Sympatico Syndrome (Book 1): Infection (A Pandemic Survival Novel) (26 page)

He didn’t know how to respond so he turned back to the bay. Her words touched him. He stared at the sparkling water, not really registering the sound until it was so close, he couldn’t ignore it. “A boat! It’s heading right for the island.”

Piper jumped up from the table and headed for the door.

“No, Piper. Stay here!” He took the rifle they had mounted above the door. It was always loaded. “Stay inside and lock the door behind me. Then let your parents know we seem to have visitors.”

The last thing he wanted to do was show whoever it was that there was a pretty young girl here. He strode down to the dock, gripping the rifle across his body. He raised it when he reached the dock, not pointing it, but anyone would recognize the threat. Then he saw someone waving at him. Two people, actually. As they came closer, one appeared to be a tall young man, and the other, a short, slim woman. Two others were in the boat that he could see, but they didn’t wave. He wished he had brought binoculars. It was one thing they were missing. He squinted at the boat, ignoring the slam of the screen door behind him.

“Who is it?” Sean jogged up to him, shading his eyes with his hand. He had a gun tucked in his waistband.

“I don’t know. They’ll be close enough in a minute.”

“I think you should fire that rifle and scare them away before they come any closer.”

“We have time.”

“If you won’t, I will.” Sean started to reach for the rifle, but Cole jerked it out of his reach.

“I said, I’ll do it if I feel we have to. We don’t even know what they want yet. Maybe they have good news from the mainland.”

“Yeah, right,” Sean grumbled, but he didn’t make another grab for the rifle.

Cole blinked. Then he rubbed his eyes. It was just wishful thinking, but the tall guy, the way he stood…

Then the guy waved at him, and Cole almost dropped the rifle. “No way… can it be? Sean? Is that… tell me that’s Hunter.” His voice held a pleading note.

Sean shot a look at Cole, then back to the boat. “
Holy shit
.”

“Dad!
Dad!
”

Cole shoved the rifle at Sean and raced to the slip the boat headed for. “Hunter!” He laughed and his knees went weak, but he refused to collapse. He couldn’t wipe the grin from his face. The closer the boat came, the bigger his grin became. All the anxiety and worry over the last month flowed out of him and left his limbs feeling like they were made of rubber.

Sean joined him on the pier, smiling, but sadness tinted the smile. “I’m happy for you, Cole. I am, but I can’t deal with this right now. I’ll go tell the girls that Hunter is here.”

Cole’s joy diminished a fraction, but he refused to feel guilty that his son was alive, and he believed Sean was happy for him.

A boy Cole didn’t know drove the boat, and it was only then that he recognized Elly. She grinned and waved. “Hey, Cole!”

He didn’t know the young girl with them either, but he didn’t care. As soon as the boat docked, Hunter leaped out. He wore a mask, as did all of the others. Cole pulled his mask from his pocket. He hadn’t planned on wearing it today, but had pocketed it out of habit.

Cole met him with the biggest, hardest hug he’d ever given his son. Hunter returned it.

“Dad…” Hunter buried his face against his shoulder, And Cole reached up, holding the nape of son’s neck, giving it a gentle squeeze. All of his fears melted away.

They stepped apart and Hunter swiped at his eyes. Cole didn’t care if he had tears on his face. What did it matter? “You look good!”

“You too, Dad.” Then Hunter laughed. “You’re like, all buff! The apocalypse must be agreeing with you.”

“Shut up and get in here for another hug.” He grabbed Hunter, the hug more playful this time. “You’re not so soft in the middle yourself.”

Finally, Cole released him, and just grinned like an idiot. He had so many questions he wanted to ask, but they could wait.

Elly stepped forward, he pulled her in for a warm embrace. “It’s great to see you, Elly. I’m so relieved you made it.”

“I hope your invitation stands. I didn’t have anywhere else to go.” There was a bit of hesitation in her eyes.

“Of course it stands. You’re welcome here.” Then he turned to the other two, the boy and the girl. Both hung back. “Hi. I’m Cole. Hunter’s dad.”

The boy, really a young man, stepped forward, his hand extended. “Nice to meet you, Cole. I’m Jake. Me and Elly met in Chicago.”

Cole liked the confidence in his voice. He raised his eyebrows at Elly, curious about how she had come to team up with the teen. Her eyes crinkled. “It’s a long story.”

Hunter beckoned to the girl, and she slipped up to his son, wrapping her arms around his waist. “Dad, I’d like you to meet Sophie. There was an incident days ago, I guess—I kind of lost track of the days, but we’ve been traveling together.” He put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her close.

Cole gave the girl a speculative look before he held out his hand. “Welcome, Sophie.”

Introductions made, they all seemed to be speaking at once as they headed towards the beach and Cole tried to follow all the conversations coming at him. There was something about horses, and arrows, and a storm. He just let them talk. They’d sort it all out later. The only thing he cared about was that his son was home.

When they reached the beach, Hunter stopped and turned to Cole. “Where’s Uncle Sean? He was with you, but then he left. Doesn’t he want to see me?” He looked around. “And where’s Trent? And Aunt Jenna? Piper?”

Cole drew in a deep breath. “Aunt Jenna and Piper are fine. They’re in the big house.”

Fear entered Hunter’s eyes. “And Trent?”

Cole felt everyone’s eyes on him. “Come on up to the house. I’ll tell you everything.”

I
f you have a moment
, a review of this book would be fantastic and greatly appreciated. It would help other readers decide if this book is something they might enjoy.
Infection on Amazon

I
came
up with the idea for this book and the disease by playing the
What if
game. I have been fascinated by diseases since I was a child and used to read the Family Home Medical Guide for fun. In college, one of my favorite classes was microbiology, and if I hadn’t already been enrolled in a respiratory therapy program, I would have gone into something involving microbiology.

When I came across an article recently about how toxoplasmosis, the disease that can be spread via contaminated cat litter boxes, changes victims’ behavior, I had to read about it. The short version is that it makes primates who are infected less wary of leopards compared to those who are not infected. Scientists think it is because those less wary are more likely to become a jaguar’s next meal, and that would put toxoplasmosis into the leopard—which is exactly where the toxoplasmosis wants to live.

I know that many extremely infectious diseases such as Ebola have one thing that limits their spread, and that is that victims are usually so sick at the most infectious stage that they are unable to circulate and spread the disease. In outbreaks, it is usually only those in close contact, i.e., family members and other caregivers, that are at the most risk.

My thought was, what if a disease that had a similar mortality rate, but the infected victims feel great—at first. Beyond great. The disease floods their brain with feel-good endorphins and everyone becomes a friend. That makes the spread of the disease much more likely.

Sympatico Syndrome was the result. I hope it made as much sense in this book as it did in my head.

Aislado Island is completely fictional. There is no such place, nor is there a naval base that deals with biological weapons. Geneva Convention prohibits biological warfare.

T
he second book
of this series,
Isolation,
is in the works and I hope to publish it in early 2017. To be notified of the release, please join my mailing list. (Don’t worry, your privacy is important to me and I would never sell or distribute your address to any third parties.)

M.P. McDonald’s New Releases & Newsletter
— Get a free copy of my short story collection, Sidelines: Life Between Kickoffs, by way of a thank you for signing up.

T
he Mark Taylor Series

M
ark Taylor
: Genesis

No Good Deed: Book One

March Into Hell: Book Two

Deeds of Mercy: Book Three

March Into Madness: Book Four

C
J Sheridan Thrillers

Shoot: Book One

Capture: Book Two

S
uspense

Seeking Vengeance

D
escription
:

Seeing the future comes at a price. What price would you be willing to pay to save thousands of lives?

The baby floated face down in the tub. The image hadn’t changed, not that Mark Taylor expected it to—not yet anyway. He tucked the photo in his back pocket and trotted down the steps from the ‘L’ platform. With any luck at all, the next time he looked, the baby would be fine. He skirted around an old lady tottering in his path and glanced at his watch.

All he had to do was find the apartment, convince the mom that he wasn’t a nut case, or worse—a peeping tom—just because he knew that her phone would ring and distract her from bathing her daughter. Yep. Nothing complicated. Just get in, alert the mom, and get out. Five minutes. Tops. Mark jogged, cursing under his breath at the rush of people heading towards the train station. The crowd thinned, and he broke into a sprint, his breath exploding out in a cloud of white.

Cars blocked the crosswalk, trapped there when the light turned red.
Shit
. He paced left, then right, willing the light to change. To hell with it. He darted into the street, ignoring the blasting horns. It wasn’t like the cars could advance anyway. He stumbled when one bumped his thigh, or he bumped it. He wasn’t sure which and didn’t have time to find out. Limping, he raced on.

Mid-block, he slowed to read the address numbers set above the entrance of an apartment building. This was the one. He pivoted and took the short flight of concrete steps two at a time and tugged at the door. Locked.
Of course
.

Bracing his hands on the door, he panted.
Think
. There had to be a way in. He wouldn’t fail. Not this time.

He swiped his hand down a panel of numbered call buttons, not caring who answered as long as someone let him in. “Come on…
come on
.”

“Who is it?”

“Hey buddy, I forgot my key.” It was the first thing that came to him and it didn’t work. The next lie didn’t either. Unable to think up a plausible story, he resorted to the truth on the fourth response. “It’s an emergency! Life or death.”

Maybe his voice sounded as desperate as he felt, or maybe the person didn’t give a damn—whatever the reason, the guy let him in. He blinked as his eyes adjusted to the dimness. It was the second floor. He was sure of that. The dream played in his head like a movie, showing him the silver number twenty-two nailed to the door.

There was an elevator, but it was on the fifth floor. He spotted the stairs and flew up them, grabbing the railing to make the tight turn up to the second flight. It occurred to him that the door to the hallway might be locked, but luck was on his side this time, and it opened. Bent in a runner’s stance, hands on knees, he huffed and glanced at the number on the door nearest him. Twenty-three. He guessed left and turned in that direction. He raised his hand to knock, but froze when an anguished scream raised the hairs on the back of his neck.

“
Christy
!”

Startled, he stumbled back, bumping against the wall opposite the door. He was too late. He spun and slammed the side of his fist against the wall, a curse ready to explode off his tongue, when he heard fumbling at the door behind him.

“Help me! Someone!”

At the desperate plea, he lunged to the closed door. “Hello? You okay?” He knew it was a stupid question. Of course things weren’t okay.

The door cracked open before a young women clutching a limp, gray baby, elbowed it wide.” My baby.” Wild, desperate eyes met Mark’s. “Please...”

Mark swallowed the acid in his throat and instinctively reached for the infant. “What happened?” He couldn’t let on that he already knew. That led to questions he couldn’t answer.

“I forgot her in the tub!” She clutched the baby and gave her a shake. “Oh god! Christy! She’s not breathing!”

“I know CPR—give her to me.” His sharp tone sliced through the mother’s shock and she released her daughter with a wail of grief.

Mark positioned the baby with her head in his hand, her bottom in the crook of his arm.

The mother keened with her hands balled in front of her mouth. “Help her!”

The poor woman was teetering on the edge of hysteria, not that Mark could blame her. He was toeing the line himself, but he couldn’t cross it. Not if there was a chance of saving the baby. With his free hand, he caught the mother’s arm and gave it a firm squeeze. “I’m gonna help her, but you gotta listen to me. You need to call 9-1-1. Got it?”

She tore her gaze from her daughter, nodded, and raced back into her apartment. Mark wracked his brain, searching for a scrap of CPR knowledge that he knew was there. He cringed at the baby’s glassy stare and blue-tinged lips. Her legs dangled lifelessly over his arm.

ABCs. That was it. Airway, breathing and circulation. He didn’t see any water in her mouth, so her airway seemed okay. He covered her miniature nose and mouth with his own, feeling like a big clumsy oaf. Her scent filled his nose—so clean and innocent. Like baby shampoo and powder. A damp, silky tuft of her hair tickled his cheek. If she died, it’d be his fault. He could have prevented this. He blew again. There wasn’t time to worry about guilt now.

Her chest rose with the breaths and he felt it move against his arm. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw doors down the hall opening, and a small crowd gathered around him. Some shouted instructions, and a deep voice ordered someone to the lobby to let the paramedics in when they arrived.

There was no change in Christy’s color. Shit. Those paramedics better get here pronto. Why didn’t someone else step forward to do the CPR? Hell, there had to be someone more qualified. There was supposed to be a pulse point near the elbow, but damned if he could find it. It wasn’t like he’d ever searched for one on a healthy kid before let alone one who might not have one. Was that it? He prodded the inside of her arm, but between his shaking hands and the pudgy cushion at the bend of her elbow, he couldn’t feel a beat.

Go to the source. He put his ear to her chest. Nothing. He swallowed hard as he placed two fingers on her breastbone and pushed down. The feel of her tiny chest caving in with each compression made his stomach churn.

He lost count of the cycles of breaths and compressions. It seemed like forever before someone suggested he stop and check for a pulse again. The mom had returned to his side at some point, but his vision had narrowed to Christy’s little body cradled in his arms. Mom stroked Christy’s forehead and pleaded with her to breathe.

Listen to your mama, sweetie.
Breathe, dammit.
Wait...was she pinker? Or was it wishful thinking? He paused the compressions, but gave another breath.

As he lifted her to listen for a heartbeat, Christy blinked.

Startled, he jerked his head back and glanced at the mom to see if she’d noticed it too. Her eyes full of anguish and fear, lit with a spark of hope as she met his look. It hadn’t been his imagination.

Christy shuddered, and then coughed. Mark sat her up as she gagged, worried she was choking. She rewarded his efforts by puking sour milk down the front of him. She cried then, the sound as soft as a newborn kitten’s. Impulsively, he kissed the top of her head.

A cheer rose in the hallway, and Mark glanced around, astonished to see so many people. A grin tugged at the corners of his mouth. The mother took her daughter from Mark, but planted a kiss on his cheek. The elevator at the far end of the hall opened, and paramedics stepped out.

Sure. Now they show up. Mark laughed, unable to suppress the giddiness. He took a deep breath, and leaned against the wall, his knees wobbling like Jello. He swiped his arm across his forehead. It was like a damn sauna in here. People crowded around, slapping Mark’s shoulders and pumping his hand. Someone handed him a towel and he used it to mop up the mess on the front of his leather jacket, but there wasn’t much he could do for the bit that leaked inside.

“Good job, man!” The speaker looked to be early to mid-thirties, close to Mark’s own age. “That was awesome!”

“Thanks.” Mark opened his mouth to ask if he could use a bathroom to wash up, when his stomach lurched and the bitter taste of bile filled his mouth. Panic surged through him and he rushed into the nearest apartment with an open door. He spotted a hallway and found the bathroom just in time for his lunch to make a return visit.

Spitting out the vile taste, he flushed the toilet and moved to the sink to wash, scooping some water into his mouth and swished it around. He dried his hands on a towel hanging over the shower curtain. He reached for the doorknob, but stopped and pulled the photo out of his back pocket, just to make sure. The picture had only one similarity with the one he’d put in his pocket only minutes before. The baby was still Christy, but now, she was grinning at the camera, showing off two pearly white bottom teeth. It was official. He’d erased another photo.

There was a knock on the door a second before Mark opened it.

“You okay?” It was the guy from the hall. He leaned against the doorway, arms crossed.

Mark nodded and motioned towards the toilet “Yeah. Just feeling the nerves. Sorry for barging in.”

The man laughed and stuck out a hand. “No problem. I’m Jason.”

“Mark.” He clasped the man’s hand and gave it a shake.

Jason gave Mark a speculative look. “A few minutes before that happened,” he pointed his chin towards the hall, “someone buzzed my apartment, saying they had to get in—that it was an emergency.”

Mark tried to play it cool as he edged towards the hallway. “Yeah?”

“That was you, wasn’t it?” It was a statement.

“I...uh—”

Jason waved a hand and cut him off. “No worries, dude. I was just curious. I had a grandfather who used to get premonitions. It was spooky. Never thought I’d meet someone else like that. Glad I let you in.”

Rattled and still shaking from the flood of adrenaline, Mark could only nod. He breathed a sigh of relief when Jason motioned for him to go first as they went out to the hall.

They watched as the paramedics started an IV on the protesting Christy, and he winced at the blood oozing around the IV site. Poor little thing. He felt a tap on his shoulder and turned to find a Chicago police officer behind him.

“Sir, can I ask you a few questions?”

Mark shoved his hands into his pockets to hide the shaking and shrugged. “Sure.”

He asked Mark’s name and for some ID. After speaking some cop code into his shoulder radio, he glanced at Mark’s driver’s license. “You don’t live here, so why were you in the building?”

Mark pulled at the collar of his shirt under his coat. Necessity forced him to lie in these situations and he hated it, but the truth was far too complicated. Experience allowed his story to slip easily off his tongue. “I intended to visit a friend, and when I got to the building, someone was coming out, so rather than buzz, I just caught the door. When I got up here, I realized I had the wrong building.” He forced a laugh. “My buddy’s building looks a lot like this one and I guess I got them mixed up.” Mark shook his head and rubbed the back of his neck. He was rambling and decided to cut the explanation short. “It’s about time my faulty memory came in handy.”

Luck was with him and the officer chuckled. “It sure did. You did a great job.”

Mark dipped his head as heat rushed up his cheeks. “Thanks.”

The cop’s radio squawked, and in the midst of indecipherable code, Mark heard his own name.

The officer cocked his head, his gaze fixed on Mark as he reached up to key the mic. “10-9?”

The message was repeated and the officer tensed, his eyes cold as he acknowledged it and requested back-up. With one hand hovering over his weapon, he pointed at Mark with the other. “Turn around and place your hands on the wall.”

Confused, Mark hesitated. “What...why?”

“Hands on the wall. Now!”

The commanding tone jolted Mark into action and he nearly tripped in his haste to comply. ”Listen, sir, can I just ask—”

“We can do this the easy way or the hard way. The officer grabbed Mark’s arm. “I’ve been told to bring you in for questioning.”

“Who wants to talk to me? Why?”

The few people still milling in the hallway fell silent.

The cop glanced at the watching crowd and hesitated. “Unpaid parking tickets.”

Parking tickets? Since when did they go to this much trouble for parking tickets? What the hell was going on? He twisted to see the cop’s face. “I don’t owe on any tickets. What’s this really about?”

Jason stepped forward and pulled out his wallet. “Look, officer, the dude just saved a baby. What does he owe? I’ll pay it.”

“Step aside; this isn’t any of your affair.”

“Come on, man, don’t be a hard-ass.” Jason smiled at the cop, and gestured towards Mark. “I mean, this guy doesn’t exactly look like Charles Manson.”

Jason’s attempt at humor backfired when the cop offered to let Jason accompany Mark.

Jason glared at the cop before casting an apologetic look at Mark. “Sorry. I tried.”

Mark nodded. His face burned as the bystanders—the same people who’d cheered him just a few minutes before—now pointed fingers, and whispered to each other.

The cop’s fingers dug into Mark’s bicep. “Come on. You got some people waiting to meet you.”