Blood Plague

By L.A. Bird

One of the most frightening post-apocalyptic scenarios is a pandemic. Other end-of-the-world events occur and then eventually end, those still alive having to pick up the pieces to survive. But a pandemic continues on, devastating the world’s population over time. People desperately try to protect their families from this event, but not being able to see the actual threat, they struggle with this invisible biological assault to no avail.
This is the story of everyday people, in the northwest part of the country, devastated by an unbelievably virulent disease that has struck the world. As the Center for Disease Control and Prevention races to develop a vaccine or cure, evil elements of the population attempt to take over, ruling by malice and fear.
The final outcome may very well depend on communities banding together against those that seek to destroy them... threats that are both biological and human.

• Language: English
• Publisher: L.A. Bird
• Release date: May 1, 2018
• ISBN: 9780463578353

L.A. Bird

L.A. Bird started her career as a Security Specialist in the United States Air Force, assigned to Panama and later Albuquerque, NM. After proudly serving four years in the USAF, she went on to serve as a Deputy Sheriff in Arizona for another 10 years. During this time she was a Patrol Deputy, Field Training Officer, a Detective investigating all crimes involving violence and property theft, and later a Patrol Sergeant. While working as a Deputy Sheriff, she attended Grand Canyon University earning a Bachelor's Degree in Public Safety Administration. Pursuing new opportunities, she went back to college and obtained another degree, this one in nursing, allowing her to work as a Registered Nurse. Six years later, while still working as an RN, she decided to pursue yet another passion, writing! Using her knowledge from both law enforcement and nursing, she created her thriller Dying Vengeance with plans to release many more Detective Brian O'Reilly stories in the future!

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Surviving an Apocalypse Thriller

By L.A. Bird

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

Copyright 2014 by L A. Bird

All rights reserved

Smashwords Edition

Cover Design

SelfPubBookCovers.com/rgporter

Special Thanks to:

Carol Bird – Contributor/Editor

www.loriabird.com

Disclaimer

I started writing this book in February 2014 before anyone was aware of the recent Ebola outbreak in Africa, which was then documented months later in the United States. This novel is entirely a work of fiction and the figment of my imagination. The idea of Ebola becoming airborne, the speed of the spread of the disease, and the possible outcomes are fictional as well. Nothing in this book is to be construed as medical or survivalism advice.

Acknowledgement

I would like to give a very special thanks to Carol Bird for editing and contributing to this book. Her knowledge pertaining to biochemistry, laboratory procedures and pretty much all things science, was invaluable in helping me to write this book. I would also like to thank my dear friends Nicole Sonchar and Mary Jane Nickell for helping to proofread and provide important and helpful insight. Thank you all!

www.loriabird.com

Table of Contents

Title

Copyright Page

Disclaimer and Acknowledgement

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

About the Author

Chapter 1

June 2014

Leaving the comfort of the cozy, one level cabin, Paul and Danielle walked in silence as they stepped off the faded, front porch. The small, two-bedroom cabin had been their home for the past two months, providing just enough room for the young couple and their 4-year-old son, Hunter, to live in reasonable comfort. As the smoke escaped the chimney, the breeze sucked it from the opening pulling it up into the puffy, white clouds where it disappeared from view. Paul glanced up at the smoke, relieved they had plenty of firewood to keep his small family warm while he was away.

Can I come? Hunter cried with excitement, running off the front porch to clutch onto Paul’s leg.

No, Son, he said, as he pulled the boy away. Not today. I need you to stay here, okay?

Why, Daddy? I wanna go too, he cried. He forcefully sat on the porch crossing his arms in defiance. His lower lip stuck out as the tears flowed down his cheeks.

Paul crouched down in front of Hunter to make eye contact. His boy was so young and eager, yet he didn’t know the possible dangers he was facing. Paul knew that Hunter, barely over three feet tall, and thirty pounds if soaking wet, would be a burden if they got into trouble. He hadn’t been back to town in over two months and didn’t know what he would find. It was a risk he couldn’t take with his son’s life.

Brushing Hunter’s light brown hair from his face, causing the boy to look up into his eyes, he quietly said, Hunter, if we both go your Mommy will be all alone. Don’t you want to stay here to keep her safe?

She can go too, Daddy. I don’t wanna stay here anymore. Please?

I’m sorry, but you need to stay this time. Maybe next time, okay? He leaned in to kiss his only son on the forehead.

Okay, Daddy, the boy whispered, continuing to cross his arms as he stared at his feet. But I wanna go next time.

We’ll see. I love you, Hunter. Be a big boy and keep an eye on Mommy. I should be back this afternoon, and maybe I’ll bring you a present.

This caused the boy to light up with excitement as he sprang to his feet to hug Paul.

Okay, Daddy. Bring me candy, okay?

If I find some, it’s all yours. He ruffled Hunter’s hair as the boy jumped up and down.

Paul stood up and walked toward his wife who patiently stood by, watching the interaction between the two men in her life. She smiled weakly as he leaned in to give her a kiss.

Be careful, okay? she whispered, trying not to show the fear she was feeling.

I will. I left the baby Glock for you on the fireplace hearth. It’s loaded with a full magazine and a round in the chamber, so make sure you keep it away from Hunter. I hid it behind the photo of my dad.

Okay. Do you have everything?

I think so. My gun is under the seat already, and I threw some trash bags on the front seat in case I find supplies.

Danielle began to cry as they walked to the driver’s side door of their newer, dark blue, Jeep Cherokee. The exterior was still covered in dried mud, thrown up by the tires when they made their journey through the snow-covered roads in late April. It had been a cold winter, with the snow pushing forward into Spring.

The dirt road, leading through miles of pine forest, to their little cabin nestled within the Wind River Mountains of central Wyoming, was not maintained by the county and was full of ruts and pot holes. Old Stan usually kept it clear, but Paul suspected he had fallen victim to the pandemic like so many others. The other vacationers normally didn’t come out to their cabins until it began to warm up in late Spring, or early Summer. Paul hadn’t seen anybody in these mountains the entire time they were here.

Do you have a mask? Promise me you’ll put it on before you get to town. Just in case, okay?

I have them on the front seat. He pointed at the box of orange PFR95 duck masks lying on the seat next to another box containing exam gloves. He remembered all the times, once a year at least, he was forced to get trained on wearing the filtered mask. He hated every second of it, feeling it to be a complete waste of time. But now, knowing that it probably saved his life, he was thankful, and would keep them close. He was hoping to find more boxes in town so he could bring them back to the cabin. He only hoped they would be effective.

Paul could see Danielle starting to tremble as she hugged herself with her arms, trying to fight back tears. But they fell anyway, as she quickly wiped them away. He didn’t want her to worry, but he knew this trip was necessary if they were going to survive. They were running out of supplies and needed to restock to make it through another few months. Now that it was warmer, he was hoping to find heirloom seeds, so they could start a garden, and he needed more ammo for his Remington .30-06 to allow him to hunt.

He was also eager to check on the closer towns to see if things had improved. Maybe everything was fine and they could actually return to their three-thousand square foot home, instead of having to live in this tiny, four-hundred square foot cabin. He desperately wanted to find that things were back to normal, but deep down he knew he would be disappointed.

As a Physician’s Assistant working at Sage West Health Care in Riverton, he knew this new strain of MERS, or Middle East Respiratory Syndrome coronavirus, was much worse than the CDC first let on. It was originally reported in Saudi Arabia in 2012, but new cases were being reported in the United States in February of 2014. Most, but not all, of the victims of this new strain recovered quickly, but thirty-two new cases popped up in March, all with fatal results. The victims started showing the common symptoms of fever, cough, and shortness of breath, but then, within hours, began to bleed from their nose, eyes, ears, and other orifices. They were dead within minutes to hours. The first documented case, in Denver, Colorado, showed up in February, but many more soon followed.

The CDC attempted to quarantine these cases but it was too late. One of the victims had just left a packed Colorado Rockies vs. San Francisco Giants game, where tens of thousands were infected, and other victims had recently traveled nationally and abroad, both by train and airplane. The CDC was frantically working to find a vaccine or a cure for this new strain, but the pandemic was spreading throughout the world with cases being reported on every continent but Antarctica.

Working in the emergency room, Paul was the first to pull out the dreaded PFR95 mask when treating patients with these symptoms. Fighting off claustrophobia, he didn’t want to take any risks with this emerging virus. Even though it was being played down by the CDC, his intuition told him it was much worse. His co-workers laughed at him, insisting it was just a common cold or the flu. They teased him, insisting he was overreacting… but he wore it anyway. Many times he thought he would pass out, as the stuffy mask made it difficult to breathe.

Against his better judgment, he continued to work in the emergency room for two weeks into April before deciding to flee with his family. Fears for his wife and son outweighed his obligation as a Physician’s Assistant. That was two months ago and they were still alive and well.

Paul embraced his wife as she broke down, tucking her face into his neck and wrapping her arms around his body, holding on with a death grip. He held her tight, hoping to ease her trembling.

Don’t go, Paul. We can survive this, I swear. Just stay here with Hunter and me, she cried, as she clutched him tighter.

I can’t, baby. We need to know what’s going on out there. What if everything’s okay now? We can’t just hide out up here forever. Maybe we can go home and get back to our lives. Shoot, they’ve probably fired me by now, he said, chuckling. He knew this wasn’t funny but he needed to lighten the mood.

You know that’s not true. Why risk it? We can learn to survive with what we have. Your Dad’s cabin has been perfect for us so far. Please, Paul, just wait another month.

I’m sorry, but it’s time we see what’s going on. It shouldn’t take me long. I’ll drive into Lander first, before heading to the hospital in Riverton. If everything looks normal in Lander, I’ll turn around and come right back. Then we can head back home and I’ll beg for my job back.

It’s not funny, Paul. What if nobody lived? There could be dead people everywhere. Just wait.

Paul pulled himself away from Danielle as he stepped toward the door of the Jeep. She bit her bottom lip and shook her head.

Please, what about us? What if you don’t come back and we’re stuck out here by ourselves?

I’ll be back, I promise. Now give me a kiss before I leave, he said, as he stepped toward her again. Paul and Danielle embraced once more before he pulled away to get into the Jeep.

I love you.

I love you too. Hurry back, she cried out, as he started the vehicle and put it in reverse.

Danielle watched as he backed out of the gravel driveway and pulled onto the narrow dirt road. He stuck his hand out the window, waving as he drove the short quarter of a mile to the main dirt road that would take him out of the mountains and down toward civilization. Danielle waved until she could no longer see the Jeep carrying her husband into the unknown.

What’s for breakfast, Mommy? I’m really hungry, asked Hunter, eagerly chasing a rock he had just thrown into the brush.

Give me twenty minutes and I’ll have some yummy oatmeal for you, she replied. Stay right here near the driveway, Hunter. I don’t wanna search for you.

I will!

Danielle walked into the log cabin built thirty-nine years earlier by Paul’s grandfather. The forty acre parcel had been in his family for three generations, and had just recently been given to Paul by his dad, before he’d moved to Florida to retire. They hadn’t had an opportunity to fix it up yet, but found that it was solid since the day they stepped inside.

The cabin was a typical log building, with a small, covered porch on the front. Two wooden rocking chairs, hand carved by Paul’s granddad, still sat on the front porch with the seating intact. They made an awful creaking noise when you rocked, but they were very comfortable, and had a lot of sentimental value. Paul insisted he would paint them white someday, once he had a chance.

Danielle looked around at her temporary home, hoping Paul would return to join them by dinner time. She stood in the open living room with a small fireplace on the left and the kitchen on the right. A small log continued to burn orange and blue, eliciting crackling sounds in protest. Large windows on either side of the front door offered a beautiful view of the forest in front. She crossed a black and brown circular rug covering the wooden floor, with a leather couch and easy chair sitting on top of the rug opposite one another. The kitchen was tiny with a small counter, a propane stove with two burners, a refrigerator and a sink all nestled together on an eight foot counter. The refrigerator wasn’t being used, since the generator had run out of gas over a month ago. She lit the propane stove and filled a pot with water, placing it over the burner.

At the rear of the cabin were two separate bedrooms with just enough room in each for a dresser and a full size bed. There were no closets, but several hooks were nailed to the walls, allowing clothing to be hung. In the corner of each room was the small dresser, containing two drawers, and a small oil lamp to provide light. The walls were decorated with old cowboy paintings, and antlers from various animals. The bedrooms each had a small window that looked out into the forest, containing pine, dogwood and maple trees mixed in with other species of plants.

The only bathroom sat between the two rooms and contained a homemade shower over a small tub. The toilet was almost touching the bathtub, with a small sink situated directly across from it. There was barely enough room to move around the small bathroom, but it was sufficient.

Paul’s dad had installed a few solar panels a few years back. They covered the south facing roof and provided just enough power to draw water from the well into the bathroom. The waste from the toilet ran out into a homemade septic system dug by his dad and granddad. They were very careful with their use of the water, not wanting to waste this valuable resource.

Danielle took a deep breath and waited for the water to boil. Hunter would be tugging on her leg any moment now, demanding food. She knew she was fortunate to still have oatmeal, and hurried to fill his little stomach.

She would eat whatever was left.

***

Old Stan watched the young couple from inside the tree line, staying out of view and not making a sound. He twirled his long, shaggy, gray beard out of habit, looking every bit the old, mountain man he was. He rubbed his hip with gnarled fingers, the tan overalls that hung loosely on his thin frame moving up and down as he scratched. A red and blue flannel shirt was tucked inside, with brown work boots on his feet completing the outfit.

His keen eyes focused on the young family before him, curious what the couple was up to, and why they were separating. He had kept an eye on them for the past five weeks, ever since he had returned to his own cabin, a half mile away, after spending a few days in Casper visiting his only daughter. He hadn’t known what was going on in the world when he made the disastrous trip to Casper weeks ago, or he never would have gone.

Stan had spent the last dozen years of his life living in his, off-the-grid, self-sufficient cabin. Widowed almost twelve years earlier, just a few years before he retired from the Colfax Mine, he preferred to hang out, in and around his cabin, instead of lingering in town. He loved these mountains, and was prepared to survive even the harshest winters Wyoming could offer. This is where he would spend his remaining years, however long that may be.

He’d known this kid’s grandfather, Hank, for over sixty years, so he felt a kinship to Hank’s grandson, Paul, and felt it his responsibility to look out for him. The kid looked a lot like his grandfather, with his dark brown eyes and wavy, short brown hair. He was taller than Hank, though, close to six foot tall, with an average build. If he’d dyed his hair gray, he would have looked just like his grandfather did the last time Stan had seen him, a couple of years ago, before he passed away.

Stan always knew when the kid and his family came to the area, since he could see and smell the smoke from the small cabin’s chimney. Prior to this visit, he had always made it a point to visit the young couple and play with the little boy, Hunter. Every year, he kept the roads clear of snow with his tractor, making it easier for the young family to come up to the cabin. He probably looked forward to that fellowship more than they did.

He felt lonely now, knowing he couldn’t visit them anymore… now that he had gotten sick. He would never put this family at risk, even if it meant being alone and isolated, since he knew he carried a deadly virus that could kill them. Five weeks ago, in Casper, he had watched in horror as people had died all around him, including his daughter. Other than initially getting a small cough, he never got the sickness. Leaving Casper, he drove to Riverton where he mingled with infected people again. They died… and he didn’t.

Devastated by his daughter’s death, and wanting to get home to the refuge of his mountain cabin, he drove to Lander, picking up a hitchhiker who was trying to make his way to the mountains to find a place to survive. He pulled just ahead of the man and, leaning across the seat, pushed open the passenger-side door. Hey buddy, Stan called out, You need a lift?

The middle-aged man approached cautiously. Hi. You aren’t sick?

No, I seem to be fine. Seen a lot of sick folks, though. I’m heading for my cabin in the Wind River Range. It’s away from all that.

The man stood for a minute staring at Stan and then climbed into the cab of Stan’s Dodge Ram 4x4. Thanks for the ride. I’m Ben Halburg. I’ve been hiding out at my brother’s place in Riverton, but he went into town and never came back. I figured, after two weeks, he isn’t ever going to come back, so I decided to get the hell out. I don’t know what to do. I’m a car salesman and don’t know squat about living off the land. He drew the arm of his jacket across his nose.

I guess you could come up to my place and I could teach you a thing or two. There’s lots of cabins up there and you could pick one to live in.

They carried on a conversation about the pandemic and the unbelievable loss of life, when forty minutes after getting in the car with Stan, Ben started coughing. A look of alarm spread over his features as he suddenly turned beat red, unable to breathe. Stan quickly pulled to the side of the road as the man opened the door and fell to the asphalt. Running around the car to help the man, he saw blood oozing from Ben’s eyes, ears and mouth. He was clutching his throat, inarticulate sounds coming from his mouth as he struggled to suck in air.

He died within minutes.

It was then that Stan realized that he was some kind of a carrier… that he was deadly. He would never take the risk again, especially not with Hank’s kin.

He felt really sorry for the young woman as he watched Paul drive away. Danielle, if he recalled her name correctly, was some kind of nurse, but worked from home so she could spend more time with the boy. She was a beautiful woman with long, blond hair, and unusual, green eyes that seemed to bore right into your soul. Her hair was pulled back behind her ears allowing it to flow down her petite body. Even though she was beautiful, she had never acted like she was better than anybody else. She was down to earth, with a great sense of humor that caused him to smile every time he spoke to her. Paul, Danielle and Hunter were the perfect family and Stan would do everything in his power to keep them safe.

It concerned him to see Paul drive away, knowing he must be going back to town. But since Paul was some kind of a doctor, Stan figured he knew what he was doing, and would be careful. He hoped he returned soon to be with his family. Until then, Stan would stay put to keep watch.

Chapter 2

5 months earlier

January 2014

Christopher Spree wearily departed the Boeing 747 after the long flight from Denver, Colorado to the King Abdulaziz International Airport in the Makkah Region of Saudi Arabia. Even though he always flew first class, he could never get used to the fifteen plus hours of flight time. He rubbed his eyes as he looked around for the driver waiting to take him to his five-star hotel. It was only ten in the morning yet he felt like he’d been hit by a truck. He would sleep all day, and then throughout the night, to make up for his jet lag.

Within minutes he was approached by a driver, who gathered his luggage and led him to the black Town Car waiting for him outside. The sun always seemed brighter in Saudi, and putting his hand over his eyes to block the brilliant rays, Christopher climbed into the back seat as his young driver, Hakim, loaded his luggage into the trunk. After pouring himself a glass of wine, he laid his head back against the seat and waited.

As Hakim climbed into the driver’s seat he coughed uncontrollably into a black handkerchief he had kept tucked in his shirt pocket. Christopher observed Hakim leaning toward his right, as his face turned dark red and he gasped for breath.

Are you okay, young man? he asked, leaning toward the driver.

Yes, yes, I’m okay. I’m so very sorry, responded Hakim, as he caught his breath. I’ve had this terrible cough for a few days but I’m fine now. Thank you, sir.

Okay. Please hurry then. I’m exhausted.

Hakim pulled away from the airport curb, coughing off and on the entire drive to the hotel. Christopher watched with concern, afraid Hakim would lose control of the car during one of his coughing fits. To his relief, they eventually arrived at the hotel, and Hakim opened the door for Christopher, allowing the fresh air to rush into the car. Stepping out into the desert heat, he felt the dry air hit his face, surprised at the high temperatures during the month of January.

Thank you, Hakim. I hope you feel better very soon. Please tell Rayyan I will meet with him in the morning around nine. He can come to my room for breakfast.

Of course, of course. I will pass on the message, sir.

As Hakim lifted the suitcase out of the trunk he broke into another coughing fit, almost dropping the luggage to the ground. Christopher instinctively reached over to grab the suitcase and was rewarded with Hakim coughing directly on him, his saliva spraying across Christopher’s chest and face.

Hakim, please! he cried, as he turned away from the young man. Hakim continued to violently cough, unable to respond. He leaned over at the waist trying to catch his breath as other hotel employees rushed to help, relieving Hakim of the suitcase and leading Christopher through the hotel entrance.

Christopher shook his head in disgust as he walked into the hotel without looking back. He would ask Rayyan to provide another driver for his return trip to the airport in four days. This trip to Saudi Arabia would be brief and he had no intention of getting sick while he was here. He still had to make his annual inspection of his charity foundation’s medical clinic and school, just outside of Guekedou in Guinea, and then on to the Winter Olympics, one of the major events on his bucket list.

Over the next few days, Christopher met with his Saudi Arabian associate three times to discuss their business dealings. The first meeting occurred at the hotel over a lavish breakfast in the comfort of his suite. Christopher’s company, who already did a thriving business with Rayyan, would be providing greatly expanded, private, security services for Rayyan’s new agricultural venture. His plan was to reclaim vast tracts of desert to provide food, reducing the Saudi’s reliance on imports. The Saudi Royal Family was providing venture capital for the project.

The second meeting occurred at Rayyan’s office building, a half mile away, with Rayyan’s close business associates. This meeting lasted two hours, which to Christopher it felt like an eternity since he was beginning to develop a dry, sore throat. He had intended on walking the short distance back to his hotel, but changed his mind when he started getting an annoying cough, and began to feel a little weak.

The third meeting took place at the bank and lasted only thirty minutes, with both men signing the required financial documents. Christopher got back to his hotel in the early evening and enjoyed dinner in his room with a glass of wine. This deal would double his company’s income over the five year contract period and allow him to expand his charity efforts in West Africa.

Christopher loved Africa, having spent much of his teen years in Guinea, Nigeria and Liberia with his missionary parents. He saw poverty first hand and vowed someday he would do what he could to help.

Back in the states, at the University of Colorado, his roommate for his final two years as a business major was the son of a Special Forces Army Officer. The three of them started a company that provided private security for small companies. As the company grew, under Christopher’s guidance, they expanded to countries overseas. And then a few years ago, he had succeeded in forming his foundation to help the impoverished people in the rural areas around Guekedou.

After completing his business in Saudi Arabia, Christopher settled back into his first class seat, ready for another long flight. Now that he’d secured the financial windfall while in Saudi Arabia, he would travel to the crowded city of Guekedou to give the good news to his charity group at the clinic. It wasn’t necessary for him to make this trip in person, but he always felt like he was coming home when in Africa, and looked forward to the annual trip. He also wanted to see where his money was going, and to discuss future plans for a new venture. His charity group had spent two years in this city, running the clinic and educating the citizens about AIDS and HIV, and now he was prepared to build them another school. He enjoyed giving back, and preferred a hands-on approach when possible.

As he landed in Guinea he began to cough again and noticed sweat beading on his forehead. Dammit Hakim, I better not get sick, he thought, as he departed the plane feeling slightly short of breath.

Welcome, Christopher! A young, twenty-five-year-old American man, wearing khaki shorts and a white, lightweight t-shirt, approached him in baggage claim, offering to shake Christopher’s hand. He was the young, enthusiastic man Christopher had hired a year before to lead his charity.

Hello, Justin! he replied, extending his hand.

Are you feeling okay? You look pale.

I’m fine. Just a long flight I guess. Too much flying in such a short amount of time.

Okay then, follow me, he replied, with concern still in his voice. He took the luggage and lead Christopher out of the airport toward the waiting car.

As much as he had looked forward to this visit, Christopher was already looking forward to getting this short excursion over with, wishing he had scheduled it for after the Olympics. He didn’t feel good, and the long flights, confined in small spaces with too many people, was not helping any.

After this trip, he would board a plane for his next long flight to Sochi, Russia, for his long awaited vacation to the 2014 Winter Olympics. He planned to arrive in Sochi a few days before it started to allow himself time to recover from traveling. And he hoped to be healthy for this much anticipated getaway.

He spent the next few days in Guekedou, traveling around the forest region trying to locate a good place for the new school. Justin had already done a thorough evaluation of possible sites and took Christopher to the three most likely areas.