The Shanxi Virus: An epidemic survival story Read online

"I'm... I'm all right dad. Are you safe?"

  "Give me that damned phone right--"

  Rich lunged for the phone again, and Jen swiveled away from him in drivers seat, avoiding his drunken lunges.

  "Who is that with you? Are you sure you're ok?"

  "I'm fine. Where are you? What happened?" Jen asked.

  "Don't make me shoot you," Rich said, lifting the gun for emphasis.

  "You won't shoot me. You're too drunk to drive on your own. You'd just wreck the Jeep," Jen said, hoping it was true. She had to find out if her parents were safe and where they were.

  "We had to flee the hotel. We ran out of food and the hotel staff got sick. We had to leave and ran into some rough men. We were mugged. They took your mother's purse and phone and all of her jewelry. Listen Jen, we had to leave Barcelona. We are going to try to get to--"

  "Got it!" Rich yelled, and snatched the phone away from her ear.

  "Give me that back!" Jen screamed.

  Rich rolled down his window and threw the cell phone out of the truck, over the side of the hill.

  "No!" Time seemed to slow down. A white-hot rage built in Jen's body. Her vision narrowed to a tight circle and her panicked thoughts drifted away, overcome by a powerful new singular drive that took control of her mind. Rational thought went out of the window. Rich had just taken her parents away from her, and she was going to make him pay.

  Rich screamed something at her, pointing the gun in her direction. Whatever he said didn't register. It was as if the part of her that was afraid were far away, and all that was left was her anger.

  She looked down at the gun he shoved at her and became aware that his seatbelt wasn't buckled. Jen realized she did have a weapon. The same kind that Rich had nearly killed Mike with. She was in control of a six thousand pound weapon... the truck.

  Ignoring the gun waving about in her face, Jen glanced through the windshield and chose a target. She swung the wheel to the right, steering the truck directly into the path of a large tree. She stepped on the gas and braced herself for impact. The large tree trunk grew larger and larger in her tunnel vision.

  The noise was indescribable. She was thrown forward against her seatbelt. Her neck whipped forward and impacted with her chest. Her lower jaw clamped up tight against her upper jaw, biting clean through the tip of her tongue. As the tree absorbed the Jeep's forward momentum, Jen was thrown back against the driver's seat, her head smacking against the headrest.

  Dazed, she closed her eyes, trying to sort out the sensations of pain from several places in her body. She pressed her tongue experimentally against the roof of her mouth. Raw nerves lit up as if she'd stuck her tongue in an electric socket. She dug around in her cheek with her forefinger and thumb, and pulled out a soft object, then realized it was the last half-inch of her tongue.

  Her hand flew to her face, and she pulled it away covered with blood. As her rage wore off she came to her senses, she remembered why she had crashed the truck and snapped her head to the right to the passenger seat.

  The passenger door had been thrown open, and Rich's body lay ten feet outside of the door.

  Relieved to find him unmoving, Jen fumbled with her seatbelt until it finally clicked open, and then tried to open the driver's side door. It was firmly stuck. The door squealed in protest and opened a fraction of an inch, and then wouldn't budge any more. Jen pinched her tongue to stop the bleeding, and laid her head back against the headrest, mentally and physically exhausted.

  Rich moaned. He rolled over and his eyes opened into narrow slits. His moaning grew louder, and he pushed himself up off the ground and got onto his knees. Swaying wildly, he muttered something inaudible.

  Jen struggled with the driver's door, trying to get out of the vehicle. The door wouldn't budge. She tried to climb into the back seat, but the way was jammed with supplies that had been thrown forward from the rear of the vehicle by the crash. She tried to push through the canned goods and cases of bottled water, but there was no way through. The only way out was through the open passenger door. To get to the door, she would have to climb over a vomit covered seat, dashboard, and floor. Retching, Jen recoiled from the terrible smelling gore.

  "Bitch," Rich muttered. He grabbed a large stone from the ground, palming its weight, crawling toward the truck.

  Jen's heart beat faster and faster as she watched Rich rise from his knees and gain his footing. She glanced over to the open passenger door. There was still time to get out and run before he reached the Jeep. Jen closed her eyes and tried to climb across the seat, but recoiled in disgust as her right hand touched something wet. Images of microbes appeared in the darkness behind her eyelids. The cellular structure of hundreds of viruses and pathogens. The disgusting wet coughing sound of Shanxi victims. She closed her eyes tightly and frantically wiped her hand off against a clean part of the seat. Out of her mind with disgust, the world spun.

  "I'm going to smash your head in and see all of your dirty little thoughts," Rich said. "You're just like all of the other women."

  Jen opened her eyes, trembling with fear. Rich was only a few feet away from the Jeep. A few more steps and he would have her. She pushed fiercely against the driver's side door, fueled by adrenaline, but the door only budged another half of an inch.

  Jen turned to face certain death. She looked around for a weapon. Something to keep him away. An object on the floorboard caught her eye. The gun. It was covered in vomit.

  Rich was now at the passenger door and he reached inside, lunging for her. It was too late to flee.

  Jen curled up in the seat, kicking at him, but Rich caught hold of her leg and dragged her halfway out of the Jeep.

  She clung to the steering wheel, her face pressed up against the vile stomach contents he had emptied onto the seat. A foot from her face, the gun became larger than life. Her senses overloaded by the smell and sensation of the vomit against her skin, her mind reeled.

  Rich hauled her another two feet out of the vehicle and brought the stone down on her right thigh. Pain exploded in her leg.

  Facing certain death, Jen summoned all of her courage and reached down and grabbed the gun. Rich dragged her out of the Jeep and she landed hard on the forest floor. Rich raised the stone high, about to bring it down on her head.

  Jen pulled the trigger. The gun fired.

  Rich's mouth hung open and a confused look came across his face. He stumbled backward from the truck, and the stone fell from his hand. He exhaled and fell to the ground.

  With a scream, Jen stood and walked over to his body. She pulled the trigger again and again until the gun stopped firing. Tears ran down her cheeks, washing away the filth on her skin. The gun spent and useless, she dropped it on the ground and cried until the tears wouldn't come any longer.

  Saturday, June 20th

  Chapter 23

  Crouched down behind the cabin's thick log walls, Mike winced as another round of automatic rifle fire burst through the living room window, whizzing overhead. The gunfire was much louder now. They were closing in. He had to do something or they would all die here.

  "Give me the gun Mike. I know how to shoot. Take Robin and get out the back door. I'll give you some covering fire," Aaron said.

  "No! That's suicide. They'll kill you," Robin said.

  "I'm a dead man anyway. I came to terms with that a long time ago. Mike, we had a few adventures together. Give me that gun and get her out of here," Aaron said, reaching for the gun.

  Aaron was right. He was a dead man. Leaving Aaron behind was the smart thing to do. It would give him and Robin time to get away. Besides, the old man would slow them down. Survival was the name of the game, but Mike wasn't willing to survive at the cost of Aaron's life. Mike knew he should pass the rifle over to Aaron, but he just couldn't do it. He couldn't let Aaron sacrifice himself for the same reason he couldn't leave Ted and Sherri behind. Aaron would be roasted alive inside the cabin when the soldiers closed in. Mike couldn't live with that. These people were more important t
han mere survival.

  "No," Mike said. "Robin, shove that coffee table out of the way and move the rug. I've got a way out of here."

  "What are you--"

  "Just do it!" Mike shouted.

  Robin pushed the coffee table out of the way and then tossed the rug aside. Looking down at the floorboards, she shook her head in confusion. "What? Is there supposed to be a trap door or something? I don't see anything!"

  Mike crawled over and felt along the floorboards, scraping his nail against one of the boards until he felt his fingernail catch in a minuscule gap. He pried the piece up, revealing the steel pull handle, and opened the trap door.

  "I'll be damned! Mike, you son--"

  "No time now, get into the cellar. Go!"

  Mike herded them into the cellar and then descended the metal stairway after them. He flipped on the light switch and the entire room lit up, revealing his vast stockpile. He pushed past Robin and Aaron, who stood there wide eyed. He knew what they must be thinking. The cellar was lined with shelf after shelf full of supplies, including some of the resources that had become scarce in the neighborhood like bleach. There was enough food to last him two years, water reserves for several months, four gun safes, and a shelf stacked with boxes of ammunition.

  "You had all this the whole time?" Robin asked.

  "We can talk about it later. Right now I need your help." He grabbed five large containers of muzzle loading black powder off the ammunition shelf and set them on the floor, then retrieved several boxes of shotgun shells, stuffing the boxes into his pockets. He handed one of the black powder tubs over to Robin. "Take the lids off these and hand them up to me."

  "What are these for?"

  "You're just going to have to trust me. No time to explain" He ascended the metal staircase, and took the black powder as she handed them up. Mike dumped the shotgun shells on the floor and then poured black powder onto the piles of shells. He spread two more containers of black powder across the floor of the cabin, leaving thick trails of it leading into every room. After emptying three of the containers, he went back into the cellar and squeezed past Aaron and Robin, moving a heavy shelf aside and revealing the hidden escape tunnel. Mike grabbed a flashlight and aimed it down the tunnel, then handed it to Robin.

  "Crawl through here. It's a tight fit, but if I can make it through, you'll be all right. This lets out in the shed near the woods. Stay in the shed and be as quiet as you can. I'll come through after you," Mike said.

  "What is this Mike? Secret--"

  "Just go!"

  Robin shined the light down the tunnel suspiciously, then crawled into the corrugated pipe. Aaron followed her through a moment later. Mike took one of the two remaining containers of black powder and spilled a thick trail of it from end to end of the cellar. He got on his hands and knees and turned himself around, awkwardly backing his body into the tunnel. He dragged his rifle and the last bottle of black powder, dumping powder out as he went.

  The crawl through the tunnel was claustrophobia inducing, and by the time he cleared the other end of the tunnel his shirt was soaked with sweat. At the end of the tunnel he stood up and climbed up a short ladder leading up into the shed. Handing the rifle to Aaron, he removed the cap from a fifty-five-gallon drum of fuel sitting off to the side of the ATV.

  "Mike! We can't all fit on this, what are you doing?" Aaron asked, pointing to the ATV.

  "We're not taking the ATV. It's too noisy and would draw the soldier's attention. As soon as they heard it they would know we went into the woods. I've got another plan. Take that small can of gasoline over there and wait by the back door."

  Putting his shoulder against the drum of gas, he pushed until it turned over. Gasoline poured onto the floor and spilled over the edge of the ladder into the hidden tunnel. The smell of gas was overpowering in the enclosed area, and he joined Robin and Aaron by the back door. He took the small canister of gas from Aaron, and removed the spout from the top.

  "Aaron, give me your lighter. I want you guys to crouch down as low as you can, and move into the woods. The bushes should shield you from being seen by the soldiers. There's a deep ditch about thirty yards into the woods, follow that to the right another fifty yards. The others are waiting for us there."

  Mike breathed a sigh of relief after Aaron and Robin crossed the open ground to the forest. He'd half expected to hear a burst of gunfire as soon as they left the shed. Mike crouched down and moved into the woods, spilling gas out of the can as he went. At the ditch, he tossed the half empty gas can aside, and lit the trail of gasoline leading to the shed.

  The gas flared up and traveled three or four feet, but the fire flickered and went out. The ground was so dry that the soil had sucked up the gasoline almost as fast as he'd poured it. He had to find a way to light the shed from a distance. There was no way he was going to stand a few feet away from fifty-five gallons of fuel and light it up.

  Mike searched his pockets but didn't come up with anything useful. An idea popped into his head. It was probably stupid and dangerous, but considering the alternatives it was his best shot. He picked up the half empty gas can he'd tossed aside, ripped his t-shirt off and splashed some gasoline on it, then stuffed part of the shirt down inside the can.

  He sparked the lighter and the shirt flared up. He tossed the flaming can of gas into the shed, and then hightailed it out of there to where the others waited. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up as he heard a deep roar inside the shed. It sounded like the fuel drum had just caught fire. He pictured the small can of gas landing against the far wall, and then igniting the much larger fifty-five-gallon container, wondering how long it would take for the fire to follow the trail through the tunnel and reach the cabin.

  His leg muscles burned with the effort as he sprinted towards the others, rapidly catching up to Robin and Aaron. "Run faster!"

  As soon as the words left his mouth, the forest became several shades brighter as the fifty-five-gallon drum in the shed exploded. The shockwave hit a split second later, knocking Mike off his feet. Face down in the dirt a heavy weight fell on his left wrist, sending a bolt of pain up his arm. He rolled onto his side and coughed out a mouthful of dirt. Aaron was on top of him, knocked down by the blast.

  "Get off of me," Mike groaned.

  Robin was the first to her feet, and helped Aaron up. As Mike got to his feet, the sound of gunfire came from the cabin. Thick black smoke billowed from the cabin's shot out windows, and the wind blew the black smoke around, creating a thick cloud that hovered above the ground.

  "Let's go," Mike said, and ran to where he'd left the others.

  Robin cried out. He turned and saw Aaron lying on the trail, wheezing. His chest heaved as he gasped for breath. Robin kneeled down next to him. "You've got to get up! Come on!"

  One look at Aaron told Mike what he already knew. Aaron wasn't in any shape to run. The short sprint through the woods had exhausted him, and they were nowhere near safety yet. If he came with the group, he would be a liability, slowing them all down.

  "Just go! Give me that rifle and my lighter back. I need a cigarette."

  Mike reached into his pocket and pulled out the lighter, then knelt down and removed the pack of cigarettes hanging out of Aaron's shirt pocket. "You can have one of these when we're out of here and safe. Get up." He stuck the cigarettes and lighter into his pants pocket and slung Aaron's arm around his neck, lifting him to his feet. The old man couldn't have weighed much more than a hundred and forty pounds. Mike took most of his weight and got him walking down the trail.

  Behind them, a large explosion rocked the cabin. He turned to look just in time to see a section of the roof blown sky high. Logs went flying in every direction, and pieces of metal whizzed by. He'd been wondering how long it would take before the propane tanks in the cellar exploded.

  Chunks of the cabin and its contents began to fall from the sky. A half burnt old photo floated down from the sky, landing near his feet. He picked it up and pinched out the embe
rs at the edge of the photo. A picture of his mother and father in a canoe. The last memory of his parents, he stuck it in his pocket and turned his back on the ruins of the cabin. Taking some comfort from the enormous fireball blooming in the sky. At least the sacrifice hadn't been for nothing.

  "Kelly!" Robin shouted, running to her daughter. She grabbed Kelly up and swung her around in a bear hug, both of them tearing up.

  Running out of steam, Mike struggled to keep Aaron upright, and set the old man down. He collapsed to the forest floor next to Aaron, catching his breath. Far behind them, black smoke rose from where the cabin had once stood, the ruins hidden by the thick forest. He used his rifle scope and glassed the forest behind them. After several sweeps, he was satisfied that the soldiers hadn't followed.

  It seemed like everything had finally worked out according to plan, breaking his streak of bad luck. He pictured what had happened inside the cabin during their escape. The flaming gasoline from the shed would have ignited the black powder, which in turn burned through the plastic casings of the shotgun shells, setting them off. The soldiers would think they were under fire from someone inside the cabin and returned fire. After the explosion, the soldiers probably assumed they hit a propane tank inside the cabin with their gunfire, killing everyone inside. Mike didn't think they would pursue any other scenario. He knew their mentality. Their orders had been carried, the target destroyed. Without knowledge of the escape tunnel, there would be no reason to suspect that the group had escaped.

  He had a glimmer of hope, happy to be alive, and then the reality of their situation sunk in. He had a rifle, a pistol, and one box of ammunition. They had no food, no water, and no shelter. Somehow he had to keep a little girl, two elderly people in poor health, an oversized dimwit, Robin, and himself alive in a state forest where soldiers may or may not still be looking for them. He couldn't afford to stop and celebrate their victory yet.

  "Let's keep moving. Everyone stay quiet and keep your eyes open," he said.