The Disturbance Fiction Collection

By Jeremiah Donaldson

Contains:
Prison Planet-A failed interview that has the ultimate price.
Chipped-Robert finds out what can happen when the newest technology goes bad.
Plague-Moss Valley struggles to survive during an Ebola pandemic.
John's Story-Continuation of Plague.
Escape-Continuation of Plague
Dr. Killjoy's Lecture-The good Doctor's lecture on microbial dangers in the post-apocalyptic world.
Ott & Ren: Bay of Wolves-Ott and Ren take on cannibals for the one thing they need for their vehicle.
Ott & Ren: Crevice-Ott and Ren arrive at Crevice and find out the toll isn't what they expect.
The Last Stop-Two human cultures meet on a far away planet and find out they're not alone.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jeremiah Donaldson
• Release date: Feb 5, 2020
• ISBN: 9780463028810

Jeremiah Donaldson

Jeremiah Donaldson is a science fiction/horror writer, editor, game designer, free thinker, corporate slave, and overly blunt commentator that grew up in rural Kentucky and lived in Florida for 13 years before moving back in 2008. When he's not working...whatever, he always works, let's start that over. When he's not playing his part as a cog in the machine for the specified number of hours per week, or doing housework, or planting fruit trees in preparation for the climatic meltdown we're forcing upon the planet, he strings together words for peoples' enjoyment.

Book preview

The Disturbance Fiction Collection

Copyright 2017-2019 by Jeremiah Donaldson

www.jeremiahdonaldson.com

Smashwords edition

ISBN:9780463028810

Cover art by Doan Trang. Copyright 2022.

Original copyright years:

(list is in order of titles' position on the timeline)

Prison Planet 2010

Chipped 2018

Plague 2006

John's Story (from Plague: Aftermath) 2014

Escape (from Plague: Ruination) 2016

Dr. Killjoy's Lecture (from Diseases & Conditions RPG module) 2014

Post-apocalyptic Adventures of Ott & Ren: Bay of Wolves 2015

Post-apocalyptic Adventures of Ott & Ren: Crevice 2019

The Last Stop 2012

All rights reserved. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidence and not related to any government conspiracies. But you know someone will think it is...

Table of Contents

Prison Planet

Chipped

Plague

Plague Day 9, Tuesday, December 8, 20--

Plague Day 1, Monday, November 30, 20--

Plague Day 2, Tuesday, December 1, 20--

Plague Day 3, Wednesday, December 2, 20--

Plague Day 4, Thursday, December 3, 20--

Plague Day 5, Friday, December 4, 20--

Plague Day 6, Saturday, December 5, 20--

Plague Day 7, Sunday, December 6, 20--

Plague Day 8, Monday, December 7, 20--

Plague Day 9, Tuesday, December 8, 20--

John's Story

Escape

Escape Chap 1

Eescape Chap2

Escape Chap 3

Escape Chap 4

Escape Chap 5

Escape Chap 6

Escape Chap 7

Escape Chap 8

Escape Chap9

Escape Chap 10

Escape Chap 11

Escape Chap 12

Escape Chap 13

Escape Chap 14

Escape Chap 15

Escape Chap 16

Escape Chap 17

Escape Chap 18

Escape Chap 19

Escape Chap 20

Dr. Killjoy's Lecture

Post-apocalyptic Adventures of Ott & Ren: Bay of Wolves

BoW Chap 1

BoW Chap 2

BoW Chap 3

BoW Chap 4

BoW Chap 5

BoW Chap 6

BoW Chap 7

BoW Chap 8

BoW Chap 9

BoW Chap 10

BoW Chap 11

BoW Chap 12

BoW Chap 13

BoW Chap 14

BoW Chap 15

BoW Chap 16

BoW Chap 17

BoW Chap 18

BoW Chap 19

BoW Chap 20

BoW Chap 21

BoW Chap 22

BoW Chap 23

BoW Chap 24

BoW Chap 25

BoW Chap 26

BoW Chap 27

BoW Chap 28

Post-apocalyptic Adventures of Ott & Ren: Crevice

Crevice Chap 1

Crevice Chap 2

Crevice Chap 3

Crevice Chap 4

Crevice Chap 5

Crevice Chap 6

Crevice Chap 7

Crevice Chap 8

The Last Stop

TLS Chap 1

TLS Chap 2

TLS Chap 3

TLS Chap4

TLS Chap 5

TLS Chap 6

TLS Chap 7

TLS Chap 8

TLS Chap 9

TLS Chap 10

TLS Chap11

TLS Chap 12

TLS Chap 13

TLS Chap 14

TLS Chap 15

TLS Chap 16

TLS Chap 17

TLS Chap 18

TLS Chap 19

TLS Chap 20

TLS Chap 21

TLS Chap 22

TLS Chap 23

The Disturbance Timeline

Prison Planet

Benjamin Yarkov watched the applicant enter his office. He sighed. Military types always looked the same. Close cropped hair. A brand new suit. Neutral faces they thought showed authority. He stood and shook the man's hand, admiring his taste in ties. Real silk had become a luxury again since China's production had shut down before the war.

Major Nash Works, Sir, the man said.

Pleased to meet you. Benjamin waved toward the wood chair in front of his desk. Let's get started.

Yes, Sir.

Drop the 'sir'. Call me Ben.

Yes, s― Uh, Ben. He shifted in the seat. "You are the head of the Life Security Agency."

Ben smiled. He opened the Major's file laying on his battered desk, and scribbled a few tiny words on the inside front cover.

Respects the chain of command.

He glanced at the picture topping a stack of paper containing everything about Nash from his first Christmas present to what time he went to bed the night before. The Major looked as stern in civilian clothing as uniform.

Gung-ho.

Did you love the military or think it was a fun power trip?

The Major frowned. What, si― Ben?

Easily confused.

Just that. Are you a Major because it pays the most or because you love your men and country?

I love my country, si― Ben.

Slow learner.

That's good, Major. How much combat have you seen?

I enlisted in 2023, was posted on the Chinese/Russian border at the start of the war, then got picked for special forces in time to be wounded during Operation BROKEN RIDGE. My injuries put me in the tactics room.

Tough.

That was some fight. Nothing like Tibet in winter.

The Major nodded.

Why do you want to join the LSA?

The Asian War is over. We're being downsized.

Ben smirked. Why don't you join law enforcement?

"Why join a militia when there's the Army, why join the police when there's the LSA?

Aims high.

I like your attitude. Ben leaned back and swiveled his chair toward the right. He pressed a couple buttons on the arm, activating the huge screen that filled the wall. White lines traced a grid of inch by inch squares. A live view from a camera somewhere on Earth cycled through each square. Do you know what that is?

No.

Take a look. Ben watched for the first signs of disbelief. No one ever thought the images were real.

The Major's face went slack, and he was silent for several seconds. Is that what I think it is?

"What do you think it is?"

Cameras. Amazing.

Believes what he sees.

Each picture is a stream from a camera somewhere in the world that's hooked up to a computer, cell phone, PDA, or any other electronic device.

The Major's eyes darted from side to side. Even bathrooms.

Ben nodded as he wrote.

Possible pervert.

We can look at them anytime?

Ben slashed out 'possible'. Yes, but let's move on. What do you think we do here?

The Major grinned. You oversee the planet's security, alerting local authorities to crime captured on digital feeds, and monitor for terrorist activity.

Something like that. Ben pushed more buttons. A still picture of a pimple faced young man filled the screen. Any idea what he did?

"He's a criminal?"

Ben nodded.

Looks like a kid.

Three years ago Marvin Brown hacked the New York Power Authority and shut down the whole state for a month.

That was solar flares.

"It was reported as solar flares. The picture of Marvin switched to one of a burnt house. Because Marvin was removed."

As a threat to our country?

Ben nodded.

Perceived enemies are expendable.

The image changed to a man in military fatigues standing at the edge of a forest surrounded clearing. The picture had been taken from high above the ground.

I hope you know this guy.

Moses Marcel. Leader of the Last Days Cult.

And?

The Major shrugged. One of his men shot him to stop an assassination attempt on the United States President.

A picture of a Removal Team member in LSA's gray and blue uniform replaced Moses Marcel. "Well, not his man, but close enough."

Follows current events.

Ben pushed another button. Half the picture was of a dirty man in tattered clothes being escorted to a police car; the other half was of the same man, much younger, sitting in front of a computer with a bound and gagged woman in a chair behind him.

Kenny Pierce? The Major paused. But―

He kidnapped, raped, and killed 172 people. Ben paused, letting the words hang. "Over a period of nineteen years. He's the deadliest confirmed serial killer in history."

The Major touched the screen. You didn't stop him?

Not our job.

Not your― The Major shook his head. Why? He destroyed families.

It gave the locals something to do.

He killed innocents that I swore to protect!

Ben sighed. You swore to protect your country. He wasn't a threat to the government, only a local menace.

The Major sagged in the chair, putting covering his face with hands that looked too delicate for killing.

Soft-hearted.

Ben put down his pen. That concludes the interview.

The Major looked up. But―

Ben strode around the desk and took him by the elbow. It's a difficult job. Few make it.

I'm fine. Just―

Ben tugged on the man's arm. Others are waiting.

The Major relaxed and Ben led him out the door. Ben returned to his desk, and poked two buttons on the phone.

Tom, head of the Removal Team, made the speaker crackle with his deep voice. Yes, Ben?

Applicant 47 failed. Remove him, and store the body with the others until the position is filled. Make this one painless, I liked this guy.

Yes, Ben.

And Tom?

Yes, Ben?

"Make sure our condolences are sent out after the bus crash. We don’t need more awkward questions. The government isn’t supposed to make mistakes."

Chipped

April 16th, 2030

Robert heard the soothing nature sounds cut to half volume in his head as the meeting alert sounded three times. Most of his team had already gone to the conference room. He didn't know why they were in such a hurry. Everyone had heard the news from those who'd been before them: the company had been bought out. It was some serious bullshit.

He reached the rear of the line and waited for his chance to sign in for the meeting. Why a tech company bothered with hard copies of anything was beyond him. It was just more nonsense to shred or store. His chip had already registered that he was outside the meeting room and kept the background volume at minimum.

Robert took the nearest empty chair while everyone tripped over extra seats that had been dragged into the room and found himself between two of the social outcasts on the team. They quietly ignored each other until the noise dulled enough for the Human Resources officer to introduce the new owner's liaison, Hunter Mills.

Hello, everyone! Hunter flashed a fake smile and adjusted his tie while half the room mumbled a response. I'm here to tell you about the great company you are now working for called Sorbes Office and Business Board Incorporated, or SOBB, Inc.

Someone snickered.

We are a Fortune 500 company that has taken the industry by storm and YOU are part of the family. Hunter gave everyone a smile that made him look like a predator lunching on downed prey. First, let me tell you a little about us. SOBB was formed eight years ago...

Robert put his elbow on the chair arm, leaning his cheek on his palm. His thoughts wandered over the last two months, starting when he'd been caught cheating red-handed on his ninth anniversary night. Weeks of fights had followed until the breakup on New Year's Eve. His ex been out of the house for a bit more than a month, but her ghost haunted him. He seen her around the house. He heard her voice. Why the fuck couldn't she just understand he needed some strange once in a while?

He rubbed his eyes when he felt them start to water. The fucking meeting needed to hurry and end so he could work. It was the only thing that kept his thoughts occupied. Focused. They drifted to bad areas of his brain if things got too quiet.

...so that means everyone is getting new chips by the end of the day, Hunter said.

Robert jumped and raised his hand until Hunter pointed at him. Do we have to?

Several people laughed.

Hunter's smile faltered for a moment before he spoke. I just said we'll be changing the software at the doors and the old chips won't work after today.

Robert felt himself blush from the giggles as he slouched in his chair. He watched Hunter's wildly enthusiastic gestures through half open eyes, dreading the forthcoming message to line up for the new company's chip like cattle to market.

The meeting finally ended, and he was able to shamble back to his cubicle and zone out.

***

Robert woke with grainy eyes the next morning. He had barely slept. A strange whoom, whoom, whoom sound had invaded his dreams like an electric heartbeat. Blasting music while he showered and got dressed did little to remove the cloud over his mood. It grew worse on the drive through traffic that was unusually treacherous because of a light sprinkle that made road oil surface. So much for self-driving cars to keep them safe. They'd ran over too many kids on bikes for the public to be okay with them. All because no one had yet figured out how to make a computer anticipate when to take evasive action before a triggering event. Which was probably a good thing. Computers that knew they'd be recycled may not be so cooperative when the time came.

The music shutting off when he turned the ignition key off was like a death knell. The cloud that had hung over his head all morning grew darker as the last note faded. A flash of lightening crackled in the early morning sky as if on queue. It was followed by thunder that he could feel through the ground and a fresh downpour.

He ran across the parking lot as rain and hail pelted him. The awning over the door provided little protection, but it didn't matter. The 30 second torrent tapered off as quickly as it'd started.

Robert rubbed his temples before waving his left hand over the chip reader and entering the building. Company ambiance started to play in his head as his chip switched to workplace mode and welcomed him to a new day. For some reason, a flash of static interrupted the ambiance every few seconds

He'd slipped in right on time and didn't pass many coworkers. He hadn't spoken to most of them for the last month, preferring to keep to himself. People had stopped their questions after office gossip had gotten word around to everyone about his breakup. It'd taken a week longer for everyone to stop their fake conversations to 'help him feel better', leaving him alone. So many workers had filtered in and out during his obliviousness that he wasn't even sure who his neighbors were throughout his daily period of corporate slavery.

Robert stared at his screen minutes later, but found that he couldn't pay attention to the detail work he'd normally breeze through on a bad day. The words got mixed up with words in his head, making him lose his place over and over. He typed song lyrics into name fields and made all matter of other mistakes. His mind felt cloudy and sluggish. Whoom, whoom, whoom floated in the back of his head anytime he closed his eyes for more than a couple seconds. He went to the bathroom and splashed water on his face after 45 minutes in the chair.

It helped him make it until first break.

The rain clouds had cleared out and only puddles remained for Robert to dodge on the way to his car. He cranked the radio up and chain smoked for 15 minutes while watching people protest the Universal Income law in front of a factory across the street. People hadn't counted on robots taking all the menial jobs because they'd chosen to live off a stipend and give control of their finances to the government. It was all but impossible for unskilled workers to get a foothold in the job economy and even cooked government numbers put unemployment at 42%. People just had enough money to exist and there weren't any jobs for them to improve their position with. Now, they wanted to cry foul, because they'd forgotten that a person never has more than they're given when they put a hand out. His job sucked, as all jobs did, but no robot could do what he did, yet, because he was correcting what machines already hadn't done right.

His fingers didn't want to move so smoothly after break. They trembled from the enormous amount of nicotine he'd ingested in a short amount of time. He felt woozy and flushed. His mind raced. The note his ex had left on their bedside flashed in his head.

He forced his fingers to move, blocking out the image in his head and trying to make a song come to the forefront. It seemed to work. His concentration returned in small increments. Then he got to the end and seen that he'd inserted his ex's name into two of the fields.

He took a deep breath, flipped off the computer screen, and hit the back button.

One of the last fights they'd had replayed in the back of his head while he corrected the task.

***

She'd walked into the house after work while he sat on the couch, texting on the phone. He didn't look up or ask how her day had been. But he did turn up the TV that showed an afternoon ballgame.

Jealously and pain showed on her face. She tossed her jacket on the chair. Who are you messaging?

He kept typing.

I asked 'who are―

NOBODY. He looked back at his phone in dismissal.

She stiffened, crossed her arms, and stood next to the couch, looking down on him. Are you ready to tell me who 'nobody' is?

He stopped texting and snarled. A friend.

She leaned in closer. What's their name?

He glared at her. From WORK.

That's not a name. Is it the same friend you were with the night of our anniversary? You remember, when I tried to surprise you on break and the place was closed.

I told you, I was out with the guys.

Then why'd you turn off your ringer when I tried to call?

I didn't.

You did twice before you turned the phone off.

Bullshit, you're crazy. You just want to break up so you can whore around. He went back to texting. Now, fuck off.

No, you fuck off. Either tell me who the hell you were with that night or get out.

NONE OF YOUR FUCKING BUSINESS!

I WAS THE ONE HERE ALONE ON OUR ANNIVERSARY NIGHT!

He wrinkled his nose. It's not MY fault overtime ran out early.

Then why didn't you come home?

He shot to his feet, making her take a step back. BECAUSE I DIDN'T WANT TO!

IT WAS OUR FUCKING ANNIVERSARY!

Fuck you.

Get out.

No.

FUCKING GET OUT! Her body tensed.

Robert grinned. Hit me if you want to. I'll just call the cops and you'll spend a night in jail. Again.

She pushed by him to the bedroom. Fucking bitch.

He laughed.

***

Robert jerked out of the memory to realize he'd been typing gibberish. Frustration made him want to punch the screen. But he couldn't. Fuck, he couldn't.

He locked the computer screen and sat on the toilet for fifteen minutes, bringing songs to mind so they'd push out the memories and the whoom, whoom, whoom that now circled the rear of his head even with his eyes open.

Lunch was only 45 minutes away by the time Robert returned to his seat, but his long absence had been noticed. A floor walker tapped him on the shoulder within seconds.

Is everything okay? The short, overweight woman's skin glistened in the fluorescent light.

Robert rubbed his head. I think something is wrong with my chip.

She nodded, her eyes not losing their glazed over look, and turned away.

Robert pushed himself up to look for his supervisor. She was in an argument with someone over work instructions two rows over. He'd catch her later. It wasn't long until lunch.

Seconds ticked by as he forced his fingers to move over the keyboard and input information from scanned forms. First one, then a second task was completed before his mind wandered towards thoughts of revenge...

***

He sat on the wooded hill next to a gravel lane, holding a double-barreled shotgun. An ax lay beside him that he'd used to down a small tree to block the road. Everything was wet from early morning dew, and the valley was still dark.

The sound of tires crunching gravel warned him the time approached.

Headlights appeared quicker than he'd thought they would, and he brought the shotgun up to his shoulder. The car stopped a little farther from the tree than he'd wished, but he held steady while the man she'd left him for climbed out of the car.

Robert pulled both triggers at once. The boom echoed while pieces of the man's skull bounced off trees opposite him.

***

Various scenarios played through Robert's head until he reached lunchtime. However, instead of listening to music in the car, he continued his fantasies about revenge while chain smoking and chugging an energy drink. The anger caused his heart to race and kept his mind clearer than anything else. The whoom, whoom, whoom completely disappeared for a few minutes.

He was whistling by the time he finished his last cigarette and went inside.

Daydreams of murder had turned to his coworkers by the time his last break had rolled around. The girl with a daddy complex that had a crush on him. The wanna be punk with an inch of boxers showing above his pants and all of his head shaved except an oiled down tuft on top. The college students that bragged about degrees they had but didn't use and had entered the workforce in their late 20's as inexperienced as 18-year-olds. The wanna be players who bragged about their newborns to the chicks they were trying to screw. The power tripping supervisors who'd never had enough power to know what to do with it. The spineless, noncompetitive supervisors who just wanted everyone to be happy. The wanna be hippies that sometimes smoked weed on breaks. The stoners that used it as a performance enhancer and always smoked on breaks.

Damn near everyone around him.

He finally caught his supervisor at her desk.

Do you have a minute?

She turned from the three computer screens on her desk. Don't tell me your background has static, too?

Robert nodded. And I hear a weird noise when I shut my eyes.

She turned and typed something into the computer. I have you down for a new chip. Can you get in and out of building?

Uh, yeah. There's not anything wrong with that part. A brief hiss of static interrupted the company ambiance and shooting pain raced across the right side of his head. He rubbed his temple. Just other stuff.

Hang in there for a week and you'll have a new one.

A week?

That's how long it takes to replace them since they have to be customized with your ID number and name.

Robert groaned and turned away as someone else from his team walked up, rubbing their head.

The cloud over his mood returned for the last hour of work. Chatter from his coworkers had increased as they grew slack at the end of the day. He tried to focus, but fantasies of murder grew darker with each passing minute. He spent the last part of the day staring at the computer screen. Shadow images of him chasing his co-workers down with an ax filled the screen as the final seconds of the day slipped by in time to whoom, whoom, whoom underneath the company ambiance

Robert didn't move with the rush of people running for the door when his chip signaled time to leave and told him to have a good afternoon. Random images of chaos were superimposed over the petty people that shoved their way along.

Finally, he ambled out once the rear of the crowd had made its way into the parking lot.

Dark fantasies pervaded Robert's mind all afternoon. He didn't feel the urge to eat or drink nor listen to music or watch television. He paced back and forth throughout his apartment, thinking.

He continued to pace faster and faster as the sun sank lower in the sky. His mind churned through ways to take out as many of his co-workers as possible. Most were too grisly for him to stomach. Others required too much planning. He wasn't even sure what he wanted to accomplish. But they'd let him have a new chip in a hurry once he fucked some shit up.

He finally decided on bleach filled water guns and a hatchet.

Robert spent the rest of the night gathering supplies from late night stores and prepping them: two giant water guns, two gallons of bleach, a hatchet, swim goggles, and disposable drywall masks. It was almost two in the morning before he fell to sleep, listening to the hum of the streetlights as whoom, whoom, whoom cut through the back of his head.

***

A light rain was pattering on the windows when his alarm went off. He arose with butterflies in his chest and nearly skipped through his morning routine before double checking the backpack he'd prepared. Today, he'd make them hurry up and get new chips. Then he could sleep properly without the weird background noise.

The rain picked up by the time he'd reached the parking lot far too early for the business he had, so he sat and waited, listening to rain drum on the car roof.

Robert's car filled with cigarette smoke quickly, and he cracked his window to let it escape. It hung in the humid air, barely moving, until the car interior filled enough for it to pour out the window like liquid where the rain caused it to dissipate. He didn't let the air clear much before he puffed hard on the cigarette again, filling the car with more smoke.

His co-workers hurried through the morning rain to the employee entrance like they were sweet enough to melt. As if. Most of them were so shady they cast their own shadows. They needed to worry about the sun making them disappear as if they'd never existed.

He sucked down cigarette after cigarette as the seconds ticked away to starting time. Only stragglers ran towards the door as the final minute ended. He let another pass for good measure.

Robert opened the car door and stood, flicking his butt away. He shoved the hatchet under his belt, slipped a drywall mask on, pulled the swim goggles on to hold the mask in place, hung one of the water guns from his right shoulder on its strap, and held the other one at the ready in his left hand. Then he marched to the employee entrance.

Drops of bleach water had leaked from the fill holes, and he had trouble hanging onto the smooth steel door handle. Gloves hadn't crossed his mind. He finally banged it open and stepped into the short hallway beyond so that the door to the work floor lay in front of him. Light at the cracks changed as people walked up and down the aisle on the other side. Company ambiance started playing in the back of his head with a voice that welcomed him to work and said he was late.

His nerve faltered for a moment. Why couldn't he just complain like normal? Then his nerve returned. They wouldn't listen. No one listened. He'd have to raise hell like each time something needed done.

He kicked the swinging door open and rushed inside the building with the electronic gate buzzing behind him.

Someone laughed. Robert brought his water guns to work!

Robert turned to the sound. A skinny guy with an Afro and tie-dyed shirt was pointing at him and laughing. He didn't know the fuckers name, but the water gun had plenty of power to fill his face full of bleach.

The guy fell to the floor, wallowing in pain, rubbing his eyes, and shrieking into the air.

A general paralysis seemed to pass from over everyone. People ran and ducked about like denizens of a kicked anthill.

Robert twisted from one side to the other, blasting people in the face with one hand and bashing people with the hatchet in the other. Co-worker after co-worker that tried to approach him succumbed to the onslaught. They either ran out the door blinded by bleach or backpedaled away with blood streaming. Some cowered in place, and he dispatched them with the efficiency of a seal hunter. A few moved but slowly. He caught some of them and dealt blows to the nape of their neck while his heart pounded so loud in his ears that he could barely hear their cries. Some merely looked on as if he wasn't real before they fell under the hatchet. His vision blurred from blood and bleach droplets on the goggle lenses.

The first water gun ran dry faster than he'd planned on, but that was why he'd brought two. Something broke in the empty one when he dropped it to the floor and readied the spare.

Most of the people in his section had cleared out, but two rent-a-cops on duty walked up the main aisle from the front office.

We called the cops, asshole, one of them said. Make it easy on yourself.

Robert responded with a long burst that drove them back to save their eyesight. Their nonunion job and high deductible insurance wasn't enough to compensate for being blinded. They settled for hurtling insults and gestures at him from the far side of the floor.

He started towards them and the few people gathered behind that had bleach spots all over their clothes where the liquid already ate at their clothes.

Then a door banged in the short hallway to his right.

Damn, dude, you're going to break a fucking hole in the wall, someone said.

A big redhead and a thinner brown haired guy stepped out of the bathroom.

The redhead laughed. Not my fault they've not fixed their lowest-bidder quality doorstop.

Robert smiled. Stoner assholes. Two of them. They were always telling people to stop crying and to work more and to suck less. Fuckers.

He pointed the water gun at them and pulled the trigger, but they turned from their conversation in time to dive to either side of the bleach stream that soaked the carpet behind where they'd stood. Both disappeared behind cubicles on either side of the aisle.

Robert moved forward, tiptoeing to take aim.

A soda bottle full of water flew at his face from the left. He ducked, stood, and looked in the direction it'd came from. Then something moved in the corner of his right eye just before an office chair landed on his shoulder. He staggered, dropping the busted water gun that poured bleach all over his hands as the two stoners rushed from their hiding places. He pulled the hatchet back to swing at one of them, but his hand was slick and it flew into the air behind him.

There wasn't time to retrieve it before the brown haired stoner kicked him in the balls, doubling him over. The redhead rammed into him, and he was lifted off the floor for a brief moment.

Robert landed flat on his back. He struggled to breathe past the weight on top of him, skewed swim goggles, and the wet drywall mask that reeked of bleach. He flapped his arms and legs, but the larger man pinned down. Finally, his fist sank into something that made the man grunt.

Large hands grabbed Robert by the ears and slammed the back of his head into the thinly carpeted floor. Again and again and again. It didn't hurt at first from the adrenaline, but spots started to dance in front of his eyes after half a dozen blows.

Then something crunched in the back of his head. He felt himself go limp, and all he heard was whoom, whoom, whoom.

The end.

May you live in interesting times.-fake Chinese curse

Day 9, Tuesday, December 8, 20--

THEY’RE going to kill us all, I thought, watching the city of Tampa burn across the water. The low clouds reflected the fires set by irrational, crazed people who roamed the streets, taking their anger and frustration out on anything they came across. I’m glad not to be on the streets, sitting on the boat is better than whatever hell is out there.

I can’t help but think that I’ve got ahead of myself.

Things weren’t like this a few days ago. Now, anyone who took even a casual glance at the world would believe that humanity had reached the end, or maybe everyone wished the end would arrive so that the horror would cease. Either way, things don’t look good for anyone who survived the initial carnage. This wasn’t how things were suppose to turn out. We got cheated by a bug that shouldn’t have been. A freak of nature turned the world on its head with the ease someone picked up a sheet of paper.

I've gotten ahead of myself. What could be the last written record of this should contain the whole story, not half-mad rumblings I decided to put down once it dawned on me that things weren’t going back the way they were.

I’d watched the situation in the city disintegrate for days. Plenty of people are left to cause trouble and more would flock south from their powerless, northern cities when winter got here. I don’t know how the electricity held up elsewhere, but Tampa had been dark for more than a day without a sign anyone who could fix it cared to. Most people had left the city if they could. Those who'd stayed roamed the streets or barricaded themselves in their homes.

The end of November. So long ago, yet only yesterday. November. It wasn't the best time of my life, but not the worst. Still, I’d rather relive that one month over and over instead of write this account by candle and riot light.

Day 1, Monday, November 30, 20--

ON one of the last days things made sense, I smacked the alarm clock off at seven in the morning, showered, brushed, and ate an energy bar. I watched some news, but there was nothing special on. Some teacher had gone nuts and led the police on a four-hour joy ride. They'd found half a kilo of coke in her car. She probably won't teach again unless it's in prison. As if it was news. Teachers screwed the kids, so they may as well peddle them drugs, too.

At a quarter till eight, I locked the apartment door and began the trek to work. It started at half past eight and ended at six. Easy money, easy work.

The 'Money Cow' cash advance office had little business on Mondays. Even when not, how hard was it to cash checks, write money orders, advance money, and answer stupid questions? Not hard, that's for sure. I doubt I could've done less without being a security guard, and I had no need to waste money on gas when work lay five blocks away. Not that I didn’t have a car, but it normally sat in the parking lot, collecting dust. The walk got me going in the morning and was the only exercise I ever had.

The first day of my last week of work was somewhat standard. Sometimes, I wished someone would rob us.

Me and my office clerk, an intense night school student by the name of Boose, pronounced Booze, Harrison, took turns smoking in the alley between our building and the neighboring office complex. Otherwise, he sat with his nose buried in a school book while I perched on a stool in front of the computer, browsing the net and waiting for the next customer. When government checks showed up, the door barely closed as everyone rushed to pay their loans and borrow money back, or to cash their check because no bank would have them. Only Marcus Smith's, our district manager, daily stop to make sure we had cash broke the monotony.

I ticked off the closing list in my head as I locked the front door at a few minutes after six. Nothing had been left unfinished.

Swing by if you don’t have school, I said. He was one of the few people I hung out with and currently my only friend that didn’t have an evening job.

Not today. Boose shouldered his backpack. I have a big test tonight. Probably will tomorrow.

That works. Have a good one.

It was our standard end of the day conversation. The simple things are what I miss the most.

*  *  *

MY first stop was at the bank to throw the deposit in the steel box built into the brick wall. Then I dodged a car, whose driver never slowed, as I ran across the street. I wagged a middle finger in the air after him as he sped away. Once on the sidewalk, I turned down an alley to the next street. A Family-owned grocery store was at the other end. I'd almost forgotten that I had nothing to eat.

I got back to the apartment just before seven and sighed with relief when I kicked my shoes off and set the bags on the kitchen counter.

The answering machine flashed a '1', so I poked the play button to listen while I opened a frozen pizza and turned on the oven. The message added to the dull Monday. A salesman rattled off his pitch for 30 seconds before the machine decided that his time was up and cut him off.

The oven needed time to preheat, and I relieved myself before throwing the pizza into it on a piece of foil. I set the microwave timer for 10 minutes and hoped the directions were right this time. Last time they were off by a lot. My apartment had smelled of burnt cheese for three days because I'd thought I had time for a shower while it cooked. At least it'd tasted different than the package, although not better.

I cleaned the few dishes from the day before while dinner cooked. There weren't many dishes when you lived alone. One plate, a glass, and fork. I wiped everything down with a rag, grabbed the newly washed glass, and poured myself the last cold soda from the refrigerator.

I carried my drink to the coffee table in the living room while I waited on the pizza to finish. The television was tuned to the last news channel I'd watched. A ding from the microwave told me that my dinner was done or burnt as the picture came into view.

Done, I seen, and lifted the pizza from the oven to the stove top by the foil underneath it. Foil was the most convenient thing in the world. I loved not having to dirty more dishes than necessary, and a mitt wasn’t needed to take it out of the oven. I went to the couch with the cut pizza on my damp plate.

I would've set out to enjoy that night more if I'd known more at that time. Instead, I apathetically watched the reporter speak about an Ebola outbreak in the Congo and shoved food in my mouth. I didn't really pay attention to it that first night, after all, bad things happen and people die all the time.

Day 2, Tuesday, December 1, 20--

IF a person woke on the first day of the end of civilization and didn't notice anything wrong, would they know that the end was on the way? I didn't. Even if I did, would I've believed?

The day started with me running late, because I'd stayed up playing games and watching movies, but normal otherwise. I showered and ran out the door with dripping hair and less than 30 minutes to get to work.

Boose was in a foul mood when he arrived a few minutes after me. It must have been the first time I'd seen him angry. He had a good reason.

You wouldn't believe what happened, he said when he noticed my look. Some jackass mud kicker, mud kicker was Boose's name for anyone who drove a truck and listened to country music, pulled out in front of me this morning, and I had to jump a curb to keep from hitting him and popped a tire. Then he pulled over and wanted to fight because I'd flipped him off, but a cop was two cars behind us. Finally, after the cop threatened the guy with mace, things calmed enough for us to give statements. I had the satisfaction of him getting a ticket for reckless driving. Of course, the donut spare is on my car. Once it was all out, Boose relaxed a bit and some of the redness faded from his face.

Sounded like you had fun. Now, you know why I walk to work, I said, smiling a little. Ride the bus and you can bypass all that bull.

That'd just mean different stupid people, Boose said. And I couldn't listen to the stereo that cost me an arm and a leg.

Got a point there, I said.

We lit our last cigarettes before we opened for business.

The remainder of the day was stress free. We didn't have any irritating customers or annoying people that wanted us to do something that we couldn't. It was a peaceful stint at work, and I didn't have to walk home since Boose came over to hangout. Never hurt my feelings to save my soles for free.

*  *  *

THE answering machine had a message from my ex-girlfriend to ruin an otherwise fine day. I didn't have anything to say to her and couldn't think of anything beyond the usual drivel that she could say to me, so I erased the message without listening to it.

You want something to drink? I said, opening the refrigerator. It was always well stocked, if not with food.

Of course, no class tonight, Boose said. He settled on the floor and rummaged through the backpack that never left his side.

I sat a bottle on the coffee table next to the brass pipe, kicked my shoes off to the side, and settled down on the couch.

You want to pass on the Brass Ass today? I have papers, unless it's rank and won't matter.

Boose grinned. This stuff is so harsh you won't know if the weed or pipe has made you cough a lung up.

I clicked on the television and flipped to the comedy channel, which was the only thing watchable while high.

The usual, then, I said. No need to waste a good paper.

I shoved a hand between the couch cushions to the cut in the back where my stash was hid. I unrolled the bag with a practiced flip of the wrist, then dropped a bud on the table for Boose to break apart.

Maybe our horrible weed and your shitty pipe will turn out nice tonight, I said.

We could get lucky.

I took a swallow of the cold beer before I put a DVD in the player. There was nothing on the tube. I often wondered why I kept the cable hooked up.

And so the evening passed. We smoked, we drank, we laughed, and my friend Tom called, but we were too drunk to go out on the town. Boose stood at half past midnight to sway to the garbage with his last empty bottle.

You're walking like a sailor on shore leave, I said.

I feel like a sailor on shore leave. Boose stumbled a couple steps. I'll be fine when my butt is in the car.

I stood, staggered, and steadied myself with the couch arm. See you in a couple days, don't get in trouble without me.

Have a good day off. Boose waved a floppy salute, laughed, and zigzagged down the hall to the elevators.

I turned the television to one of the 24-hour news channels to listen while I cleaned up from the fun. Vaguely, I heard the reporter say that the Ebola outbreak had spread, and that fear ran rampant that it'd spread farther before it burnt itself out. She said a lot more, something about France, but the words didn't register on my clouded mind.

Day 3, Wednesday, December 2, 20--

I hated to be woke up by the phone, especially on a day off. Half awake, I rolled out of bed and stumbled through the apartment, rubbing my forehead. I hoped it would ease my headache and knew it wouldn't. I forgot to check the caller ID. Sometimes you know right away that it'll be an off day.

Hello, I murmured.

Moss! Where the hell are you? I've tried to reach you all morning, not to mention yesterday.

It was my former better half, Amy.

What's so important that you wake me up this early? I rubbed my eyes. Four messages were on the machine. She must have called all morning. You’re not going to stalk me like your last boyfriend, are you?

Christ, turn on the fucking news, she said.

I found the remote. Yeah, whatever, you're pissing on my day, this had better be good.

It is.

A female reporter stood in front of planes at the airport. The dull gray of the aircraft paint contrasted harshly with the red border that said 'Breaking News'.

Normally, you couldn't hear me here, the reporter said, "but you can this morning, and that's bad news for the airline industry.

As of this morning, all international flights have been canceled due to the Ebola outbreak threatening international travel. A young boy, Jon Louis, who arrived in France yesterday, has shown symptoms after flying from Kinshasa in the Democratic Republic of the Congo on France flight 308. The boy had been in the DRC with his parents who'd gone there two months ago to study endangered monkey populations. His parents have also fell ill, prompting the world’s airlines to cease operations until the situation has been contained. More than one hundred who entered France on the same flight are unaccounted for at this time. It is feared that many have moved on to other countries. Authorities are trying to contact each passenger, but have only tracked down a handful of them.

The camera switched to a seated reporter who talked about rising coastal waters.

I sighed. You got me up for this?

Keep watching. They said that some of the passengers may have taken flights to the USA, including Tampa. Better keep an eye on things since you aren't far from the airport. You can go back to sleep. Goodbye. Amy hung up.

I let the phone drop to the floor and flopped down on the couch. I wondered if this was how Amy had started stalking her last ex as I feel asleep.

*  *  *

I turned on the news when I woke up. The situation had gotten worse in the hour since Amy's call. Not only were international fights canceled, but so were state bound flights. They'd determined that 30 passengers from the France flight had made it to the states. Two entered the country through the airport here in Tampa and three more in Miami. The others were spread all over the country between New York and Los Angeles. The government searched for them.

I didn't fly, so there wasn't a reason for me to concern myself with planes that weren't allowed to leave the ground. None of it had anything to do with me. I climbed into the shower.

The rest of my day was spent doing things I didn't have time for otherwise. I restocked the cupboards, did laundry, vacuumed the carpet, scrubbed up beer stains, visited the bank, refrained from killing someone in the post office, and picked up Chinese for dinner.

Finally, I sat down and enjoyed the day once the largest part of it'd passed. I purposely avoided the news for the rest of the evening, thinking it couldn't get worse.

Day 4, Thursday, December 3, 20--

THE first day of hell started off slow. It was impossible to know that panic would march across the country in an unstoppable storm by the end of that day. Maybe it's best some things blind side us. If we knew what came, would we face it or curl up and wilt away?

The first sign of an abnormal day was when I arrived at work and found Boose there before me. He'd never beat me to work.

This is a first, I said.

I wanted to get here and see what the situation was.

Situation? It's another day at the office.

You don't know? Boose raised one eyebrow.

Apparently not. Do we have a surprise audit or something?

I wish that was it. Take a look. Boose dug in his backpack for a second. Sitting back up, he held out a mini TV that had an one inch screen. It was one of the many gadgets he carried with him that served little or no purpose.

I took it from him and flicked the on/off switch.

Make sure you're on channel nine, Boose said.

I nodded and watched the picture.

...what you see is the mass burning of bodies by the DRC government in an attempt to rid themselves of the Ebola virus ravaging the country. A video clip played that showed something burning with clouds of black smoke swirling in the wind. A hard gust pushed the flames back to reveal arms sticking out of a pile of bodies.

No one knows why this outbreak is so deadly, but teams from the Center of Disease Control in Atlanta and the World Health Organization have arrived to determine the depth of the problem. The outbreak has claimed 957 lives in four days and an estimated 3000 are sick.

The video clip switched to a picture of a man dressed in a lab coat. Dr. Joel DuLou is the first medical professional to fall sick, and his condition has deteriorated rapidly. There is fear that this strain is spreading by an unknown route. One French doctor insists that it has mutated to an airborne form, but officials from CDC have assured us it hasn't. This has been...

I flicked the power switch. That's interesting, I said. But we don't have anything to worry about.

They'd said there was an unconfirmed case in Tampa. They should have an update soon.

I sighed and shrugged. Everyone is freaking out about nothing. Two weeks from now, no one will remember what all the uproar was about.

I hope you're right.

How long will the batteries last on this thing?

Not long, a couple hours at best.

We'll check on things later.

Boose nodded.

*  *  *

I don't know if it was the bad news or one of those rare days, but things were insane even for the third of the month. We were hit with a barrage of new and old customers. All of them had the same thing to talk about. We didn't have to check the news.

People who'd been in contact with passengers from the France flight were in isolation across the country and authorities looked for others. Everyone spoke with a certain unease in their voice, and I could see panic in their eyes. Leave it to the media to cause a mess of things. A few knew nothing, but not many, and they found out from other customers as they waited in line. It didn't take long for bad news to spread among the herd.

Lunch time finally arrived. We normally took turns, but we waited until the place was empty and slapped a 'Gone to lunch' sign on the door. We hid in the back room to get the latest news while we smoked our lunch and got a few minutes of peace.

"...that's the current status on airline flights. We've received word that the second Tampa passenger was found in an Orlando hotel. The man, David Leckworth, arrived at Tampa International Airport on December 1, returning from a hunting trip that'd taken him to the DRC and home through France. It's believed that he was headed home in Daytona beach when he stopped in Orlando. He rented the room for two nights, mentioning to the clerk that he had the flu and didn't want disturbed. That was the last time anyone seen him alive. The room remained locked until the body was discovered. All residents and employees of the hotel have been quarantined inside the building.

The other passenger, Alabar Robins in Tampa General Hospital, has had his condition lowed to critical. He became sick yesterday and turned himself in to authorities. Alabar had returned to the country after he visited family members. The reporter shuffled some papers. We've gotten word that two in France have died from the virus, and a German passenger from the same flight is hospitalized. We'll have more information later. The scene cut to a Viagra commercial.

That's some shit, Boose said, stubbing his cigarette out in our makeshift, foil ashtray.

I nodded. No doubt, but these things only last as long as it takes to isolate those infected.

You're right, but it explains why we're busy. A lot of people are worried.

They're like animals, spook them and they run far enough not to see the original problem.

Boose nodded toward the TV. Looks like cool weather coming.

I looked in time to see the animation of an advancing cold front. Good, I've waited all year for winter. Let's smoke another before we open for business.

We stared at the walls and puffed for 10 minutes, waiting for more news on the outbreak, but the producers had decided the virus had taken up enough time for now.

*  *  *

THE rest of the day was nonstop. The four people at the door after lunch were the precursor. Some wanted money to leave town, some to stock up before the mad rush on food that'd happen sooner or later, others wanted cash in their pockets in case the ATMs went down, but all talked about the same thing. Many repeated illogical, elaborate theories.

They let it over here, you know? One new customer said. He was a middle-aged man dressed in a faded jean jacket and a hat that proclaimed 'They're Coming'. He continued before I could respond. There are systems in place to prevent bugs from getting from one country to another and they didn't work. You know why? Because those dirty French bastards knew this would happen and our government let it happen to get rid of the poor people.

I raised an eyebrow, smiled, and handed him his money. I'm sure the government could deal with the poor easier than that.

The man gave me a look that said I was One of Them, spun on his heel, and hurried out while other customers gave him odd looks.

I smiled. Next.

One old lady blamed it on God.

Are you baptized? She croaked the words between gasps for air. The time of the Lord has cometh, and He is angry with our wasteful ways. The children of His flock will be safe, but only if they are ready to leave this earth of sin to the contaminated and accept His way as their way.

No, but that may be a good idea, I said, handing over her cash with my standard Public Smile plastered on my face.

Oh! It is! You come down and we'll take good care of you!

And so the day went. When I thought I'd heard it all, someone came in with a crazier story. One man claimed that aliens had infected us to clear the way for settlement. Another said Africans had got back at us for the slave trade. Another insisted that Middle Eastern terrorists had a hand in it. Many mentioned Revelations and the horsemen. More than a few said it'd spread. At least, that could be true. Everyone looked on the verge of panic.

We listened to the latest news while we finished paperwork at the end of the day.

"...no one wanted to hear. Alabar Robins is the second victim of the outbreak in the US. He was pronounced dead after a short fight with the virus. All family members he had contact with are isolated at the same facility where he passed away. An autopsy will be carried out to determine the cause of death and to provide information that'll enable other healthcare workers to give better treatment.

"In Orlando, two of the hotel staff who had contact with David Leckworth have reported severe headaches, high fever, body aches, and bloody sputum. They've been separated from the other guests and employees inside the building. It's thought they became infected after handling a pen Mr. Leckworth signed in with.

The virus hasn't just caused panic in the states. In France, Dr. Joel DuLou is the first medical professional to die from the virus during the current outbreak. It's believed that he was infected while doing an exam of Jon Louis, the source of infection on France flight 308, before anyone determined that he carried the virus. In the Democratic Republic of the Congo, the death toll is 1489 and more than 5000 are sick. Only those involved in relief efforts are allowed to cross the border into the DRC.

I turned off the TV and handed it to Boose. If the news gets any funnier, I'll jump from a bridge.

It may be better that we do if this keeps on.

People still came to the door while me and Boose locked up. They weren't happy, but closed is closed.

I lit a cigarette. Are you swinging by tonight? One of my buddies from the army, John, is supposed to be in town today. He'll be eager for a drink, but I don't know if he made it in. I should know when I get home.

Not tonight, I have another test at school that I can't miss.

Have a good one, then.

Good as it can get.

*  *  *

THERE were several messages on the machine when I got home. I looked at the caller ID. One was Amy, one a private listing, and one from a pay phone. I pushed the play button.

The first was Amy wanting to know if I knew what went on with the virus. The second was the hissing of a blank recording.

I cared about the last message. It was John. He wouldn't make it. He had to take a bus from North Carolina because of the airline shutdown and wouldn't be in town until the next day. Nothing goes right when you want it to.

I sat down at the computer and checked my email, which was something I hadn't done for several days. Then I made the rounds of a few  websites to find more information than what was on TV. One site had a map with cases plotted that I printed to show Boose.

I rolled a joint while I looked over the printout. The DRC should've been colored red. There were so many dots it was hard to see anything else. Ten were spread across western Europe. Five in France. Several were scattered across the US, with nine of them between Tampa and Orlando.

I zoned out staring at the map with the unlit joint in one hand. The doorbell startled me. I pushed the contraband under the side of the keyboard and answered the door. It was Boose.

I thought you had school.

The teacher put off the test and sent everyone home because half the class didn't show.

Half the class?

Yeah. Everyone is scared stiff. People have left town in droves. Boose kicked his shoes off and sat down.

They're overreacting. The exodus will reverse itself, I said. Want a beer?

What else is there to do?

I went for drinks.

Where's your friend? Boose called from the living room.

"Should