All of Yesterday's Tomorrows

By Corey K. Cotta

It was supposed to be a relaxing vacation. Even though he can't spend time in the warm waters of Belize, policeman Conrad Bishop is happy to spend time with his girlfriend, Amber, at a private beachfront home in Nantucket. After a tranquil evening walking the beach, Conrad wakes at 3:00 AM, turns on the television, and hears a disturbing news report about a deadly influenza plague-the direct result of a terrorist attack on the United States.

Rushing into his bedroom, he finds his girlfriend unconscious and suffering from a high fever. When he tries to take her to the hospital, the town is in a panic. Cars clog the road, and he's forced to return to the beach house. Amber never regains consciousness, and by that evening, she is dead.

Grief stricken, Bishop is suddenly thrust into a world that changes by the minute. Terrorists attack every major city in the United States with car bombs and invade American embassies overseas. With a small group of survivors, Conrad struggles to stay alive. His fight will take him to the very steps of the White House and have him waging a valiant crusade to keep a dying nation alive.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: May 13, 2007
• ISBN: 9780595865536

Corey K. Cotta

Corey K. Cotta is a career law enforcement officer. An avid scuba diver, he also enjoys martial arts and camping. Cotta lives in Massachusetts.

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All of Yesterday’s

Tomorrows

A Novel

Corey K. Cotta

iUniverse, Inc.

New York Lincoln Shanghai

All of Yesterday’s Tomorrows

Copyright © 2007 by Corey K. Cotta

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This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and

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ISBN: 978-0-595-42214-2 (pbk)

ISBN: 978-0-595-86553-6 (ebk)

Printed in the United States of America

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For Tyler Ann.

Libertas Inaestimblis re est.

Liberty is a thing beyond all price.

—Corpus Ivris Civilis: Digesta

To the patriots who love America and defend it at home and abroad, remembering

always that it stands for liberty, freedom, and democracy.

1

Nantucket, Massachusetts

A cool ocean breeze blew through the living room window. The night was cold, and his girlfriend, Amber, was asleep. Conrad Bishop was wide-awake; he had been uneasy even before he had boarded the ferry for their week-long vacation.

Spending a week on Nantucket had not been what Conrad had wanted to do. He had wanted to go to the warm waters of Belize to scuba dive. He had gone there before, several times; each time he had enjoyed himself enormously. But Amber’s brokerage firm owned the beachfront home, and her boss had offered it to them free. She had received the trip after a good quarter selling small-cap stocks to housewives who watched CNBC and thought they could make an easy million with their children’s college money. Conrad laughed whenever he thought about how quiet and introverted Amber was—until she got on the telephone; then she was a tiger.

The house and the ocean looked like something out of a romance novel, but he was determined to make the best of it. Conrad was attempting to make Amber happy, even though he had delayed getting married to her. All of his friends were divorced, and he was not eager to chance what money and possessions he had managed to save by getting married too quickly. Conrad did not consider himself a frugal man or a confirmed bachelor, but he had to admit that the free vacation made sense. The money he would save could go toward a wedding and purchasing a decent home. In making these decisions, he was trying to be less selfish, and it was a daily struggle.

Their first evening on the island, he and Amber had dinner at a local restaurant; it was empty of its summer crowd. The special was baked scrod, something Conrad could enjoy despite his perpetual diet. Amber had the scallops.

After dinner, they walked on the beach. Amber insisted they hold hands, something Conrad usually refused to do in public. He was impatient; he wanted to get back to the house and explore Amber’s toned body. She kept herself in wonderful shape: she exercised four times a week, and she had run two marathons.

They walked on the sand in front of the house. The wind was coming off the ocean, and the air was still warm, thanks to the warm day. Amber sipped a glass of wine, and aside from a man walking a Labrador retriever, they had the beach to themselves.

I can see the lights of the ships passing. It’s beautiful, Amber said. She was Sicilian; her dark black hair and green eyes mesmerized him. He felt like he never had enough time with her. She worked during the day, and he at night; with their busy work schedules, sometimes he would only see her in passing at their small apartment.

It is beautiful, he replied, his hand on her lower back. He motioned for her to head for the house.

Conrad was not disappointed with the remainder of his evening. After several drinks and Amber’s sexual tenacity, he fell asleep soon after midnight. When he awoke, he ran his hand along Amber’s back to the small of her back and then down to her buttocks; her skin was as soft as velvet and dark. She sighed but did not wake.

It was three o’clock. He got up from bed and went into the living room. The early morning breeze was cold, so he closed the windows.

It was early September; within weeks only the hardiest residents would remain to brave another New England winter on the island. In stark contrast to the summer months, the island would become a virtual ghost town; it would be reborn in the spring with another tourist season.

Conrad turned on the TV. Normally, he opened up a Corona and sat back to watch the news, a story on the Fox News channel about a flu outbreak in New York City. Apparently, it was becoming a problem for several other cities in the United States as well.

Amber called for him, so he switched off the set and returned to bed. She woke him several hours later and complained of a sore throat, but she decided she felt well enough to go to breakfast at the local inn. After breakfast, she wanted to lie down and get some rest.

Conrad was bored and switched on the television. The story about the flu outbreak had changed; it was now being called an influenza outbreak. The newscaster spoke of World War I and the influenza outbreak that had killed millions, and then mentioned that the current outbreak of influenza had spread to South America and Europe. Fascinated, Conrad watched the coverage to the early hours of the next morning.

The White House announced a press conference; all of the channels carried it. Conrad watched as White House Chief of Staff Barry Sims gave a brief statement to reporters.

Over the last twenty-four hours, this strain of influenza has killed twenty-five thousand people worldwide. Based on intelligence reports we believe the current influenza outbreaks are a result of a terrorist attack on the United States of America. The president will address the nation this evening.

The Chief of Staff continued, but Conrad did not hear anything further; he raced toward the bedroom to check on his girlfriend. He found her unconscious and suffering from a high fever.

He tried to wake her, but she would not rouse. He called 911, but a man informed him that no ambulance was available. It seemed the influenza outbreak had spread quickly. He phoned the island hospital, but he learned that they were turning people away, and that people were dying by the hour. The idea that basic services had begun to collapse on the island terrified him.

He had to try. He carried her to the car and drove toward the fire station, but he did not get very far before he came upon the first corpse by the side of the road. As he continued driving, the traffic got worse. People had begun to panic, and cars clogged the roads, especially the one leading to the ferry.

Conrad’s mind raced, and he was uncertain of what he should do. He knew he would become stuck in the traffic if he continued, so he returned to the beach house. He carried the unconscious woman inside and placed her on the bed; her breathing was shallow. He tried to call his daughter on his cell phone; however, to his surprise, there was no service. He tried the house phone again, and found that it too was not working. He remembered that after the terrorist attack on 9/ 11, so many people had placed calls in New York City that cell phone service crashed.

Helplessly, Conrad sat with Amber throughout the day and into the early evening. Just after nine o’clock, she stopped breathing. He checked for a pulse, but she had none.

Conrad was horrified. He knew CPR, but it would not do her any good. Worse, giving her mouth-to-mouth might infect him. But he began the CPR anyway, and he continued until he was exhausted.

Drenched in sweat, Conrad fell onto the bedroom floor. His efforts had not worked; Amber had never regained consciousness. He broke down and sobbed; he had wanted to marry her, and now he never could. He had not even had the opportunity to say good-bye.

Conrad was in shock. He sat alone in the living room, and after several hours, he thought to try the phone again to call his family. Or anyone. But the phones were still not functioning.

Numbly, he walked outside. He could see smoke rising, and there was a horrible stench in the air; it occurred to him that people might be burning the bodies to prevent the spread of the infection. The warm wind blew off the ocean, but he could still smell the burning corpses. He recognized the smell of death; he had served in 82nd airborne during the Gulf in 1991, and he remembered the reek of the oil fires that burned along with the dead.

Conrad could not bring himself to burn Amber’s body. He wrapped her in a sheet and brought her out to the lawn, to a spot overlooking the ocean. He looked for a shovel but could not find one. He finally found some lighter fluid by the gas grill and poured it on the body. Lighting the fluid, he stepped back and watched as it ignited and consumed her. For a long time afterward, he sat on the beach drinking beer.

Things had deteriorated fast, and Conrad presumed they would continue to do so. He went back inside the beach house and watched the news unfold. The influenza outbreaks had spread worldwide, and the numbers of dead were unknown. The president spoke, but by then Conrad was to drunk to care.

He awoke several hours later; events had continued, and the news was worse. Car bombs had exploded in every major city in the United States; terrorists had attacked the embassies in Saudi Arabia, the Philippines, and South Korea. North Korea had crossed the 38th parallel and was shelling Seoul, the capital of South Korea. China had invaded Taiwan after faking naval maneuvers. The TV commentator reported that the military forces of the United States had engaged both countries, but that the military was not reporting any information about the conflicts. In addition, it was the opinion of the White House that the influenza outbreak was a terrorist attack originated by the country of Iran. By nine o’clock, a nuclear strike had taken out the capital of Tehran and other suspected military targets within the country. Several Arab countries had attacked Israel, and Israel, crippled by the plague, responded with nuclear weapons. Every country seemed to be making their moves for the piece of the pie they had always wanted.

Conrad felt like he was caught in a bad horror movie. He began to drink again, and soon he had passed out.

By the morning of the third day, Conrad could see more smoke from the fires burning the corpses. He had come down with a fever; he lay down on the couch and looked at the photographs of his daughter. Then he lost consciousness.

Conrad woke two days later; he knew this by the date on his watch. The television no longer carried any regular programming. All channels played what appeared to be civil defense videos, and they kept repeating them. He found himself, without reason, still alive, and he was dehydrated and hungry.

He drank some water and ate a small amount of food, but he was still dehydrated. Conrad knew he was in trouble; he needed to get IV fluids into his body, or he might die. Leaving the beach house behind, he drove the rented jeep toward the center of town. He found an abandoned ambulance, and then, to his surprise, IV fluids in one of the cabinets.

He had taken a paramedic course, but he had never finished it. However, he had learned to administer IV fluids. He inserted the needle and hung the bag of saline above himself.

Abandoned cars blocked the road, and there were several corpses by the side of the road. Within an hour, Conrad felt better enough to leave the ambulance and get back into the jeep. The smell of death was in the air; Conrad drove through the carnage alone and in shock. He knew himself well, and despite the uncertainty of what had happened and the shock of Amber’s death, he was certain he would survive. The plague had failed to kill him, and he now would need to focus on surviving and getting back to his family.

Conrad was certain he could help others survive; he was not a follower but a quiet leader. He was thirty-three years old; he had served two years as an army paratrooper in the first Gulf War. He had spent the last ten as a police officer in his home town of Westport, Massachusetts. He was American of Italian and French descent; at five ten and two hundred pounds, he had gone to the gym a few times a week to keep in shape. His parents were back in Massachusetts, as was his twelve-year-old daughter.

Conrad did encounter some people; most had masks on their faces and kept to themselves, afraid to become infected. They seemed lost within themselves, and Conrad did not try to speak with them; the look of terror in their eyes spoke volumes about the hell they were living. Abandoned cars prevented him from driving to the ferry dock, so he walked the rest of the way. The weakness in his body concerned him, but the will to survive drove him forward.

He arrived to find the ferry gone and many corpses piled up. From a man preparing to row out to a sailboat, he learned that all of the ports had been closed. The man did not want to talk to him, and he did not offer to take Conrad with him. This man too looked terrorized; Conrad realized the man had seen too much and was fleeing. But death was everywhere. Where could he go? Conrad wondered.

Conrad’s new objective was to get back across the water to his family. He walked to where the fishing boats docked and found an elderly man preparing one for sea. It was a ninety-foot lobster boat. The boat’s name was Lady Cameron; it was blue and white with rust spots and had a deck full of lobster pots.

Could I ride with you back to New Bedford? Conrad shouted to the man.

Well, New Bedford is off-limits, quarantined. Boston as well. However, you can join me and the others. The man shouted back, after looking Conrad over.

Other people will be coming? Conrad asked in surprise.

Yes, about a dozen. They’re gathering some supplies and will be returning soon. My name’s Frank, he said.

So, what do you think of all this? Conrad asked, moving closer to the boat.

I think it was bound to happen eventually. We were bound to destroy ourselves. When I was a young man, I thought Hitler was the devil, and my entire generation united to fight that evil. But the world didn’t learn. Frank replied, disgust in his voice.

This is unreal. I know what is happening. People are dying all around us, Conrad told him. But the structure of the world, the loss of certainty of everyday life, being trapped on this island—that’s a lot to digest.

Well, we’ll be out to sea in a few hours, but Massachusetts is off-limits. I am going to make landfall on the coast of Maine.

This news disappointed Conrad; he wanted to reach his family. But he was not a seafarer; he could not make it on his own, even if he’d had his own boat.

The other survivors returned to the dock with food and various other supplies. Conrad helped them load the boat. All were strangers to one another, and they barely spoke; the will to survive showed on their faces. The will to survive. Conrad remembered the phrase from a first aid course. Those who had it often lived—and these people wanted to survive.

None of the survivors talked with one another; all of them appeared to be strangers thrown together in random order by fate. Many had covered their faces, but their eyes betrayed them. Terror—absolute terror—and grief were written on all of them.

Is there anyone else coming? Conrad asked one woman.

We haven’t found anyone else in the last few hours. she replied.

But Conrad could tell from her response that they hadn’t looked. To the people hastily gathered on the boat dock, the island was full of death, and it had nothing more to offer them.

The Lady Cameron’s engines came to life; the smell of diesel fuel filled the air. Then a man approached; he carried a rifle in one hand and a sack in another.

Ahoy, Captain, he yelled.

The man’s words were slurred, and he stumbled as he walked. He received no response from anyone on boat, just stares from those still on the deck.

I said, ahoy! Are you fucking deaf?

Having seen the man with the rifle, Frank came down from the wheelhouse. Sorry, we aren’t taking anyone else, he said.

Well, I’m coming aboard. The man tried to move onto the boat. Conrad was surprised by the look on the man’s face, at the arrogance he saw there. The man expected to board the ship.

I said, we aren’t taking any more passengers, the captain repeated.

The man dropped the sack and raised his rifle.

Frank removed a .45-caliber pistol from his waistband pointed it at the man. Conrad hadn’t seen the gun before. Walk away and live another day, friend, Frank said with cold deliberation.

The man ignored him and sighted his weapon to fire.

Frank fired once; it struck the man in the chest.

Blood poured onto the man’s blue shirt; he tried to speak. He dropped the weapon, and it fell to the dock with a loud clank. He slipped to one knee, bleeding from his mouth. Then he fell to his side and lay motionless. His eyes were still open; the look of surprise was frozen on his face.

No one spoke. Those aboard had seen death for days; it was not new. They didn’t want or need the man on the ship.

The Lady Cameron left soon after; the sea was calm, and the sun was bright on the horizon. The smell of burning flesh faded from Conrad’s nostrils, thanks to an easterly wind.

After the boat had left the shelter of the harbor, Conrad saw small boats and ships; all were adrift and lifeless. One had a golden retriever on the bow, barking. All of the survivors on deck watched the dog bark; no on wanted to rescue it. The grim reaper, death, was on the boat, and so the dog’s fate was sealed.

As they moved away, the dog’s bark faded, and many of the passengers turned their backs on the animal. Conrad thought back to the night before. Was it the same dog he had seen on the beach with Amber? He tried not to think of her; he tried not to think at all. He looked back at the island. The smoke from the fires rose high into the sky.

Conrad stood on the deck and watched the other survivors. In addition to Frank, there were five women, four men, and three children. These were all that had managed to find their way aboard the Lady Cameron.

The boat cruised through the water, avoiding the abandoned vessels. They headed north out to sea. Frank explained that the coast guard had quarantined all of the ports in Massachusetts.

Conrad asked Frank for some seasick medication and took it; he was prone to seasickness, and he was not looking forward to the sea voyage. He stayed on deck and kept to himself, watching the horizon and trying not to get sick. Finally, to distract himself, he asked Frank if he could clear the deck of the fishing equipment. The captain agreed it was a good idea; they had no use for lobster pots.

He spent the remaining two hours of sunlight throwing the lobster pots, ropes, and other debris over the side of the boat. The other survivors weren’t interested in helping, and Conrad continued his work until the deck and lower wheelhouse were free of the excess equipment.

As the sun set, clouds gathered. The sky turned gray and then dark.

We have some bad weather ahead of us. Frank said as Conrad entered the bridge.

I brought you some coffee, Conrad replied and handed him the hot cup.

I was in the navy in World War II, on a submarine. I’ve spent most of my life at sea.

Were you retired on the island? Conrad asked.

Semi-retired. My son and his wife owned a summer home here. I was on vacation with my wife, visiting our grandchildren.

Conrad did not ask what had become of Frank’s family. So where did you get the boat?

I stole it, Frank said with a grim smile. I’m not a quitter.

I see, Conrad replied. How can I help?

Take the wheel and steer on this heading northwest.

The sea is getting rough.

Yes, and it will get rougher. I need something to eat. Frank left Conrad alone on the bridge.

Conrad steered the boat in the northwest direction. He realized this was away from land. The bow rose and fell with the rising swells of water. He could not see beyond the bow of the boat, but the radar did not show any obstruction.

Conrad knew he was out of his element; he knew nothing about the ocean. He had gone camping for years, but the ocean was a great unknown to him.

Frank returned and gave Conrad a tuna sandwich, which he forced himself to eat. The weather is getting worse. I told the others to stay inside and keep all of the doors and hatches closed. It’s a good thing you cleared the deck. The last thing we needed was lobster pots smashing along the deck.

Conrad stayed with Frank through the night, and the sea got rough. He was sick several times. The dawn brought calmer weather and a surprise: the sight of several ships adrift or sinking. The captain masterfully avoided them.

During the night, two of the survivors, a man and a woman, had died. Their bodies were thrown overboard. No one had known their names, and they were quickly forgotten. For the remaining survivors, life had become callous and cold.

The second day at sea passed quickly. The sea was calm, and the number of abandoned boats and ships continued to increase. Many of them were sinking, or they floated with dead crews.

The largest, a cruise ship, had several people on deck. The Lady Cameron was a quarter of a mile away, and Conrad could see the passengers waving for help. The ship was larger than a small office building. It was slowing sinking; the bilge pumps had most likely failed when the men in the engine room had died. Those on deck had tried to lower the lifeboats, but they had been unsuccessful. Where would they go if they had gotten the boats into the water? Where would he end up?

Conrad watched the survivors on the Lady Cameron with disgust. People had become so accustomed to daily life, they could not adapt to change or extend themselves to help the passengers on the doomed cruise ship. Frank kept the boat going without saying a word. Conrad watched the ship and its survivors fade from view.

The next ship they passed was an oil tanker; it dwarfed the size of the cruise ship. It too would sink; its oil would pollute the ocean, and there would be no one to clean it up. The danger of striking capsized boats or a large ship increased with each minute of their journey. The spray from