The Last Days

  G.M. Chesla

  August 2015

  Some thought they were prepared, but to be prepared, you first had to know what it was you were preparing for.

  No sane person would ever prepare for something that could never occur.

  When the Zombie Apocalypse came, by the time anyone figured out what was happening, it was too late. It was already over.

  People were at first confused, they thought it was a joke.

  When they began to realize this was for real, they had already lost any chance they had to stop it.

  When the masses of the dead began to double in size every hour, there was just no way to stop them.

  Many people weren’t even aware the world had ended until the dead showed up at their door.

  Mike was on vacation at Carter Caves State Park in Kentucky, with his wife Kelly and their little girl Kimmy. It was the perfect vacation. There was no TV, no radio, no newspapers, and no cell phone reception.

  His brother John and his family were at home in Ligonier, Pennsylvania, trying to enjoy a quiet week at home.

  Thomas Bolten, Captain of the USS Ronald Regan was on station in the South China Sea. He knew what was happening. But will knowing make it any easier for his ship to survive?

  The story follows the three groups as they struggle to understand and survive what will be their last days in the world they knew.

  Who can survive these last days?

  Who will be the lucky ones, those that survived or those that didn’t?

  Chapter 1

  “Bring him in.” Lieutenant Robert Paulson ordered. “Put him on the last bed next to the others.”

  The two seamen carefully balanced Petty Officer Jim Davis between them, each holding onto one of his arms that had been draped over their shoulders so they could manage his weight between them.

  They had started out supporting him as he walked, but the last part of the trip to sick bay they had ended up carrying him as he weakly tried to move his feet to help them get him to the doc.

  They drug his now limp body to the last bed in the back of sick bay and lifted him up, supporting his head as they laid him onto the cot.

  Two assistants came rushing over to take the Petty Officer’s vital statistics in preparation for the doctor to begin his examination.

  The two men stood back and watched until the doctor waved them over to where he stood watching.

  “What happened?” Lieutenant Paulson asked.

  “We’re not sure doc.” Seaman Jeffries answered. “Jim, I mean Petty Officer Davis has been quiet since he got back from his assignment an hour ago. Man he is never quiet. He is always busting someone’s chops.”

  “He was just walking towards his bunk when he dropped to the floor. I thought he was playing another one of his pranks on us.” Seaman Johnson added. “But when he started throwing up all over the floor, we knew he wasn’t playing around this time.”

  “Did he say anything?” Lieutenant Paulson asked.

  “All he said as far as we could understand, was ‘sick bay’.” Jeffries replied.

  “What was his assignment, where was he before he came back to his quarters?”

  “He wouldn’t say, doc.” Jeffries answered. “All I know he went down in the mini sub last night. They just hoisted the mini sub on deck about an hour ago. Petty Officer said he had to go to a briefing when he came back, but then just got quiet.”

  “OK, thanks I’ll check him out.” Paulson said. “You boys better get back to work.”

  “Yes Sir!” Jeffries and Johnson said in unison as they turned and headed for the door.

  Doctor Paulson turned and watched as his two assistants worked on the Petty Officer.

  He looked at the four other men, lying unconscious on their cots, IV’s attached to their arms pushing a clear liquid into their veins to stabilize them until he could figure out what was going on.

  It had been a slow day until about twenty minutes ago. He had dealt with his normal daily routine all morning. His usual day was stitching up minor cuts for about three men, prescribing pain medication for another one or two that managed to bang their heads on something or drop a missile or engine part on their foot. On a bad day he would have to set a broken bone, but that was rare.

  On the USS Ronald Reagan, there were about six thousand men, so there was never a shortage of someone needing his attention. Until noon, it was just another normal day. Three stitches in one arm and the usual bruised toes. But twenty minutes ago, men suddenly becoming ill, vomiting and passing out, began to fill the beds in his sick bay.

  He walked over to his assistants as they were finishing up with his newest patient.

  “What do we have Bill?” Paulson asked.

  “His heart beat is slow, his breathing shallow and his temperature has gone up two degrees since he was brought in. It’s now at 107 degrees.” Bill replied.

  “Just like the others.” Paulson said, as much to himself as to his assistant. “Run a quick blood test. These guys won’t last much longer at this rate.”

  “What do you think it is?” Bill asked.

  “I don’t know Bill.” The doc answered. “It looks a little like a severe case of the flu, but I wouldn’t think the flu, no matter how bad, would put a man down and out like this so fast. Five at the same time, no we have something else here. I want to see the blood tests on these guys. It will give us some place to start.”

  “I’ll have the basic results back for you in about five minutes.” Bill said as he removed the needle from the Petty Officer’s arm and held it up to the light for a quick visual examination.

  “I’m going to take a few minutes to clear my head.” Paulson said as he started for the hatch that would take him out of sick bay.

  “I thought you gave that up.” Bill smiled.

  Robert Paulson smiled back. “I’m trying, but it helps me think.”

  Doctor Robert Paulson went out the hatch and began to work his way to the rear of the aircraft carrier. When he needed to think, his favorite place was the rear platform at the back of the hanger deck. It was under the runway on the deck above. He had a view of the water behind the ship and a great view of the aircraft as they came in to land on the deck above him. The noise of the pilots pushing the jets thrusters to full power as they hit the deck above as they landed was deafening as it rumbled and echoed throughout the areas below deck, but he found it relaxing. It pushed everything else out of his mind for a few minutes. It was like rebooting a computer as his mind started back up able to start fresh.

  The pilots pushed the thrusters to full power when their fighter hit the deck in case their tail hook failed to catch on to the landing cables. If their tail hook caught the cable, their plane came to a dead stop in two seconds. If the tail hook missed the cable, the sudden burst of the thrusters would give them enough power to get back in the air and come around for another try. The pilots were well trained professionals that seldom failed to catch the first restraining cable. But if by some chance they didn’t catch one of the cables, without their thrusters at full power, even the thousand ninety-two foot runway on the Ronald Regan would not be long enough. Thirty million dollars would quickly run off the deck and splash into the South China Sea.

  His favorite was the sound the F-18 Super Hornets made as they landed. He was also curious to watch the new F-35’s the carrier was testing. They were the new super fighters the Navy had aboard for evaluation. The F-35 was the new 5th generation fighter undergoing final tests before being deployed. The carrier had five of the new planes on board. The electronic weapons capability of the new stealth fighter was supposedly amazing. He wasn’t privy to all the facts, but he had picked up bits and pieces from the F-35 pilots he had treated for eye strain and headaches caused by the new helmet
s that gave them access to all the information from the weapons system as they flew the plane. The pilots said it was like wearing Google glasses. It made them feel like they were floating in space without a plane around them. They felt like they were in a virtual reality. The sensory overload would take some getting used to. Until then they were frequent visitors to his sick bay.

  Robert Paulson pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and lit up. He knew smoking was bad for him, especially being a doctor he knew all the medical reasons why he shouldn’t smoke. He had tried to stop numerous times. He had stopped for almost a year. The assignment to the USS Ronald Regan in the South China Sea a year ago made him start again. The pace of activity on the Ronald Regan and the high alert status so close to Korea and China was stressful. He had held out as long as he could, but after a month in his new environment he had started again. He intended to stop again, but knew it was useless to even try until the ship returned to San Diego next month for maintenance.

  He took a few quick puffs from the cigarette as he let the sound of another F-18 landing on the deck above clear the stress from his mind.

  He tossed the butt over the railing and watched as it floated down and disappeared in the ships wake.

  He turned and started to work his way through the maze of hatches and hallways that would take him back to sick bay.

  He wondered what the blood tests would reveal.

  He hoped it was just another case of food poisoning.

  A few weeks back a half dozen guys had a bad reaction to the mess hall’s attempt at beef stroganoff.

  Most of the men thought it tasted great, but a few that had paid him a visit were not so impressed.

  He had listened to their complaints and had given them some medicine to calm their stomach and stop their uncontrollable vomiting.

  But none of the men had a temperature over 101 degrees.

  The men in his sick bay were running a temperature much higher. A fever this high was dangerous and usually indicated the body was throwing everything it had at whatever was attacking it.

  A fever this high never lasted very long. The fever either broke quickly or the war was over.

  Paulson entered the sick bay as Bill was just returning from the lab.

  Bill rushed over to the doctor.

  “What do you have Bill?” Paulson asked.

  Bill tapped on the keyboard next to the wall and three monitors came to life next to them at eye level.

  “They are running tests down at the lab, but these are slides of the Petty Officer’s blood. All the samples look the same. None of the men have any white cells in their blood.” Bill said. “The lab said the dark cells you see here and here.” Bill pointed at the screen. “Must have destroyed the white cells and are now turning on the red cells. Whatever it is, it is destroying every organ in the body. These men will be dead long before we can figure what is going on.”

  Lieutenant Paulson thought for a second. “Get a few more techs from the forward sick bay down here to help. I want you to give these men a blood transfusion. That might stop or slow the organ failure. If nothing else, it should buy us some time to determine what this is. If you need me, I’m going down to the lab to take a closer look at this. Maybe we should lock down this area until we know what we are facing.”

  “Will do doc.” Bill said as he got on the com to call for more techs.

  Paulson left sick bay and worked his way down to the lab which was on the same level two doors down.

  On his past visits to the lab he would always find the lab techs working quietly at their stations, in deep concentration as they studied samples under their microscopes or read printouts on their computer screens.

  Today he heard the commotion and chaos before he saw it.

  As Lieutenant Paulson entered the lab, three techs were kneeling next to one of their coworkers who was violently puking his guts out.

  One of the techs look up as the doctor entered the lab. He got up and ran over to the doc.

  Paulson looked at the man with a questioning look on his face.

  “Joe must have got some of the blood sample on his hands. He was eating a sandwich at his station and must have ingested some of the sample.”

  “Damn it, how many times have I told you guys not to eat at your stations?” Lieutenant Paulson growled. But he toned down his reprimand. The techs worked long hours. Most of the men gave up their mess breaks to stay on station. They were all good and dedicated men.

  Another tech interrupted the doctor. “Sir, look up at monitor seven.”

  Paulson stood and walked over to the monitors on the wall. He glanced at the numbers until he spotted monitor seven.

  The monitor showed a blood sample. Dark cells were attacking the few remaining white cells. The dark cells now outnumbered the white cells.

  “As soon as Joe started throwing up and collapsed to the floor, we took a blood sample to verify what we thought happened.”

  “Any idea what those dark cells are?” Paulson asked.

  “No sir.” The tech answered. “No one here has ever seen anything like this. From what we have seen, these things first neutralize the bloods defenses, then it starts to multiply.”

  “Get Joe down to sick bay and tell Bill I said to give him a transfusion. Maybe we can flush this out of his system before it starts to attack the organs.” Paulson ordered. “Have you tried to counter the actions of these dark cells?” Paulson asked.

  “We’ve tried everything from antibiotics to rat poison. We have ended up killing every living cell in the sample, except for them damn dark cells. They just keep multiplying. It appears to be some kind of virus, but it is immune to any antivirals we throw at it.”

  “Get Joe down to sick bay now. Keep at it here. Until further notice, no one else enters or leaves the lab or sick bay. Understood?” Paulson barked.

  “Yes Sir!” The tech replied as he ran over to help carry Joe down to sick bay.

  Robert Paulson looked around at the confused faces of the techs. He looked back up at the slide of Joe’s blood on the monitor. This time, all of the white cells were gone.

  Whatever this was, it was more than a simple flu virus. This virus was more than an unwelcome traveler through the human system that resulted in the host becoming ill.

  Whatever this was, it seemed to act with a plan of action. It was as if this unknown contagion had been programed or engineered for a purpose. First it would attack the system defenses. A normal virus would be attacked by the system defenses. If it survived it would do its own thing which often resulted in the host becoming ill. This thing hadn’t waited to be attacked. It did the attacking. But it didn’t attack the body; it first attacked the body’s defensive mechanisms. After defeating the body’s defense, it than began to attack and replace the blood. Its next actions were focused on attacking the body’s organs.

  Robert Paulson hadn’t seen enough of this thing to know much more, like what it would do next. But he had seen enough to know it would quickly kill anyone it had infected.

  He had instructed his assistants to give his patients a transfusion in the hopes it would flush this thing out of their systems before it had time to embed itself in their organs, but he wasn’t optimistic of the outcome.

  He was working with very limited information, not enough to draw any conclusions with any degree of certainty.

  But he had seen enough to realize this first round of the battle was almost over.

  His thoughts were now on the second round.

  There were over six thousand men on the Ronald Regan. The Ronald Regan was massive for an aircraft carrier, but in reality was a very small confine for this many people.

  From what he had observed, losing the second round could result in losing six thousand people and the ship in a matter of a few hours.

  The problem was he didn’t even know what he was fighting. He feared he was entering a fight against an F-18 with nothing but a sling shot.

  While the lab tried to isolate this
thing, he needed more information. It was time to warn the Captain. It was also time he got some answers.

  Lieutenant Paulson left the lab and headed for the control tower to see the Captain.

  As he climbed the stairs to make his way to the top deck, another rumble echoed through the ship. Another Super Hornet had just landed. The sound did little to clear his mind. In fact, he had hardly noticed the sound at all.

  Chapter 2

  Lieutenant Paulson finally arrived at the control tower and was stopped by the MP’s stationed to keep any unauthorized personal out of the ship’s nerve center.

  “Sorry sir!” The burley guard barked. “No one allowed. Captain says we have a situation. No one allowed in unless the Captain sends for him. Captain’s orders.”

  “Would you please tell the captain that Lieutenant Paulson needs to see him now! Unless it is the start of World War III, I need to see him now or he is going to have another situation to deal with.”

  The big guard looked uneasy.

  “Now sailor!” The doctor said, doing his best imitation of a Marine drill sergeant. He smiled to himself as the big guard, after shuffling his feet uneasily, opened the door and stuck his head inside and said something quietly to the guard that was stationed inside the control room.

  He was glad to see he still had it. As a doctor he didn’t have much opportunity to pull rank. Most of his patients, regardless of their rank, rarely questioned his orders or hesitated to do as he instructed.

  However he was not in his sick bay. This was not his command area. But as the ship’s doctor he had authority over every member of the ship, including the Captain, under certain conditions.

  This was not one of those situations, at least not yet. For now he had to bluff his way through this.

  The large guard pulled his head out of the control room and looked at the doctor. “You can go in.” He opened the door and stepped to the side.