The Road to Nowhere: A Novel

By Lee Argus

In this post-apocalyptic thriller, a lone survivor in the wasteland of Las Vegas is stalked by a terrifying and mysterious threat.

When John Doe wakes up from a coma, he finds himself in an empty hospital. With no memory of who he is or how he got there, he finds remnants of a mysterious, horrific event throughout the facility . . . and throughout the ghost town that was once Las Vegas, Nevada.

The roads are packed with abandoned cars, the buildings burned and looted. As John searches for other survivors, he discovers that something sinister is prowling the Strip. The residents and tourists of the once glamorous city have all succumbed to a virus. The infected haven’t died, exactly. They are just no longer human . . .

• Language: English
• Publisher: Open Road Integrated Media
• Release date: Jan 2, 2011
• ISBN: 9781618681058

Book preview

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LEE ARGUS

A PERMUTED PRESS book

published by arrangement with the author

ISBN (trade paperback): 978-1-61868-104-1

ISBN (eBook): 978-1-61868-105-8

The Road to Nowhere copyright © 2013

by Lee Argus.

All Rights Reserved.

Published at Smashwords

Cover art by Alex Kranzusch.

This book is a work of fiction. People, places, events, and situations are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or historical events, is purely coincidental.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author and publisher.

THE ROAD TO NOWHERE

TITLE PAGE

COPYRIGHT

CHAPTER 1 – LOST

CHAPTER 2 – QUICK DRIVE

CHAPTER 3 – RESTLESS

CHAPTER 4 – BURNING BRIGHT

CHAPTER 5 – BEST LAID PLANS

CHAPTER 6 – CAR SICK

CHAPTER 7 – NIGHT TERRORS

CHAPTER 8 – CHOICES

CHAPTER 9 – AT A LOSS

CHAPTER 10 – THE DETOUR

CHAPTER 11 – SILENT

CHAPTER 12 – CUTTING DEEP

CHAPTER 13 – THE COLD

EPILOGUE

BIOGRAPHY

Some material in this book may not be suitable for all audiences. Mature Readers Suggested for graphic violence, horror and gore, minor usage of language, minor sexual insinuations, situations involving alcohol and drug use, or other minor yet potentially offensive material.

To live is to suffer, to survive is to find some meaning in the suffering.

Fredrich Nietzsche-

1 LOST

I’m a murderer. My victims were not people in the strictest sense, but they once were.

I woke in a dark room, not knowing where I was or how I had gotten there. My eyes could vaguely make out the white walls that surrounded me. The faint smell of disinfectant lingered in the room, but there was something it failed to conceal. It was a pungent smell, making me think of old pennies and spoiled meat.

I tried to remember where I was and what had led me here. A few vague images and dim recollections slipped away as soon as my mind futilely grasped at them. Why couldn’t I remember what had happened? Had there been an accident? I still knew what the names were to the objects in the room. What I couldn’t remember was anything that personally related to me. My past, my name, and even my appearance were things that didn’t exist in my mind. How could I have forgotten?

Wondering if I’d recall the most recent events that had occurred, I took in my surroundings.

To my left were windows covered in thick, heavy curtains. The empty room was featureless, other than a chair that had been placed near the closed door. Hardly any light made its way into the room, which made it difficult to see my environment.

Eyes trying to focus, they could vaguely make out a cylindrical device with a protruding button on one end. It was lying on a small table, which was a few inches above my chest level. It was a nurse call button.

It might as well have been across the room for all the good it did me. My hand was too weak to reach for it, despite my strained efforts. The most I could do was raise my arm up less than an inch from the mattress before it fell back to my side.

After wondering what had brought me here, a sharp sensation, which had increased in intensity, brought pain and nausea to the forefront of my attention. Every part of my body felt a combination of weakness, as though circulation had been cut off for far too long.

The pain soon became a dull ache that surged from my legs and ran its way up to my chest and neck before stopping.

My mouth felt dry, contributing to my cracked lips. Tonguing the broken skin, I could taste trickles of blood, which emphasized the terrible thirst I felt.

The room was dark, but I still should have been able to see more than what was close by. I closed my eyes in an attempt to clear them. After a few seconds of blinking, my eyes moistened enough to finally let me see.

With some effort, I managed to move my head to get a clearer picture of my surroundings. Looking down at my nose brought a clear plastic tube into focus.

Equipment of a medical nature sat just within the peripheral vision to my right. That brought my attention to the deflated IV bag that hung next to my bed. My eyes followed the tube that ran from the empty bag. It led to a needle that had been stuck into the back of my hand.

I tried in vain to call for help. The sound that came out was intended to be a shout, but had turned out to be a hoarse whisper. The second attempt was slightly louder, but that guttural croak became a rough hacking cough.

My throat burned, and my lungs protested at their use. Swallowing helped, but my throat still felt scoured with dryness. I wondered how long it had been since my last drink of water.

Thoughts racing, I couldn’t help but to wonder where the hospital staff had been, or at least the nurse on shift. Where the hell was everyone?

I took a few slow breaths, and inched my left hand far enough across my body to try and pull out the tube and needle from it. The IV was empty and pointless. Medical tape kept the needle firmly inserted, despite my fumbling efforts.

My overly long nails picked at the adhesive tape, until enough was peeled off to allow the tube’s removal. Several tugs on the line caused further pain and discomfort, until it was finally free. A trickle of blood ran down my fingers before it stopped. I dropped the needle to my side, weary from that little effort.

How long would it be until someone came to check on me? There was no clock within my field of vision, but it couldn’t have been more than ten or twenty minutes since I’d first woken up. Someone would come.

While I waited in the cold room, a feeling of apprehension overtook me. I didn’t know what to expect. Wondering if my memory loss was permanent, the feeling only grew in its intensity.

As I laid in the hospital’s bed, thoughts dwelled in my mind without end.

With nothing else to do but wait, I shut my eyes while concentrating on what might’ve happened and what sort of life I’d lived.

As much as I tried to remember my past, still nothing came. The emotion of frustration or even the feeling of being bothered seemed to be missing. I wasn’t sure how to feel towards anything. Empty, void, alone; those words would be as close of a description as I could come.

The small amount of effort it had taken to do anything had left me exhausted. I tried not to fall back asleep, in the event that I would never wake again. That was the last thought I had before falling asleep.

***

When I awoke, the room was still dark and empty. No one had put the IV back in my hand. I found myself still thirsty from dehydration. I’d felt a spark of anger directed towards the indignity of it all. I’d assumed I’d been asleep for an hour or two, but it could have been less. At that thought, my anger faded.

I felt a little stronger, despite my growing thirst. After a few strenuous attempts, I finally moved far enough to push the nurse button. Nothing happened. No one came to see what was wrong.

After a few minutes, I pushed it again, but still nothing. Looking around, more things were troubling me. None of the equipment that surrounded me was on. I hadn’t noticed this before, but the ache from my body had been enough to cloud the perception of my surroundings.

The equipment had been plugged into the wall’s outlet, but the tube to my nose wasn’t pushing any oxygen in. Why wasn’t anything working? I thought hospitals had back-up generators.

There was a growing suspicion that no one was coming to check on me. Baffled over the lack of working electricity, I needed to find out what had happened. With that in mind, I grabbed at both railings, but was unable to pull myself up to a sitting position. A few buttons on the railings that were supposed to adjust the bed were as useless as the call button.

Deciding on a different course of action, I pulled and scooted my body down to the bottom of the bed. It might have been easier to just roll to one side, but those railings were made to keep me from doing just that.

Before I had gone more than a few inches, the tubes in my nose started to tug at me. After pulling the thin tubes out, breathing became noticeably easier.

After a bit of effort, my legs hung over the edge. When my knees finally bent, it felt like hot needles were being driven into the muscles in my thighs.

Fighting through the pain, I rolled myself over to my stomach. My stomach and leg muscles felt rigid and uncomfortable in the awkward position. More blood rushed to my legs, which increased the pins and needles.

When my toes came into contact with the cold linoleum floor, I had second thoughts, but it was too late. I couldn’t have pulled myself back up, even if I had wanted to.

Gravity took hold, bringing more of my weight onto my legs.

The ground felt unsteady under my feet. I knew what was coming, but was unable to do anything about it.

I toppled onto the floor in pain. It felt as though thousands of fingers were viciously pinching nearly every square inch of my skin and muscles.

After what felt like an eternity, the agony receded to a tolerable level. Fear kept me rooted to the floor. My outstretched hand couldn’t find purchase on the slick floor to bring me any closer to the door. Pushing off with my legs seemed like a good idea, but not in practice. Bringing up one leg brought a shriek of pain to my lips.

Instead of trying to move my legs all at once, I started small. First, I moved my toes by making them curl into little fists. The pain was manageable and faded after a few minutes. I worked my way slowly upwards, progressing to each leg with a back and forth motion, until the pain quelled to a manageable level.

I felt as though I had been drug behind a car for several miles, but still managed to crawl to the door. It wasn’t a hands and knees crawl either. This was closer to dragging myself inch by inch, until the door was within reach.

At the first glance, I thought the door had been closed. That would mean trying to get up and turn the handle. I don’t think I was ready for that. Upon closer inspection, I noticed it had been left slightly ajar. Seeing this, I pulled on the door until it slowly swung open the rest of the way.

The tremors of anxiety (or exhaustion) that had gnawed at my stomach grew in their intensity. I tried to fight them down, until they reached into my chest and seized hold of my pounding heart.

The hallway outside the door was dark. It appeared abandoned, other than the emergency lights that occasionally flickered on and off. I was forced to squint as they flared brightly into my eyes.

There were no nurses or doctors in sight. Where was everyone? No one was visible in the hallway, so I pulled myself out of the room.

There was a wheelchair nearby the door. With a surge of effort, I was able to pull myself up on to it. By the time I had finished, a layer of sweat clung to my skin. Nauseous from fatigue, I fought down an overwhelming sense of vertigo.

From the higher view of the chair, I saw that most of the room doors had been left wide open. Nothing appeared to be free from rampant vandalism. Papers were scattered everywhere. Some stuck to dark red stains. It was blood. Dried blood. I couldn’t help but to wonder what had happened.

I couldn’t think clearly. All sorts of ideas flickered through my mind, each worse than the last. There had been a bomb threat, but no one remembered to take me. Terrorists had attacked.

After taking two deep breaths, I decided that worrying wouldn’t help the situation. I didn’t want to wait around on the floor much longer.

Taking both wheels in my hands, I inched my way down the hall, past what looked like the nurse’s station. There was a stack of clipboards with attached pens. From the wheelchair’s low level, I was unable see anything behind the countertop.

I kept going down the hallway, then tried my voice again. It wasn’t loud enough to carry more than a few feet. What I really needed was some water. A cold drink would ease the arduous thirst that was growing steadily worse.

I made my way past another hallway. There was still no one and nothing to see, except for more dried blood. Blood that trailed into (or out of?) most of the empty rooms and now started to look as though it had been rubbed on both walls of the narrow hallway. There were vague shapes that might have been handprints or dragged finger marks.

When I finally reached the end of the hall, I began to worry again, if not more. There was an elevator and a door with an emergency exit sign. This sign was a white figure on a red background, which showed a man running down stairs.

I doubted my legs were strong enough to handle a walk down steep stairs. I also doubted the chair would be of any help.

The elevator was probably inoperable with how the power was acting. Even if it did work, I wouldn’t want to be stuck in it if the power had shut off completely. I tried the down button anyway, but it remained dark.

As I made my way to the stairwell’s door, I thought I’d heard a faint clatter, as though someone else was here and had knocked something over.

I tried to call out once again, but before I could speak, my voice seized in my throat. Swallowing didn’t help, nor did rubbing at it.

I listened, but no further sounds came. It was easy enough to convince myself that it was nothing, and I was too weak to hunt around a dark hospital for a phantom sound.

The dimly lit floor was making me feel uneasy. I needed to get outside.

With a great deal of effort, I was able to push open the door to the stairs. The enclosed space looked darker than the hallway. The sporadic hallway flashes showed that the concrete staircase was fairly wide and at a gentle slope. An emergency light was mounted above a 3rd Floor sign at the top of the stairs. The light wasn’t working, which was no surprise.

I had to find other people, and I had to know what was going on. By repeating that thought, I was able to keep going. I rolled the wheelchair to the landing and stopped near the edge of the stairs. The large exit door closed behind me, plunging the stairwell in darkness.

Keeping a firm grip on the wheelchair’s hand rims, I edged my way forward. Not being able to see my surroundings made me fear each inch.

The first step rocked my balance hard enough to nearly topple me off the chair. Every one of my breaths came out as a ragged gasp. Heart pounding, I couldn’t move. The ligaments and muscles in my hands kept trying to lock up when I tried to keep going.

Despite the surrounding darkness, I closed my eyes. Going back was no longer a possibility. Hands loosening, my descent began again.

The second and third step went easier, but then the wheels hit the fourth step too hard. The jarring motion tore away any semblance of balance I’d managed to maintain.

Before I could react to this new predicament, my body tumbled out of the careening chair and struck hard against the concrete floor. I rolled on my back before feeling a sharp flash of pain as my head hit the wall. I clutched at my skull and stifled a yell that instead came out as a grunt of pain.

A faint ringing sound deafened the noise. I sat in place for a few minutes. There was nothing but pain. Pain surged through my body, which mingled with the sharper agony that blossomed in my head. Slowly it faded into a dull ache that throbbed in the same tempo as my heartbeat.

I tentatively probed at the back of my head. It had felt bruised. A lump had swelled up, but there wasn’t any wetness to indicate bleeding.

I probed the dark space with outstretched hands. Behind me was the wheelchair, which I resisted the urge to kick.

Using a wheelchair down the stairwell hadn’t been a bright idea in the first place, but in retrospect, I’d been lucky not to break my neck. Even when the muscles in my legs had started to cramp and lock, I should have just crawled.

I’d convinced myself that there hadn’t been any other way down. My legs had been too weak to use. It made me wonder how long I had laid there in that bed.

After my fall, I crawled until my hand came across the next step that led down. Next to the step was a guardrail to keep people from falling into the open space between the stairs. I felt a few different levels of metal beams. By using the lowest handhold, it was possible to pull myself up to a kneeling position.

With my weight supported by the handrail, I was able to get my feet under my body. Leaning against the railing kept me from falling down the stairs the second time. My legs ached, but using them seemed to loosen the muscles enough to work better.

A faint light was visible at the bottom of the stairs. It came from a

Reviews for The Road to Nowhere

[allcrazyhere · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

I enjoyed this book from the getgo. The description of the book, from the description of zombies to survival, all sounded intriguing. But, as the book was being read, it began to read more like the Walking Dead than anything. Not that there's anything wrong with that, but it read a little too similar for my tastes. I liked that Kurus were the explanation, instead of zombies, and I liked that it wasn't zombies specifically. The characters were connectable, I just wish we would have found out more about our main character before the end of the book. I liked the development, but the story was too similar to something already done for me.