From Near Extinction

  FROM NEAR EXTINCTION

  A Dystopian Novel of Survival and Adventure

  By

  VICTOR ZUGG

  FROM NEAR EXTINCTION

  © 2018 by Victor Zugg

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  VictorZuggAuthor@gmail.com

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  Many thanks to Brandi Doane McCann for the cover design. Her creation belongs in a gallery. And equal thanks to Tamra Crow for the professional editing. They both made the book infinitely better.

  Brandi: www.ebook-coverdesigns.com

  Tamra: tcrowedits@yahoo.com

  CHAPTER 1

  The tall, dark, elderly looking man stood in line mid-way up the passenger loading stairs as he waited his turn to board. He wore a white-collared shirt, blue suit coat, wrinkled, with trousers to match. The square end of his red tie stopped several inches short of where it should have, for a man his height. Though his shoes were polished, the many creases, nicks, and scars betrayed their age. His head and forehead glistened with sweat, and beads streamed down his face and neck, dampening his collar.

  Most would have blamed his condition on the mid-day, hot Nairobi sun. The skin of those around him gleamed as well. Dark patches of sweat stained their shirts. Several women used hand fans to supplement the light breeze across the tarmac.

  But for the tall, dark man there was something more. He didn’t look well. His sweat was profuse, and his shoulders slumped. Laboring to breathe, he clung to the railing for support. His hand on the rail also held a white handkerchief, which he used often to mop his forehead and neck, and to muffle his frequent coughs. A small valise occupied the other hand. Every step he took resulted in an audible exhale, followed by a raspy inhale, and then a shallow cough.

  Finally, at the airliner’s entrance, he ducked to enter. He returned the pretty female flight attendant’s smile with a much weaker version of his own before he turned to enter the passenger compartment. The people ahead of him shuffled slowly down the aisle as they waited on others to secure their bags in the overhead bins and take their seats.

  The much cooler air that filled the cabin did little to abate his sweating. He pulled at his cinched collar frequently and continued to mop the sweat from his head and neck. Each time he palmed a headrest as he moved along, he left a damp handprint behind.

  Toward the back of the plane, he pulled his boarding pass from his inside coat pocket and checked his seat number. He continued until he stood in front of an empty aisle seat next to a young man and woman already planted. They both peered out the woman’s window and didn’t seem to notice as the tall man sat and placed his bag under the seat in front of him. He leaned back, stuck the boarding pass back in his pocket, and reached up to his air vent. He adjusted the nozzle so the air would hit him directly in the face. He looked around at others buckling their seatbelts, so he did the same.

  With nearly everyone in their seats, the same pretty flight attendant made her way down the aisle as she checked each of the passengers. She stopped several times to answer a question, or to ask that something be done. When the attendant reached the tall man’s seat and glanced at his seatbelt, he made eye contact and offered a weak smile.

  “Would it be possible to get a glass of water and some aspirin?” he asked in a heavily accented voice.

  “Are you okay?” she asked.

  “Just overheated, I think,” he said. “And a bit of a headache.”

  “Will Tylenol be okay?”

  The man nodded.

  “As soon as we’re in the air, I’ll be back first thing,” she said, as she smiled and continued down the aisle.

  The man laid his head back and closed his eyes.

  Soon the cabin’s door to the outside closed with a thump, the air from the vent slowed, and the plane rocked. The engines whined and then fell into a steady drone as the plane began to move.

  The man’s head rocked with each bump and turn as the plane proceeded down taxiways. At the main runway, the plane sat for several minutes before the engines finally whined and then roared as the plane accelerated, pressing everyone back against their seats. Just when the plane would surely run out of tarmac, the huge mass lifted and the sound of wheels locking into their up position filled the cabin.

  The man opened his eyes and adjusted the air vent’s flow against his face. Despite the steady stream of cool air, sweat continued to bead on his forehead and run down his face. He mopped the wetness with the handkerchief and turned his attention to the attendant headed his way, holding a glass of water.

  She handed him the water and a small packet. “I hope you’re feeling better soon,” she said with a smile.

  “Thank you,” the man said, as the attendant turned to leave. The man opened the packet, dropped the two white tablets into his mouth, and washed them down with the entire glass of water.

  “Is New York your final destination?” a voice to the man’s right asked.

  The tall man turned his head toward the voice. “It is,” he said in a raspy voice to his fellow passenger.

  “You know, you don’t look so good,” the woman next to the window said.

  “Just a headache,” the tall man said. He coughed into his handkerchief. “I’m sure I’ll feel better soon.”

  The man and woman nodded, smiled, and turned back toward the window.

  The tall man coughed and then used the handkerchief to wipe his mouth. He saw a spot of red contrasting sharply against the white cloth. He folded the handkerchief to cover the stain.

  ◆◆◆

  Hours later, the tall man exited the terminal and ambled toward a line of taxis waiting at the curb.

  One of the drivers approached, “Need a taxi?”

  “I do,” the man said.

  The driver opened the rear door and motioned for the man to enter.

  The tall man scrunched himself into the seat and sat his valise next to him.

  The driver closed the door, ran around the car, and got behind the wheel. He started the engine and slapped at the meter. “Where to?” he asked, as he stared in the rearview mirror.

  The tall man handed the driver a piece of paper. “Do you know this hotel?”

  “I do,” the driver said, as he turned the wheel and pulled out. “Nice hotel. You in town for pleasure or business?”

  “I was invited to a convention.” He coughed into the handkerchief and then leaned forward, placing his hands on the back of the front seat. Given his height, his face was only inches from the driver’s head. “Farmers from all over the world,” he said, after clearing his voice.

  “Where you from?” the driver asked.

  “Kenya.” The man wiped his mouth with the handkerchief. “I have a small farm there.”

  “And they invited you to a convention in New York?” the driver asked, as he glanced back at the tall man.

  “All small farmers,” the tall man said. “I was selected by my village to represent the region.”

  “That must have been an honor,” the driver said.

  “A great honor,” the tall man replied.

  “Are you feeling okay?” the driver asked. “You don’t look so good.”

  “I will feel better when I get to my room and lie down,” the tall man said. “Tomorrow will be a big day for me and my village.”

&n
bsp; The driver nodded and then turned his attention to the road ahead.

  The tall man leaned his head against the window glass of his door as the buildings raced by.

  ◆◆◆

  The tall man entered the large convention hall, filled to the brim with mostly men. Their form of dress indicated they were from all over the planet. For one day they were there to learn how to quadruple the output from a small farm in one year.

  Despite looking worse than the day before, the tall man made the rounds in his blue suit. He shook hands and conversed as best he could with people from all over. The meet-and-greet, as they called it, was to last two full hours, followed by a series of lectures from government experts and representatives of several large chemical conglomerates.

  Halfway through the second hour, chilled to the bone and shivering, the tall man had had enough. He took a seat alone in the back of the room, too weak to stand a minute longer. He slumped forward, chest almost to his knees, and coughed from deep inside his lungs. Copious amounts of blood covered the wad of napkins he held in his hand. He shivered uncontrollably. Suddenly he turned his head to the side and vomited the bagel he had eaten that morning in the hotel dining room, before entering the convention hall. Liquefied bread, mixed with dark blood, saturated the thick, gray, pile carpet.

  Everyone around the tall man stopped in mid-sentence and turned toward the spectacle. Two men rushed to his side as most of the others resumed their conversation as though nothing had happened.

  The tall man coughed and spat a large clump of coagulated blood to the carpet.

  The two men jumped back, their faces speckled with red.

  The tall man then, almost in slow motion, rolled off the chair and crumpled to the floor in a heap. He took two labored, shallow breaths, followed by an extended exhaled. He took no more breaths after that.

  ◆◆◆

  Within days people poured into emergency rooms. There were reports that the same was happening at several large cities around the globe. All the patients complained initially of profuse sweating and weakness, followed closely by coughing and fever. A non-itchy red rash could be found on most of them, usually on their torso or chest. For a lot of the victims, onset to death took only a few hours. For some, it took longer. Some were found to be carriers, with no symptoms.

  Before most of the major epidemiologists succumbed to the disease, they had determined the cause. It was a form of the plague bacteria, the pneumonic plague variety, which affected the lungs. It was the only type of plague that could be passed from person to person through the droplets in their breath. It was similar to the bacterial infection that killed thirty to sixty percent of the population of Europe in the fourteenth century.

  But there was a big difference this time. Those that survived back then probably did so because their immune systems were strong. The same couldn’t be said of the more recent outbreak. The overuse of pesticides, herbicides, hormones, and especially antibiotics, in the food had reduced the human immune systems over time, making modern people much more susceptible. That, and the routine over-prescription of antibiotics for every conceivable ailment, made the plague bug itself completely resistant to even the most powerful antibiotics. There was nothing anyone could do to stop the epidemic; they could only try to make the patient comfortable.

  Early news reports blamed it on a really bad worldwide flu season. But then the season pressed into spring, and then summer. Summer of death they called it. July was the worst. People died faster than they could be buried, cremated, or even pushed into a hole by a bulldozer. Of course society stopped moving. Everyone remained in their homes as long as possible. When they finally ventured out to scavenge mostly empty shelves, they returned home infected. With no one to work the various facilities, soon the power was out, water stopped flowing, and the sewage backed up. People who might have survived the epidemic ended up dying of dehydration, starvation, dysentery, or typhus. An extremely hot summer didn’t help matters.

  Scientists from the CDC were just getting started with their investigation when they ran out of time. Start to finish, it took nine months. The depopulation reduced once-bustling cities to empty hulks. Empty, except for the dead bodies that lined the sidewalks. And the stench. The reek of decomposing bodies never seemed to dissipate. Not completely. At least not from the cities.

  Two years later, the dead no longer littered the streets. The few survivors, apparently immune, had managed to burn or bury the lifeless. But for the living, life remained far from normal.

  CHAPTER 2

  Leroy Tubbs scrambled up the barren hill of North Texas sand, stone, and calf-high scrub grass in the hot, dry air. A cloud of dust trailed behind his advance. At the top, he stood up straight and waited for the dust cloud to waft past him before he took a deep breath and surveyed his surroundings. Between him and the horizon in every direction he saw flat, dry land, covered with the squatty brown grass. Heat rising from the surface caused the landscape to shimmer in the distance. There were almost no trees, which meant no shade. The only signs of civilization were the twin ribbons of concrete interstate highway less than a mile to the north. Both ends disappeared into infinity, east and west.

  He lifted a half-full, one-liter water bottle from the canvas satchel on his left hip, twisted the top off, and took two swigs. He replaced the cap and bottle and then removed his floppy boonie hat from his head as he glanced at the cloudless, blue sky. The sun sat only a few degrees off the crest of the western flatlands. He extended his fist, twisted his arm, and counted the number of knuckles between the horizon and the sun. Four. Fifteen minutes each gave him an hour before sundown. He dropped his fist and looked back toward the eastern sky.

  “I’m forecasting another hot, dry day tomorrow,” he said to himself. He snorted as he returned the hat to his head and adjusted the cord dangling under his chin. He then scanned the horizon again, in all directions. Nothing of interest captured his attention. He gazed at the dry streambed in the gully, fifty yards below where he stood. He rubbed the stubble on his face and shook his head. At least the streambed would provide good cover for the night. He stuck his thumbs under the backpack straps at his shoulders, shifted the weight, and then started down the incline, careful where he placed each foot. He was well aware that a broken ankle would mean certain death. The only person he could rely on for help was himself.

  Leroy made his way into the streambed and partially up the other side of the gully until he found a semi-clear area large enough for a camp. He slung the backpack to the ground and set about collecting twigs and branches for a fire. He deposited the wood at one end of the area and then retrieved a small foldable camp shovel strapped to the outside of his pack. He made his way back into the streambed and then walked about, kicking the sand in various places. Finally, his eyes locked on a bit of foliage greener than the rest. He dropped to his knees at the spot and started digging.

  Down a foot, the sand turned a darker shade of brown. Another foot, the sand turned even darker and more moist. Another ten inches, and Leroy sat back on his calves and watched water trickle into the hole. He shoveled a couple of more scoops, which increased the flow.

  Leroy got to his feet, walked back to the camp area, and rummaged through his pack. His hands came out with a stainless mug, a stainless cook pot, a handkerchief, an empty sixty-four ounce stainless water bottle, and a Katadyn microfilter. He returned to the hole, dropped to his knees, and peered at the accumulated water at the bottom of the hole. About five inches worth.

  He dropped the filter, cooking pot, and water bottle to the ground beside him, and then draped the handkerchief over the top of the mug. Holding the cloth tight around the entire rim, he dipped the mug into the water. After a few seconds, he raised the nearly-full mug, lifted one side of the handkerchief, and poured the brownish water into the cook pot. He repeated the process until the pot was full. He then picked up the filter and attached two tubes. He ran the end of one tube into the water bottle, and the end of the other tube i
nto the pot. He took hold of the filter’s handle and pumped. Soon, clean, filtered water streamed into the water bottle. When the pot emptied, he repeated the entire process until the large water bottle was filled to the brim. He then took the smaller bottle from his hip, removed the cap, drained the contents into his mouth, and proceeded to fill the smaller bottle. It was well after sundown when he gathered the filled bottles and the rest of the items, got to his feet, and ambled back to the camp.

  He returned the items to their respective spots and then moved over to the pile of branches. He assembled the stack with twigs on the bottom and larger branches on top, and used a lighter from his pocket to light the twigs. Flames worked their way to the top of the pile until fully engulfed. Leroy added a few larger branches and watched the flames jump higher. The glow lit the camp.

  After a few seconds of staring into the flames, mesmerized by the colors and shapes, he stepped back to his pack, unbuckled a bundle strapped to the bottom, and unrolled a Snugpak personal backpacking tent. It was the one most favored by army troops in the field. He flattened the layers of material on the ground a few feet from the fire. It took only minutes to assemble the tent, complete with the rain fly and all sixteen stakes.

  Leroy didn’t expect rain during the night. The tent was to protect him from scorpions and snakes that claimed the ground as their own. He included the rain fly to protect against the morning dew.

  Too tired to set up his camp stove and cook something, Leroy opted for a package of beef jerky. With the tent up, the fire blazing, and a mouth full of jerky, Leroy chewed as he took a seat in the sand and leaned back against a rock. He stared at the flames and listened to the crackle as he pondered the end of another day.

  ◆◆◆