The Departed

By Chase McCown

The United States is under siege!

 

A devastating new bacterial disease sweeps across the states on the west coast and saps its victims of their own free will. Four strangers must work together to survive a mad dash across the United States to find safety in the nation's capital. The outbreak chases them from their homes on the west coast, and they struggle to reach the capital before the disease does. When they arrive, danger rears its ugly head again, and the four must race against time to save not only themselves, but the entire country from destruction. 

• Language: English
• Publisher: eLectio Publishing
• Release date: Nov 16, 2022
• ISBN: 9781632133076

Book preview

THE DEPARTED

Chase McCown

eLectio Publishing

Little Elm, TX

www.eLectioPublishing.com

The Departed

By Chase McCown

Copyright 2016 by Chase McCown

Cover Design by eLectio Publishing, LLC

ISBN-13: 978-1-63213-307-6

Published by eLectio Publishing, LLC

Little Elm, Texas

http://www.eLectioPublishing.com

Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

Publisher’s Note

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

The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

To my loving mother, who brought me praise and encouragement even when I didn’t deserve it.

To my insightful father, without your wisdom and love this book would never have been written.

To my wonderful siblings, who each inspire me in different ways every day.

To Jeff and Lora, whose friendship helped motivate me to see the book through to the end.

To my editor, Jody, whose help was invaluable in finishing the book.

To all my beta readers, whose feedback was crucial to whatever success this book achieves.

To Brother Jess and Brother Dane, who I based Howard’s character on. Thank you both for fighting so hard to rebuild a struggling church and for holding your congregation together through it all.

To the reader, I hope you enjoy getting to know these characters as much as I did.

And most importantly, to my savior Jesus Christ, who gives me the strength to face each new day.

Prologue

August 18th, 2020. Jarvis Island.

On a small island in the Pacific Ocean, a scientist walked down the hallways of a pristine laboratory with overpowering antiseptic odors and blinding white walls, ceiling tiles, and floors. The only respite from total isolation from the outside world was a single, barred window made of three-and-a-half-inch-thick polycarbonate.

The scientist’s lab coat hung loosely over his long, thin body. In the hall, he met his assistant, who greeted him with wide eyes that reflected the sharp lights of the facility.

The assistant’s jovial presence stood in stark contrast to the sterile halls and labs of the facility. Hello, Dr. Matthews! I have your coffee. I didn’t put anything in it because the last time you said you preferred your coffee black. If you change your mind, though, I could—

Thank you, Johnson, Matthews interrupted, snatching the coffee from his hands. This will do.

Johnson stood there for a few moments longer, and the two stared awkwardly at each other.

That will be all, Johnson.

Sorry. What I meant to say is—

Goodbye, Johnson.

You’re busy, of course. Goodbye, Dr. Matthews, sir.

Johnson gathered his things and headed down the hallway opposite of Matthews.

Dr. Matthews shook his head. He looked down at his watch.

That imbecile cost me three whole minutes. As if I have nothing better to do than answer his inane questions! the scientist grumbled in disgust.

As the head of research for Advanced Genome Industries (AGI), Dr. Matthews observed things few people even knew existed. He didn’t have time for such idle distractions.

He sighed and shook his head. It wasn’t all Johnson’s fault, he supposed. After all, he thought to himself, how could such a simpleton be expected to grasp the magnitude of the work Matthews strove to accomplish?

He continued on down the hallway a few paces more before he came to a sturdy metal door with a slot for a keycard above the handle. Dr. Matthews slid the keycard clipped to his lab coat into the slot in the door, which gave a click to indicate it was now unlocked.

He turned the handle and entered a room that managed to feel claustrophobic despite the large area provided in adherence to strict safety protocols. In the middle of the room were a pair of countertop workstations. Each countertop was covered with burners, autoclaves, baths, and glassware.

It was immaculate. Not a speck of dust could be found anywhere in the room, except in the glass habitats of the animals it held.

The pathogens that the scientists here at Advanced Genome Industries worked with were unstable, and the effects they may deliver were unknown. Even something as minor as an errant drop of one of the numerous concoctions they worked with, picked up on a glove or article of clothing and exposed to a person, may have catastrophic results. Dr. Matthews ran the risk of being contaminated each time he handled the dangerous substances, but these risks came with the territory, and he had long since accepted them.

Another danger came in dealing with the animals themselves, which were mostly rats and mice with a few lizards and one guinea pig thrown in. At this point in the study, no one could be certain of just how the pathogens affected the animals. A bite could just as easily be fatal as harmless, even from something as mundane as a mouse.

Dr. Matthews turned to face a locked freezer to his right. It contained carefully packed containers which held a number of small vials. These vials were labeled with identifiers like CO92, REBOV, ZEBOV, and RZ13. A laundry list of warning labels decorated every vial: Avoid contact with skin or eyes. Do not ingest. Do not inhale. Keep in a cool, moist environment. Do not heat contents above 25 degrees Celsius. Do not handle without gloves and mask.

He pulled out one of the vials and placed it on a counter so that it could reach room temperature. While he waited, he took down each animal, examining them all. All except one, that is. He had something special in mind for it.

As he worked, he took each creature in turn and jotted down a few more notes before returning it to its habitat and moving on to the next one.

Most of the creatures showed no drastic alterations in their condition. The few that did seemed healthy enough. All in all, he was happy with their progress.

Once he had finished with the other animals, and the vial had reached room temperature, he retrieved the rat he’d put off observing up to this point from its holding cage. He did so carefully, so as not to be bitten.

As he did so, the intercom chimed in, and Johnson’s voice filled the room.

Not to bother you…Dr. Matthews…sir…but you have a visitor.

Not now, Johnson, I’m busy, Dr. Matthews snapped as he placed the rat into a glass container for further examination.

I really think you should—

Are you deaf, Johnson? I said not now. I’m quite busy at the moment and cannot entertain a visitor, as I’m sure you can understand. Now if you would kindly leave me in peace so I can get back to work? Dr. Matthews said as he carefully filled up a syringe with the vial’s contents.

But sir—

Now, Johnson, Dr. Matthews demanded.

Sir, it's General Sanders.

General Sanders? Johnson, you idiot! Why didn’t you tell me this to begin with? Never mind, just tell the man I’ll be right out, Matthews barked as he slapped down the vial and the syringe he held in his hands.

Of course, sir.

The intercom fell silent, and Dr. Matthews paced to and fro and mumbled to himself in frustration. How am I to develop this weapon for him if he keeps bothering me? I would love to see him try to work in such an environment. He wouldn’t last a moment!

Finally, he put the rat back into its holding cage, closed its enclosure, removed his protective mask and gloves, and headed for the door.

He walked down the hallway to his office where the general reclined, his folds of fat tucked into the arms of Matthews’ expensive office chair. His muddy boots rested on the scientist’s handcrafted mahogany desk. The general smoked a cigar, as he always did, and spoke in a gurgled voice.

How’s the work coming along, Dr. Matthews? Don’t give me bad news now. If there’s one thing I can’t stand, it’s hearing bad news. I’m only interested in good news, understand?

Well, sir, I—

And there’s another thing, Dr. Matthews. Speak up! Don’t mumble. If there’s one thing I can’t stand, it’s a man who mumbles. Speak up, I said! I don’t pay you to stand around. In fact, I’m not sure why I pay you at all.

Well, we’re working on testing it now, and so far...

He watched as ashes from the general’s cigar fell onto his nice clean rug, and mud from his boots smudged onto the neatly stacked reports on his desk. He cringed at the sight. Was this man raised among barbarians? he thought. Has he no etiquette? Does he have no respect for all my hard work?

"Dr. Matthews, spit it out! So far what?"

So far… That is to say, everything is going well so far, and we’re staying on schedule. It should be finished within the month, provided there are no setbacks. Or more senseless interruptions, Matthews thought to himself, grinding his teeth in repressed anger.

Wonderful! Now that’s what I like to hear! Very good, Dr. Matthews. I’ll get the printed report from your secretary. Carry on. Keep up the good work and all that. He stood up, put out his cigar on the scientist’s desk, and tossed it carelessly toward the wastebasket before leaving the office.

Dr. Matthews stood there, taking in the scene for a few moments.

Johnson, this had better be spotless when I return, and that’s all I’m going to say on the matter.

Of course, Dr. Matthews. I’ll get right on it, sir. Johnson hurried to the nearby broom closet to gather the necessary cleaning supplies.

Another thing, Johnson. I don’t care if the Queen of England shows up here, I’ll be accepting no more visitors today, Matthews called as he headed back to the laboratory.

Yes, of course, sir.

Dr. Matthews continued down the hallway. He grumbled to himself and muttered profanities at the man who had left his office in such disarray. It was as if the old general got pleasure from making him suffer.

He walked back into the pristine side room, took a deep breath, and resumed his work.

He retrieved the rat once more and placed it in a separate cage for observation. He grabbed a recorder to make a few observations, clearing his throat before he hit record.

This is specimen AE6-7389. No unexpected changes. White blood cell count is within normal levels. Coloration remains unchanged. Liver enzymes are normal. Everything appears to be progressing as anticipated. The specimen’s blood sugar is low, though, and it hasn’t been socializing as it had been before. After he had finished, he clicked off the recorder and set it down beside him before grabbing his notebook and pen.

This rat was different from the others. It was special. He had specifically chosen an albino rat for these experiments to help him easily identify it. This little rat would help him change the world. Pathogens that had never before been tested flowed through it.

Hmm, very interesting. This specimen also appears to be exhibiting more aggressive behavior than the others, the scientist said as he jotted down the change in behavior in his notebook.

Let’s see how you respond to this, he said as he attached a long hose to the hole on the side of the large glass cage. He flipped a switch on the machine that the hose was connected to, and gas began to fill the cage. At first, the rat backed away in caution. Soon, though, it grew weary and eventually collapsed. When it did, the scientist turned off the machine and retrieved the limp animal.

Dr. Matthews placed the rat on a clean, white table, where the albino rat would have vanished from sight completely were it not for the pink of its nose and tail, and the shadow it cast on the table.

He stuck the needle of a syringe into the vial that he had let reach room temperature. The label read CRE39. The warning on the vial read on endlessly, but Dr. Matthews knew that the exact effects of the medicine were unknown.

He injected the syringe into the rat very slowly, and when it had been emptied, he placed the syringe in a wastebasket and placed the rat back in its habitat.

Sir, I know you said no visitors, but I think you should know—

Johnson, I already told you not to bother me again, and who is it anyway?

It’s your fiancée, sir.

Dr. Matthews opened the door, and there she stood with her lips in a frown. She tapped her toes impatiently, and her eyebrows tilted down in obvious frustration.

Abigail? Dr. Matthews asked.

You’re late, John. That’s the third time this week! If we’re going to be married… She paused and shot a glare at him, eager to hear his explanation.

I know, sweetheart, I’m sorry. I was just on my way out. Don’t give me that look. I was, truly! Come on, dear, let’s go have dinner.

Dr. Matthews turned off the lights and closed the door behind him.

We’re taking a vacation, Johnson. Keep notes for me.

Yes, sir.

"And keep that filthy buffoon of a man out of my office. Understood?"

Of course, sir. Whatever you say.

A week went by before the scientist’s next visit.

*

Periodically, Johnson would check in on the animals and make notes on their behaviors for Dr. Matthews. Then, the following Tuesday, the lights came back on, and Dr. Matthews re-emerge through the door.

He donned his protective clothing, rubber gloves, and mask, and transported specimen AE6- 7389 from its holding cage to the cage used for observation.

No visible alteration in behavior, he said as he flipped through the notes and listened to the recordings Johnson had left him. He then drew and analyzed a sample of the creature’s blood. "White blood cell count remains elevated. So your body is trying to fight off something. But, otherwise, you seem healthy. Your heart rate is normal, breathing is even, and your eating habits seem to have returned to normal," he noted.

He ran several other tests on the rat before he stood at last and looked at his watch. He shook his head in dismay and started toward the exit.

I’m going to be late again. Abigail’s going to kill me, Matthews muttered as he hurried to the door.

He carefully removed his protective clothing and then realized he’d left the rat in the observation cage. He slapped his forehead with his hand and walked back over to the cage to transport the rat.

Come on, let’s go. No stowaways, Dr. Matthews said as he reached into the glass cage for the rat.

The rat screeched in fear at the intruder and fled to the back of the cage for safety. Its fur bristled, and it bared its teeth in attempted intimidation.

Oh come on now, I don’t have the time for this, the scientist said as he rolled up his sleeves to allow further reach into the cage.

The scientist reached for the rat, which paced to and fro in anxiety before biting his index finger.

Gah! he shouted. He reeled back and knocked the observation cage to the floor. Blood. You drew blood! You filthy stinking—

He wrapped his finger with a bandage before he turned to look back at the cage. It was shattered into pieces that littered the floor, and the rat lay in the middle of the rubble.

Matthews stood there, his mind racing to determine his next course of action. At last, he flipped off the lights, stormed out of the room, and closed the door behind him.

The rat sat up, rubbed its face with its paws, and began grooming itself.

Chapter 1

February 20th, 2025. Seattle, Washington.

In the heart of Seattle, a man named Charlie was jolted awake by the high-pitched whine of his alarm clock. He groaned in exhaustion and pulled his pillow over his head in a vain struggle to drown out the obnoxious noise.

Finally, Charlie switched off his alarm clock, rubbed his eyes, and stretched his arms. He let out a great yawn and tried to focus his distorted vision. When his sight became clear, he checked the calendar that sat on a table beside his bed. There was really no point, though. Charlie already knew what today was.

Today was Friday. This was the last day in what had been a miserably long work week. To begin his morning, he ate breakfast at the same little diner he always did. He was sure his waiter knew his order by heart at this point. One waffle, two eggs—scrambled, of course—with a side of bacon. It’d become a kind of ritual for him, one of the few things he looked forward to every day.

A slight drizzle and a bit of morning fog lowered visibility and made the walk to the diner a dreary one. Yes, he walked. Charlie didn’t own a car. In fact, he’d never even learned how to drive. Maybe it was because he couldn’t. Or maybe it was because he’d never had much of a reason to learn how in the first place. After all, his job was only a block away, and he didn’t have reason to travel much. He didn’t have much in the way of family to speak of, and his whole life up to this point had revolved around his work.

It seems like it’s always raining, Charlie grumbled as he trudged through the drizzle of rain on his way to the diner. What I wouldn’t give for some nice, warm weather!

Charlie often talked to himself. Some people thought him a bit off for it, but the habit helped him keep his thoughts organized. It also gave him someone to talk to, since life alone can be a somber one.

He took a turn to the left, toward the direction of the diner. When he made the turn, he saw a man who looked about twice his age holding a sign and standing in the median between the lanes of traffic. Charlie squinted to read the sign, but the distance coupled with the cars that frequently passed between him and the sign made it almost impossible to decipher the message. He moved closer, but there were still too many cars between him and the sign to discern its message.

Deciding to cross over to the other side of the street to read it, he waited for the traffic light to turn red and pressed the button at the crosswalk until it did so. Then he scurried over to the other side of the street, where he was at last able to read the sign.

THE END IS NEAR. REPENT AND BE SAVED.

Charlie rolled his eyes at the message. He didn’t have time for fairy tales.

He crossed back to the other side of the road and at last arrived at the diner, eager to forget the man and the sign altogether.

Charlie! Come on in! We saved your seat for you, said the waiter. Charlie followed him to his favorite booth in the back corner of the diner. How’s it going? You look a bit long in the face today. What’s the matter? the waiter asked.

Oh, it’s nothing, Matt. Some kook was out on Main Street with a sign about the end of the world or something. It just kind of got under my skin is all.

This city sure does draw out some strange people, doesn’t it? You want your regular, right?

That’d be great. Oh, and some coffee when you get the chance.

Sure thing.

Matt walked over to another table where he kept the coffee, and then he returned a few moments later. He set down a glass mug and poured Charlie a cup of coffee. Steam rose up from the drink in wispy streams of smoke. When Charlie lifted the mug to his mouth, it’s edge felt warm against his lips. He sipped the coffee slowly, singing the tip of his tongue. He grimaced in pain and carefully set the coffee back down to let it cool. Matt then walked away to another table after he made sure Charlie was satisfied.

Soon, Charlie sat and stared out the window of the diner at the raindrops as they fell to the street below. The tiny ripples they caused in the puddles of water seemed to diminish momentarily only to give way to more raindrops, which caused more ripples.

He fell deeper and deeper in thought, but then was suddenly jerked back to reality when the warm, buttery smell of fresh waffles drifted into his nostrils, heralding the arrival of breakfast. A half-second later, a glass plate clanked against the wooden table. The loud, sudden noise caught Charlie by surprise, and he jumped back in his seat.

Oh! Thanks. I must not have heard you, Charlie said as he looked up from the window.

Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you. Is there anything else you need? the waiter asked as he placed a small glass syrup dispenser on the table.

No, thanks. This looks to be all of it, Charlie said after he had examined his order.

Well, enjoy your meal then. Just tell me if you need anything, the waiter replied. He then placed some napkins on the table and turned to leave.

Will do, thanks, said Charlie, his attention still focused on his food.

As the waiter walked off to another table, Charlie drizzled syrup over his waffles. He then spread a pat of butter over the waffles and cut into them. He was about to take his first bite when he felt his cell phone vibrate in his pocket. He checked the caller ID and saw that it was his coworker Jill.

"Hey, Charlie. Sorry to bother you, but Dale wanted to