Z Force 1: A Post-Apocalyptic Thriller (Infection Chronicles Book 2) Read online

  Z Force 1

  Infection Chronicles: Book Two

  Tripp Ellis

  www.trippellis.com

  Contents

  Copyright

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  The End

  Infection Chronicles Series

  Connect With Me

  Copyright © 2016 by Tripp Ellis

  All rights reserved. Worldwide.

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents, except for incidental references to public figures, products, or services, are fictitious. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales, or organizations is entirely coincidental, and not intended to refer to any living person or to disparage any company’s products or services. Every character referenced is over eighteen.

  No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, uploaded, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter devised, without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

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  1

  It was utter bullshit, and Steele knew it.

  “Today, I can say, unequivocally, the infection is contained,” President Johnson said. He stood behind the podium in the White House Press Briefing Room.

  Steele tried to hide his scowl as he watched the President. He stood on stage, alongside the Commander in Chief, as the shining ideal of the perfect soldier. He was everything the Army wanted him to be. Smart, tough as nails, and unflinching. Half man, half machine. A perfect blend of titanium composite alloy and flesh.

  Well, almost perfect.

  Steele put on his best poker face and smiled. Hundreds of cameras were focused on the stage. The rapid-fire flashes were blinding. Steele kept thinking the room was much smaller than it looked on TV.

  “Thanks to the selfless dedication of Major Jack Steele, and his team, Americans can rest easier tonight. With disregard for his own safety, Major Steele entered the quarantine zone and retrieved Dr. Gabriel Lomax and dozens of other healthy civilians. This mission, conceived by Brigadier General Briggs, was crucial in the formulation of the vaccine that will end infection.”

  Steele clinched his jaw. None of that was true. But expecting the truth from politicians was like expecting pigs to fly.

  All Steele had to do was smile, nod, and agree. Accept whatever praise the president decided to bestow upon him. In a few days, it wouldn’t matter anyway. He’d be retired, and out of the Army. Honorably. And with enough money to fix his bio-mechanical parts. He could upgrade the neural interface and put an end to his constant pain. For that, he could smile and nod. But this notion that Briggs had orchestrated the mission was absurd.

  Johnson continued his speech, rambling on about valor and selfless duty. Steele had heard it all before when he received the Medal of Honor. As far as Steele was concerned, Johnson didn’t know a thing about valor and selfless duty. The words sounded hollow. The President read from a prepared speech, stumbling over details and names.

  Johnson was a handsome man, with sandy brown hair, light eyes, and a square jaw. The camera loved him, and so did the ladies. He was romantically linked to several movie stars and fashion models. But his philandering didn’t seem to affect his popularity. He was only the third unmarried president in US history to be elected to office. And he certainly took advantage of all the perks that came along with the position.

  The only thing Steele could think about at these types of events were the men and women who made the ultimate sacrifice. The ones who never came back. It always made him uncomfortable to get praised for something that he was supposed to do anyway. Even more so since he had gone into the quarantine zone for all the wrong reasons.

  “As of today, I’m initiating a mandatory vaccination program for all Americans. This vaccine has been proven safe and effective. There is no cause for alarm. It has been thoroughly tested. And we are implementing it first to high-level officials and military personnel. The American people should rest assured that this vaccine will prevent any further spread of infection.”

  President Johnson was the kind of guy that even if you didn’t like his politics, you’d end up liking him. A few minutes in a room with him and he made you feel like you were more important than he was. But this was the second time Steele had met him, and he still wasn’t sold.

  President Johnson beamed his trademark smile. He shook Steele’s hand, thanking him for his service. A barrage of camera flashes whited out the stage. The president moved on down the line, thanking Sergeant Kim Parker, Specialist Bobby Ray Delroy, and 8 year old Chloe Taylor.

  Parker’s brilliant green eyes and red hair caught the president’s wandering eye. And who could blame him? She was a looker, and it didn’t take a lot of imagination to guess what was under that uniform of hers.

  Parker and Delroy had accompanied Steele on his mission into the quarantine zone. Miraculously, they had all made it out alive. But Delroy still carried the scars.

  He came from one of those small Texas towns that you pass through on the highway and wonder who the hell lives here? The kind with a population sign that reads in the triple digits. Never in a million years did he think he’d get anywhere near the White House. He was taking it all in with wide eyes and a grin. For a moment, his mind drifted away, and he imagined himself as the president addressing the the pool of reporters.

  The President returned to the podium. Questions erupted from the press pool. “You mentioned this was a mandatory vaccination,” a reporter said. “Are you saying that civilians will be unable to refuse?”

  “This is a matter of national security. I’ve issued an executive order authorizing a special division of Homeland Security to ensure compliance.”

  “Mr. President, is this within your constitutional authority?” another reporter asked.

  “I’ve consulted with my attorneys, and due to the extenuating circumstances, we believe this is well within my executive power. Let me be clear, without this vaccine, there may not be an America left.”

  A flurry of questions flew through the air.

  “I’m sorry, that’s all I have time for today. Thank you.” The president left the podium and ushered Steele and his team off the stage. They stepped into the open columned pavilion of the West Colonnade and headed for the West Wing.

  “I can’t tell you how grateful I am to you,” the president sa
id to Steele. “I’ve always gotta think about re-election, and poll numbers are sliding. But this is going to turn things around.” President Johnson smiled. “If there is ever anything I can do for you, don’t hesitate to ask.”

  Steele glanced at him. He started to speak then stopped.

  “Seriously. I mean it.”

  “Actually, I’m having a little trouble getting through the red tape of adopting Chloe. Both of her parents were killed in the zone, but since I can’t produce a death certificate…”

  The president paused and knelt down to Chloe. “Do you want Major Steele to be your daddy?”

  Chloe nodded. “Yes, sir.” Then she gave him a sharp salute.

  The president smiled and saluted her back. He stood up and put a hand on Steele’s shoulder. “Consider it done.”

  “Thank you, sir. I can’t tell you what that means to me.”

  “It’s my pleasure, Major. I know you’ll give her a great home. Children are the nation’s most valuable asset. I want to keep this country great for them.” He took a deep breath, and smiled. “Have you ever seen the Oval Office?”

  “No, sir.” Steele said.

  “I’m having a meeting with my Chief of Staff, the National Security Advisor, and some senior officials. How about you and your team sit in. We’ll be making history.” The president winked.

  “Thank you, sir,” Steele said. “It would be an honor.” Steele gave a glance to Parker. She knew full well that Steele wasn’t a fan of the President. But the guy was growing on him.

  “So, let me get this straight,” Delroy said. His voice had a slight southern drawl. “You live in that house there,” he said, pointing to the executive residence, “and you walk 45 seconds to work here?” he pointed to the West Wing.

  “Yup.”

  “Must be nice.”

  “It is.” The president gleamed another smile. “Everyday I come to work and I can’t believe it’s real. It is a tremendous honor to lead this great nation and make history every day.” He paused a moment, then leaned in and whispered. “You want to know a secret?”

  They all nodded. Being privy to classified information was something no one could resist.

  “It’s not that difficult. A trained monkey could do my job. I’ve got an entire staff that plans my whole day from start to finish. I just show up where they tell me to. I approve this. I disapprove that. Simple.”

  “Somehow, I don’t think it’s that simple,” Delroy said.

  “Oh, sure it is. Do you want to be president for a day?”

  “Hell, yes,” Delroy said, then he pulled himself together. “I mean, yes sir.”

  “Sir, with all due respect, I think that would be the downfall of mankind,” Steele said.

  The president chuckled. “What would be your first order of business as president, Delroy?”

  Delroy thought about this for a moment. “Free beer, sir.”

  “Free beer,” the president pondered. “I’ll have to run that by Congress. Sounds like a hell of a campaign slogan.”

  They all laughed.

  It was hard not to like this guy.

  They pushed through the french doors into the West Wing. A quick left and they strolled past the Cabinet Room toward the Oval Office.

  “You know the worst thing about being president?”

  “The media?” Steele said.

  “Close.” Johnson laughed. “Everyone around here treats me like a fragile egg. No one will tell me what they really think. And I can’t go anywhere without these jokers,” he said, nodding to the two Secret Service agents following several paces behind.

  Steele grinned.

  The president whispered, “You know, just once, I’d like to sneak out and get some BBQ.”

  “Can we see the bunker?” Chloe asked.

  “You know, that’s my favorite part about the West Wing. But, unfortunately, due to national security reasons, they won’t let me show anybody the bunker.”

  “I thought you were the boss?”

  “I’m not the boss. The American people are the boss,” he said with a wink. Johnson was definitely a gifted politician. He pushed through another door, stepping into the Oval Office. Then held the door for Steele and the crew as they entered.

  The Oval Office was an impressive sight, no matter what your politics. The rich history and power of the office were palpable.

  President Johnson recognized the looks of awe on their faces as they surveyed the room. It was a look that graced everyone’s face who entered the office for the first time.

  “I felt the same way when I first set foot in this office. It still gives me goosebumps sometimes.” Johnson took a deep breath and looked around the room. “I think of all the moments that shaped this nation’s history. All of the crucial decisions that were made in this very room. I asked God every day to grant me the wisdom to make the best choices for the future of our country. And I hope, in time, that history will look back favorably on this administration.”

  “I’m sure they will, Mr. President,” Parker said. Her green eyes sparkled at him.

  “Please, call me Bill.”

  “Yes, sir… I mean, Bill.” Parker chuckled. She was giddy like a schoolgirl. It seemed so surreal. She was never one to get starstruck, but it wasn’t everyday she found herself in the Oval Office.

  The president introduced Steele and his crew to the Chief of Staff, George Shay, and the National Security Advisor, Susan Norton. Several other senior officials were in the room, as well as Dr. Philip Pierce.

  Susan Norton was early 30s, with shoulder length auburn hair, and stunning aqua eyes. She was the kind of woman that took your breath away. She wore a navy two button suit jacket and pencil skirt. It was tailored to fit her perfect form. Steele couldn’t help but notice her toned calves. They looked especially good in heels.

  Not only was Susan beautiful, she was smart. She had majored in political science at Stanford. She was on the short list of potential running mates for Johnson during the 2036 election. She certainly had eyes on the top spot. She would most likely be a strong contender in 2044—as long as she didn’t make any major gaffes as National Security Advisor.

  “Sir, Operation American Shield is in effect. As we speak, military personnel are being inoculated. Then a sector by sector rollout among the general population,” Susan said.

  “Excellent,” the president replied.

  “Dr. Pierce is here to vaccinate the White House staff.” Susan motioned to the doctor.

  He smiled and shook the president’s hand. He was a tall bald man, with a pudgy nose, in his late 50s.

  “I know it’s a little late to be asking, but, we’re sure this vaccination is safe?” said the President.

  “Absolutely. It’s a twofold approach. We’re using an attenuated strain of the virus. Plus using the CRISPR/Cas method to modify the gene susceptible to infection. The vaccine is foolproof.”

  The president’s eyes narrowed.

  “There have been no incidents of adverse reactions,” Susan assured the president.

  “That’s great, it’s been deployed for what… 15 minutes now?”

  “That’s correct, sir,” Susan stammered.

  The president smiled and rolled up his sleeve. “Well, I’m not willing to ask anyone to do anything I’m not willing to do myself.”

  Steele watched in disbelief. He had a bad, bad feeling about this. That vaccine wasn’t going to get anywhere near him, he thought.

  Dr. Pierce began vaccinating members of the senior staff. He would get to the president shortly.

  2

  “Fuck that son-of-a-bitch,” Duke said. “I ain’t let’n nobody stick me with no goddamn needle.” His accent wasn’t just southern—it was pure redneck.

  “Goddamn right,” Earl stuttered.

  Duke held out the remote and changed the channel. He sat on a worn out sofa in a shitty mobile home. The fabric was frayed. The yellow foam cushions were poking through. And the rusty springs made a helluva ruckus.


  Underneath his trucker cap, Duke had sandy blonde hair, mutton chops, and blue eyes. He was a tall skinny guy, and did pretty well with the ladies. But he was far from a gentleman.

  His bottom lip bulged out from a dip of smokeless tobacco. He wore a sleeveless camo t-shirt and Wrangler jeans. He had a can of cheap light-beer in one hand and an assault rifle in the other. There was a red solo spit cup between his legs.

  Earl was a shorter, stupider version of Duke—and Duke wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed. Whatever Duke did, Earl tried to copy. He tried to grow out his mutton chops, but it was mostly just peach fuzz. He wore the same type of trucker cap, with the brim folded and worn. The same Wrangler jeans. But today, he was wearing a white, wife-beater tank top. Duke got pissed when Earl wore exactly the same thing as him. So much so that Earl would call Duke in the morning when he was getting dressed. Earl couldn’t dip snuff though—it made him dizzy.

  Duke polished an RK 709 assault rifle as he sat on the couch, watching TV. It was an old plasma screen from the turn-of-the-century. The display was faded, with more bad pixels than you could count. The burn-in was so bad that there was a permanent ghost image on the screen. It made for a less than optimal viewing experience.

  The trailer was littered with empty beer cans. Ashtrays filled to the brim. Empty plates and crusty bowls of cereal. A giant bong stood tall on the coffee table. The faux wood panel walls were peeling and warped. And the once green shag carpet was more of a shit brown color.

  Duke grabbed the bong from the coffee table and dug a lighter from his front pocket. He encircled his lips with the mouth of the bong and lit up a corner of the bowl. The herb crackled. The chamber bubbled and filled with a thick bluish smoke. Then Duke lifted the bowl and stem, and inhaled the potent smoke. He held it in for a moment, then blew out a haze, coughing spastically.

  “They ought to make me president,” Duke said. “I’d fix all this shit.” His lungs were so tight, he could barely get the words out.