Killer Z
KILLER Z
By
Greg L. Miller
Copyright © 2013 by Greg L. Miller
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced,
distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including
photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the
prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations
embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by
copyright law.
Disclaimer
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses,
organizations, places, events and incidents either are the product of the
author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons,
living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Acknowledgments
Thanks goes to
God and Jesus for the successful completion of this creative project.
Thanks to Kelly
Carter-Miller for the cool book cover and endless editing and to friends such
as Emmanuel Bagrowski and Brandon Plumley for their support and encouragement.
Special thanks to Northern Michigan University, Library of Congress and to the
reader!
In memory of my
grandpa, Tom Riberdy.
This story took
four years to create and was written in USA, Costa Rica and Spain.
The Canary Islands, North African Coast
A flock of exotic birds take flight over the lush
greenery covering the volcanic Isla de La Palma. Dr. Joseph Herbert walks along
the path leading to the Cumbre Vieja observatory. Eight months out of the year
he teaches at Michigan State. The other four months he’s in the Canary Islands doing volcanic research. A lizard flip-flops across the dirt path. It pauses
and watches Herbert with calm eyes. He stills himself knowing any movement
could startle the magnificent specimen.
Herbert mutters, “You’re a
Gallotia auaritae
.
I thought the La Palma Giant Lizards were extinct?”
Taking out a local dessert made from honey and
almonds, he makes a clicking sound. The lizard flicks its tongue, tasting the
odor. He sets the treat on the ground. It wobbles over and licks the dessert
twice and then disappears into the dense brush. He’s surprised the lizard is so
high on the volcano, they usually travel only 700-900 meters past sea level.
“Hey, professor!” a squeaky male yells.
Steve Myers, a graduate student in his study abroad
course, stumbles into view. The lanky boy peers at him through thick glasses,
his eyes bright with excitement.
“Hello, Steve. What brings you out this fine
morning?”
“I’m trying to gain evidence for my blog about the
conquest of the Spaniards over the locals in 1400.”
Herbert tries walking around the student but Steve
proudly thrusts a stone arrowhead under his nose. Herbert resists rolling his
eyes.
“I remember when you found a local fisherman’s
wheel and thought it was an ancient pirate wheel two weeks ago.”
“Give me a minute professor.”
Herbert follows Steve into a clearing. Steve points
to a hollowed tree. At the base of the tree is a pile of rags. Herbert opens
the rags, revealing a scabbard.
“Steve, did this come from in the tree?”
“Yup! It’s old, isn’t it professor?”
Dr. Herbert fumbles through the filthy cloth and
finds a short sword.
“Steve, this is an officer’s sword from the time of
Alonso Fernandez de Lugo.”
“Who’s that? There’s more stuff.”
Herbert looks at the boy with narrowing hazel eyes
and asks, “Haven’t you been paying attention to anything I teach? Lugo is the Spaniard who defeated the local chief Tanausu in a 1493 ambush.
“Oh. Is this worth anything on eBay?”
Steve withdraws a helmet from the tree. Herbert
imagines the new discovery leading to future grants and published journal
articles. His academic fantasies are short lived as the earth shifts underfoot.
Steve yelps as the clearing rattles.
“Is this the big one professor?”
“No, Steve. This is normal for the island. I have a
few friends who can help us determine the age and origin of the sword and
helmet in Santa Cruz de La Palma.”
Herbert walks down the path with Steve and the
artifacts.
“Professor, what happens if the volcano erupts and
creates a tsunami?”
“There’s no record of a tsunami destroying the
eastern sea board like you said in your paper. Yes, Philadelphia and Delaware experienced a tsunami in 1817 and 1884 respectively, but those events inflicted
very little damage.”
“This isn’t about my paper. I had a nightmare about
a tsunami, again.”
“I already debunked your idea last week. Don’t you
read my comments?”
“But professor, if Cumbre Vieja erupts, it’s going
to send a massive landslide into the ocean. In turn, this would send a three
hundred foot tsunami to America’s east coast!”
Herbert loses patience with the boy’s paranoid
fantasies and yells, “Did the volcano erupt? Are we dead?”
“But in 1949 an eruption created a separation in
the island that almost started a tsunami…”
“Steve, it could happen any time between ten years
to fifty thousand years!”
“You’re wrong!”
“The probability of either of us being alive if it
happens is zero to none.”
“Professor, I read your marks against my paper and
understand a massive failure on the left flank is unlikely, but I think the
situation is more perilous then you give credit.”
“Your hypothesis is not based on fact,” Herbert
replies and regains his professional calm. “Current data shows the western
flank is stable because it’s made of pillow lava which is supported by
pyroclastics.”
“What happens if an earthquake causes the sea floor
to buckle? Wouldn’t a gravitational pull create a landslide triggering the
tsunami?”
“Steve, the rift created in 1949 is only 2 meters
deep. There’s no scientific data showing the volcano to be unstable. The
BBC document
End Day
already addressed your hypothesis and debunked it.”
Steve is about to protest further when the earth
rattles deeply. Trees shake and fall. Herbert is speechless as fountains of
lava jettison into the sky, shooting hundreds of meters high. He looks to the
bay. The sea boils and seethes. Brown mud lifts from the sea floor and soars
into the darkening sky. Boats are tossed like toys and collide into the port
city.
“I dreamed this, professor!”
The ocean surges into Saint Cruz de La Palma.
Within seconds 90,000 inhabitants are swallowed whole. An ear shattering boom
echoes through the island as the western flank of Cumbre Vieja slides into the
ocean carrying five hundred kilometers of earth, rock and timber.
…
Chattanooga
, Tennessee
“With all the money airports make they
would invest in comfortable seating along with free wireless,” Alex says.
The Chattanooga airport bustles with activity.
Jessica, Alex’s wife, ignores his complaint as she detangles the sticky hands
of their two year old toddler from her hair.
“Jessica, I can’t even get a page to
download.”
Alex closes the laptop and shoves
it into his carry-on. Matt, pokes at his five year old sister. Elizabeth. Alex watches the nine year old boy smear ketchup from his overpriced airport
sandwich on Elizabeth’s arm.
“Matt, stop getting sauce on your
sister and clean up.”
Matt puts the remains of the sandwich
down and leaves for the bathroom. Elizabeth picks a tomato off her own
barely touched sandwich.
“Jessica, how long do you think it’s
going to take? Kyle’s going to chew me out for not showing. We should’ve been
in D.C. hours ago.”
Matt bounces back from the bathroom and
flicks water at Elizabeth who is sticking out her tongue. The family spent
the weekend at Jessica’s sister’s house enjoying the sights of Chattanooga, Tennessee. It had been fun, but everyone is ready to go home and sleep.
Alex looks at his phone. There are four
unheard voice mails from his boss, Kyle. He works in the IT department at the
Smithsonian. Most days he sits at a computer, a position resulting in perpetual
paleness and an ever expanding gut, but occasionally the office has him set up
presentation equipment.
“I was told to have everyone evacuate the
terminal,” an airline agent says.
“Whatever for?” a second asks.
“An earthquake struck the east coast.”
“That’s ridiculous. The east coast
doesn’t get earthquakes.”
A sick feeling of dread builds in his stomach.
His cell phone rings again.
“Hello?”
“Where are you?” Kyle asks.
“I’m still at the airport in Chattanooga.”
Alex walks to the terminal window
overlooking the tarmac.
“What’s the hold up, Alex?”
“Earthquakes, I think.”
“You’re not important! I don’t care what
you want,” Kyle yells.
“I’m sorry….?”
A deep rumble shakes the floor.
“Alex, I’m not talking to you, sorry. Be
in the office tomorrow.”
The call ends. Alex looks around. Nervous
energy pours from the airline agents and travelers. Security guards rush
down the airport’s main hallway. He recalls the New Madrid fault and how it
snakes through Tennessee, Kentucky and into the Midwest. The fault is rumored
to be an earthquake risk. He dismisses the idea.
The floor buckles and passengers tumble. Alex
panics as smoke fills the terminal. It’s impossible to see Jessica or the kids.
The terminal windows explode with a
boom
.
George Washington Hospital, Washington D.C.
“Natalie, help us, damn it!” Lin
yells.
Along with four strong orderlies, he struggles
to hold down a newly awoken coma patient. His dark bald head glistens with
sweat.
“She’s hiding in the hallway again,
praying,” Seth grumbles.
“Natalie, get your ass in here!” Lin
shouts.
“I will no longer do Satan’s work!”
Natalie shouts from the hallway.
The patient thrashes on the bed. Her eyes
turn milky white.
“Calm down, Mrs. Anderson,” Lin says.
Dr. Morris enters the room. A muscle
twitches in the doctor’s jaw as he sees yet another patient gone mad. Seth
hands him the patient’s medical charts. Morris scans through the pages with
unreadable icy blue eyes.
“The patient is acting like the others,”
Dr. Morris says.
Seth fills the appropriate data into the
chart. The doctor places a firm hand over the patient’s forehead and flashes a
pen light into her milky white pupils.
“We aren’t paying you to preach Natalie!”
Dr. Peterson bellows from the hallway.
A second balding doctor enters the room
with a wicked looking syringe which he plunges into the patient’s thigh.
“Keep the restraints on her,” Dr. Peterson
says and directs Dr. Morris to the window. “Did they locate the missing Z
compound?”
“Not yet. Without the compound we’re
risking more violent outbursts.”
“The director of the CDC is going to want
a report.”
“Let’s give it another week. I don’t want
to get shut down.”
Peterson frowns and shrugs.
Seth taps Lin on the shoulder and says,
“I could use your help in the lab.”
“We need to do the will of Jesus,”
Natalie yells as they exit the room.
“Whatever,” Seth sneers.
Natalie shakes a Bible at the two
CDC employees and says, “I became a nurse to help those in need, not to take
care of the damned.”
“You’re crazy,” Seth says.
Lin looks apologetic but follows Seth.
Seth’s small, thin frame shakes in anger
as they stride through the hospital.
“Lin, I got piss tested,” he hisses as
they turn down an empty corridor and slip into an unoccupied room.
The global pharmaceutical and
bio-research company Zurvan assigned them to the Compound 172-Z project six
months prior. Seth was brilliant in the lab, but he wasn’t suited to working on
a team.
When the drug trials began many patients
reported an intense euphoric reaction to the medication. Seth stole a few,
finding being high was the only way he could deal with the job. The high had
been amazing. He shared it with Lin and within a week they were stealing and
altering Compound 172-Z for recreational use.
Seth pulls out a zip-lock bag filled with
hundreds of small white pills.
“Seth, do you think they’re onto us?”
“I don’t know. Here’s the latest batch of
Killer Z,” Seth says and tosses the bag to Lin. “The Zs are stepped on to high
hell but work.”
“The locals can’t get enough of this
shit.” Lin says and tosses a wad of hundred dollar bills on the unmade bed.