Slow Burn

By Mike Fosen

Police work is never routine; domestics, gang violence... flesh craving zombies!?

For decades the Mexican drug cartels looked at the United States of America as a business partner. The cartels supplied the drugs, and the millions of American addicts supplied them with an endless amount of money. But when the War on Drugs heats up and the money alone is not enough, the cartels decided to up the ante. With the help of a ruthless Russian mercenary, they unleashed a lethal bio-weapon, initially conceived during the Cold War to quickly bring the West to her knees. Skillfully deployed, the virus initially worked as designed. What started as a slow burn soon spread at an expediential rate, decimating the host population. Finally powerful enough conquer a stricken nation, the cartel stood ready to move in and enslave the surviving population. But unknown to their leaders, the virus had a small side effect. The infected victims refused to stay dead, and had an agenda all of their own.

For two veteran police officers and their small group of friends, the first day of the outbreak starts out like any other. Random fights and car accidents keep them busy, that is until they are confronted with a new and unexpected enemy. Each one of them is forced to confront the unthinkable. Zombies were real, and craving the living with an insatiable appetite.

Against the full specter of a society crumbling around them, and the dead stalking the living in the streets, it will take all of their skill, knowledge and courage to survive. They see terrifying news broadcasts and learn of hastily constructed refugee camps and an overmatched military stretched to the limit. Yet, amongst all of this, they still face enemies among the living as well. Armed gangs free to roam the streets. Powerful men who want to play politics with peoples lives, and wolves in sheeps clothing. Together, the group faces an uncertain future as they struggle against relentless enemies, living and dead, in a devastated America.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Permuted
• Release date: Sep 10, 2013
• ISBN: 9781618681119

Book preview

Prologue

May 27, 1989

Koltsovo, USSR

Aleksey Volkov swore as his small Oka automobile hit another pothole, spilling coffee all over his lap. The heavy rain made it difficult to navigate the crumbling streets at that time of night.

The roads have gotten worse, he thought in dismay as he swerved around yet another large crater in the road. My country is falling apart before my very eyes.

Hell, his car was an example of that as well. In America, the scientists were rich and owned Cadillacs while he drove this piece of shit. If the Soviets could not afford to fix their roads and pay their brightest people as the Americans did, how could they possibly compete?

Aleksey was driving too fast, and he knew it. He had been passing vehicle after vehicle in the unsafe conditions and nearly clipped a pedestrian a few miles back. However, when you are awoken by your boss at three in the morning and are greeted by a terrified voice telling you there has been an incident and you need to report in immediately, you move quickly. Especially when you work for the Vector Institute, and you have been assisting your boss on a top secret biological weapons program for the military.

This isn’t good! Aleksey had told his wife after hanging up the phone to get dressed. I’ve never heard him like this, it’s gotta be bad.

As he passed the edge of town and the large concrete building he worked in came into view, Aleksey again grimaced in disgust. My people rarely build anything beautiful, he said aloud. The buildings are always massive and dreary looking."

The Vector Institute, where he worked as a research scientist, was the Soviet equivalent of both the U.S. Center for Disease Control and Army Biological Weapons Center. It had state of the art research facilities and capabilities for all levels of biological hazard and CDC Levels 1-4. It was also one of two official repositories for the now-eradicated smallpox virus.

Aleksey and his boss, Dr. Ulyanov, had been working on the Marburg Virus, named after a town in Germany which suffered an outbreak in 1967. With effects similar to the Ebola Virus, it was a terrifying sickness that quickly consumed the body. The symptoms included jaundice, rapid weight loss, delirium, and multiple organ failure. External hemorrhaging from body orifices, including the sweat glands, was also common and terrifying to watch. The disease was contagious and transmitted by saliva and other bodily fluids.

During the brief conversation, Dr. Ulyanov mumbled something about injecting pigs and an accident, which made Aleksey fear the worst.

He must have accidently infected himself, Aleksey first thought, and if that’s true, this project is finished. To be so careless with such a dangerous virus strain is inexcusable. The KGB investigation will end me as well.

As he pulled into the parking lot it appeared that his assumptions might be correct. Several large armored personnel carriers were parked in front of the main entrance. As Aleksey parked and hastily exited his vehicle, he grimaced from the rain and cold; he hadn’t dressed properly for the weather in his rush out the door. He cursed the Motherland. The end of May and it’s still fucking freezing!

Several soldiers, complete with gas masks, bio gear, and assault rifles at the ready, were standing guard at the doorway and gripped their weapons tightly as Aleksey approached. Aleksey was certain the gas masks were overkill; the facility had state of the art safeguards against exposure to the outside.

We have so much lethal shit stored here, he reminded himself under his breath, that if any of it ever got out, it would kill us all.

This area is off limits! the larger soldier in the group commanded, interrupting Aleksey’s train of thought. Nobody gets in without permission!

Aleksey disdained the dumb conscripts that made up the bulk of the military, and he merely flashed his credentials as he tried to push past the guards into the building and out of the rain.

The next thing Aleksey felt was the wooden stock of the largest guard’s rifle across his jaw followed by a hard landing on the concrete sidewalk. He could taste the blood coming from his mouth as it mixed with the cool water on the sidewalk, and Aleksey had to turn his head to the side to avoid drowning in a small puddle of water that had pooled on the sidewalk. He now felt the large soldier’s heavy boot on his back, making it even harder to breathe. His night had just gone from bad to worse.

Look at that little worm, another guard laughed while kicking Aleksey violently in his ribcage. Just who does he think he is?

I’m Aleksey Volkov, he gasped, winching in pain. Get me to your superior officer; this is a matter of national security.

They better know who you are up there, little man, the guard threatened, his voice muffled by the gas mask, or I’ll shoot you myself.

Aleksey had a few threats of his own he wanted to shoot back, but kept his mouth shut and tried to catch his breath instead.

Fifteen minutes later Aleksey sat at a table in his office holding a towel to his busted lip. A couple of his teeth felt loose.

I hope they don’t need to be pulled,’ he thought in dismay. The dentist in this town was worse at his job than the men who fixed the roads.

In the chair where his boss would normally sit was a large Colonel who looked like he had been up all night as well, and was not very happy about it.

Well, it looks like your work has paid off, the Colonel said wearily.

But not for Dr. Ulyanov, Aleksey replied smartly.

He got careless, the Colonel said. He infected himself while injecting some pigs for a test, but the results are most impressive. I will spare you the details, but he is already dead. You are now the senior man on this project, comrade, and we want to see this through. You will examine Dr. Ulyanov’s body, isolate this new strain, and continue with his work.

This caught Aleksey off guard. Perhaps they were so impressed with the results that they had overlooked Aleksey’s misappropriation of funds to supplement his meager existence. The Colonel then pulled a journal from a drawer and dropped it on the desk. It was sealed in heavy plastic, and as Aleksey picked it up, he could see it had belonged to his former boss and was covered in star-shaped blood droplets.

Be careful with that, the Colonel said. He was sweating blood when we arrived and left quite a mess. The lower level is still under quarantine but should be cleared by morning. I’m sure there will be something of use in that journal, however.

Aleksey couldn’t believe his luck. They needed him, wanted him, and that for once made him an important man.

I’ll need a new assistant, and a raise.

The Colonel scowled in response. Not going to happen. There are cutbacks everywhere right now. There’s only so much to go around and you’re lucky to still be in business after this mess. But you will finish this; it’s a matter of national security.

And if I refuse? Aleksey asked, already knowing the most likely answer.

I hand you back over to my men outside, and the world never finds out about any of this, the Colonel answered coldly.

Aleksey believed him.

1

Present Day

August 18

Matamoros, Mexico

Capt. Matvei Volkov was still trying to put to rest the feeling of dread that had been creeping into his gut. Everything had just been business up to this point, and Matvei had made his life's business one of warfare and killing. Now face to face with the end result of his plan, the horror he was about to unleash on all of humanity was finally sinking in.

There is no longer any turning back, Matvei said to the guard standing next to him. It is now just a matter of time, and our world will never be the same again.

At 6’2", 225lbs, and dressed in his usual Russian Para Brown VSR camouflage uniform, Matvei was an imposing figure. He was also a hard man who had seen and done things in his past that would have broken most others. Even past actions he was not proud of failed to hang on his conscience for long.

The past is the past was a motto that Matvei lived by. You can’t change it so why worry about it?

Hardened by battle, Matvei learned to never second guess himself in the field, as hesitation often meant death. Now, as he watched several families loaded into trucks for the drive north, he reminded himself of his own motto. Mothers were carefully handing off their small children to outstretched arms in the back of the trailers before being lifted in themselves. Dozens of trucks had already left while the rest were loading their human cargo now.

Man up, you fucking pussy, Matvei muttered to himself. It is done.

Matvei fished a cigarette from the pack in his breast pocket and lit it with his lighter, exhaling a long smooth drag. His right hand reached for and instinctually came to rest on the butt of his holstered HK USP .45 while he smoked the cigarette with the other. Both the heavy weight of the loaded pistol and calming effect of the cigarette smoke gave him solace as he reflected briefly on the many events in his life that had led him to this place and time.

Born in Koltsovo, Novosibirsk Oblast, Russia, to poor parents who worked in a large armament factory, Matvei entered the Army after the war in Afghanistan had wound down. He was a natural soldier who craved action and a born leader who commanded respect by his mere presence. Matvei got a commission as a Lieutenant and fought in the first Chechen war with the Russian Army around the capital city of Grozny from December 1994 to February 1995 and then again during the second conflict, from October 1999 to February 2000. The fighting was brutal, and Matvei soon became callused to the looting, rape and torture that was all too common during both conflicts. He became immensely popular among his men due to his personality and leadership style, and this was noticed by his superiors. They also noticed that he got things done in the field, and they were often looking for results at any price. Matvei soon received a promotion to the rank of Captain and was eventually transferred to the 76 Guards Airborne Division. As his luck would have it, Matvei saw more action, leading his battalion of paratroopers during the war with Georgia over South Ossetia in August 2008.

However, this time around the Russian Army knew that the rest of the world was paying them a bit more attention than they had during the Chechen Wars, and the top commanders were less than pleased with some of the atrocities committed by the men under the command of the now Capt. Matvei Volkov. Matvei resigned from the army under threat of prosecution for war crimes and returned home to Koltsovo just in time to watch both of his parents die within months of each other from leukemia, most likely a result from their work in the defense plants. Matvei looked for work in the civilian sector, but there was nothing to be had, and his discontent grew. The Arab Spring was still burning in the Middle East, but that wasn’t his fight, and they weren’t the type to pay mercenaries worth a shit. The final tipping point was when his Uncle Aleksey became ill. Matvei always looked up to his uncle, and it was Aleksey, in fact, who had pulled some strings and got Matvei into school at the prestigious Malinovsky Military Armored Forces Academy, which once bore the name of Stalin himself.

Aleksey died at home in bed from lung cancer, but before he passed, he shared a secret with his favorite nephew. Matvei carried that secret aboard a cargo ship bound for Mexico, along with four of his most trusted men. He would never get through customs with what was contained in that briefcase. They were heading to the New World for the same reasons as countless others had, looking for opportunity. Their plan was slightly different, however. The drug war was again heating up, and there was always a place for men with his specific skill set. And the pay? Well the pay was excellent.

Matvei hired on with the cartel based in Matamoros in the Mexican State of Tamaulipas, across the Rio Grande from Brownsville, Texas. His ruthlessness and effectiveness moved him swiftly up the ranks of the Los Zetas, the mercenary army of the cartel. The fighting with other cartels and government forces along the U.S. border was nearly as fierce as Chechnya, and when it was done, Matvei helped secure vital trafficking routes into the United States for both narcotics and human cargo. The money to the cartel was again pouring in, and Matvei was rewarded by seeing his power and influence on the rise. Things were finally looking up for Matvei, and the briefcase from his uncle became an afterthought.

Shortly thereafter, troubling trends started to emerge in the United States. The Arizona Immigration Law, once challenged by the Federal Government, finally went into full effect after the passing of a heavily debated bill including comprehensive immigration reform. Other states, including Alabama and Texas, then began enacting similar laws, and several political candidates were campaigning and winning in the polls on the notion of a secure border. The American people wanted a stop to the illegal immigrants, drugs and violence that were continuing to leak across the Rio Grande. Matvei himself tried to limit the violence to Mexico but had met with mixed results. He knew that if the United States decided to really crack down on the cartel, it could get ugly real fast. Results could soon be seen almost immediately in both the United States and Mexico. As the border began to be properly secured, it became much harder to traverse, with more and more shipments north becoming confiscated. On the street, the price of the cartel's products was on the rise due to limited supplies of it and the accompanying sex slaves. Profits plummeted while costs soared.

A new string of wins by Tea Party candidates in the following elections only escalated the matter, and by the following spring, it looked like serious reform might actually happen. Security was on everyone’s agenda after successful terrorist attacks in Boston and Los Angeles. The current administration in the White House even got onboard after a violent skirmish between the cartel and the Border Patrol left three agents dead and several others wounded. The public outcry was so great that the president outlined a new proposal consisting of a large National Guard presence along the entire border. The cartel was now facing a serious threat to its main source of customers, money and power.

The final straw was when Matvei began hearing reports from his own intelligence officers of covert U.S. military action against the cartel in Mexico itself.

They got Bin Laden, he joked, so why wouldn’t they take a shot at us?

The media was left totally in the dark of course, and Matvei was sure that it would be considered illegal action. The country had grown weary of scandal after scandal involving either the IRS or other questionable surveillance programs. However, that didn’t change the fact that Special Forces units were conducting a successful campaign against cartel drug manufacturing facilities, distribution centers and security installations. They had the advantage of complete air superiority, satellites, and the ever present Predator UAV's. Matvei himself was nearly killed twice. The first attempt occurred while he was in a vehicle convoy that was attacked by a UAV with a missile, taking out a top cartel boss that was riding in the vehicle directly behind Matvei’s. The second occurrence was when a small cartel retreat was attacked by a helicopter-borne assault only minutes before his scheduled arrival for a security meeting.

This was when Matvei, after much internal deliberation, played his uncle’s hand. Matvei convened a top secret meeting of the bosses and made his proposal. In exchange for a top place in the cartel’s power echelon, Matvei would produce a weapon that would bring the United States to her knees. In the power vacuum that would follow, the cartel could move in and set up shop, becoming a world power in a matter of months. The top bosses sat in stunned amazement as Matvei laid it all out for them.

He spoke of his Uncle Aleksey and the work he had done at the Vector Institute in the area of biological warfare. He spoke of the Marburg virus and hemorrhagic fever. The initial work with the weaponization of the virus, Matvei explained, had been done by a Dr. Ulyanov, who accidentally caught and subsequently died from the virus. The autopsy of Dr. Ulyanov’s body showed that the virus had mutated and was now even more lethal. This strain, known as Variant U became weaponized by the Soviet military in 1990. The program was cancelled in 1992 after the breakup of the Soviet Union. Aleksey had become very bitter over the way he had been treated under the Soviet Empire, and viewed his work as his personal property. He carried on the work in private. He was nearly caught after securing several vials in a modified lunch cooler prior to being escorted off the property. Aleksey had to bribe several of the soldiers, one of whom almost reported him and would have had he not had a young wife and two hungry babies to feed at home. In the collapse of the Soviet Union, so much military hardware went missing that the few small vials were never missed. They were having a hard enough time accounting for all the nukes.

After a decade and a half of slow, hard and difficult research, experimentation and development, Aleksey’s result was Variant Z, and it was the perfect biological weapon. Aleksey secretly hid the results and kept several vials frozen in a tank of liquid nitrogen. He had nearly bankrupted himself paying for his own laboratory equipment, as he wasn’t being paid worth a shit at the Vector Institute. He had to do all the work on his own time, hidden from the Institute which itself was suffering from a severe lack of funding. The continued decline of his country made him even bitterer, and he held out hope that the right buyer for his product and a ticket out of Russia would someday present itself. When Aleksey shortly thereafter became unexpectedly ill and was confronted with his own death, he confided in his nephew, Matvei, what he had accomplished.

I leave it to you, Aleksey had confided on his deathbed. Use it as you see fit.

Matvei went on to explain to the cartel bosses that when Variant Z was given to a person via an injection, with a near 100% mortality rate if infected, the human carrier itself became the tool by which to spread the disease. The initially infected person would carry the weakened form of the virus for about one week (a slow burn) before symptoms became evident. As the virus affected their central nervous system, they would become more and more agitated, eventually violent, aggressively biting or injuring future victims, spreading the virus through the transfer of bodily fluids. The longer the virus remained in its human host, the more mutated and lethal it became. It reacted quicker to the new host the longer it remained in the blood stream, with less of a dormant stage. The person eventually died, but the body amazingly continued to function at a limited level. This animated body would be able to sustain massive amounts of damage and still function as long as the central nervous system stayed intact, able to further spread the virus to other living hosts.

Following a six to eight week infection period, the host would eventually stop functioning as the 107 degree temperature and lack of nutrition weakened the muscles and brain enough to stop all functions, with the virus consuming all remaining cells in the body. With a terrifyingly fast and effective means of transmission combined with the fact that the virus itself could not survive outside of the human body for more than a few minutes, it was a fearsome biological weapon. Add to that the expected 80% casualty rate to the host population, and in a matter of a few months there would be a decimated population base and a biologically safe, while still fairly intact, infrastructure to move into and conquer. Matvei certainly had their attention at that point in the meeting as low murmurs filled the room. Matvei then laid out the photographic evidence of his testimony, compiled by his uncle, and the room grew quiet.

At first, the cartel remained skeptical that Matvei could deliver on his promise, but the payment of 100 million USD to Matvei secured safe delivery of the vials to the bosses. Matvei carefully hid their exact location before payment in fear of being double crossed and killed. From here a test was set to be conducted on several captured Federal police officers, as well as a few locals who had gotten in the way. The lethal shots were administered, and the cartel waited anxiously for the results to unfold. On the fifth day, all of the test subjects began to run a fever, which accompanied severe diarrhea and vomiting. They became more aggressive with one another, easily agitated over the slightest contact. The test subjects became a mild shade of yellow and started having bloody noses. The first attack happened the next day, and in a matter of a few minutes, it was all over. Most of the victims suffered what should have been mortal wounds but soon revived in a semi-conscious state. Matvei and his men used them for target practice from a safe distance and were amazed at the damage the doomed souls could sustain. A shot to the head destroying the brain was about the only thing that would bring them down. It was decided to kill all but one individual and keep him as a source of more vials of the virus.

Only the cartel bosses and Matvei himself knew of the Z virus and the plan that was now taking shape. If word got out it would have spread like wildfire, and Matvei was sure that the United States would stop at nothing to prevent them from deploying it, possibly even using nuclear weapons. Matvei did let his trusted friends from his army days in on it, and the zombie jokes which once were tossed back and forth over beers became less funny as reality began to set in for all of them. Matvei began to first have reservations about following through with the rest of the plan when he found out that the first test patient had not yet died off after nearly three months of being infected.

The infected need to die off, he explained to the bosses, or the entire country will remain a dead zone.

Matvei explained that this little experiment could quickly get out of hand and maybe there was in fact a better way to slow the American onslaught against the cartel. Added to his angst was the realization that the virus could also mutate again and become even more unpredictable.

We can’t kill all the customers! he would halfheartedly joke to the bosses as he suggested perhaps a more limited deployment of the virus.

The cartel bosses, however, were very pleased with the killing power displayed and even treated the carnage during the testing process as a game, similar to the Roman Colosseum. They had tasted blood and wanted more of it.

We’re losing money by the day! they reminded him. We have no time to lose. Put the plan in motion!

The world economy had gradually deteriorated since all the way back in 2008, and Mexico was certainly catching the worst of it. The unemployment rate was officially 12% but was really around 25%, and the corrupt, inefficient government was powerless to turn it around. The cartel had little problem recruiting several hundred families with the promise of a job, home and prosperity waiting for them in America. Close families with both parents and several children were specifically chosen by the cartel with the knowledge that the families would provide care to one another when they became sick, which would in turn further spread the virus.

Allied Hispanic gangs already involved in the drug and human trafficking network in the United States prepared housing in the target cities and often arranged work in positions that would offer maximum exposure to the public. Children were arranged to be enrolled in schools. Nothing was left to chance. The target cities themselves would be familiar names to many and were spread across the entire continent.

New York, Buffalo, Newark, Camden, Philadelphia, Baltimore, Washington D.C. Richmond, Norfolk, Raleigh, Greenville, Atlanta, Smyrna, Macon, Augusta, Tampa Bay, Jacksonville, Orlando, Miami, Montgomery, Birmingham, New Orleans, Nashville, Littlerock, Louisville, Knoxville, Memphis, Cincinnati, Columbus, Toledo, Indianapolis, Pittsburg, Cleveland, Minneapolis, Rochester, St. Louis, Des Moines, Postville, Dallas, Houston, Waco, San Antonio, El Paso, Albuquerque, Phoenix, Los Angeles, San Francisco, Oakland, San Diego, San Jose, Las Vegas, Seattle, Portland, Boise, Denver, Oklahoma City, Lincoln, Kansas City, Detroit, Milwaukee, Madison, Lacrosse, Dubuque, Rockford, Springfield, Chicago, Elgin, Aurora, and Joliet.

With a continued sense of foreboding, Matvei stayed mostly clear of the families that were being chosen and instead became immersed in the vast logistical obstacles that needed to be overcome. He used an old Russian military contact and, with the help of some American dollars, secured 5000 AK-74 assault rifles and 15 million rounds of accompanying ammunition, along with several hundred RPG7s and RPK light machine guns. Trucks and supplies were gathered, and the ranks of mercenaries were increased for the push north. Matvei figured food and fuel would be readily available once in country. With the lingering doubt still festering in his mind, Matvei did spend his private newfound fortune quietly and skillfully on a backup plan for himself and a few others in case the whole plan and world, for that matter, went to complete shit. Among these were a newly purchased 1,500 acre ranch in Arizona, and a ship, loaded and fueled up, waiting just off the Gulf Coast. Several months later and with summer beginning to wind down, the groundwork was finally laid.

* * *

Now, on the morning of August 18, Matvei watched in silence as several members from each family heading north to their new life in America were given a flu shot. The virus was carefully administered by a local doctor accompanied by several large and well-armed guards who stood by watching intently. All were then loaded into trucks along with a few meager belongings and family mementos. Matvei was personally put in charge of this last critical step to insure its successful completion. Matvei, with his reminiscing and cigarette finished, walked over and stood by as the last truck was loaded. Javier Garcia, a husband and father of four, was going to be the last one in, and Matvei just wanted this shit over with.

This truck is headed for Joliet, Illinois, sir, a mercenary remarked to Matvei.

Javier turned, walked up and attempted to shake Matvei’s hand.

Thank you for this opportunity, sir, Javier stated in broken English.

Matvei felt a slight involuntary recoil in his body as he took a step back, knowing that Javier was already infected and contagious as well.

Good luck, was all Matvei could mutter as he turned and walked away.

Matvei’s heavy jump boots echoed through the warehouse as he fished the pack of cigarettes from his right front pocket and pulled out another smoke.

Javier shrugged, turned and hopped aboard the truck, putting his arm around his wife Maria as the big diesel rumbled to life. There were forty-five people aboard just this one truck, and they had a safe and secure crossing arranged by which to enter the United States. The cartel had provided everything. All they asked in return was the use of his former simple residence in Mexico for their operations.

What a small price to pay, Javier remarked.

The real price for Javier—and all of mankind—was much, much higher. A mere two hours later, they and the virus, yet unnoticed by the hosts, slipped across the border into America.

That night Matvei lay in bed smoking in a fancy five star hotel at a resort in Cancun. He was quietly gazing at the woman who had been his realtor while he searched for a secluded ranch in Arizona to purchase. Matvei never had a problem finding women; they always seemed drawn to him. His latest conquest was no exception. With long dark hair and beautiful features, she had been successful in finding Matvei the perfect fallback location and had also proved to be very good at other things. She loved the money he threw around, and this was her third trip to Mexico this year. She didn’t really seem to care where the money came from and never once asked. He now watched as she seductively slid out of the silk robe and let it fall to the floor. Without making a sound, she gently slid up next to him letting her warm firm breast touch his chest. Her head came to a rest on his shoulder, and she began biting his ear as her left hand moved down his torso.

Normally he would have forcefully taken her on a night like this, and while the thought was intoxicating, Matvei could only see the haunting faces of Javier’s children as the truck drove by on its way out of the main gate. She moved down his body, kissing his neck and chest, but Matvei just shrugged her off.

Not tonight, baby, Matvei sighed as her hand stopped just short of his manhood.

What’s the matter with you? she asked, sounding a bit frustrated. You’re acting like the weight of the world is on your shoulders tonight. We had a fabulous dinner, and the champagne was amazing.

Matvei could tell she was slightly intoxicated and could feel the heat from her inner thigh as she straddled him.

No, it’s nothing. Just some problems at work that don‘t concern you, Matvei mumbled. Now just leave me alone.

She pulled away from him dejected and covered her chest with the sheet. She then watched with a puzzled look on her face as Matvei just stared at his cigarette as it slowly burnt out in his hand.

* * *

As the three day journey to Joliet drew to an end, Javier began to feel ill. Constantly tired and growing more restless, he had a splitting headache and couldn’t keep his food down. The smell of vomit permeated the truck as more than one person became ill. Maria had her hands full taking care of their youngest daughter who had come down with the flu as well. However, the truck was hot and noisy, and the ride was rough, so nobody was overly concerned. Their destination was worth the trip!

Don’t worry Maria, everything will be fine, Javier assured her. I spoke with the driver at our last stop, and we should be there shortly. We can then get out of this truck and into our new home. Who would have thought we would have a chance like this three short months ago, with a chance at a fresh start? We have new jobs for us both, with better schools and medical care. I never could have imagined!

Maria didn’t seem too sure. The worry was all over her face.

Javier leaned over, kissed Maria on the forehead and tried to smile through his headache. She seemed reassured momentarily, but that soon changed. Others in the truck seemed sick as well, including her oldest son Jose, and her maternal instincts were telling her something was very wrong.

Why would the cartel want to help us? she asked her husband before they left. They’re bad men who never do anything for free. Remember all the innocents they slaughtered back home?

Javier had dismissed her concerns then, when the opportunity had first been presented, and was doing it again now.

Just wait and see, he said with a forced smile as he sat back down and tried to make his daughter comfortable.

This same general theme played out all across the country as the unknowing hosts arrived at their new homes and settled in. Just like Javier and his family, they began their jobs, some feeling better than others. Many of the jobs provided maximum exposure to the public in food service and janitorial work. When Maria first saw their new home, she thought maybe Javier was right about the move. They had their jobs and the kids were enrolled in school. However, everyone was still sick and feeling worse by the hour. A few days later, with madness in his brain, Javier Garcia did something he never imagined he would ever do.

He bit his son.

2

August 26

Day 1

The over packed black Chevy Colorado rocketed down the I-88 toll road towards the Route 47 exit that would lead back home to Joliet, Illinois. My old ass was aching from the long ride. A fifteen year veteran of the city police force, I should have been used to sitting in a vehicle all damn day.

You’d better slow the fuck down and call ahead to the Watch Commander, I suggested, and let them know you’re going to be late for work.

The driver, Stephen, a fellow Joliet officer, was calmly weaving in and out of traffic that appeared to be doing the legal speed limit.

You know me, Mike, Stephen responded. I always cut it close to start time. If it's not one thing making me late, it's another.

I chuckled and reached for my ever present can of Copenhagen tobacco.

That’s one thing we can both agree on, I replied. You always being late. We’ve been working together for years and I’ve never known you to be on time.

After putting in a delicious chaw of dip, I thought about also having to work later tonight on the midnight shift. Stephen worked afternoons at the police department, and I recently had left his shift for midnights which, due to the lack of sleep, I was beginning to regret.

Well, I decided, if we get pulled over for doing 30 mph over the limit, we can flash our badges and maybe he’ll drop your ticket to five over or something.

Oh yeah, Mike, well speedin’ shaves a good forty-five minutes off of our trip, Stephen remarked after laughing. I just hope it isn’t some rookie trooper that drags us out at gunpoint when he sees all the guns stacked up in the back of my truck!

Agreeing with a nod, I thought back on the last three days we, along with another coworker, Chris, had spent at Stephen’s property in southwest Wisconsin. Stephen grew up in the area and still had family nearby. He recently purchased about a dozen acres of timber for himself and with the help of a buddy’s heavy machinery carved out a fancy private shooting range. It was my first time getting up to see the place, and our time was spent shooting firearms and pounding beer.

Just not at the same time please, Stephen had pleaded.

Chris had to take off a day early to work the street as the recession had really cut into our manpower, making it nearly impossible to get an extra day off.

Three days of camping, trigger time, and getting shitfaced really helped relieve a lot of stress that I didn’t know had accumulated. Fewer officers due to layoffs and early retirements added work load and stress to us all. Stephen’s property did not even have electricity, and our cell phones didn’t have a single bar of reception. Not having any electronic distractions allowed us to get in some good firearms training and annoy his nearest neighbor with what probably sounded like a large drug war shootout.

Hey, I remarked, maybe next time we should let the county sheriff’s deputies shoot some too. I’m sure they’ll get dispatched back out to your place after your neighbor complains again.

Fuck that tree hugger, Stephen said, punching the steering wheel. It’s my property, and I’ll shoot as much as I want to. That's why I bought the place out in the middle of nowhere.

Besides being a police officer, Stephen was a huge believer in the Second Amendment. He knew exactly what was and wasn’t legal when it came to guns, shooting, and private property rights.

I only get back there like once a month anyway, he remarked, still frustrated by my snide remark. That asshole will just have to deal with it.

As we drove on, Stephen turned up the radio, which was set to WLS AM890 out of Chicago, and we listened to the tail end of a news broadcast. Apparently a new strain of influenza had started to fill the emergency rooms in several cities around the country. The symptoms, the reporter stated, were high fever, headaches, vomiting, and delirium all the way up to a coma-like state. So far, the outbreaks seemed to be contained to a limited number of patients, and the news was quoting some expert who was saying that most of the people in the emergency rooms had the common flu and were merely overreacting. The reporter then went over the common ways to prevent catching the flu, by washing your hands and such, and then commented on what was shaping up to be an early flu season.

As the news turned to sports and weather, Stephen remarked, Man, we’re off the grid for a few days, and the country goes to shit.

No doubt, I replied. I hope I don’t catch the flu. I hate to puke and don‘t want to burn any more sick time, especially since I already had to call in sick for this trip.

The GPS reminded us to take the next exit, and the flu talk was forgotten. Stephen was bitching that he had to work today, and I was busy making sure all my shit was together before Stephen threw me out of his truck once we arrived at his house. As he passed yet another car, I looked over at the driver, an attractive woman with a worried look on her face.

Why hello, I thought. A pretty senorita… let’s see your license and insurance please.

In the backseat of her car was the apparent cause of her concern. A small child was buckled in a car seat and looked sick. Stephen passed the car in a blur but something seemed odd about the kid, almost like he was clawing at the air trying to get at his mother. She was taking the same exit we were, and I knew a clinic was just down the road.

A short while later, Joliet, with a population of 147,433, according to the 2010 census, came into view. Stephen lived in a newer subdivision on the far west side of town, and my old van was still parked out front. It was a two-story residence with tan siding and a three car garage, and looked just like twenty other houses in the various subdivisions that sprang up before the housing bubble burst.

Home sweet home, just how I left it, Stephen remarked. I’ll let you unload your shit while I grab my gear and check on the dog. The neighbors have been watching him, and I’m sure he’ll be glad to see me.

Will do, I replied, and I’m sure he will be.

On cue, Stephen’s beagle, Buddy, started to howl with excitement as Stephen opened the door. A few minutes later, Stephen returned with his uniform in tow.

Looks like I’m going to be late after all, Mike, Stephen joked, yet again!

Told ya so, dumbass, I kidded, grabbing my cased rifle and rucksack. Hopefully tonight is slow. I’m beat, and still gotta clean my duty weapons.

It should be, Stephen replied, getting into his squad after throwing his uniform onto the passenger seat. It’s the beginning of the week. It’s usually dead.

We all have take-home squad cars as a perk, one I’m sure Stephen will take full advantage of on his way in. As he closed the door of the black and white car, Stephen rolled down the window.

At least I cleaned my guns before we left, slacker, he remarked and gunned the gas, driving off with the squeal of rubber hitting pavement.

I gathered my belongings and secured Stephen’s truck in the garage before taking off myself. I arrived at my home, a simple ranch style house with a full basement located about fifteen minutes east of Stephen’s. I parked in the driveway and carried my gear inside. My large German Shepherd named Bruiser met me at the front door, barking madly and wagging his tail.

Hey there big guy, I missed you! I said happily, scratching him behind the ears.

Obviously the dog had to go out, because he immediately forgot the fact that he hadn’t seen me in three days and started pawing at the screen door.

Ah, what loyalty. I know you like Mattie better.

I let him out to do his business in the backyard, which I was sure after me being gone for three days looked like a mine field.

Mattie, a fellow officer, had been caring for him in my absence, and I needed to thank her again for helping out. He made his living pissing off the neighbors with his loud bark. He also scared the hell out of the mailman and generally everyone else who walked by. In fact, Mattie and Stephen were about the only people besides me he liked. Dragging my gear down into the basement, I dropped it onto my work bench. I was not yet feeling in the mood to clean my firearms, nor wash my clothes from the trip. Instead, I grabbed a Monster energy drink from my mini fridge and prepared to work out, sore as I was from our four hour drive.

My pride and joy was my home gym I had assembled in the basement over the years. It was actually better than the police department gym, and I didn’t have to wait for anyone to finish in order to use whatever equipment I wanted. Plus, I had four huge house speakers that blasted heavy metal loud enough to wake the dead. No sissy commercial aerobic music in my gym. After spending most of my life regularly working out five days a week, whenever I missed a day or two it drove me crazy. Turning on the stereo, I cranked some Lamb of God and walked over to the bench press to work on some chest.

It’s time to get some work done!

The reps flew by, and I started to sweat out all the booze and brats from the past three days of gorging myself. My smartass coworkers kid all the time about how old I was getting to be. Having passed the big 4-0, I was focusing on weight training all the more these days. At 210 pounds and still being able to bench over 400, I could still crush most of the young pups on the force. When they talked shit, I just shook my head and remarked at how bad a shape they would be in when they reached my age.

Sucks to be them, I said to motivate myself, piling more weight on the bench bar, enough to make it visibly bend.

Normally I would use Stephen, who works out with me several times a week, or Chad to spot me on bench days. Chad, a long time buddy and fellow cop as well, made it over about three mornings a week. However, this was later in the day, and Stephen and Chad were already both at work.

It’s not a big deal as I feel good today, I decided as I pushed on solo.

The music I called anger metal had me pumped and thinking again of all the old man wisecracks gave me an adrenaline dump.

Fuck it! Can’t get results from going half speed.

I flopped down and pushed the heavy weight off my chest several times.

Soon I felt the familiar burn as my muscles adjusted to the shock of lifting again after the time off.

* * *

Arriving at the police station with seconds to spare, Stephen slid into his seat for roll call briefing. He found an empty spot near the front and sat down next to Johnny, a buddy and former partner.

What's up, Johnny? Did I miss anything good while I was gone?

Nope, it was a quiet weekend, he replied. I heard day shift got busy today though; there must be something in the air. They tried to call me in early, but I had to watch the kids. I know Mattie and a few others made it in, though, and are already out on the street answering calls.

Speaking of something in the air… Stephen replied, nodding toward the large flat screen television that was turned on in the front of the room.

The television had been seized in a drug raid and was only recently installed. Normally it had a ball game or something on, but today it was turned to a local news channel, and the anchor was showing video footage of an apartment complex in New York City. According

Reviews for Slow Burn

[lorihopkins · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

This was a great first novel from these guys. I could not stop until I finished the whole darn thing! It was nice to see for once a "right leaning" author, if you know what I mean. The characters were very likable, and the story line was easy to follow. I only wish that it had not ended as abruptly as it did, but I will be on the lookout for the next one!