Extinction Level Event Combo Pack | Books 1-2, page 1
part #1 of Extinction Level Event Combo Pack Series
Extinction Level Event, Combo Package
Book One, The Beginning, and Book Two, Holding Ground
K.J. Jones
Independently Published
Copyright © 2020-2021 Katherine J. Guarino
All rights reserved
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
Cover design by: K.J. Jones
To Shannon Smith for all her help, and the members of the FB Fan Page, as well as to all the fans of the ELE Series.
An Extinction Level Event
“An extinction level event or ELE is a catastrophe resulting in the extinction of the majority of species on the planet. It’s not the normal extinction of species that occurs every day. It isn’t necessarily the sterilization of all living organisms.”
“The insidious thing about extinction events is that they tend to be gradual, often leading to a domino effect in which one event stresses one or more species, leading to another event that destroys many more. Thus, any cascade of death typically involves multiple killers on this list.”
Anne Marie Helmenstine, PhD
Chemistry
Introduction
Author’s Notes
The warning of politically incorrect isn’t to imply the book contains that which would be offensive to any decent person. This book, and the ELE Series, does not abide by the politically correct stereotyping of Americans into homogenous, or sameness, groups under the umbrella categories of the four race system utilized in the nation. The mosaic of ethnicities are present, from Irish American Boston to Creole New Orleans, from a North Carolina redneck to a Lakota Sioux. Few speak like newscasters, as few Americans speak that way in real life. Since the United States is ranked the second most religious non-Muslim country in the world, the religions of characters appears as well, from agnostics to Southern Baptists. The major characters are mostly former military and graduate school university students, two institutions known for gathering people from all over the nation. The former military personnel within this Series are based on real life men.
Real America is shown throughout the Series, based on the author’s real life experience and anthropology participant observation training, also a lifetime among military from more than one country.
To depict an apocalypse situation, what’s the sense in leaving out the reality of Americans? People behaving like Hollywood’s stereotyping version is nonsensical. Everything in the Series is based on science, why wouldn’t the people be based on the real as well?
Technicalities …
The use of the word cos instead of ‘cause is inspired by a current British trend. Since we have already changed many words when writing dialogue, such as gonna and dunno, it’s time ‘cause changed as well.
The name Phebe is a 19th century English and American version of the Greek Phoebe. It is not some newfangled spelling.
The opinions of the characters do not necessarily reflect the opinions of the author. The characters only represent themselves. They aren’t spokespeople for an entire ethnicity, race, region, state, city, religion, class, occupation, lifestyle, or subculture.
Please read the About the Author at the end of the book for background on the book me.
~ K.J.
* When manuscripts are transformed through Amazon software, often times the tabs can end up misaligned.
Book One, The Beginning
Map
PART I
Monday
1.
Wilmington, North Carolina. Mid-January.
A Carolina blue sky and bright morning sun mocked the chilly temperature. Phebe opened the door of her old blue Honda Civic and threw her messenger bag on the faded passenger seat. She got in and plopped a coffee travel mug into the cup holder. Engine on, she rotated the manual gearshift into reverse.
And then again. The car was older than she was.
“Oh, come on.”
On the third try, the sticky gear caught. The car backed out of the driveway.
It took only a few minutes to reach campus. Time depended on traffic and the state of other people’s ability to drive.
She stopped at a red light at the intersection with South College Road, a wide, bustling main thoroughfare. Morning rush-hour cars hurried back and forth. Directly opposite stood the campus front. It looked stately. A red brick facade. Pine trees, live oaks, and Spanish moss shaded a lawn of sand.
“C’mon light, change.” Her fingers tapped the steering wheel. She cockeyed the rearview mirror and checked her appearance. Long, brown hair was barely dry from the hair dryer efforts moments ago.
A news broadcaster’s voice chattered on the radio while she tried to fix the frizz of her hair.
“Authorities continue to stress their warnings of a new designer drug on the street that ….”
She answered her vibrating cell phone. “Hi, Ma.”
Her mother’s New York accent blasted through the cell speaker. “Oh, good. You don’t sound sick.”
“I’m not sick, Ma. You asked me that yesterday. And the day before that. Every day since the epidemic became a pandemic.”
“A mother worries. I pray every day you’ll stay healthy. Are you keeping the doors locked? I’m hearing on the news about all these crazy drug people in that area.”
“I have seen no crazy drug people. And we always keep the doors locked.”
The light changed.
“I gotta go, Ma. I’m already running late. Love you.”
“Love you, too, honey.”
The Honda crossed the road into the campus entrance. She drove over speed bumps, jarring her spine. The car’s shocks was but a memory.
Parking, she hurried to the Arts and Sciences Building. The institutional doors banged shut behind her. Making her way through students, she power-walked down the hallway and turned into the anthropology department wing.
In the secretary’s office, she expected a chubby, middle-aged woman. Instead, a geeky PhD candidate sat behind the desk. He read a comic book inside a hardbound library book. Who did he think he was fooling?
“Hey,” she greeted. “Where’s what’s-her-face?”
He looked up at her with combined blush and utter terror. “Hi, Ah. Hi, Phebe. Yeah. Um. She’s out sick.” He snort-laughed. “Like everyone else in the immediate world, huh?” He reached for his bottle of water and his long fingers knocked it off the desk. “Sorry.”
“Anything for me?”
He came back up with the bottle. “A nine o’clock intro class.”
“Oh, no. An intro class.”
“Materials are in Dr. Simpson’s cubicle. You know, they’re talking about closing campus?”
“Surprised they haven’t already.”
“Money’s the reason it’s still open. The university lost its shirt from the corona virus closure.”
“I heard that’s why the stores are remaining open.”
“But all the flights are grounded.”
“They’ve been grounded since Christmas. No news there.”
“I took the flu shot every year. I don’t know why I bothered when –”
She grabbed the materials. “See you later.” Cutting off his blather, she rushed to the classroom.
The class had twenty-three registered students. It was big, as entry-level classes often were. On her way to the table and podium at the front of the classroom, she glanced at the seven rows of chairs with attached desks.
There were only six students present.
“Wow.” She laid the messenger bag and class materials on the table. “Where is everyone?”
Two girls sat together midway toward the back, and a boy a few rows across from them. A boy and two girls sat in the first row—all three looked sick. They lifted their heads only to check out the teacher.
The boy in the first row glistened with sweat and dark circles underscored glazed eyes.
“Flu,” he croaked and exploded into a coughing fit. He covered his mouth as an afterthought.
Phebe cringed. From the messenger bag, she withdrew a cellophane wrapper containing a stack of face masks.
“Masks, folks. You should be wearing them around others to do your part in trying to prevent the H1N3 influenza spread. You know the routine.” She dropped one on each of the occupied desks in the first row. “These are available for free at the student health center.”
The sick people pulled them on.
Midway back, Phebe distributed one to the healthy boy. He smiled too broadly. She could feel his gaze following her—especially her butt. She turned and crossed between chairs. The healthy girls, a blond and a redhead, smiled eagerly, the way students do when they want approval from the teacher.
“I just got over the flu,” said the blond girl, as she received a mask.
“I had it over Christmas,” the redhead said. “For two weeks, I thought I would die.” Looking out at the students from the front, Phebe cleared her throat.
“I am Phebe Marcelino and this is Introduction to Anthropology. Your professor, Dr. Simpson, is out sick and I’m his substitute.”
“So you’re not our teacher?” asked the heal
“What’s your name?” Phebe asked.
“Tucker.”
She found it on the roll and gave him a check-mark for attendance.
“No, I’m not,” she said. “I’m the teacher’s assistant, ah, TA for Dr. Alvarez, our forensic anthropology professor. I normally teach labs. I’m a doctoral candidate in forensic anthropology. And I’ve been covering for the absent teachers during the pandemic.”
The sick boy in the front lifted his head. “Can we go?”
“You’re here to keep your place?”
“We get cut if we miss the first week of classes, right?”
She asked his name and checked him off.
“If you have friends registered for this class who have been unable to attend due to illness, tell them to email Dr. Simpson. Then—and this goes for you three upfront as well—go to the mobile trailer in the parking lot of the student health center and take the influenza test. It’s just a swab in the mouth. No big deal. The professors need the results to keep you from losing your place in class. As long as you have the results and turn them in, under the dean’s new emergency policy, you cannot be cut.”
A girl lifted her head and groaned, “I’m dying.”
“Your name?”
Once Phebe had checked everyone off, she glanced over a yellow paper marked “An important announcement.” She reread, more carefully to make sense of it.
“I am to warn you … ah, not to use any drugs claiming to make you feel better from the flu purchased from convenience stores, boutique shops also known as head shops, or by dealers of illicit items.”
“Dealers?” Tucker asked, confused. “They talking drug dealers?”
“Seems so.” Phebe continued to read aloud from the paper. “Authorities warn that there is a new designer drug on the streets, claiming to be an aid medication for the flu. It is dangerous, causing terror hallucinations and extreme violence. Only purchase over-the-counter medication from a reputable manufacturer at a drugstore or supermarket. The student health center is now offering free medication.”
“It’s Zombie,” the boy in the front murmured.
“What was that, I’m sorry?” Phebe asked.
“Zombie,” he forced out his voice. “That’s the drug they’re talking about.”
“I know a guy that took that,” said Tucker. “He went crazy. It took five of us to get him down.”
“I heard they had to go to the hospital,” said the redhead.
“We called 9-1-1,” continued Tucker. “They tranq’d his ass, strapped him down, and hauled his ass off. They say it screws with you so hard, it takes like a week to get over.”
“Why would anyone take it?” asked the blond.
“Can we go,” one of the sick girls groaned.
“Yes,” Phebe said. “Take a syllabus as you go out if you don’t have one. Hope you feel better soon.”
“What else is there to do?” Tucker asked the redhead and blond, as they shuffled out. “My roommates are all sick. It’s like a morgue in my apartment.”
With her things gathered, Phebe shut off the lights and pinned open the classroom door.
2.
Phebe headed out of the building, messenger bag strap crossing her torso and jacket zipped up. Her next class to cover was in the afternoon, so she had some time to work on her doctoral thesis.
A man-made pond filled the center of the Commons. Ornamental pampas fringed it—a tall, clumped grass with white fuzzy inflorescence tips swaying in the breeze. Directly across from her building, the library’s tinted windows winked the reflection of the sun. She passed a redbrick building: The Student Life Center. Its glass walls showed students inside, eating and talking.
Her phone vibrated. The screen read Mom.
“Hi, Ma.”
“I forgot to mention. Father John’s been asking about you. What should I tell him?”
“That I’m still an agnostic who teaches evolution.”
“Alright. If that’s what you really want me to tell him. Up to you.”
“Just tell him hi for me then.”
“Anything else? He did baptize you.”
She stopped on the walkway.
“Phebe?”
She watched, in doubt of what she saw.
“Are you there?”
A girl in a tank top and sleeping shorts wandered around the scraggly grass lawn near the pond. It was forty degrees. Her white tank top showed she wore no bra. Boys on a cement walkway laughed and held their cell phones up to video her.
Phebe looked around for someone more authoritative than herself. A real adult who could take charge of the situation. Seeing no one except the group of boys, she sighed. She was the adult who had to do something.
“I gotta go, Ma. Talk later.”
“Oh, okay, hon. I’ll call you later when you got more time.”
She slipped the phone into her pocket, and took another look around in hopes of a real adult. No one. She stepped off the walkway on to the scraggly grass lawn and proceeded toward the girl.
“Excuse me?” she called. No response. “Hey!”
The girl continued to meander, oblivious to her surroundings. Blond hair hung in front of her face like a taller version of Cousin It.
“Are you okay?” Nothing. “Crap.”
A boy yelled, “She’s high, lady.” The immature group laughed.
She thought about just leaving the girl there, but knew it would be irresponsible.
“Can I help you, miss?” She craned her neck downwards to get a glimpse of the girl’s hair-covered face. “Do you need medical care? I can call 9-1-1 for you.”
“Hey,” one boy yelled, his tone serious. “Get away from her, lady. What’s-your-name? Phebe? She’s on Zombie.”
Phebe looked over at him and recognized him as Tucker from the intro class a little while ago.
“I’m serious, Phebe.”
Looking back at the girl, her hair had now parted. Phebe gasped.
Her face looked horrific. Dilated pupils. They appeared as black eyes, with no color left to the orbs. Her skin was gray like rotten chicken. Foam free flowed from her mouth, and snot from her nose. Brutally chapped lips split into a grimace.
“Oh. Shit.” Phebe regretted trying to help. She could be safe in the warm library right now.
The girl snarled. She jerked and made a hiccup-growl sound. It sounded like the noise the creature Gollum in The Lord of the Rings kept making.
Phebe stood planted in place. Her mind stunned, mouth open, rising goosebumps her only movement.
The girl screeched like a monster in a movie. The sound echoed against the buildings. The boys yelled, no longer laughing. But Phebe stood fixated on the horrific face in front of her. The black eyes. The mouth.
She didn’t hear footsteps run up behind her.
The girl’s body shook like a revved engine ready to bolt forward in a shift to drive. The shrieking continued.
Phebe’s frozen state broke. She backed up. And hit someone.
“Step aside, Pheebs,” a man’s voice ordered.
She turned and saw her friend, Matt Gleason. Wearing a hoody with the university’s initials emblazoned on the front and jeans, Matt dropped his backpack. The sun shined on his short blond hair.
He stepped between Phebe and the girl, taking charge as he protected the former from the latter.
“Ease down there, miss.” His tone calm as he spoke to the girl. “I know you’re scared. You’re seeing bad things. But no one here wants to hurt you. You are safe.” His tone changed, “Pheeb, get away from her, now.”
Phebe scurried back to the walkway.
Tucker joined her. “I got campus police on the phone. They’re asking if she’s dangerous.”
“I’d say potentially, yes,” Phebe answered Tucker. Despite the cold, sweat slid down her sides.
People gawked from the walkways, including staff and professors. Cell phones to ears for adults or held out in students’ hands to video.
