Endemic: Within Each of Us, A Power & A Curse, page 1
part #1 of Endemic Series
Endemic
Robert Chazz Chute
E N D E M I C
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Copyright © 2021 by Robert Chazz Chute
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 written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
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Please direct media and rights inquiries to Holly at expartepress@gmail.com.
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ISBN (hardcover) 978-1-927607-76-3
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ISBN (paperback) 978-1-927607-74-9
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ISBN (Ebook) 978-1-927607-75-6
Praise for Robert’s Work
Chute sucks you in from word one and pulls you down his post-apocalyptic rabbit hole! You will sleep with the lights on, covers pulled over your head, and dust off the old teddy bear for comfort. Chazz ranks among the top tier of our generation's storytellers. ~ Alex Kimmell, Author of The Key to Everything
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Robert Chazz Chute is such a skilled spinner of tales that the reader is more than willing to suspend any possible disbelief to go along for the ride. ~ David Pandolfe, author of Jump When Ready
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It's not very often one finds a writer with such a dark side that has such a great sense of humor. ~ Glenn Roberts, Amazon reviewer
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The author has a definite talent with words and ideas. ~ Love to Read!, Amazon reviewer
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His words lift and dance off the page, bringing the story to life. ~ Kindle Customer, Amazon reviewer
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The world-building is horrifically well done with twists and turns and deceit around every corner. ~ Wanda, Amazon reviewer
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RCC blends characters' beliefs & worries concerning society's failures, plus vivid action scenes skillfully. ~ RMerkl, Amazon Reviewer
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Nothing but sheer exhaustion could tear my eyes from the captivating dance of words choreographed by Robert Chazz Chute. ~ Halph Staph, Amazon reviewer
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Wonderful action constantly holds your interest. ~ Sharon Finn, Amazon reviewer
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The complexity and attention to detail throughout absolutely blow me away. ~ Kindle customer, Amazon Reviewer
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Very few authors impress me with their actual writing style, it's usually always about the story. But this author paints such beautiful vivid pictures with words that I found myself not only enjoying the story but enjoying the way the words created images in my mind. I know that sounds corny, but it is true. ~ B.H., Amazon reviewer
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Chute gives us a story worthy of Stephen King. A read both thoughtful and fun. ~ Linda Beer Johnson, Amazon reviewer
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The author does an excellent job building the characters and getting you invested and involved. ~ Michele L. Hebert, Amazon reviewer
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I just can't say in words what a powerful author this is! ~ Delinda L. Calkins, Amazon reviewer
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Robert Chazz Chute writes so skillfully as to make the supernatural seem perfectly logical - and terrifying! There are twists, turns, and surprises galore. You will be glad you bought this book - until you lose sleep because you can't put it down. ~ johligo, Amazon reviewer
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When I want to read apocalyptic books or zombie stories, those books have to also be extremely well written and something that I could recommend with zeal and confidence to everyone I know. Robert Chazz Chute's books are exactly that. ~ Mazie Lane, Amazon reviewer
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He makes the stuff that is obviously fiction, believable. ~ W. Nickels, Amazon reviewer
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I am a lover of paranormal, dystopian novels and depth of story as well as intelligence in writing style, and Robert has it all. Humor, wit, depth, intelligence, and an awesome way with words/writing. ~ Amazon Customer, Amazon reviewer
For anyone who has ever been pushed around.
Against those who do the pushing.
Introduction
"In our play we reveal what kind
of people we are."
~ Publius Ovidius Naso
Most of Endemic was written in 2020. As I write this, the plague still rages. Night is falling and I’m racing sunset, trying to finish this introduction before darkness falls, and the mosquitoes come out for blood. Today was a warm sunny day, but that’s just at first glance. The virus still stalks us.
I live in a hot spot, trapped in a seemingly endless revolution of stay-at-home orders, lockdowns, gray zones, red zones, and emergency brakes.
The title and the terror I write here are not some opportunistic marketing ploy. (I don’t believe that sort of thing sells books anyway.) I’ve been penning variations of the end of the world for over a decade. Be it robots, nukes, zombies, aliens, or plagues, this niche of suspense thriller is my wheelhouse.
Endemic feels a little different, though. World events made writing this novel more real. In earlier iterations, despite all the fictional action and carnage, I was more optimistic. COVID-19 lowered my estimation of the human race, and our ability to respond to threats. If we can’t adequately defend ourselves against a clear and present danger, anything slightly muddy and more challenging like the climate crisis seems beyond our ken.
So why read on? What have I got for you if it’s only a scarier arc from where you’ve already been? What’s left? Love, I guess. Despite my darkest impulses, I have to leave readers with a little hope. It won’t be what you expect, but the reward is waiting for you at the end of the journey.
Hold on to that knowledge as you turn these pages. Brace yourself because Ovid Fairweather is about to go through some things. We all are.
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~ RCC
May, 2021
Other London
Contents
Episode One
1. Shadow
2. Pressed
3. Things Fall Apart
4. Sheer Terror
5. The Outsider
6. Blood?
7. The Lady Becomes Macbeth
8. Companion
9. The Best Days
10. Three Names
11. The Unreliable Narrator
Episode Two
12. Three True Things
13. The Beauty of the #2 Pencil
14. Mirror, Mirror
15. An Angel Among Us
16. The Most Dangerous Game
17. One is the Happiest Number
18. The First Disciple
19. Invasion
20. Spite
21. That Fairweather Girl
Episode Three
22. Of Gods and Worms
23. Angels with Dirty Faces
24. Message Received?
25. The Hand that Holds the Spoon
26. Awakening
27. Cruel Intentions
28. Meet the New Boss
29. Bad
30. Worse
31. Worst
Episode Four
32. Down and Up
33. Don't Laugh
34. Adilah's Quilt
35. Watchdogs
36. Epiphany One
37. Epiphany Two
38. Heating
39. Lion
40. Hurt People
41. Alone
Episode Five
42. The Trap We Share
43. Questions
44. Answers, Part I
45. Answers, Part II
46. The Maze Runners
47. Cider House Rules
48. Misery
49. Bad Will Hunting
50. The Vanishing Point
51. The Queen's Speech
Episode Six
52. Bright Lights, Big Deal
53. The Queen's Gambit
54. Blood Meridian
55. The Poison is the Medicine
56. Jam
57. Boys and Girls Together
58. The Big Picture
59. Your Turn to Curtsy
60. My Turn to Bow
61. No Way to Treat a Lady
Episode Seven
62. Control
63. The Ghost
64. And the Darkness
65. Heat
66. Cold
67. The Dark Half
68. The Drawing of the Three
69. Dead Man's Folly
70. The Stand
71. Revival
72. Elevation
73. Carrie
74. Needful Things
75. Cell
Thanks for reading Endemic
More Dystopian & Apocalyptic Books by Robert Chazz Chute
All Books by Robert Chazz Chute
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Episode One
“In the middle of the journey of our life I found myself within a dark wood where the straight way was lost.”
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~ Dante, Inferno
“Nobody realizes that some people expend tremendous energy merely to be normal.”
~ Albert Camus
1
Shadow
As daylight ticked down and July’s shadows grew long, the city’s streets lay nearly deserted and almost dead. I picked up my pace and tried to ignore the girl following me. Half my age, she would have caught up were she not half-starved, limping, and crazed. Mumbling something incomprehensible, my pursuer was relentless.
Sometimes, when the heat lingered and grew mean, it seemed as if all of New York had emptied. But we, the survivors, still lurked, furtive as foraging rats amid the ruins and debris, wary as skittish rabbits too far from the safety of the warren. I wondered, Is this a Monday afternoon? It certainly felt like a blue-gray Monday, full of hot gunmetal dread, far from any cooling respite. In the desert of discontent, there is no oasis. All that remained was the grim resolve to keep moving.
Remember how it felt when, from another room, you heard a plate shatter in the kitchen? There’s that second or two of shocked silence? In that pregnant pause, you wondered if you should ask if anyone’s hurt or haul yourself off the couch to get the broom. Would there be blood or relief? A catastrophic heart attack or mere clumsiness? That’s the kind of nervous silence that descended upon the city and refused to leave.
Rising too late to the alarm, the nation failed to become immune to the disease’s churn. Though vaccinated against the first iterations of the virus, various strains mutated too quickly for us to protect ourselves. The variant storms had claimed many victims and murdered most. Some survivors, Thirders, were left with cognitive impairments like that of my pursuer.
The Zeta-3 variant often scrambled Broca’s area, the brain’s speech center. My pursuer’s ruin was a slow, cruel erasure. Imagine termites in your brain, chewing away at your ability to communicate and digesting the foundations of who you once were. This unfortunate woman might once have become a teacher, a research scientist, or a firefighter. She could have fulfilled any number of roles before the variant storm zeroed in. Many had died of earlier viral iterations, but Z-3, also known as the Third Kentucky Variant or TKV, was brutal. When the disease process stalled, some Thirders babbled. Others went mute.
My father — typically inaccurate and casually cruel — grinned as he pronounced Thirder as “turder.” TKV casualties had been objects of pity once. However, since they neither died nor healed, disaster fatigue had set in. As food supplies dwindled, people were often unkind to these wandering beggars.
Since What Was, people had become more superstitious, too. They searched for omens, alert for deception, and gloomy to the nth. And no wonder. Central Park — now Central Memorial Park — was commonly called Hell’s Basement because that’s where the bodies were buried. Manhattan was Hell’s Office. We referred to Brooklyn as Over the Rainbow Bridge. Queens’ nickname became Hell’s Dying Room, and the Bronx was Hell Central (because of the riot fires). Staten Island was still Staten Island.
That odd voice in my head that spoke like a tough British man chimed in: Hey! Morbidity and comorbidities are everywhere, love. No need to pile on by being morbid.
“I gotta be me,” I replied. “And I still don’t know why you’re British. I’m a middle-aged woman from Maine whose farthest travels have been to Canada when I was a child. For God’s sake, what are you and why are you?”
He didn’t reply. We were often short of reliable answers. Like the truth of the pandemic, disaster relief was also promised but never arrived. Nevertheless, some still held their breath, waiting. I don’t know what they expected. Change, I suppose. Isn’t that what everyone is waiting for? Was always waiting for?
Despite the great numbers who had fallen — no one knew how many — most of the survivors remained in the city. Border restrictions were strictly enforced and punishments were harsh. Armed militias backed the travel bans. Slipping past them was risky business, and the price of their bribes was high.
Though the Big Apple had rotted, there were still mouths to feed, and I had a business to run. Survival is my business. Every new day offered a narrow toehold to the future. Each step felt tentative, as if I were climbing a steep cliff, the ledges greased and slick. Each handhold was too small and not to be trusted.
My pursuer was gaining. “Hey!” she called. “Humannahell … humanmahelp … whoooo! Yoo-hoo? L-lady?”
A filthy curtain rustled high above the street. The weight of the gaze from spying eyes fell upon us. New Yorkers used to live in small boxes and work in cubicle farms. Our domiciles were now either fortresses, crannies, or crypts. I was one of the lucky few who owned a secret farm.
The girl called after me again, “Watchu? Watchu?” She mumbled on. I couldn’t decipher the rest.
Preferring to conserve energy, I resisted the urge to sprint. They were easily distracted, but running encouraged them to give chase. I tried not to think of those cursed by TKV at all. Some, especially Taxmen, called them mean names like dim bulbs, whistle heads, or brain-dead. It wasn’t true. Thirders were often sensitive and emotional. You could sense something of what they once were behind their eyes. Sometimes they spoke gibberish, but many spoke in full sentences that didn’t necessarily connect.
Conversation by approximation, the British voice added.
“Sh! Not now!” I whispered back. “You’re distracting me.”
I scanned the street, looking for a way to evade her but also hoping the girl wasn’t inviting more unwanted attention. Taxmen hated anyone who possessed nothing of value to steal or extort. They’d get nothing from the girl, but I had much more to lose.
Downfall, demise, destruction.
I shushed the voice in my head, though that only worked haphazardly.
I quickened my pace again — almost a run now — but so did she. Though that poor soul was wounded, it was I who felt hunted. Every door was barred, and every ground-floor window boarded. I serpentined among abandoned hulks of long-dead vehicles.
Some cars had been left in the middle of the street when their fuel ran out. Others, the burnt wrecks, had been used as barricades during the riots. Blockages and clots wound through the heart of the city that went on for miles and miles, choking the life from it.
As I cut down a side street, I wondered how my pursuer had survived this long. What did she eat? Where did she sleep? How did people like her keep going under these conditions? Someone fed her, surely. I knew because I had one of my own to feed.
