The Seven Last Virgins: A Thrilling & Suspenseful Post-Apocalyptic Pandemic Survival Series (Book 1): 1, #1

By V.S.L. MUMUNI

The year is 2031, and humanity is dying.

As the infamous Iranius virus ravages the world, cities crumble and the human population plummets. But psychic Anja Zorka saw the pandemic coming. Gifted with extraordinary abilities, she spends every waking moment searching for a cure.

Thousands of miles away on the Ganges, Priya shares her healing gifts with people ravaged by the virus. Meanwhile, in the remains of New York, 17-year-old Reyna finds herself the unlikely leader of a group of women struggling to survive. They were some of the few girls who had developed their gifts after the Iranius virus struck – and Anja is convinced that they hold the key to saving humanity.

Determined to find Priya and the other girls in her visions, Anja makes the dangerous trip from the frozen wastes of Siberia on a hunt to bring them all together. But the clock is ticking, and the last remnants of humanity cling on by a thread.

Even if they can survive the chaos and violence of a crumbling world, they still face an impossible task –figuring out how their powers can prevent the extinction of the human race.

As a thrilling post-apocalyptic novel that grapples with deep themes and profound questions, The Seven Last Virgins is a riveting novel that's perfect for readers who love apocalyptic stories. Scroll up and grab your copy today...

• Language: English
• Publisher: V.S.L. MUMUNI
• Release date: Oct 6, 2022
• ISBN: 9788293968115

V.S.L. MUMUNI

V.S.L. Mumuni is a life-long learner who champions education as a powerful means of effecting social change. With a wealth of experience across the global sector, she has dedicated her time as a devoted teacher, held a Teaching Assistant position at a university, and worked as a Senior Research Assistant. She now works as a special consultant  Armed with a degree in Developmental Studies, master’s degrees in both Sociology and Peace and Conflict Transformation, and a PhD in Public Health, her hope as a dedicated mentor and author is to inspire young readers to make intelligent choices. The author of a wide range of thought-leading self-help books, and captivating fictional stories that tug at the hearts and minds of readers, V.S.L. Mumuni strives to inspire budding visionaries to become a force for good and make a positive mark on the world.

Book preview

PROLOGUE

September 27th, 2031

A lot can happen in seven years. The human body itself is entirely different in a septennial; it has replaced each of its atoms and cells and is technically a completely different organism than what it was before. This cycle happens in all things. It seems life evolves in stages, and for humanity, the mind, body, and spirit continuously evolve in this cycle. It is a flow, a constant rhythm of evolution, to ensure that nothing ever remains the same, that humans keep changing, growing and adapting. A pivotal point of possibility hits, and opportunities arise for reinvention.

When the Iranius virus struck, all of that changed. The human body lost its ability to adapt, to change, to heal. The largest pandemic of humanities past struck like rolls of thunder across the fields of life, plunging the world into chaos and disrepair.

The road twisted through the hinterlands of Serbia for a time, before disappearing into the fold of snow. A barren wind whistled through the empty air, howling as the ghosts of a dying land clawed at the sleeping trees in a flurry of sleet and gray. The sound of wooden chimes clunked together, heavy and deep, echoing the smooth sound of hollow wood; and as the ghosts battered against them, they tossed snow against the walls of a wooden cabin.

Within the shuttered windows, a small fire was stoked. Herbs hung from the ceiling in small bundles of chamomile, yarrow, nettle, mint and sage, and a thick veil of sage smoke filled the interior. Eyes half open, rolled upward so only the whites could be seen, twitched laterally. Alive, yes. Anja Zorka, granddaughter and descendent of the infamous Vidovita Zorka, sat in a trance as her gaze pierced through the veil of matter and things.

Images flashed through her mind; pieces, fragments, shattered glimpses of moments throughout the entire world. She saw cities aflame, barren streets with the few odd bodies face down in the dirt. She saw giant walls erected, and she saw men and women in suits, locked in sterile rooms.

But none of these things were what she was looking for. Anja Zorka was a psychic, and she was well aware of the state of the world—well aware the human race was dying out. She, herself, had foreseen the events, and had tried to warn any who would listen, but little to no one would take seriously the words of a self-proclaimed psychic. Her art was a laughing matter to the majority of humans.

The work and art of an oracle was no longer taken seriously. There was a time in history when everyone—noble born, royalty, warriors and merchants—would consult the oracle on matters of the world. That was a different time, a time before humanity decided that matter was the only reality, that spirit and the unseen realms beyond were just a bunch of mumbo jumbo you could purchase at your local crystal shop.

Honestly, Anja Zorka didn’t give a rat’s ass what the world thought of her. She had been a hermit for most of her life and could easily let humanity die out if it weren’t for one thing. Anja Zorka had a heart. It was the matter of much debate, to those few who knew her, but it turned out that yes, in fact, she did, and she would not be able to live with herself if she didn’t use her gift to try and save the world. Even if that same world ridiculed her and had labeled her crazy for as long as she could remember. 

She had known when the first vaccinations rolled out that they would cause a problem. In fact, after the sixth booster shot, people’s immune systems started failing, and the world governments and scientific authorities were no closer to finding a cure for Iranius. They could only hold it off inevitably. After the first wave of sixth round boosters were rolled out, and they saw the detrimental effects, a worldwide effort was established to find a real cure.

It had been seven years since the first human got sick in some communicable disease research center in Moscow. Since then, almost fifty percent of humanity had been wiped out. Anja Zorka had seen it coming, read it in the stars themselves. The stars never lied, and cycles always repeated themselves.

Anja Zorka’s mind traveled through a vast network of invisible threads; a tapestry that connected all minds together in a collective grid of consciousness. Her mother had taught her how to tap into this web, and her mother had taught her mother before. She was from a great line of psychics. Of course, that was not what she called herself. Anja Zorka was a veštica. A witch.

The Serbians are notoriously superstitious, and they even had the audacity to blame her for the outbreak. That the virus was a result of her dabbling in the forbidden black magic of her arts. Those same people came running to her for a cure when the truth came out.

Anja Zorka’s eyes rattled in her skull as she surged through the web of life. Suffering. So much suffering. She did not only see what people saw, but felt it as well. In the physical realm she scoffed, mirroring the pain of some of the people’s minds she passed through. In that vast fragment of interconnected minds, so many of them were dark, blinded by their illness, seized in a fog of obfuscation.

Then, all of a sudden, there was a spark of light. It was small, but it was bright. Anja almost missed it, but sure enough, there it was again. She immediately focused her attention on it and was sucked through into the eyes of the world.

*

Priya stood at the edge of the river Ganges, covered in the orange dust of soil that churned up from the ground. The bridge that crossed the river had been destroyed. It was half crumbling, chunks of concrete exposed metal frame wires, and every now and then, a small bit of debris would go falling into the river with a vacant splash.

The holy city of Varanasi lay just on the other side. Priya could still see the cremation pyres burning, the same ones that had been burning for thousands of years. It seemed even at the height of a global, population-eradicating virus, some traditions still lived on. She did not wear a mask like most people did. She had no need for one.

A shout came from somewhere behind her and her head snapped back in the direction it had come. That would be her father. She had been sent to collect water, not to just stare dumbly at the holy city. She bent down to her knees and gathered some water into a bucket, closing her eyes and offering a small puja as she did so.

As her eyes opened back up to the world, she caught a reflection of the Kashi temple on the water’s surface, no longer adorned with its once golden spires. It was a temple dedicated to Lord Siva. Priya knew that her Lord was known for destruction, but he was also the liberator of illness and poisons. He had given Priya her gift after all, or at least that’s what her baba told her.

Priya bowed to the reflection before running back to the small ramshackle of shanti huts where she lived. She went the longer back way, as instructed, because already there would be a long line of people waiting for her. She ducked into the back of her hut, moving a small piece of corrugated metal, and shoving the bucket in before squeezing through herself.

What took you so bloody long?! her baba shouted.

He was in his usual mood, scurrying back and forth, trying to assemble all the things he needed before the day of business started. Priya bowed her head. She was roughly fourteen years of age. She didn’t know for certain; they had never celebrated her birthday before. They were too poor for birthdays, and when baba found out about her gift, he had given her a new and auspicious birthdate.

Sit down. He gestured to the cushion in the center of the room. "Oh, you