  “There is one thing we can do, Scott.”

  Scott looked at his friend curiously.

  “We can leave.”

  Chapter Four

  Jack’s mouth hung in a lopsided grin.

  “What’s your point?” Scott asked.

  “Brother, I am just trying to get you to realize the obvious.” The man went on, “You are it, if this town…shit!” he said, remembering the obvious, “…this ship has any chance to survive all this, it will be because of you.”

  Scott shook his head, “Sorry, Preacher.”

  Jack cut him off, “Not a preacher, not anymore.” His eyes fell as he said it. “Scott, look, this, this…” he struggled again to find a right word, “…situation we are in just keeps getting worse. We may have survived the blackout, but then came the gangs, then came the crazies, and now, apparently, comes an epidemic. We can’t keep fighting this shit off forever. We have to get ahead of the next crisis, so we can get busy growing food, getting our shit together and hopefully making a life. To do that, we need some long-term strategy. We need your kinda’ smarts.”

  “We need more than that, Jack. We need luck.”

  “I don’t disagree there.”

  They both wandered down the crackled and crumbling pavement that had been the main street of Harris Springs. The old courthouse was falling in on itself, one more victim of the hurricane several months earlier.

  “I hate seeing the old town like this, we should clean it up. Maybe rebuild what we can.”

  Jack stopped, kneeling to inspect the battered end of an old sign in the road. “Scott, this town is broken, we can’t get it back. Shit, we’re nearly too damn broken ourselves. We can’t save the town, as much as we loved it. It was never more than bricks and boards. What mattered…what made it a town, was the people. Those are all that matter.”

  Scott nodded in agonizing realization. “I know.”

  Jack flipped the sign over and gave a stiff laugh. “Shirley’s.”

  The nearly unrecognizable sign once hung outside the coffee shop where the two friends had first met that fateful morning. “God, that seems so long ago now,” Scott said thinking of the shared memory.

  “Scott, do you realize that we are all still here mostly because of the choices we made back then? That first week? Do you understand how much better off we are than most?”

  They walked a bit farther, Scott nodding his head in understanding. “So, where do we go from here?”

  Jack shrugged, “I’m not sure, Brother. That is going to be up to you. I’m lost, sadly, so is our friend, Todd. Those of us who aren’t lost are damaged or just too exhausted. You are the only one of us who has really grown―you continue to overcome and adapt. Don’t get me wrong, man, you have been through hell, too, but you seem to be able to let go of the past and do what is needed.”

  Scott looked out at the sea, sparkling in the late afternoon sun. Indeed, he’d reunited with his brother and even found the love of his life in the midst of all this. Now, he just wanted to hold onto her and the happiness she brought him.

  Jack laid a hand on his shoulder. “Todd asked you to lead this town back then, after Liz…” he faded off momentarily, “…and you did.”

  “I didn’t do it alone, Jack. I had you and Bartos and…”

  “You still do, Scott, you aren’t alone. Bartos is still a little damaged in the head, but hell, you barely notice another level of crazy with that guy. In addition, you have Angel, Roosevelt. Not to mention DeVonte and Tahir. Use them to help you.”

  “What about you, Jack?” He knew how hard it had been for Jack. Possibly worse for him than anyone. He seemed to have lost his faith and his willingness to guide or teach with that single act of ending the Messengers’ murdering plans.

  “I’ll be around, Scott, but not like before. I’m sorry, but I just can’t.” Jack sat down heavily on the steps leading up to a building that was no longer there. “I’m no use to anyone like this. I just no longer have the fire or the fight in me. Thought I might go and check on some of the other survivor colonies, see how many of them made it through the storm. Maybe, in time, we can even get a little trade re-established.”

  They both knew how unlikely that was. They barely had enough to get by on these days much less any excess to trade. When the Messengers had descended on the AG, they had not just focused on the group sheltering in the Aquatic Goddess. Unknown to those fighting on the ship, others had been raiding farms, taking supplies and killing many of the people who hadn’t taken refuge in the cruise ship. They’d even managed to loot what was left in the old hidden freight train they’d been using for emergency storage.

  “We got lots of old cars,” Jack said smiling.

  “True. No gas to speak of, though. At least none that’s any good in any of ‘em,” answered Scott.

  “You’ll figure something out, Scott. You always do.”

  “Alright, Jack. I need to head back―Gia is coming back tonight. You coming?”

  “Nah, I think I’m just going to sit here a bit, Scott. You go on. I’ll catch up later.”

  Scott could see his brother was about to lose his shit. “Bobby, listen—I get it. They are your friends, and we need to help.”

  “Scott, shit, man. They saved my life.”

  The paper he held up was a radio message he had received about his friends. Bobby had left his handheld radio unit with them when his daughter, Kaylie, and Bartos had made a reckless, but brave, trip to rescue him from the grip of the Messengers months earlier. “They were checking in pretty frequent, then nothing—until this.”

  Scott took the crumpled yellow paper and read it for himself. He let out a long breath. “So, they have cleared out Jackson now.” It was a statement, not a question.

  Bobby nodded.

  Scott handed it back.
“Doesn’t even indicate who this is from, just that they need help.”

  “Has to be one of ‘em, no one else would know what day and channel to use.”

  Scott didn’t like this, any of it. “I guess that pretty much confirms what Sentinel told us.” Sentinel was a seemingly well-connected member of the Patriot radio network, an ad-hoc collection of preppers, militia and actual military that had formed in the wake of the global blackout. The network ran on ham radios and was a useful back channel to pass information along. The man had told them some alarming news a few weeks earlier.

  The US military operating on American soil was unbelievable, not to mention unlawful, but so was the illegal capture and detainment of American citizens. Much of the military leadership had been declared warlords or rogue commanders. Huge bounties for the capture or killing of these commanders were being offered by President Chambers’ administration. Sentinel had also told them to expect this. Most larger farms were being occupied, and entire towns were now being cleared for the remaining supplies and for conscription into the labor camps. Apparently, the town of Jackson, Mississippi, just 170 miles to the north, had been the latest to fall.

  Sentinel’s connections in the military had passed along some information. It was widely known that the government had set-up so-called Aid Camps that were, in fact, forced labor farms. The Army had been getting increasingly aggressive about shutting them down and liberating the civilians in outright defiance of a presidential order. Everyone suspected the camps were simply designed to grow food for the chosen people under government protection. Military commanders from all branches were increasingly disobeying orders and even engaging some of the paramilitary troops that the government was using, the National Security Force, or NSF.

  “This shit is heating up fast, Scott. Jackson was big, it was a town of 170 thousand.”