Shinjuku X: The Darkness: The Shinjuku Strain, #1

By Marc Sloane

It all started with an itch... 

Arriving home to Los Angeles from a weeklong business trip to Japan, Brian Pace contracts the deadly Shinjuku X virus. Six months later and lucky to survive he wakes up in a hospital bed surrounded by death with one thing on his mind: his wife Veronica and his five-year-old son Jackson. 

Brian sets out to reconnect with his family and is tested again and again, ultimately forcing him to redraw the rules of what he considers right and wrong, struggling to stay inside them. In a world where the only law is survival some rules are meant to broken. And they will be.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Marc Sloane
• Release date: Sep 10, 2015
• ISBN: 9781516397181

Book preview

Chapter 1

5/29/2015 - Flight 3256 – Tokyo, Japan to Los Angeles, California

I couldn’t help but scratch the quarter-sized lump on my arm. The itch was like a horde of ants crawling underneath my skin.

It’s just a mosquito bite, I thought. Or was it?

The passenger in the aisle seat next to me cast an unaccepting glance in my direction as he watched me terrorize the angry red bulge. He shifted his body halfway across the aisle to distance himself from it. Hell, I couldn’t blame him, this sucker looked nasty.

The pilot spoke over the intercom, breaking the drone of the plane’s engines. This is your captain speaking. We are looking at smooth sailing the rest of the way to Los Angeles. We’ve got about an hour left before our descent. I have instructed the flight attendants to begin prepping the cabin for landing. It has been a pleasure serving you today.

I couldn’t wait to hit the ground. I was restless from the thirteen-hour flight. It was too much to put one’s body through, week after week, month after month. Truth be told, I couldn’t stand another. Thirteen hours was too fucking long to be trapped in a tin can hurtling above the earth at thirty thousand feet. The air was dry, the entertainment ran tiresome and I missed my family, most specifically my five-year-old son Jackson.

With a grimace I thought of my wife Veronica and our tenuous relationship, her incessant complaining bouncing around my mind like a pinball. I was certain that I would return to a firestorm of resentment and hate, always did. She couldn’t stand my job, the hours, the time, refusing to grasp the simple fact it was these sacrifices that allowed me to give her and Jackson the life they enjoyed.

My sacrifices weren’t enough to keep her. Divorce. It was all she ever talked about. As I returned from my last red-eye to the land of the rising sun some random asshole knocked on our door and served me with separation papers. My stomach sunk to my ankles and pooled at my feet.

Even though we’d been through so many rounds, it hurt knowing our fight would end in decision. I couldn’t stand the possibility of losing my son, or even worse, being forced to allow another man to raise him. I refused to accept it; I knew that given enough time I could fix our marriage.

I looked down at my arm again, the swelling intensified, the itch now unbearable. I stabbed my nail into the middle of the lump to sate it, but it only made it worse, much worse.

Deep inside the core of my being I knew something was wrong. The lump was the size of a silver dollar now. It was hot and pulsated misery with every thump of my heart.

I covered it up with my long sleeve shirt and attempted to cast the intensity of the itch from my mind. As I pressed into the back of my plane seat and closed my eyes I scowled as a searing pain radiated near my spine. Another lump.

My neighbor looked at me with concern. Man, are you ok?

I’m fine, I snapped. I’m just a little antsy from the flight.

Dude, that thing on your arm though… Man that thing looks intense bro. I’m not a doctor or anything like that, but you gotta get that shit checked out.

I made eye contact with him but refused to speak a word in return. Fucking asshole. I closed my eyes again. I meditated. I tried every little trick in the book to distance myself from the physical sensations torturing my body but with no success.

My ears popped as the plane began its descent. There was a brief moment of relief as I realized I was getting closer to the ground, closer to my broken home.

I opened up my backpack that I’d stowed under my seat and pulled out a small robotic toy I’d brought back from Tokyo for Jackson. I began to catastrophize, jumping to worst-case scenarios as I stared at it. My anxiety was ratcheting up to levels I’d never experienced, forcing my mind to latch on to the thought that I was fighting something of mortal significance. I knew it was crazy, but my mind wouldn’t let the thoughts go as they raced in a tormenting, endless loop. The fears of a hypochondriac, I suppose.

Out of instinct I scratched my leg. Another lump radiated its misery across the meat of my thigh, electrifying my nerves. With each beat of my heart it grew hotter, larger, beating my immune system into submission.

I distracted myself, looking out of the plane’s window at the miniature cars tracing up the curved grey concrete of the 405 freeway.

Soon that would be me, I thought.

I was startled from my gaze by the pilot’s voice over the intercom again. Crew, prepare for landing.

I hated landings almost as much as the flight itself. My fingers gripped tightly to my armrest, my knuckles white. The wind roared over the air brake and wings as the plane slowed until it was taxying on the runway.

I looked to my neighbor, panic stricken from the rapidly growing boils on my body. Sorry man. I gotta get the fuck out of here.

I unbuckled my seat belt, grabbed my backpack, stepped over my seatmate and ran to the front of the plane, approaching the flight attendant. This can’t wait. I need off this plane immediately.

She stood to face me, her eyes in a state of shock. Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to sit down! You should not be up while we are taxying. It’s dangerous.

I refused to move; instead I gripped the stainless steel handle near the kitchen galley. I don’t think you get it. I need off this fucking plane. I pointed toward the exit with as much authority as I could muster. I’m not moving unless it’s out that door.

I began to sweat profusely as a wave of chills ran over my body. It was an intense rush that left me spinning. My skin grew hotter, a fever spiking my core temperature as I tried to maintain my balance.

Sir, she said. Are you ok? Sit down, please sit down. We are almost to the jetway.

I pulled up the sleeve of my shirt to show her the pulsating bulge on my arm. I then turned around and lifted my shirt to show her the one on my back.

I turned back toward her. How about now? Is it sinking in that thick, simple minded skull of yours?

Her face was frightened. Jesus Christ, what is that?

I snapped. I don’t know! And I can’t find out trapped behind one hundred other people. I need off this fucking plane. Now!

The plane pulled up to the jetway and parked. My anxiety was running at full force as the attendant opened the door. Go on, she said. Don’t let me stop you.

I ran.

I fought the vertigo.

I fought the nausea.

My backpack slammed up and down, scraping the swollen nodule on my back as I spotted a police officer. I lunged at him, grabbing his uniform and knocking his shiny silver badge to the ground.

I could hardly speak. Ambulance. Hospital. Now.

My field of vision was like a kaleidoscope as I collapsed to the ground. My nerves were being stabbed with bolts of electric current, firing off at random. There was no question about it, I was fucked.

The policeman knelt to me and spoke into the walkie-talkie tacked to his shoulder. Dispatch I need an ambulance at Gate 43, LAX. I’ve got a man, he’s sick. Real sick. He needs immediate medical attention.

My vision refocused and my eyes met with his as he looked down on me. What’s your name Sir? I’m Sergeant Mike Marquardt of the Los Angeles Police Department.

I could hardly respond. Brian. Brian Pace, I said. My skin, it’s so hot.

Beads of sweat dripped from my forehead and burned my eyes, chills punched through me in waves.

It won’t be long Brian. It won’t be long. We’ll get you the help you need. The worry on Officer Marquardt’s face told me all I needed to know. It was the first time in my life I thought with legitimate certainty that I was going to die.

I lay there watching the passengers from my flight leaving. My seatmate looked down at me as he passed, his eyes wide as if he’d seen a ghost. But even in my confused and semi-lucid state I knew what he was thinking about: himself, and I couldn’t blame him. An intuition inside of me kept up with a nagging thought: if this was to spread, soon all we’d have is ourselves.

Chapter 2

The rickety wheels of the stretcher I was strapped to scraped against the concrete as the EMT’s moved me toward an ambulance. They pushed me into the back, the force jarring my body. The EMT hopped in the bay with me and slammed the ambulance doors shut with force. We began to move as the siren whaled, leaving a slight echo as the sound waves red-shifted behind us.

I tried to lift my head up. Where are you taking me?

The EMT looked at me with concern in his eyes. Centinella Hospital. Lie down we’ll be there in three minutes.

I struggled to respond. Wha-wha-what’s wrong with me?

He didn’t provide a response. Instead he grabbed my arm and found the nearest bulging vein, haphazardly jamming a saline IV into it as the ambulance took a sharp right turn. The saline hit my circulatory system like a drug, a flush washing over my body and a distinct metallic taste erupting from my taste buds.

My son, I said. Make sure he gets the robot in my bag. It bought it for his birthday.

The EMT smiled. You’re going to be able to do that yourself. Just hold on. I need you awake. We are almost to the hospital.

The ambulance stopped abruptly and the siren ceased crying. The EMT opened up the doors, to reveal a team of doctors waiting for me at the hospital’s intake. I could hardly keep my eyes open as I drifted in and out of consciousness.

A doctor approached me and looked me straight in the eyes as we moved into the hospital. Sir, I am Dr. Adams. I’ll be treating you today. I need you to keep your eyes open. I need you to stay with me for a few minutes.

His voice began to echo, each syllable becoming a jumbled mess as my auditory functions began to fail.

Were you recently in Tokyo? Dr. Adams said.

I nodded yes.

How about the Shinjuku ward? he said. Did you spend any time there? Perhaps a crowded bar?

I nodded yes again.

Dr. Adams looked at his colleague, concern ripe on his face. Fuck. It’s here. Get an isolation room prepped. Say hello to United States patient zero.

The other doctor responded. Impossible. They said it was contained.

Does it look contained to you? Dr. Adams snapped. God only knows how many others have been infected. Call the CDC immediately.

Dr. Adams shone a pen light into my eyes and trailed it off both left and right, but I couldn’t follow it. I was disoriented from the fever. I struggled to keep my eyes open, but the exhaustion was too much to overcome. My eyelids were heavy, like they were being pulled down by two lead weights. I could no longer resist the temptation to sleep. I descended into darkness and in those last waking moments all I could envision was my son.

Chapter 3

My eyes opened to a blur. I stared at the ceiling, struggling to remember where I was and how I got there. My lips were chapped, my mouth dry as the Sahara. I blinked, trying my best to focus, but my eyes burned as the air from the room hit my pupils.

I finally dislodged my tongue from the roof of my mouth and yelled out. Help me! I said. Someone, anyone! My voice, tired and beaten, crackled like a child going through puberty.

No one responded.

As my mind caught up to my eyes, and both my vision and brain could focus I realized I was in the hospital. Memories began to backfill as I recalled the ambulance ride, the doctor and the cop.

I felt a tingling in my bladder and realized there was a catheter inside of me. I grasped the rubber tube snaking its way up my dick and pulled it out, centimeter by centimeter. The rubber was dry as a bone and scraped the skin on the way out of my urethra, it burned like I was ejaculating battery acid. As the last millimeter emerged from my penis I threw it across the room.

Fuck that! Never again!

I looked at my left arm and found a large bore IV sticking out of me. I traced the line up to an empty bag of saline solution hanging from a portable metal stand. I ripped the IV line out of my vein, a small droplet of blood emerging from the puncture wound, one of many. I could easily pass for a heroin junkie. It only furthered my worry of just what I’d been through.

My arms were covered in large white splotches from top to bottom. I pulled up my gown and the same scarring pattern existed over most of my body. How I was alive, I didn’t know. I toyed with the thought that I was in hell, or a dream, or some other fantastical creation, but my sensory perception was too real.

Water, I thought. I couldn’t ignore my thirst a moment longer. I stepped carefully off the bed and wobbled on my atrophied legs toward the sink. I turned the cold water on full blast and placed my parched lips under