KILL BOX: A Post-Apocalyptic Pandemic Thriller (The Zulu Virus Chronicles Book 2) Read online

  KILL BOX

  BOOK TWO in THE ZULU VIRUS CHRONICLES

  A Novel by

  Steven Konkoly

  Copyright Information

  Copyright 2017 by Stribling Media. All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the author, except where permitted by law, or in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. For information, contact:

  [email protected]

  Contents

  Dedication

  About The Zulu Virus Chronicles

  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

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Dedication

  To my family, the heart and soul of my writing. I couldn’t do this without their tireless support and love.

  About The Zulu Virus Chronicles

  Two books into The Zulu Virus Chronicles, and I couldn’t be happier with the trajectory of the series. You’ll notice a familiar pattern in KILL BOX. The first few chapters revisit previously introduced characters that will merge with the core group of survivors from HOT ZONE, each playing key or supporting roles in the unfolding plot. Several new characters will appear, some very familiar to my Black Flagged readers—and they will prove pivotal as the series evolves! Everyone is important in The Zulu Virus Chronicles at some point, their decisions and actions shaping the saga—even if they don’t survive.

  The end of KILL BOX leaves The Zulu Virus Chronicles world wide open, and I already have already started FIRE STORM (Book 3). I designed the series so I could pursue several storylines after KILL BOX, focusing on specific aspects of the plot. My intention is to write slightly more compact stories, and release them more frequently; building on the foundation established by HOT ZONE and KILL BOX.

  There’s a greater conspiracy at work in The Zulu Virus Chronicles, which loosely ties in with one of my previous series—Black Flagged. I can’t wait to tighten this knot. I guarantee you won’t be disappointed.

  For VIP access to exclusive sneak peeks at my upcoming work, new release updates and deeply discounted books, CLICK HERE TO JOIN MY NEWSLETTER.

  Chapter 1

  A thin tendril of sunlight penetrated the dark room, causing Dr. Laura Hale to stir. Her eyes gradually registered the change, eventually reopening to the new reality she had desperately hoped had been a bad dream. No such luck. The living nightmare she’d experienced for the past forty-eight hours was real, with no end in sight. She started to drift back to sleep, thinking there was no real hurry to leave—and she needed the sleep. Hale could count the hours she’d slept over the past two days on one hand.

  A sudden, distant burst of automatic gunfire triggered enough adrenaline to elevate her heart rate and put a temporary hold on her hopes of drifting off. The sound of gunfire no longer overtly startled Hale, but on a subconscious level, it still triggered her fight-or-flight response. A second burst cut through the morning, and she opened her eyes. Time to get up and figure out her next move. Not that she had a lot of options.

  Last night’s drive from the hospital to Dr. Chang’s apartment had revealed a frightening shift in the city’s dynamic. Her previous trip to the apartment, less than twenty-four hours earlier, had been mostly uneventful. Aside from a few police or ambulance sirens, the streets had been empty. Last night, the streets teemed with people, most of them engaged in looting or “glitchy” behavior.

  Hale had witnessed a number of attacks by small mobs, unable to tell if the victim was one of the infected or the other way around, but she didn’t stick around long enough to figure it out. Vehicles drew unwanted attention, evidenced by several new dents in the side of the SUV she borrowed from Dr. Owens. A sizable swarm of crazies nearly trapped her at the intersection of Delaware and Michigan when she slowed to observe the sea of flames engulfing the nearby Old National Theatre. If someone had smashed her window, they could have dragged her onto the street. Panicked by the realization of her vulnerability, she quickly drove straight to Chang’s place without slowing.

  A quick glance around the apartment indicated that the power was still on in the city. The microwave’s green digital display read 6:50 a.m. Her wristwatch concurred. Hale truly had no idea what she’d do with the rest of the day. Probably sleep, eat and wait for sunset. She couldn’t help but presume that she’d have a better chance of safely slipping out when it was dark.

  There was no way to hide during broad daylight. Then again, the crazies had been up all night, from what she could tell. Maybe it got quiet in the morning, while they slept off a long night of looting and murdering, or whatever they were up to. There would be no way to tell until she hit the streets—on foot.

  The SUV was no longer a viable option. Even if she avoided running into another mob, she couldn’t dodge the government. The quarantine boundary sounded serious. The military would either turn her around or put her in a quarantine camp. Neither option sounded promising.

  Another round of gunfire erupted, this cluster of shots sounding a lot closer than the last. The sharp crackle and pop of semiautomatic fire intensified while she lay on the couch, quickly reaching a frenetic cadence that lasted several minutes. It sounded like a protracted street battle had taken place a few blocks away. So much for the city going quiet.

  Hale swung her legs onto the hardwood floor and rubbed her face. First order of business would be coffee and food. Her brief inspection of the apartment last night had revealed that Chang kept the place reasonably stocked, especially for a bachelor. She found a lot of dried foods like rice, beans and other grains on the shelves of the walk-in pantry, along with rows of various canned goods. Several cases of bottled water sat on the pantry floor, which would come in handy when she left.

  A little later, she’d inspect the other rooms for camping gear or anything that might make her trek more bearable. Hale had no delusions about what lay ahead for her. Walking out of here was going to be a challenge on every level. The crazies roaming the str
eets were only part of the problem. Living off the land, or whatever she could find here, until she could sneak out of the quarantine zone would challenge her limited outdoor skills.

  She stepped cautiously across the dimly lit floor to the patio slider, opening the curtains halfway to let in the orange rays of sunlight peeking between the buildings on the other side of the street. A quick glance down at her favorite breakfast spot told her she was stuck with whatever she could create from the pantry.

  The restaurant’s front window lay shattered on the parking lot asphalt. The tables and chairs on its fenced patio were overturned and strewn in disarray. It was hard to tell from this angle, but she thought she could see a body under one of the broken tables. Did that happen after she arrived last night? She hadn’t noticed when she parked on the street. Of course, the only thing on her mind had been getting through the building’s front door as fast as possible.

  Hale leaned forward, peering up and down the street.

  “Holy crap,” she muttered.

  Several bloodied bodies lay contorted on the sidewalks and street in both directions. She briefly considered her duty to render aid, but just as quickly dismissed the thought. The corpses looked slashed and torn, like they’d been mangled with a weapon. How had she slept through that? It must have sounded like a riot had passed by.

  Hale closed the shades and took a few steps back. Maybe she was better off staying in place. The apartment had enough food and water to last several weeks. She could lie low and hope everything blew over. Even if the electricity failed, she should be fine. Might get a little stuffy inside without air-conditioning, but she could think of worse things. Much worse. If she could avoid detection, this place might work. It was something to think about.

  Chapter 2

  Paul Ochoa, Vampire team leader, relaxed on a leather couch set about fifteen feet back from the street, facing floor-to-ceiling windows of the apartment they had commandeered. The couch was far enough back to prevent most street-fired bullets from hitting him, but close enough to give him a wide view of Fletcher Terrace’s ground floor. Dan Ripley, the team’s sniper, sat on the other end of the couch, his scoped rifle, resting on its bipod, pointed across the street.

  Ochoa caught movement behind the shades obscuring Chang’s patio sliders, immediately raising his binoculars. He didn’t need to tell Ripley what to do. The sniper had already nestled into his scope.

  “Still weapons free?” said Ripley.

  “If you positively ID Chang, take the shot,” said Ochoa. “Don’t wait for me.”

  “Got it.”

  A moment later, the shades parted, revealing a young, dark-haired woman.

  “Negative shot,” said Ripley.

  “Keep watching,” said Ochoa. “Might be the girlfriend or a friend.”

  The woman looked across the street for several seconds, seemingly in the direction of Jay Stansfield, who was situated inside the neighboring restaurant. His earpiece activated.

  “Is she staring at me?” said Stansfield.

  “Are you visible from her apartment?”

  “Shouldn’t be.”

  “Let’s hope not,” said Ochoa.

  The woman leaned closer to the glass, panning her head back and forth. A look of shock overtook her tired face. Seeing dead bodies had a tendency to do that. The shades slid back into place seconds later.

  “Did you catch anything behind her?” said Ochoa.

  “Negative,” said Ripley. “But it was pretty dark inside. You thinking about hitting the apartment?”

  “I don’t know. If he’s not already here, what are the chances he’ll still show?” said Ochoa. “The city is out of control.”

  “Where else would he go?”

  “That’s the big question, and command doesn’t give us any answers. That’s the infuriating part of this. Everything is done in a fucking silo. For all I know, Larsen and his band of idiots are sitting in the building right next to us.”

  “That would be awkward,” said Ripley.

  “It really depends on how important this guy is,” said Ochoa.

  “He’s important enough to kill,” said Ripley. “Important enough to change our orders at the last minute. I’d say he’s pretty damn important.”

  “Which is why we might not be the only team working this. Four teams jumped over Indy,” said Ochoa.

  “We don’t know if the other teams jumped over Indianapolis,” said Ripley.

  “Well, we assume they did,” said Ochoa. “And we can assume that one of them doesn’t plan on executing their orders. You think Larsen would comply with a capture/kill?”

  “Probably not,” said Ripley. “But Peck would.”

  “Peck won’t have a say in it. The rest of Larsen’s team wouldn’t follow that order either.”

  “So we wait?”

  “We’ll give it until noon or so before we move on the apartment,” said Ochoa.

  “And if Larsen shows up before noon?”

  “We take his team out,” said Ochoa. “Including Peck. No witnesses.”

  Chapter 3

  Major Nick Smith dropped his exhausted carcass onto one of the emergency room chairs and removed his helmet, placing it on the seat next to him. He took a long sip of tepid water from the CamelBak hose secured to his shoulder and closed his eyes for a few moments.

  “Major?”

  A few moments seemed to be all this mission would spare.

  “In here, Sergeant Major!” said Smith, pushing himself out of the seat and mumbling. “Just taking a two-second nap.”

  Sergeant Major Riddle strode through the ER’s swinging doors and stopped just inside the waiting room, hands on his hips. The man didn’t look the least bit tired or fazed by the night, which had been the longest in Smith’s life.

  “The convoy is clear,” said Riddle. “Just reached the interstate. Should be smooth sailing.”

  “Didn’t sound smooth on the way out,” said Smith.

  “They hit a mob of crazies approaching Eleventh Street. Chased the convoy all the way up the on-ramp,” said Riddle. “Took some small-arms fire, too. Mostly pistols and hunting rifles. No casualties on our side.”

  Smith nodded. “How big was the mob?”

  “Bigger than last time,” said Riddle. “Captain Gresham estimated a few hundred.”

  “And now they’re using firearms against us,” said Smith. “This is gonna get really ugly, really fast. Make sure we report the increased mob size and organized use of weapons to battalion.”

  “I have the radio section drafting a contact report with the relevant details,” said Riddle.

  “Very well,” said Smith, refastening his combat helmet.

  Riddle watched him for a few moments, a pained look on his face. He started to open his mouth to say something, but stopped.

  “What’s on your mind, Sergeant Major?”

  “It’s probably not my place to—” he started.

  “Guard doesn’t pay you to be diplomatic, Jeff. What’s up?”

  The grizzled-looking sergeant major chuckled before going deadpan. “I’m just thinking about the latest orders modification. It doesn’t make sense.”

  “Nothing we’ve seen makes much sense,” said Smith. “First they tell us this is some kind of pandemic virus, but send us in here without protective gear. Then they say it might be a bioweapons attack, but what kind of bioweapon turns people against each other like this?”

  “None I’ve ever heard of.”

  “And now the infected population shows signs of cooperation,” said Smith. “Frankly, I don’t know what to believe. I just want to complete the mission and get the fuck out of here—before the city implodes on us.”

  “That’s what I don’t like about the new orders,” said Riddle. “We can’t leave the staff and their families behind to fend for themselves. They’ve earned a ride out of here.”

  “I agree. I just don’t see how we can get all of them out of here. It’s going to take us most of the day to ex
ecute the last two runs for the people we’ve been ordered to evacuate,” said Smith. “And the vehicles will be jam-packed on both runs. We’re talking close to two hundred extra people.”

  “I’d gladly swap them for the deadweight they want us to transport out of here,” said Riddle.

  Smith frowned, torn by the sergeant major’s statement. Deep down he agreed, but they couldn’t turn their backs on the infected patients, even those strapped down by their wrists and ankles. Still, he had no intention of abandoning the men and women who had tended to these patients, keeping the hospital intact in the face of an unprecedented catastrophe and the constant risk to their safety. He just didn’t know how the hell he was going to get another two hundred people out of here without tipping his hand. If regimental headquarters caught wind of this, they’d shut him down hard.

  “That’s not an option, Sergeant Major,” said Smith. “We’ll have to come up with something else. Something that doesn’t tip off the battalion and regimental commanders.”

  “Let me think it over, sir,” said Riddle. “I’m sure I can cook something up.”

  “Don’t think about it for too long. I’m guessing we’ll need to start fudging numbers sooner than later. We can’t suddenly find two hundred patients.”

  “Well, it has been a rather long and confusing night,” said Riddle. “And it’s not like we’re trained for this sort of thing. Mistakes will be made.”

  Smith grinned. “Mistakes have already been made. That was apparent the moment we drove into the city. A few more shouldn’t attract any attention. Keep me posted.”

  Sergeant Major Riddle saluted crisply. “The less you know, the better, sir.”

  “You’re probably right,” said Smith, returning the salute. “Let me know if you run into any snags.”

  After Riddle disappeared through the same doors he’d entered, Smith headed for the sliding doors leading to the parking lot. He was met by muggy air on the other side and slivers of new sunlight poking between the taller downtown buildings. The soldier standing sentry duty next to the door straightened as he emerged.