The Last Five Days: The Complete Novel: A Post-Apocalyptic Thriller (13 page)

Georgie sniffed Melanie. His breath rolled up her neck. The smell of stale coffee and cheese latched on to Melanie's nostrils. She closed her eyes and dry-heaved. Georgie's tongue darted out his mouth, striking Melanie's flesh. The sensation of a snail crawling on her was too much. Melanie shoved Georgie to the floor. Brandon laughed.

"What's wrong, Melanie? You're not into fat Dungeons and Dragons nerds?" Brandon asked.

Winston studied Georgie’s face for any signs of rage.

Brandon noticed Winston eying Georgie. He raised the shotgun. "No funny business, Winston, or I'll decorate the floor with your insides."

"I get it," Georgie said, getting to his knees. "You want to see my freaky side." He reached into his back pocket and pulled out the clown mask he took when they raided Melanie's house. "I didn't know you were into the kinky stuff." Georgie straightened out the face on the mask and placed it over his head. It was too small, leaving his chin, which was covered with stubble and pieces of food, exposed. "I pictured you more of the quiet type."

Terror wrapped itself around Melanie's throat like a blood-thirsty killer. Tears formed. She blinked fast, fighting them off.

"Getting excited?" Georgie asked.

"Leave her alone, Georgie," Winston said.

"Or what, Winston?" Brandon asked. "Are you going to be her knight in shining armor? What would Marianna think about that?" Brandon smiled. "Where is Marianna? I always thought she was too good for you."

"She's dead," Winston said.

"That's a shame. You know, in high school, I almost got the stinky pinky with her." Brandon held up his pinky. A noise down the hall drew his attention away from the conversation. "What's that?" He stood up and peered down the hallway. Another knock. "Did you lie to me, Winston?"

"She's dead," Winston said again with no emotion.

Brandon laughed. "You've got your zombie wife locked up in your bedroom?"

Georgie stretched the clown mask over his chin and crawled towards Melanie. She pushed herself back as far as she could into the cushions of the love seat.

"Don't be afraid of the clown. Clowns bring happiness." Georgie's words were barely audible through the rubber material.

Melanie reached behind the lamp on the end table. She’d placed a butcher knife on the table before going to be bed. She wasn't scared. She was mad. Mad that everyone viewed her as a fragile flower. That was why Dean and his partner approached her that night in New York. That was why Georgie was messing with her. She was weak. What could she do about it? Melanie was about to show the world what she could do about it. She cried and begged Georgie to leave her alone. He placed his hands on her knees. His tongue darted through the small opening in the mask like a snake searching for a kill. Georgie licked Melanie's knee.

"Stop it, Georgie," Winston said.

Brandon placed the barrel of the shotgun on Winston's chest and pushed him back. "He's just having a little fun."

Melanie's hand found the handle of the knife without grabbing anyone's attention. She gripped it so tight that her fingertips tingled. Rage took over. Not the kind brought upon by the sickness, but the rage of being treated as an easy target. Georgie pulled himself up until he was face to face with Melanie. His rotten breath mixed with the smell of rubber made Melanie's throat burn. She closed her eyes and fought the urge to vomit. George brushed the mask against her face. The rubber pulled her skin as Georgie whispered in her ear.

"You're going to taste so good."

With every ounce of her strength, Melanie plunged the knife into Georgie's neck. She screamed as Georgie's blood spewed liked a broken fire hydrant, coating her. Brandon turned away from Winston. The distraction gave Fisher enough time to grab Winston's Colt. He aimed at Brandon. Kenneth ran back into the living room from the kitchen.

"What the hell is going on?"

"Drop your gun or I'll kill your brother," Fisher said.

Brandon laughed. "Holy shit, Melanie Carpenter, how long has that been building up?"

Melanie pushed Georgie off of her. His limp body collided with the wooden floor, creating a sickening thud.

Unsure what to do, Kenneth aimed the revolver at Fisher. Brandon raised the shotgun to Winston.

"Well, this is a predicament, isn't it?" Brandon asked.

No one responded.

"Your group kills one of ours. The only fair thing to do now is to kill one of yours?"

"I swear I will put a bullet through your brother's head if you don't drop the gun," Fisher said.

Brandon laughed again. "Settle down, Tubby. If you shoot me, you die. And then Winston dies. Then Melanie. You don't want that. Let's solve this problem like rational human beings."

"Everyone put the guns down," Winston said.

"You'd like that, wouldn't you? Then the knife-wielder could have a free shot." Brandon turned to Melanie. "I have to say I'm impressed. I mean, I'll miss Georgie, but only for comedic relief."

"Let's get back to the standoff. I've got things to do today," Winston said.

Brandon smiled. "Oh yeah? What's so important? There's not much happening out there." Brandon pointed the shotgun at the window. "It's pretty dead."

Winston laughed. "Good one."

"All right, enough small talk. Who should I shoot, Winston?" Brandon asked. "I was thinking Melanie was your weak link, but after watching her skewer Georgie, I have my doubts. Tubby probably has diabetes or maybe a heart condition. He could keel over any minute." Brandon grabbed Melanie's arm and pulled her to the floor. "I'm thinking this one."

For a moment, Winston thought about lunging at Brandon. Calmness prevailed. He ignored Brandon and turned his attention to Kenneth. "Speaking of weak links, tell me, Kenneth, how does it feel to be the submissive twin?"

"What are you trying to do, Winston?" Brandon asked.

"I'm simply asking your brother a question. Can you give him permission to speak?"

"I don't need no one's permission to do anything," Kenneth said as blood trickled from his nose to his top lip. He swiped at it with his tongue.

Winston laughed.

"Shut up, Winston," Brandon said, letting Melanie's arm go. He aimed the shotgun at Winston.

"Really, Kenneth, how about that scar on your chin?"

Kenneth took one hand from the gun and rubbed the three-inch scar on his chin.

"Brandon said he beat your ass," Winston said.

"Shut the fuck up, Winston. I know what you're trying to do." Brandon hit Winston in the head with the barrel of the shotgun.

Kenneth pointed the pistol at his brother. "Back away, Brandon. Let him talk."

Brandon aimed the shotgun at Kenneth. "Shoot the fat one."

"See, Kenneth, always trying to tell you what to do," Winston said, rubbing the side of his head.

"I didn't get this scar from you beating my ass. You sucker-punched me," Kenneth said.

"Sucker punch? Bullshit. I beat your ass, and I'll do it again if you don't do as I say. Shoot the fat bastard."

"No. Maybe I should shoot you. You don't tell me what to do, Brandon," Kenneth said.

"You really would shoot me? Your twin bro..."

Georgie rose from death's clutches and lunged at Brandon, sinking his teeth into Brandon's leg. He gnawed at Brandon's flesh through the clown mask.

"Oh, fuck," Kenneth said. He fired a bullet into Georgie, but it didn't stop him.

Brandon slammed the butt of the rifle into Georgie's head over and over until Georgie stopped moving. The damage was done. Brandon's lower left leg was shredded.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," Kenneth said.

Without hesitation, Fisher aimed and fired at Brandon. The bullet caught the right side of his face, sending flesh and blood through the air. Winston grabbed the shotgun as it fell to the floor. Winston didn't have any time to think. Instinct took over. Kenneth aimed at Fisher. Winston fired before Kenneth got a shot off. The kick flung Winston back onto the couch. The force slammed Kenneth into wall. Fisher stood up and put a bullet in Kenneth's head.

After a few moments of silence, Fisher said, "You really should think about getting a better alarm clock."

* * *

"
Y
ou OK
, kid?" Jones asked, placing his hand on Richie's shoulder.

Richie didn't recall how long he had been swirling his spoon around the lukewarm canned soup. The headache started shortly after he got out of bed. Richie attributed it to another sleepless night. But as the day went on, the headache grew worse. Subtle waves of nausea turned in his belly. Richie never liked vegetable soup. It was the celery. Just the thought of the taste made him want to hover over the trash can. Richie learned to deal with the little nuisances that came with the insomnia. Nausea wasn't a stranger. Neither were headaches. But this felt different.

"Kid?"

Richie stopped swirling the soup. "Yeah, sorry. I was just thinking."

"About what you did in a past life to get thrown into this shit show? Yeah, me too." Jones tasted the soup and exhaled. "Sent to save the world and can't even get a decent meal."

"Why would they do this? Bob is smart. He had to know that this wasn't going to work?"

"Kid, I don't think Bob is any different from us at the moment. He's a worker bee. Hendricks is the queen."

"But he caused this."

"Oh, don't get me wrong. Bob is a high-ranking turd, but he's been demoted."

"We're never going to get a straight story about what they used to make this virus. Without that, there is no way we can find a cure."

Jones nodded. "Probably not."

"So why are we here?"

"You're here because Hendricks is trying to pacify the government," Salk said, taking a seat next to Richie. "They've given him a deadline to get this under control or they are going to step in. If that happens, it's the end of ARMA."

"So why don't we just sit back and watch Hendricks get what he deserves?" Jones asked.

"Because as of now, he still has control. He can do whatever he wants. He can shoot you like he did Fisher or worse."

"What's worse than that?" Richie asked.

"Tom ordered a Huey to be shot down after it put out fires in Black Dog."

"The psychopath is murdering his own employees?" Jones asked.

"The only thing Tom cares about is Judas," Salk said.

"Here's one thing I don't get," Richie said. "Judas isn't airborne, right? Why bother with putting out the fires? It only spreads through human to human contact, right?"

Salk didn't answer. His flesh paled as if he had seen a ghost. Hendricks walked into the mess hall with Dr. Carolyn Swann.

"Is that Swann?" Jones asked.

"Yeah," Salk paused. "And she's supposed to be dead."

"Gentlemen, I take it you all know Dr. Swann." Hendricks pulled out a chair for Swann. "She's joining the team today."

"Funny, I thought you were dead," Salk said.

Swann looked at Hendricks. "Dead? Locked in a jail cell for two weeks? What's the difference?"

"Listen, I've done things none of you will agree with, but everything I've done has been for the advancement of peace," Hendricks said.

Jones laughed. "Do you know the meaning of peace? Creating an unstable virus with the goal of turning people against each other is not the definition of peace."

"It's the definition of annihilation," Richie said.

"I'm not here to debate Judas. Neither are you. We must find a semblance of a cure."

"To get the government off your back?" Jones said. "Yeah, Bob told us you're about to be grounded by Daddy."

"That's not going to happen. I've sacrificed everything to ensure that ARMA succeeds. This experiment is not going to derail that."

"Do you even hear yourself? This wasn't an experiment. It was genocide. The blood of Black Dog is on your hands."

Hendricks smiled. "And you are the soap that's going to wash my hands clean."

"And what if we don't?" Richie asked.

"If ARMA dies, you die." Hendricks stood up. "Now, if you will excuse me, you've got work to do." Hendricks walked away and stopped at the door. He turned back. "Your lives depend on it."

"That guy is the Mount Everest of assholes," Jones said.

"But he is no liar," Swann said. "He will kill every one of us if we don't find a way to appease the government."

Salk turned to Swann. "What did he have you working on?"

Swann hesitated. "I developed a mutation of the virus that made airborne transmission possible."

"You're telling me this thing you infected that town with is airborne?" Richie asked.

Jones lowered his head. "How can brilliant people be so fucking stupid?"

"Tom said he wasn't going to use the airborne mutation," Swann said.

"This was never meant to be airborne. Tom knew the dangers," Salk said.

Jones got up and dumped his tray into a trash can. "Yeah, well, it looks like the prick is a liar after all."

Richie stood up. Dizziness punched the side of his head, sending the room into a downward spiral. He reached for the table, but his depth perception was off. Richie slammed face first into the table and crumbled to the ground before going into convulsions.