Free Affliction Z: Abandoned Hope (Post Apocalyptic Thriller) by L.T. Ryan

from the camera. The jerking of her
body indicated a violent coughing attack. She turned around, a forced smile
plastered on her face. Blood trickled from the corners of her mouth and covered
her lips. “Again, though this source is anonymous, I have no reason to doubt
the validity of his statements. He further informed us that the virus has the
ability to mutate those who are affected. As we all saw in the streets of
Morocco, there were those who appeared to be attacking other humans. It was as
though the attacking group were a pack of animals.”
    A man stepped in front of the camera, resulting in a bright
white screen for a few moments. He reappeared across the desk from the reporter
with a towel in his hand. He patted her face with it. She stared at her blood
spread across the towel. Her eyes grew wide before she had another coughing attack.
She grabbed the towel from the man and pressed it to her face. The fit did not
stop. She rose and left the set. The sounds of her agony played through the
speakers.
    Addison flipped to another channel. The station was
replaying the Vice President’s speech. She muted the sound again. Carla coughed
some more. Addison watched the clock, counting the minutes until her roommate
finally settled down again. Five. Five minutes of non-stop coughing.
    Is that what’s in store for all of us?
     

Chapter 10
    Turk closed the door to his room and fell back into an
oversized chair. The first day had not gone according to plan. Perhaps things
happened the way they were supposed to. The virus spread across the country
more rapidly than he ever imagined. The information he had been given said that
the worst-case scenario would be a week from the first reports of outbreaks
overseas. Maybe he’d been naive believing the information.
    Never trust the government, his dad had always said. As he
had much of his life, Turk wished he’d listened to the old man.
    He reached into a side compartment built into the chair and
retrieved a remote. He switched on a set of six thirty-two inch monitors
mounted to the wall. Combined, they formed a rectangle that took up half the
space. Two of the monitors displayed a full screen image of the two largest
spaces in the compound, the kitchen and eating area, and the main living and
recreation area. His wife and daughter were in the kitchen. His daughter stood
on a footstool while his wife mixed something in a bowl. Maybe they were making
cookies or brownies or something else that Turk didn’t approve of, but didn’t
have the heart to say no to when his little girl asked if she could have some.
    The four other monitors were split into dual and quad
displays. They monitored other areas of the facility, including bedrooms. Turk
had told the others that their private areas were unmonitored. Maybe they would
be, one day. But until he knew he could trust everyone inside, he’d watch them
like a hawk.
    He adjusted the displays until one was free. Then he rose
and retrieved a wireless keyboard that had a touchpad built into it above the
number pad. He’d grown accustomed to using it over the past few years, and
figured why let the end of the world stop him.
    First he pulled up the SSH server. Sean was still logged in,
but showed idle. Tim Lindley was logged in, too. Tim had served in the SEALs
with Turk in the late nineties. Now, Tim had his own island in the Exumas, an
archipelago in the southeast corner of the Bahamas. His island was about a
quarter-mile across and a mile long. It had fresh water and plenty of
vegetation. Tim had built his own compound on the island, taking advantage of
wind, solar and water for power. It was completely isolated, too, with nothing
for tens of miles in any direction, except for a few sweeping sandbars. Tim had
nicknamed the island Turtle Cay. When pressed by Turk for information on how he
was able to pay for it, Tim declined.
    Turk’s plan was to lead his people to Turtle Cay after the
chaos died down. He figured they’d make their