No Direction Home: A Post-Apocalyptic Survival Series Read online

  NO DIRECTION HOME

  ORDINARY PEOPLE SURVIVING EXTRAORDINARY TIMES

  BOOK 1

  By MIKE SHERIDAN

  Copyright © 2017 by Mike Sheridan

  NO DIRECTION HOME is a work of fiction. People, places, events, and situations are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead is entirely coincidental.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in any retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

  Editing by Felicia Sullivan

  Proofreading by Laurel Kriegler

  Cover art by Deranged Doctor Design

  Contents

  Bonus Material

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Excerpt from Book 2: EASTWOOD

  From the Author

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  CHAPTER 1

  Three days after the first case of vPox was reported in Knoxville, Cody Parsons’s two roommates, Joe Frisch and Chrissie Sabatini, took ill. Joe showed the symptoms first. He ran a high temperature and complained of a splitting headache. The following day, the first signs of lesions appeared: blotchy red patches that covered his body and soon became pus-filled.

  There was a look of alarm on Chrissie’s face when he pulled up his T-shirt to show them. They stretched across his entire stomach and chest. Some of them had burst and oozed a thick yellowish liquid.

  She recoiled in horror, staggered back several feet and put her hand to her mouth. “My God!” she gasped. “That’s horrible!”

  “Do they hurt?” Cody asked, still staring at the pustules as Joe pulled down his shirt. Instantly, he regretted such a stupid question. Joe had obviously been scratching at them like crazy.

  “They itch like hell, but it’s the headache that’s the worst part,” Joe replied, his voice weak. “This must be that flu thing they’ve been talking about on TV.”

  For the past few days, the news stations had been reporting on a mysterious illness sweeping the nation, a bad flu, they called it. They’d kept details vague, stating that there had only been a few isolated deaths, mainly among the very young and the elderly.

  The Internet and social media hadn’t been quite so circumspect, however. Chatter was rife about a lethal viral agent having been released from a biological warfare lab. By who, exactly, no one knew, but there was plenty of speculation: it was the work of Islamic terrorists, the Russians, the Chinese, a US rogue agent. The list was endless.

  Cody had seen some horrific-looking photos on his FB newsfeed too, that got quickly taken down. They had to be fake—no real person could ever look that bad. One thing was sure though: once it hit town, the rate of infection was alarming. A few days after it reached Knoxville, it became common to see people with blotchy faces on the streets, some clutching feebly to lampposts and handrails.

  Joe stared at Cody, his eyes strained and unfocused. “Can you take me to the hospital?” he asked. “I don’t think I can make it on my own.”

  Natural survival instincts kicked in. Not in a million years, they screamed at Cody hysterically. He calmed them down. It was June, college had just ended. For the past week, he and Joe had been drinking beer and eating the same snacks as they sat together on the couch, high-fiving when the contestant of some stupid TV reality show got kicked off. It was too late to avoid this thing now.

  “Sure,” he said. “We better get you down there right away, see if they can fix you up with some medicine.”

  Looking around, he saw that Chrissie had gone to her room. It didn’t surprise him; she wasn’t exactly the caring sort. Cody had quickly learned that you don’t really get to know a person until you share a house with them. Though, if he was honest, in this case, he couldn’t blame her.

  The three attended the University of Tennessee, Knoxville. Like Cody, both Joe and Chrissie wanted a certain independence from the college and chose to live off campus, and although Cody was born and raised in Knoxville, three years ago his mother had sold the family home and relocated to Phoenix, taking Simon, Cody’s younger brother, with her. It was the reason he had to rent.

  Neither of the three came from wealthy families, and they lived in a cheap three-bedroom house in the northwest of the city, just off I-75. It wasn’t exactly the greatest of locations, but the highway ran south all the way downtown, and it didn’t take them long to get to their classes.

  Cody’s mom was paying his college fees, though he took as much of the burden off her as he could with an endless series of jobs. During his three years at UTK, he’d worked as a caddy, a barista, a baker, then, his last job, as a lab technician at an optical firm. That had turned out pretty well. The company was in the process of dropping the Oakley brand, and he’d been able to buy a few hundred sunglasses cheap and sell them on Ebay. Not coming from money meant he’d learned how to hustle from an early age.

  Grabbing his jacket, he took Joe outside and bundled him into the back of his old Subaru Legacy, then drove to the Physicians Regional Medical Center in North Knoxville, the nearest hospital to where they lived.

  Twenty minutes later, he parked outside the emergency department, relieved to see there weren’t many cars in the lot. Hopefully it meant they wouldn’t have to wait long for Joe to get seen.

  Unfortunately, there was a reason for the lack of vehicles. Crossing the lot, Cody spotted two soldiers dressed in digital-gray combat uniforms guarding the entrance, semi-automatic rifles slung over their shoulders. M16s. Cody’s father had served in Iraq, and had taught him how to identify weapons when he was still a boy.

  One of the men, a large black soldier, began to wave them away before they’d even reached the doorway. “Hospital is full. No new patients being admitted,” he told them in a flat tone that said he’d been doing this all day.

  “My friend is seriously ill,” Cody said. “Can’t you make an exception?”

  The soldier shook his head. “Your friend is no exception. The whole town is sick. Even me. I’ve had a splitting headache all morning and they haven’t even given me as much as a goddamn aspirin.”

  Cody stared closer at the soldier and could see a clammy sheen on his face, his skin ash gray.

  “Which base are you guys from?” he asked, naturally curious about all military matters. His father had been stationed at nearby Fort Campbell, Kentucky, home to the 101st Airborne and the 5th Special Forces Group. His father had been in the 5th SFPG, something Cody was particularly proud of.

  “McGhee Tyson,” the soldier replied. “We’re National Guar
d. Didn’t you hear? Governor Dickinson declared a state of emergency this morning.”

  Cody’s eyes widened. “State of emergency? Why, because of this flu thing?”

  “That’s it, bud,” said the second soldier. He sounded a little friendlier than his companion. “Except it ain’t no flu. It’s some type of damned pox. People are coming down like flies with it. It’s how come we can’t let any more patients in. Come back tomorrow morning, but you better get here early if you want any chance of him being admitted.”

  Cody stared at him in alarm. “Really? How serious is this?”

  The soldier shrugged. “Serious enough for the president to be making an address on television soon. Other than that, I couldn’t tell you.” He grinned. “It’s not like me and George are on the Joint Chiefs of Staff or something. They told us to haul our asses down here, so that’s what we did.”

  Cody thanked the soldier, then helped Joe back to the car. By now, he was considerably weaker than when they’d first left the house. Simply walking fifty yards seemed to have expended all his energy.

  They drove to two other hospitals, Fort Sanders and East Tennessee Baptist. It was the same situation at both of them. After that, there was no choice but to go home. By then, Joe was in terrible shape. Cody had to stop the car twice so he could vomit on the street. The third time, Joe didn’t warn him. Turning around to the sound of gagging, Cody saw that he was barely conscious. Vomit drooled down his chin and onto the car seat.

  Back at the house, he dragged Joe out of the car and put his arm around his waist to get him up the porch steps and through the front door. He arrived in the living room to see Chrissie curled up on couch. She was shivering, her face sweaty and her eyes glassy.

  “Go to your room, Chrissie,” he told her as he passed her on the way to Joe’s room.

  “Why? So you don’t have to deal with me, is that it?” she called out behind him plaintively.

  “No, because you’ll be more comfortable.” Though if Cody would have admitted it, there was a certain truth to what she said.

  Although a humid summer day, as soon as he dropped Joe on the bed, he immediately crawled under the covers and drew himself up into the fetal position.

  Cody leaned over him. “Can I get you anything, buddy?” he asked. He’d known Joe almost three years. It hurt him to see him this way.

  Joe shook his head. Looking up at him, there was clarity in his eyes for one brief moment. “Thanks, Cody,” he whispered. “You’re a good friend.”

  The look of pain and exhaustion returned and Joe turned his head away. Although Cody didn’t know it then, they would be the last words Joe spoke to him.

  Chrissie had done what he’d asked and gone to her room, he discovered, when he returned to the living room. He went into the kitchen and grabbed the last can of beer from the fridge. Cracking it open, he sat down on the sofa. Other than for fear, stress, and worry, he felt absolutely fine.

  CHAPTER 2

  “Ah, jaysus, this is woeful. I mean absolutely bleedin’ brutal.”

  Brendan “Jonah” Murphy sat up in bed in his room at the Sun Ray, a small hotel in southwest Orlando. It was not exactly an upmarket location. Then again, hailing from the Oliver Bond Street flats in inner city Dublin, Jonah wasn’t exactly an upmarket kind of guy.

  The “flats” were the Irish equivalent to what Americans call the “projects”. An Internet property search for Dublin City using keywords such as upmarket, salubrious, or luxurious would be unlikely to display Jonah’s abode on the first zillion pages. Notwithstanding that, to put it in realtor parlance, they were, however, charmly situated. Oliver Bond Street was plonk in the city center, a stone’s throw away from the Guinness factory, Temple Bar, and a host of other top tourist spots.

  “Primo location, headerball. Yeh couldn’t buy that view for a million dollars,” Jonah liked to boast anytime anyone asked him where he was from.

  He was in no doubt however, that someday the flats would be bulldozed, to be replaced by high-end developments such as the ones they’d already built down the IFSC, the Irish Financial Services Center, when the Sheriff Street flats had been torn down. Not in his lifetime, he prayed. Born and raised in The Bond, he didn’t fancy being relocated to one of the soulless social housing areas outside of the city. He shuddered at the thought.

  Sitting in bed beside him was his wife, Colleen. The pair were on their dream vacation in Florida, one they’d scrimped and saved for all year. Since arriving five days ago, they’d done SeaWorld, Universal Studios, and only that afternoon had returned from Disney World.

  Tomorrow was the Kennedy Space Center, then the following day, the thing Jonah most looked forward to: a deep-sea fishing trip around Cape Canaveral. Jonah was simply gaga about fishing. Seas, rivers, lakes—he loved them all. Ireland had some of the best fishing locations in the world and he’d been to just about all of them, but tomorrow was big game fishing, where he hoped to catch the hugest fish of his life.

  For Jonah, reeling in a blue marlin was like a surfer catching the big kahuna, or a Buddhist monk reaching nirvana, only a lot less dignified. There was sure to be a whole lot of whooping and yelling with a bunch of cuss words thrown in for good measure.

  Something at the back of his mind was worrying him, however. Something he hoped wasn’t going to spoil his big day out. The brutal he’d referred to was not the basic facilities of their dank hotel room, or the size of the tiny TV bolted to the wall in the corner. Nor was it even the stale odor that wafted up from the dark-brown carpet, which Colleen had wrinkled up her nose at when they were first shown to their room.

  “Don’t worry, love,” he’d reassured her at the time. “Once we crack open a few beers, the smell will be gone in a jiffy.”

  No, the brutal Jonah referred to was the constant sound of people moaning on either side of them through the wafer-thin walls. They’d heard them from the moment they arrived. Then later that evening, out on the street, the couple saw several people with blotchy faces and nasty looking rashes on their arms and legs. It had been noticeable enough for them to comment on it.

  Since then, things had only gotten worse. Just that afternoon at Disney World, even some of the staff had come down with whatever was going around. One of them had literally collapsed right in front of them as they’d strolled through the park.

  Jonah, being the good-natured bloke that he was, had rushed over, picked him up, and taken him over to the first aid center at the back of Casey’s Corner where the couple had stopped earlier for hot dogs and fries. There, they had been shocked to see a line out the door of similarly unwell people.

  When they were leaving the park an hour later, Jonah had said to Colleen, “Jaysus, love, never in me life did I imagine I’d be traipsing around the Magic Kingdom with Donald bleedin’ Duck slung over me shoulder. Yeh don’t get a chance like that too often in your life, do you?” He chuckled. “Now yer sure yeh snapped that with the iPhone, aren’t yeh?”

  Laughing, Colleen had assured him it was all on digital record.

  “Great. That’ll be on me Facebuke tonight.”

  Jonah took a sip from his glass of whiskey on the nightstand, his first of the evening. It was 8 p.m. and he didn’t usually get into the hard stuff until then. Colleen didn’t approve. As for beer? Well, he was on holiday, after all.

  He glanced over at his wife. “Did yeh hear what I said, love? All this wailing and moaning. It’s driving me demented.”

  There came no reply. Since returning to the hotel, Colleen had been ignoring him, far too absorbed in reading the Kindle he’d bought her a few Christmases ago. Worst present he’d ever gotten her. Since then, she’d been addicted to the damned thing, reading two or three books every week. Some girls spent their money on clothes and makeup, fashion accoutrements and the likes. Not his Colleen. No, she bought eBooks. Now, in the evenings, he could barely get a word out of her. Her beak was always jammed into the piece of plastic, giving him the deaf ear. It drove him potty.

&nb
sp; “I may as well be talking to the wall,” he grumbled to himself disconsolately.

  Colleen didn’t read romance either. She was into that post-apocalyptic nonsense that was all the rage these days. He couldn’t remember how many times she’d finished a book to excitedly explain to him how the world was going to come to an end soon by a multitude of different means that left him dizzy: pandemics, zombie mutant viruses, nuclear war, solar flares, an EMP strike (whatever the hell that was). The list went on and on.

  Jonah couldn’t understand what fascinated his wife with all this doom and gloom stuff. He was a simple man, a pint of plain down his local pub, a chat about the footie or the boxing, even the golf – which he wasn’t that pushed about, except the Ryder Cup when the Europeans usually gave the Yanks a good thrashing. That was more his thing. But the bleedin’ apocalypse? That was just downright depressing.

  He took a long sip from his can of beer and put it down next to his whiskey glass again. Another cacophony of moans and wails started up to either side of him. He was getting it in stereo now!

  Jonah blew up. He couldn’t help himself. Balling up his fist, he banged the wall behind him several times. “Would yis ever shuuuurruup!” he yelled. “Jaysus, between the missus not talking to me, and youse lot coughing yer guts up, yis are driving me to distraction!”

  Beside him, Colleen dropped her Kindle on her lap. She stared at him incredulously, a deep frown on her face. “Jonah Murphy! Are you out of your mind? Cut that out right now!”

  A sheepish grin came over Jonah’s ruddy features. “Finally, a bit of attention. Please love, talk to me, I’m bored off me rocker. The neighbors are huffin’ and puffin’ the walls down, and there you are, gawking at a piece of plastic.” He broke out into song. “Baby, baby, where did our love go?”

  Colleen placed the Kindle down carefully on the nightstand, then picked up her iPad instead. Flicking it open, she said, “All right, Jonah, let’s talk. How about something serious this time? Something I’ve been reading about on the blogs.”