Angel Virus: A Novella Trilogy

By Joshua Squire

Up until the day the Angel Virus appeared, people of the world thought they knew the meaning of true terror. After all, they’d seen thousands of years of war, starvation, illness, and other forms of tragedy. Yet, the emergence of the Angel Virus brought about a deeper level of sorrow and a fiercer degree of trauma than any living person had dreamed existed.

On the day the Virus came, all over the world, children suddenly began to die. The virus inflicted great grief on humanity, but humanity would not have time to mourn. A war between good and evil was soon to heat up. The Angel Virus is only the beginning of a battle that carries much more than earthly implications. This is a divine confrontation in a world buckled by despair, where the laughter of children has been silenced forever.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu Publishing Services
• Release date: Aug 2, 2016
• ISBN: 9781483455006

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Author

PROLOGUE

Up until the day when the Angel Virus appeared, the people of the world thought that they had known the true meaning of terror. After all, they had seen thousands of years of war, starvation, illness, natural disasters, and other forms of tragedy.

But the emergence of the Angel Virus brought about a deeper level of sorrow, and a fiercer degree of trauma than any living person had dreamed existed.

For on the day when the Virus came, all over the world, within mere moments, children suddenly began to die.

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Schoolchildren in classrooms, at their desks, pencils and crayons in hand, fell to the floor, their hearts beating no longer and their eyes now gazing into nothingness.

At churches, as the children began to fall, the adults’ eyes scanned about for something mystical, convinced that a spiritual origin was to blame.

However, for the most part, in those initial moments, people’s minds turned to terrorism. Adults feared that a chemical gas was in the air, and braced themselves for their own demises … which somehow failed to come.

At birthday parties, children would be laughing and splashing in the pool, only to all be drowning a moment later. At hospitals, infants would cry out in search of their first breaths, only to find their cries cut short, and their bodies falling limp. At parks all around the world, kids would fall from the monkey bars, tumble down slides, and end up face-down upon the hot steel of twirling merry-go-rounds.

It was a phenomenon that defied comprehension. The terror was so great that it ripped the hearts and minds of onlookers into shreds. Very few people could form coherent words. Even those who’d never known the joys of parenthood could not deny that within several moments, the planet had become a much colder and less buoyant place.

For the innocence and sweetness of childhood was now no longer a part of the human experience. All that remained of it existed within the darkening confines of people’s memories, or in audio-visual recordings. Around the globe, news stories broke out, rapidly verifying that this sudden onslaught of death pertained entirely to children … and offering no sensible reasons as to why such a thing would occur.

Regardless, as far as most people were concerned, no reason whatsoever could rid the world of this new pain. Whether it turned out to be terrorism, or a strange disease, or an alien attack – or whatever else people speculated – did not seem to matter at all.

What mattered, regardless of the source, was that the human experience had turned into one marked by far more pain than joy.

Or at least, such would be the case until the explanations finally appeared …

CHAPTER 1

DUTCH

I need to talk to you, said Dr. Jennings.

Dutch Ferguson felt about three inches tall. Although in reality he was a touch above six feet, and just over 200 pounds to boot, when he saw the look in Dr. Jennings’ eye he knew that whatever was coming would not be good.

It was three months before the Angel Virus broke out.

The hospital where Dutch and his wife Christa were located was called The Cradle of Faith Medical Center, and was located just north of Madison, Wisconsin. Good facility, upstanding people. Dutch had come to know Dr. Jennings pretty well throughout the course of Christa’s pregnancy. The doctor was not only a kind man, but had always been upbeat. The pregnancy had unfolded without any major issues. One morning in the sixth month, Christa had woken up in a panic, convinced that the unborn child was bleeding inside of her.

Look! she’d screamed, tears in her eyes, as she pointed to several frightening red blotches dotted across her stomach.

Dutch’s lungs had buckled. It was not a good sight. But upon rushing her to the hospital that day, they’d quickly learned that it was simply a rash. Probably an allergic reaction to something. No big deal, certainly.

They smiled and held hands on the slow ride home.

Now things were different, though. Christa was well into the labor process, and was dilated to nine centimeters. That had seemed like a good thing just 10 minutes prior, but now Dr. Jennings was standing in the hall with Dutch, explaining to him that they would have to go in and do an emergency Cesarean Section.

Okay, Dutch said, without a second thought. Do it.

It’s … complex, Dr. Jennings responded.

I don’t understand.

Mr. Ferguson, the baby’s body is at a diagonal angle. The child is suffocating; we believe the umbilical cord is wrapped around her neck.

Dutch felt his heart-rate picking up speed.

Dr. Jennings went on, "To complete the C-section, we’ll have to cut around several of Christa’s major organs.

If you want to save the baby, Christa cannot survive.

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At first Dutch wanted to yell at the doctor. He wanted to hurl his fists against the wall. Why would something so unfair occur, particularly when they had come this far?

Previous to that night, he had endured a single other trauma in his life – and that one hadn’t cut nearly as deep. Right out of high school, he’d enrolled for basic training. All his life, he’d dreamed of being in the military. A natural athlete, he’d excelled during training, often provoking the envy and aggravation of those around him.

He’d had one week left when, during a running drill, he’d tripped and bashed his left knee against the concrete. For a moment, it didn’t seem like a big deal …

Then the pain came.

It wasn’t normal pain. This was no little bump. This was screaming, wailing, alarming, I’m-going-to-black-out-soon pain.

The military medical staff confirmed it: He’d blown his knee out. Split the cap from the main bone. Beyond the incredible physical pain was a tidy dose of emotional pain:

Dutch would be disqualified from military enrollment.

And for the rest of his life, he’d walk with a mild limp.

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He got used to it quickly, though. The limp built his character. It actually ended up making him more outgoing, as it gave him a story to tell people when they asked about it.

Or even when they didn’t.

Meanwhile, Dutch’s injury provoked him to pick up a new skill: welding. His father had been a decent welder, and much approved of the younger man’s decision. As for Dutch, his skill went well beyond mere decency. He was a natural. He brought artistry to his work. Fine angles, impeccable attention to detail.

He was one of the top five in Wisconsin, with a little shop just behind his suburban house, which he could walk to and from all hours of the day (and sometimes the night, when the mood happened to strike).

Christa entered the picture three years after the sudden conclusion of his training. She’d never even seemed to notice his limp. After all, he was not only a tall and independent and successful man, he was also something of a talented athlete, regularly participating in neighborhood sports on the weekends and for charity events.

She loved him. He loved her just as much. Her outer beauty was wholly matched, in fact exceeded, by what was in her heart. In Christa, Dutch not only found true love, but a pathway to God that he’d never expected to discover. Whereas his faith had been sincere but not particularly deep, her faith was a thing of great power and complexity, which she was willing and eager to share with him on a daily basis.

Through her, Dutch found his faith growing stronger. And Christa, meanwhile, said Dutch’s presence had the very same impact on her.

He never quite believed that, though. He was far too modest a man for that. After all, when it came to being in touch with God, Christa’s capacity far exceeded his own.

How could he ever inspire her in such a way?

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That night at The Cradle of Faith, Christa confirmed what she’d said to be true: She truly had been inspired to go deeper into her faith on account of Dutch.

This became clear to Dutch when she said to him:

"You must raise this child,