SYMPTOMATIC: An Apocalyptic Horror Thriller (MADNESS Chronicles Book 3) Page 2

  “Let’s vote. No more discussions,” Bohdan stated.

  “Okay, all who want to do nothing about the crazies, locked away in our lounge, where one day they may break out and eat us all, say ‘Aye.’”

  Only one other person, a meek-sounding man, said “Aye” along with Chloe.

  “All those who want to terminate the abominations before they kill us all, say ‘Nay.’”

  A resounding “Nay” sounded from the group.

  “The Nays have it. Now, let’s discuss how we should do this.”

  Chloe stood up from her chair and couldn’t disappear from this place quickly enough. As she stepped away, trying to hug the shadows, she heard Bohdan speak up.

  “I have a way to do this and I can do it tomorrow morning.”

  02

  Ted

  She stood over him while he slept. His cabin was void of light, and yet she watched and listened to him mumble something from an ongoing nightmare.

  She slithered out of her long sleeve athletic jersey and then her shorts. Pulling the covers back, she slid into his bed, inching her way toward him. Her hand found him, knowing what he liked.

  After a few seconds, he moaned softy. She smiled at this.

  She guided herself on top of him and moved her hips slowly. His moans grew in response and he began to move with her.

  “You're all mine now,” she whispered.

  His eyes popped open and he glared at her. Her grin was Grand Canyon-sized, and equally rapturous. He knew her contagious smile all too well. But this one was different. It felt wrong.

  He didn’t know why, until it became obvious.

  It was pitch-black in the cabin and yet the features of her face and body were absolutely clear. She looked perfect: equal portions of delicately strong and delightfully sexy.

  She grinned even more at his revelation, if that was possible. She moved her hips faster, and he saw that he was matching her motions. They were one. Even her eyes—both ruby-red now—pulsed in perfect synchronicity to their movements and their heartbeats. His breathing grew more rapid, as did hers, as if he were breathing for her.

  Or is she breathing for me?

  The logical side of his brain was stuck on figuring out how he could see her in the darkness. He couldn’t resolve this, even if he accepted everything else. And yet her ghostly outline was as clear as if there were a full moon somehow casting its eerie glow on her. Some of her details even seemed as clear as they would be during a midday sun.

  But how?

  “You're wondering how you can see me,” she stated, as if she could read his thoughts too.

  He froze.

  The chasm-sized smile slid off her face. “Don't stop dear, we’re just getting started.”

  He could feel his mouth fall open, now gaping.

  She leaned over him, pressing her bare chest against his, and softly took in his lips with hers. She kissed him passionately, but then abruptly pulled back. “You're one of us now.”

  She drifted farther back from him, but her legs and thighs remained clasped around him. Her hands still clutched his hips, and then locked into him even tighter. She wanted him to know that she had total control over him and his movements.

  She was so strong now, so much stronger than he thought she could be. And he knew that she could crush him, snap him in two if she wanted to. But she didn’t; she just wanted him to know that she had that kind of power over him.

  He accepted it.

  She released one hand from his hip. It slowly rose in the air above him, as if floating, her fist and forefinger becoming a pointer. She was guiding his glare to the other side of the bed, to what was supposed to be her side.

  He turned his head in that direction, anxious to find out what she was trying to tell him. Gone was the shock that he could clearly see his cabin in total darkness, because he knew what she said was right. He had somehow become like her now, and this terrified him.

  Even though each of her features and many of his cabin’s details were crystal clear, he couldn’t quite make out the moving form beside him. Blinking away at the darkness, he couldn’t tell what it was, only that there was something under the covers, on her side of the bed. Then based on its size and shape, he knew it wasn’t a something; it was a someone. They weren't alone now.

  Repelled by this, he tried to move away from the writhing mass, which he could now see more clearly and even hear its rustle. But she held him down, still controlling him, demanding he see this. He gave up.

  “Open your eyes, dear,” she commanded, her voice sultry but serious.

  It was then he realized his eyes had been closed. He didn’t want to see who or what was in the bed with them. And whatever it was now rustled even more. And it groaned.

  He flicked open his eyes, piercing the darkness once more. And he saw the form was out from under the sheets, sitting up in their bed.

  Recognition slapped him in the face.

  It was Jean Pierre, their acting captain. The same man she had been working with earlier on an FBI investigation, just before she had changed. Jean Pierre was here, in their bed.

  If that wasn’t enough of a shock to his system, he realized that something was terribly wrong with this man.

  Jean Pierre was gasping for breath. Gagging. At the same time, his hands were clasped around his neck. Thick streams of blood seeped through the gaps in his fingers. A dark red liquid coursed down his formal clothes and pooled all around him.

  His face was a surreal death mask of terror. He tried to cry out for help, but it came out as a slight whimper. “Hellllpa.”

  “Oh my God, what did you do?” Ted barked as his eyes drilled into hers.

  She bellowed back in laughter. “You did this, Ted. You’re a killer now, just like me.”

  He coughed, because his mouth was full of something soft… chewy. He spat it out; a fleshy mess plopped into a puddle pooled beside him. The pool was blood… Jean Pierre’s blood. And its sticky warmth coated his mouth, his body and now… hers.

  At that very moment Ted was both excitedly aroused and utterly terrified. “Nooooo!”

  She cackled in response, until her laughter fractured and faded into an almost scratchy-sounding voice that demanded, “Ted, are you there?”

  Her voice became more distant, almost disconnected from her, like she was a ventriloquist throwing her words out into murk, where they became consumed by the night.

  Once again, a scratchy call to him from the other side of the room, only louder this time, “Ted, are you there?”

  The staticky voice chimed once again, “Ted, are you there?”

  He flicked his eyes open and closed, and then open again, because he could no longer see her in the darkness. He couldn’t see anything.

  His right hand shot out of the covers and he felt along the wall, in a desperate search for the switch.

  Clicking it on, blinding white light burst throughout his cabin. He drilled his eyes forward to where his wife had been. She was no longer there. He snapped his head to his left, expecting to see the bloody man—who was it again? He was gone too.

  It was Jean Pierre. That’s who was there.

  It was all just an awful nightmare. Nothing more.

  “Ted, are you there?” called the portable radio on his nightstand. “This is Captain Jean Pierre; please answer if you can hear me.”

  The Journal of TD Bonaventure

  DAY TWELVE

  LIKE MOST PEOPLE IN THE WORLD, THIS DAY BEGAN AFTER A NIGHTMARE. FOR ME, THE NIGHTMARE ENDED WHEN I WOKE UP; FOR MOST EVERYONE ELSE, THE NIGHTMARE CONTINUES.

  MANY ONBOARD OUR SHIP ARE CAUTIOUSLY HOPEFUL THAT WE’VE PUT OUR NIGHTMARE BEHIND US. MEANWHILE, THE REST OF THE WORLD IS STILL CLOAKED IN UNENDING DEATH AND DESTRUCTION. EVEN IF WE SURVIVE THE COMING DAYS, THE NIGHTMARE WILL STILL BE ALL AROUND US, LIKE THE DARK, FOREBODING CLOUDS NOW BLANKETING ALL THE HEAVENS. WE’RE NOT SURE IF THIS IS NORMAL AZURIAN WEATHER OR A SIGN OF MORE DARKNESS YET TO COME.

  STILL THERE IS REASON
FOR HOPE.

  WHEN THE RAGE HIT US LIKE A TIDAL WAVE, IT APPEARED THAT WE WOULD SUFFER THE SAME FATE AS THE REST OF THE WORLD. I ADMIT TO LOSING HOPE AT TIMES, FIRST WITH SO MANY PASSENGERS AND CREW LOSING THEIR LIVES AND THE REMAINDER TURNING INTO SOME NEW FORM OF MONSTER, ALL SEEMINGLY CONTROLLED BY A SIMPLE PARASITE. THEN WE CONFIRMED THIS WAS HAPPENING EVERYWHERE.

  FROM ONGOING NEWS REPORTS, UNTIL WE STOPPED RECEIVING THEM, THE SAME TIDAL WAVE OF MADNESS WASHED OVER THE WORLD, LEAVING ALMOST NO ONE UNAFFECTED. BILLIONS OF RAGE-FUELED ANIMALS AND MILLIONS OF BLOOD-THIRSTY HUMANS ATTACKED ANYTHING WITH A HEARTBEAT THAT WAS NOT ALREADY INFECTED. INDEED, THE PROSPECTS FOR ANYONE’S SURVIVAL LOOKED BLEAKER THAN AT ANY TIME IN HUMAN HISTORY.

  STILL, AS A SCIENTIST, IT’S HARD NOT TO LOOK WITH AWE AND APPRECIATION AT WHAT MAY BE THE DAWN OF A NEW SPECIES. THESE PARASITICS (THAT’S WHAT WE CALL THOSE WHO ARE FULLY CONTROLLED BY THE RAGE DISEASE) ARE SURE TO BE THE NEW APEX ON EARTH, THE TOP DOG IN THE FOOD CHAIN. AS A LIFE-LONG ATHEIST, I BEGAN TO ACCEPT THE FATE THAT HAD BEEN DEALT US HUMANS: EXTINCTION WAS LIKELY JUST AROUND THE CORNER.

  AND YET, I CANNOT DISCOUNT THE THEORY THAT SOME PROVIDENTIAL HAND WAS AT WORK HERE, AS ILLOGICAL AS THAT MAY SOUND.

  HOW ELSE DO I REASON THAT MY WIFE AND I ENDED UP ON ONE OF THE FEW SURVIVABLE PLACES TO WEATHER THIS KIND OF APOCALYPSE? BEING ON A CRUISE SHIP AFFORDED US CONTROL OVER OUR ENVIRONMENT, WHICH ALLOWED US TO TILT THE EVOLUTIONARY SCALES BACK TO OUR FAVOR. TALK ABOUT TRUTH BEING STRANGER THAN FICTION. I CERTAINLY COULDN’T HAVE WRITTEN THIS NARRATIVE: AN AUTHOR WHO WROTE A BOOK ON THIS VERY APOCALYPSE AND A PARASITOLOGIST (AN EXPERT AT WHAT’S GOING ON) SERENDIPITOUSLY APPEAR ON THE SAME SHIP, JUST AS THE WAVES OF ATTACKS ON THE MAINLAND WERE STARTING.

  BEING ON A SELF-CONTAINED SHIP REMOVED US FROM THE PREDATOR-TO-PREY IMBALANCE ON THE MAINLAND, WITH TEN THOUSAND MAMMALS—MORE THAN THE MAJORITY OF THEM INFECTED—TO EVERY HUMAN. YET BY HAVING JUST A FEW ANIMALS ON BOARD, WE COULD USE WHAT WE LEARNED FROM THEM TO HELP US SURVIVE THE WAVE OF HUMAN PARASITIC ATTACKS THAT FOLLOWED NEXT. WE FOUND OUT, QUITE BY ACCIDENT, THAT WE COULD CONTROL THE PARASITICS BY LOWERING THEIR BODY TEMPERATURE, AND THIS COULD BE ACCOMPLISHED BY DROPPING THE OUTSIDE TEMPERATURE USING THE SHIP’S AIR CONDITIONING. COULD ALL OF THIS SIMPLY BE FORTUITOUS?

  THEN THERE ARE THE UNASSAILABLE TRUTHS CONCERNING MY WIFE, WHICH CANNOT BE EASILY EXPLAINED AS RANDOM CHANCE.

  TJ CONTRACTED THE VERY PARASITE AT THE ROOT OF THIS WORLDWIDE APOCALYPSE FROM AN ANIMAL ATTACK YEARS AGO. AND YET IF SHE HADN’T, SHE WOULD HAVE SURELY DIED WHEN SHE FELL FROM THAT ZIP LINE. AND BECAUSE SHE BECAME SYMPTOMATIC, EVERY ONE OF THE SHIP’S SURVIVORS HAS HER AND HER NEW ABILITIES TO THANK, AMONG THE MANY REASONS FOR OUR MAKING IT THIS FAR. IT’S TRUE THAT HER “ABILITIES” DID NOT COME WITHOUT COST—MY HEART STILL BREAKS AT OUR INDEFINITE SEPARATION.

  BUT THAT’S A WORRY FOR ANOTHER DAY.

  AND AS EXPECTED, WE HAVE ANOTHER CHALLENGE AHEAD OF US, BUT AT THE SAME TIME, A POTENTIAL SOLUTION. FORTUITOUS OR PROVIDENTIAL? I’LL LET YOU BE THE JUDGE.

  WHEN HALF THE POPULATION OF OUR SHIP APPEARED TO GO INSANE AND STARTED ATTACKING, TWO OF THE PARASITICS GOT ONTO THE BRIDGE AND DESTROYED SOME OF OUR CONTROLS. IN THE PROCESS, OUR SHIP DUMPED MOST OF ITS FUEL INTO THE OCEAN. WE DIDN’T REALIZE THIS UNTIL AFTER WE HAD TAKEN BACK CONTROL OF THE SHIP.

  ONCE AGAIN, THIS WOULD PROBABLY HAVE BEEN OUR END: WE NEEDED THE AIR CONDITIONING TO KEEP THE PARASITICS’ BODY TEMPERATURES LOW ENOUGH THAT THEY’D REMAIN IN A SEMI-HYBERNATIVE STATE. AND WE NEEDED FUEL TO RUN THE AIR CONDITIONERS AND THE REST OF THE SHIP’S SYSTEMS. AND WITH THE WORLD IN CHAOS, INCLUDING ALL OF THE MAJOR PORTS, SAFELY FINDING THE NEEDED FUEL WOULD HAVE BEEN NEARLY IMPOSSIBLE AT BEST. THEN IT WOULD SEEM PROVIDENCE’S HAND OFFERED US A SOLUTION.

  AMONG THE LOUD QUIET OF THE WORLD’S NOW EMPTY AIRWAVES, I FOUND A BROADCAST FROM AN ISLAND WHERE THEY SAY RAGE HASN’T HIT AND ITS OCCUPANTS HAVE THE FUEL WE NEED, IN EXCHANGE FOR A LITTLE OF OUR FOOD. SURE, IT SOUNDS TOO GOOD TO BE TRUE. AND PERHAPS IT IS.

  ASSUMING THEIR INTENTIONS ARE GENUINE AND WE HAVE WHAT THEY WANT, I SUPPOSE A DEAL SHOULD BE MADE. WHO KNOWS, MAYBE THIS ISLAND WILL END UP BEING OUR NEW HOME.

  CERTAINLY WITHOUT THIS ONLY OPTION, WE WILL BE DEAD IN THE WATER IN A FEW HOURS. AND THAT MEANS WE WOULD LOSE ANY CONTROL WE HAD OVER THE PARASITICS. GAME OVER.

  THEN THERE’S THE NEWEST CHALLENGE: INDUCTION OF ALL PASSENGERS INTO THE CREW. IT WAS A BOLD MOVE BY OUR CAPTAIN. AND NOW, WE ARE NO LONGER A CRUISE OF LEISURE: WE’VE BECOME A FREIGHTER OF HOPE, FIGHTING FOR A COMMON GOAL, SURVIVAL. NO LONGER WERE THERE TWO CLASSES OF PEOPLE: CREW, WHOSE JOB IT WAS TO SERVE, AND THE PASSENGERS, WHO EXPECTED TO BE SERVED. EVERYONE WAS GIVEN A JOB TO DO, AND EVERYONE WAS EXPECTED TO DO IT, OR THEY WOULD BE DROPPED OFF AT THE NEXT PORT.

  ALONG WITH OUR RATIONED FOOD, THIS WAS ALL THE NEW NORMAL. WE ALL WORK MANY HOURS TO HELP ALL ON BOARD SURVIVE UNTIL THE NEXT DAY AND THAT MAKES OUR DAYS PASS BY QUICKLY, LEAVING LITTLE TIME FOR ANY OF US TO WORRY ABOUT WHAT’S GOING ON OUTSIDE THIS SHIP.

  WHEN I DO TAKE TIME TO PONDER OUR WORLD, WHICH IS ACTUALLY PART OF MY DUTIES, I CAN’T HELP BUT THINK OF MY WIFE, TJ, AND WHEN I CAN SEE HER AGAIN. IT’S WHAT I LOOK FORWARD TO.

  AND TODAY AFTER MY REGULAR MEETING WITH MOLLY, WHO SAYS SHE HAS AN “INCREDIBLE REVELATION” SHE’S DYING TO TELL ME ABOUT, I WILL GET TO SEE TJ BRIEFLY. THEN SHE AND THE OTHERS WILL ATTEMPT TO MAKE A TRADE. I’LL BE HELPING WITH THAT ONE VIA THE RADIO.

  BUT THE BEST PART OF THE WHOLE DAY WILL BE SEEING MY WIFE.

  I GUESS LIFE HAS COME DOWN TO LOOKING FORWARD TO THOSE SMALL THINGS… SMALL TO SOME, BUT GIANT TO OTHERS.

  03

  TJ

  She awoke with a startled shake. Not from the room’s coolness, but shock at finding herself sitting on the edge of her unmade bed, in the dark of this foreign cabin. TJ had been doing a lot of this since her rebirth: finding herself in places she didn’t remember getting to.

  She glanced down at her Orion necklace, currently lacking all luster. There was no light in the cabin to reflect, she told herself. But it was still clear enough, as if illuminated by bright moonlight. She had it cupped in her open hands, watching it move up and down with the rapid heaving of her chest.

  She pressed her palms, and with it her necklace, back onto her breasts and allowed her eyes to shut, in a desperate attempt to recall the wonderful dream she had just had of Ted, before the evil within her invaded this rare respite with her husband and forced her awake.

  The features of his face came to mind…

  He no longer had a mustache!

  She smiled at this.

  Then she remembered the blood.

  Her eyes flicked open and she pushed away the images. Looking down again, she shuddered, at once realizing she was squeezing much too hard upon the delicate gift commemorating their 20th wedding anniversary, given to her only a few long days ago. She was terrified she would smash one of the last tangible connections she had between her, her husband and her old life. But there were far more terrifying things than this.

  Pulling at the elastic of her compression shorts, she slipped the necklace inside, feeling comfort in it resting against her skin—since the chain broke, it was the only way she could keep it secured to her. She shot up from the bed, her feet once again finding the path she was sure she was wearing into the carpet by now.

  The pacing up and down the length of the cabin was one of the few actions she felt in control of; it was her way to physically force back the mental tides raging within her, all of which desired to burst out and consume what little remained of her old human self.

  Her mind was an ongoing battlefield where a war was being fought between the armies of good thoughts or memories and evil aspirations or desires. Whichever side won would claim her soul.

  At times, she was able to recall the delicate trickle of the lovely memories of Ted, her family, their home, and even her work. It was only during those times that she could actually find some peace and with it, sleep. But sleep, like the comforts of her old memories, was fle
eting and brief.

  During the remaining moments—the majority of the time—her thoughts were a windswept mental seascape of sin, a tempest of anger, a downpour of hatred, a hurricane of murderous rage, a destructive desire for blood. And when these thoughts were allowed into her mind, she felt like she was set on an unstoppable course to kill, or to maim, or to at least hurt whoever got in her way. It was during those times, times like now, that she would find herself wide awake. Hyperventilating. Although she was always breathing as if she were hyperventilating. One of the many things that had changed in her.

  And it was all the changes that had manifested themselves inside her, and were still occurring, that led her to separate herself from Ted. He didn’t understand. But how could he? She didn’t really understand—was trying to understand—what was going on inside her brain and body.

  She had told him that she had to remain separate, because she didn't feel he would be safe around her. And this was partially true, because she was afraid that her terrifying desire for human flesh would be unstoppable in close quarters. And when either passion or anger sprang forth, it brought with it an overwhelming sensation, even an unquenchable thirst, for murder and blood. And these desires could arise with the simple whiff of her next meal, all because of her new ability to smell everything…

  Like some goddamn dog… Scratch that, like some damned hound from hell.

  Great, just like me to develop a dog ability.

  Most things simply smelled bad, like the body odor of another infected. But a non-infected’s smell was frighteningly the complete opposite. Because of this, she worried that even the mere aroma of the uninfected could set her off. And it was why she wore a swimming nose-plug: to stem the smells of those who were not infected, like her husband.

  But weren’t these all just excuses?