Pandemic (The Extinction Files Book 1)
A. G. Riddle
RIDDLE INC.
RALEIGH, NORTH CAROLINA
Books for a better world.
This novel is fiction, except for the parts that aren’t.
Copyright © 2017 by A.G. Riddle
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 1-940026-09-1
ISBN-13: 978-1-940026-09-1
Edition 1.0.0
Printed in the United States of America.
_
www.AGRiddle.com
Visit the author’s web site for book extras, free stories, and more.
This novel is dedicated to a group of heroes we rarely hear about. After hurricanes and other natural disasters, they are among the first to arrive and the last to leave. Around the world, they operate in war-torn regions, though they carry no weapons to protect themselves. Right now, these individuals are putting their lives at risk to protect us from threats that pose a danger to every human, in every nation on Earth.
They live among us; they are our neighbors and our friends and our family members. They are the men and women working in public health in the US and abroad. Researching their exploits was a source of great inspiration while writing this novel. They are the true heroes of a story like PANDEMIC.
Table of Contents
A Note about Fact & Fiction
Prologue
DAY 1
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
DAY 2
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
DAY 3
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
DAY 4
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
DAY 5
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
DAY 6
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
DAY 7
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
DAY 8
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
DAY 9
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Chapter 68
Chapter 69
Chapter 70
Chapter 71
DAY 10
Chapter 72
Chapter 73
Chapter 74
DAY 11
Chapter 75
Chapter 76
Chapter 77
Chapter 78
Chapter 79
Chapter 80
Chapter 81
Chapter 82
Chapter 83
Chapter 84
DAY 12
Chapter 85
Chapter 86
Chapter 87
Chapter 88
Chapter 89
Chapter 90
Chapter 91
Chapter 92
Chapter 93
DAY 13
Chapter 94
Chapter 95
Chapter 96
Chapter 97
Chapter 98
Chapter 99
Chapter 100
Chapter 101
Chapter 102
Chapter 103
Chapter 104
Chapter 105
Chapter 106
Chapter 107
Chapter 108
Chapter 109
DAY 14
Chapter 110
Chapter 111
Chapter 112
Chapter 113
Chapter 114
Chapter 115
Chapter 116
Chapter 117
Chapter 118
Chapter 119
Chapter 120
Chapter 121
Chapter 122
Chapter 123
Chapter 124
Chapter 125
Chapter 126
Chapter 127
Chapter 128
Chapter 129
Chapter 130
Chapter 131
Chapter 132
Chapter 133
Chapter 134
Chapter 135
Chapter 136
DAY 20
Chapter 137
Epilogue
Ready for Book Two?
Author’s Note
Acknowledgements
Also by A.G. Riddle
About The Author
A Note about Fact & Fiction
PANDEMIC is a work of both fact and fiction. I have attempted to depict the CDC and WHO responses to a deadly outbreak in Africa as accurately as fiction allows. Several experts in the field contributed to this work. Any errors, however, are mine alone.
Much of the science included in PANDEMIC is real. In particular, research regarding the M13 phage and GP3 protein is 100% factual. Therapies developed from M13 and GP3 are currently in clinical trials, where they show great promise in curing Alzheimer’s, Parkinson’s, and amyloid disorders.
My website (agriddle.com) includes a fact vs. fiction section and other bonus content for PANDEMIC.
Thanks for reading.
- Gerry
A.G. Riddle
Prologue
The US Coast Guard cutter had been searching the Arctic Ocean for three months, though none of the crew knew exactly what they were searching for. At their last port, the icebreaker had taken on a team of thirty scientists and a dozen crates filled with some very strange instruments. The crew was told nothing about their guests or the mysterious equipment. Day after day, ice broke and crumbled at the Healy’s bow, and the men and women aboard carried on with their duties, operating in radio silence as instructed.
The secrecy and monotony of the crew’s daily routine inspired an endless flow of rumors. They speculated while they took their meals and in their off-hours, while playing chess, cards, and video games. Their best guess was that they were searching for a submarine or sunken military ship—likely of American or perhaps Russian origin—or perhaps a cargo vessel carrying dangerous material. A few of the crew believed they were searching for nuclear warheads, fired decades ago during the Cold War but aborted over the Arctic Ocean.
At four a.m. Anchorage time, the phone on the wall by the captain’s bunk buzzed. The man grabbed it without turning the light on.
“Miller.”
“Stop the ship, Captain. We’ve found it.” The mission’s chief scientist, Dr. Hans Emmerich, hung up without another word.
After calling the bridge and ordering a full stop, Captain Walter Miller dressed quickly and made his way to the
ship’s main research bay. Like the rest of the crew, he was curious about what it was. But most of all he wanted to know if what lay beneath them was a threat to the 117 men and women serving aboard his ship.
Miller nodded at the guards by the hatch and ducked inside. A dozen scientists were arguing by a bank of screens. He marched toward them, squinting at the images that showed the rocky sea floor bathed in a green hue. In the middle of several of the images lay a dark, oblong object.
“Captain.” Dr. Emmerich’s voice was like a clothesline, stopping Miller in his tracks. “I’m afraid we’re exceptionally busy at the moment.” Emmerich stepped in front of the Coast Guard officer and tried to corral him away from the screens, but Miller stood his ground.
“I came to see if we can provide any assistance,” Miller said.
“We’re quite capable, Captain. Please maintain your current position—and radio silence.”
Miller motioned toward the screens. “So you’ve been looking for a sub.”
Emmerich said nothing.
“Is it American? Russian?”
“We believe it’s a vessel of… multi-national sponsorship.”
Miller squinted, wondering what that meant.
“Now, Captain, you really must excuse me. We have a lot of work to do. We’ll be launching the submersible soon.”
Miller nodded. “Understood. Good luck, Doctor.”
When the captain was gone, Emmerich instructed two of the younger researchers to stand by the door. “Nobody else gets in.”
At his computer terminal, Emmerich sent an encrypted email.
Have located wreck believed to be RSV Beagle. Commencing search. Coordinates and initial imagery attached.
Thirty minutes later, Dr. Emmerich and three other scientists sat in the submersible, making their way to the ocean floor.
On the other side of the world, the cargo ship Kentaro Maru was moving through the Indian Ocean just off the coast of Somalia.
In a conference room adjacent to the ship’s bridge, two men had been arguing all afternoon, their shouts causing the crew to wince periodically.
A bridge officer knocked on the door and waited nervously. They ignored him and continued yelling at each other.
He knocked again.
Silence.
He swallowed hard and pushed the door open.
A tall man named Conner McClain stood behind the long conference table. His angry expression made his badly scarred face look even more hideous. He spoke quickly, with an Australian accent, his volume just below a yell.
“For your sake, this better blow my mind, Lieutenant.”
“Sir, the Americans have found the Beagle.”
“How?”
“They’re using a new seafloor mapping tech—”
“Are they on a plane, submarine, or ship?”
“A ship. The Healy. It’s a US Coast Guard icebreaker. They’re launching a submersible though.”
“Do they know what’s on the Beagle yet?”
“We don’t know. We don’t think so.”
“Good. Sink the icebreaker.”
The other man in the conference room spoke for the first time. “Don’t do this, Conner.”
“We have no choice.”
“We do. This is an opportunity.”
“Opportunity for what?”
“To show the world what’s aboard the Beagle.”
Conner turned to the young officer. “You have your orders, Lieutenant. Dismissed.”
When the door closed, Conner spoke quietly to the other man in the conference room. “We’re on the verge of the most important event in human history. We’re not going to let the barbarian hordes vote on it.”
Dr. Hans Emmerich held his breath when the submarine’s outer hatch opened.
Behind him, Dr. Peter Finch studied a laptop screen. “Clear. Seal’s good.”
“Radiation?” Emmerich asked.
“Negligible.”
Emmerich and the three scientists descended the ladder into the vessel. The LED lights from their suit helmets cast white beams through the dark tomb as they moved slowly through the cramped corridors, careful not to let anything catch on their suits. A tear could be deadly.
When they reached the vessel’s bridge, Emmerich aimed his helmet lamps at a bronze plaque on the wall. “Prometheus, Alpha One. Are you receiving this?”
A scientist on the Healy responded instantly. “Copy, Alpha One, receiving audio and video.”
The plaque on the wall read:
RSV Beagle
Hong Kong
1 May 1965
Ordo ab Chao
Emmerich exited the bridge and began searching for the captain’s stateroom. If he was lucky, the logs would be stored there, and they would finally reveal where the Beagle had been and what the crew had discovered. If he was right, the vessel held evidence of a scientific revelation that would forever change the course of human history.
Dr. Finch’s voice crackled in Emmerich’s earpiece. “Alpha One, Alpha Two, do you copy?”
“Copy, Alpha Two.”
“We’ve reached the lab level. Should we enter?”
“Affirmative, Alpha Two. Proceed with caution.”
In the dark corridor, Emmerich waited.
“Alpha One, we’re seeing two exam rooms with metal tables, maybe ten feet long. Rooms are sealed for bio-containment. The rest of the area is filled with long rows of storage bins, like large deposit boxes in a vault. Should we open one?”
“Negative, Alpha Two,” Emmerich said quickly. “Are they numbered?”
“Affirmative,” Finch said.
“We’ll have to find the inventory.”
“Hold on. There’s a metal disc on each bin.” A pause. “The disc covers a viewport like a peephole. There are bones in this one. Human. No, wait. They can’t be.”
Another researcher spoke. “There’s a mammal in this one, feline. Species unknown. It must have been frozen alive. It’s still in ice.”
Emmerich heard the clicks of metal discs sliding back and forth like the shutter of a camera.
“Alpha One, you should get down here. It’s like Noah’s Ark.”
Emmerich began shuffling through the cramped corridor, still being careful not to let anything puncture his suit. “Prometheus, Alpha One. Are you recording video and audio from Alpha Two, Three, and Four?”
When no response came, Emmerich stopped in his tracks. “Prometheus, this is Alpha One, do you copy?”
He called a second time, and a third. Then he heard a loud boom, and the floor beneath him shook.
“Prometheus?”
Day 1
320 Infected
0 Dead
Chapter 1
Dr. Elim Kibet sat in his white-walled office, watching the sun rise over the rocky landscape of northeastern Kenya. The Mandera Referral Hospital was a run-down facility in one of the most impoverished corners of the world, and it had recently become his responsibility. Some in his shoes would consider that a burden. He considered it an honor.
Beyond his closed door, screams pierced the silence. Footsteps pounded the hallway and a nurse yelled, “Doctor, come quick!”
There was no question which doctor they were calling for; Elim Kibet was the only physician left. The others had departed after the terror attacks. Many of the nurses had followed. The government had denied requests for armed guards at the rural hospital. They had also defaulted on an agreement to pay the health workers fairly and on time. That had sent another wave of workers fleeing the crumbling facility. The hospital operated with a skeleton staff now. The remaining members either had no place to go or were too dedicated to leave. Or, in the case of Elim Kibet, both.
He donned his white coat and hurried down the hall, toward the cries for help.
Mandera was one of Kenya’s poorest counties. Per capita income was 267 US dollars—less than 75 cents per day. The dusty, dirt road town lay at the crossroads of three nations: Kenya, Somalia, and Ethiopia. Peopl
e in Mandera lived off the land, often barely scraping by, and found joy where they could. It was a place of breathtaking beauty and unspeakable brutality.
The world’s deadliest diseases were endemic to the region, but they were far from the most dangerous elements in the area. Al-Shabaab, an Islamic terror group and affiliate of al-Qaeda, attacked the villages and government facilities frequently. Their ruthlessness was staggering. Less than a year ago, al-Shabaab militants stopped a bus outside Mandera and ordered all the Muslim passengers to get off. They refused and instead crowded around the Christian passengers. Al-Shabaab dragged everyone from the bus—both Muslim and Christian—lined them up, and shot them. Thirty-seven people died that day.
As Elim raced down the dingy hall, that was his first thought—another al-Shabaab attack.
To his surprise, he found two young white men in the exam room, their dark brown hair long and shaggy, their thick beards dripping with sweat. One man stood by the door, holding a video camera. The other lay on the exam table, rolling side to side, his eyes closed. The stench of diarrhea and vomit was overwhelming.
Two nurses were leaning over the man, performing an intake exam. One drew a thermometer from the man’s mouth and turned to Elim. “A hundred and four, Doctor.”
The young man with the video camera let it fall to the side and caught Elim by the upper arm.
“You’ve gotta help him!”
Elim pulled free and extended his arm to push the man into the corner, away from the exam table.
“I will. Back away, please.”
Elim’s initial diagnosis was malaria. The disease was rampant in tropical and subtropical regions, especially impoverished areas like Mandera, which was only about two hundred and fifty miles from the equator. Worldwide, over two hundred million people were infected with malaria each year, and nearly half a million died from the disease. Ninety percent of those deaths took place in Africa, where a child died of malaria every minute. Westerners visiting Kenya frequently came down with malaria as well. It was treatable, and that gave Elim some hope as he snapped on a pair of blue gloves and began his exam.
The patient was barely conscious. His head tossed from side to side as he mumbled. When Elim pulled the man’s shirt up, his diagnosis changed immediately. A rash ran from his abdomen to his chest.
Typhoid fit these symptoms better. It was also endemic to the region, and was caused by bacteria—Salmonella typhi—that bred in open pools of water. Typhoid was manageable. Curable. Fluoroquinolones—one of the few antibiotics they had on hand—would treat it.
