Torn Apart (24 page)

The tiny paper crane has been folded with
amazing skill and care. The crane looks as though it will come to
life at any second and fly away.

There is only one person in the world who
could’ve made something so goddamn amazing.

Kenji Yoshida.

“
The girl,” he continues. “She never
accepted her fate. She was dying. Nothing was going to change that.
You have been shot with a time release virus. A nano-virus. It will
remain dormant in your body for three days. Seventy-two hours.
After seventy-two hours, the virus will become active. It will kill
you. There is no stopping it.”

I remove the dart from my shoulder. I stare at
it. I am dying. “Why are you doing this?”

The man takes a deep breath. “I told you. I am
giving you freedom.”

I look at the paper crane. “Where is
Kenji?”

“
You may not know this, but some
people do not want to preserve this way of life. Our civilization.
Some people want to burn it. Destroy it. I am one of those people.
Once I destroy this world, we will be free to start a new life. A
new world. Yes. Finally, we will be free.”

“
You’re crazy.”

“
No. I am a savior.”

“
Where is Kenji?”

“
The Japanese fellow? He was strong.
He was a warrior.”

Was?

The man in the gas mask stood and then left the
room.

“
Wait. Where is Maria? Where are you
keeping her!?”

He does not answer me.

I try and follow him. I reach out for him. I
try and stop him. But I can’t. I can’t move.

I fall off my chair. I lay slumped on the cold,
concrete floor. At some point the sedative takes over and I pass
out.

I wake up in a panic.

I am dizzy and disorientated.

The man in the gas mask has
disappeared.

I am alone.

A watch is strapped to my wrist. It is counting
down.

It reads: Sixty-three hours and fifty-seven
minutes.

Eight hours.

I’ve been asleep for eight hours.

The paper crane is sitting next to
me.

Written on the wing, is a message.

It says, “Open me.”

I unfold the crane.

Inside is another message. A note. A sick poem.
A haiku of horror.

Or maybe it’s a prophecy.

The whole world will look

for a girl to save their souls.

They will watch hope die.

I hold the note
tightly in my hand. I slowly get to my feet.

The man in the
gas mask is a psychopath. He is going to execute Maria on camera.
He is going to show the world. I can’t let that happen.

I have a
choice.

I can curl up into a ball and die. Or I can
live. I can fight. I can fight for Maria. I can fight for my
friends.

I’m pretty sure I’m dying. I’m pretty sure I
have three days to live. Sixty-three hours. Fifty-five minutes. But
I choose to fight.

OUT NOW

SALVATION

Book 5 in the Secret Apocalypse
series

A World on Fire

Book 6 in the Secret Apocalypse
series

OUT NOW

The Lost Journal

A Secret Apocalypse Story

The Lost Journal Part 2

Villains of the Apocalypse

A Short Story

OTHER WORKS BY JAMES HARDEN

Ninja Vs Samurai

For more info visit

http://jamesharden.blogspot.com/

The following is an excerpt from Salvation - Book 2
in the Secret Apocalypse series.

Three days to live.

Three days to die.

I wake slowly and I open my eyes and I realize I must’ve passed out
again.

“
I choose to fight.”

I say this out loud. Like a mantra. Like a
goddamn war cry.

I stand up, using the table and chairs for
support.

And I am ready to fight. I am
ready
for
the
fight.

But…

But…

I
am
alone.

I
am locked
and trapped in an interrogation room.
And
this room is a box made out of concrete. And the room spins. Faster
and faster. The whole world spins.

My legs are weak and I fall to my knees and I
close my eyes. I shut them as tight as I can.

I know I need to make a move. I need to do
something with my last days on earth, but right now, I am trapped
inside a concrete box. I am miles below the earth’s surface in a
military installation known as the ‘Fortress’.

I am trapped inside a prison within a
prison.

I pass out.

And when I wake, I can’t move. I stay curled up
on the floor. I stare at the ceiling.

Hours pass.

I haven’t moved from the floor of the
interrogation room since I woke. I haven’t moved because I can’t
move. The man in the gas mask pumped me full of powerful
sedatives.

Chemical handcuffs.

My limbs feel like lead. It feels like earth’s
gravity has increased exponentially. I can barely breathe. I read
somewhere this is how a lot of heroin addicts die. They overdose;
the opiate subdues and depresses their airways, their lungs. They
stop breathing. They suffocate.

I have been passing in and out of consciousness
for nine hours now.

Nine hours and forty-four minutes and
thirty-two seconds.

I know the exact time because strapped to my
wrist is a digital watch.

A timer has been set. A countdown.

The watch was given to me by a man wearing a
gas mask that he has stitched into his scalp. The watch was given
to me not as a present. Not as a gift. More as a sick reminder of
how long I have left. And I am watching the hours disappear. I am
watching my life disappear.

Along with the sedatives, I have also been
injected with a time release nano-virus. And when the countdown
reaches zero, the virus will be activated. When the countdown
reaches zero, I am screwed. I am dead.

The man in the gas mask said. “The nano-bots
will eat you from the inside. There is no stopping it.”

The watch currently reads: sixty-two hours and
ten minutes.

So I need to get moving.
I need to get out of this room.
I need to find my friends.

Maria.

Jack.

Kenji.

Kim.

Big Ben.

I know they are down here somewhere. I know
they are because I choose to believe they are.

And I choose to believe they are still
alive.

So I need to get moving.

But right now I am curled up in the fetal
position and I am suffocating.

Come on, Rebecca. Move!

There is only one door to this room. I actually
don’t know if it is locked. I hope it’s not. I don’t have the
strength to kick it down.

There is a giant one way mirror situated on one
of the walls. I suppose I could break the glass. But I have no idea
who or what is on the other side. The noise of breaking glass would
also be bad.

I’m not entirely sure, but I think this section
of the Fortress is now completely overrun with infected people.
Noise attracts them. Like a lightning rod. A magnet. Life attracts
them. My heartbeat. The electrical impulses that my brain and my
body produce.

This is how sharks hunt.

They sense electrical impulses in the
water.

This information is swirling around in my head.
I don’t know why. It is long forgotten and fairly useless trivia I
learnt during ‘shark week’ one year.

I need to get it together. I need to
focus.

Come on, Rebecca. Focus!

But it is hard to focus. It is hard because I
am terrified. I am starting to realize that I have stumbled into
hell. Willingly. And down here there are all manner of demons and
killers. Butchers and torturers. Maniacs and
psychopaths.

Yes.

This is hell.

And this small realization begs me to ask the
question: Am I already dead? Have I died and descended to hell for
the sins I have committed?

But what sins have I committed?

Let’s recap.

I stole a ‘My Little Pony’ from Wal-Mart once.
Her name was Cotton Candy. She came with a special accessory. A
special limited edition brush that you could use to brush her mane
and tail with. I just had to have it.

So I stole it.

And then I stole a GI JOE action figure with
special Kung Fu grip to protect Cotton Candy from poachers and evil
businessmen who worked at the dog food factory and the glue
factory.

I realize this is stupid

And after I smuggled the toys home without
anyone at the store finding out, without my mother finding out, I
felt so bad and so guilty that I couldn’t even play with the toys
anyway.

Cotton Candy would look at me with those big
beautiful eyes, judging me. It’s as if she was saying, “You don’t
deserve to brush my beautiful pink mane.”

GI JOE would look at me and say, “Real American
Heroes do not steal.”

And who cares about toys? God?

No.

God does not care about toys.

God does not care about the trivial.

God does not care about My Little
Pony.

So what sins have I committed? Why am I being
punished? Why would God punish me?

For death I have caused.

For murder.

I killed a man. An old fisherman with a messy,
grey beard. But he deserved to die, didn’t he? He was crazy, wasn’t
he?

Yes. He was a butcher. A cannibal. He deserved
to die and I did the right thing. I will defend my actions. To my
last breath.

But maybe I have already taken my last
breath.

Again, the question is begging to be
asked.

Begging.

Am I already dead?

Is this hell?

Where is the devil? Where is Lucifer? I need to
speak to that crazy son of a bitch. I need him to send me back.
I’ve got things to do.

I need to find my friends.

I need to get them to safety.

I need to save Maria Marsh.

I need to kill the man in the gas mask and
anyone else who gets in my way.

There is a whole list of things I need to do
before I die.

Before I die in exactly sixty-two hours and
seven minutes.

I can hear a noise.

It’s this weird beeping noise. A
reminder.

An alarm.

My watch beeps every hour. On the
hour.

I now have sixty-two hours left.

Seven minutes just disappeared in the blink of
an eye.

Time does not exist in hell, in the
afterlife.

Heaven. Hell. Purgatory.

Eternity.

Darkness again.

And then light.

Asleep.

Awake.

Conscious.

Unconscious.

Eight more hours pass and I keep having this
dream. I had it just then. You know the dream. You’ve had it
before. Everyone has.

You’re giving a speech.

You’re giving a presentation.

You’re taking a test.

An exam.

All of a sudden you’re not wearing any pants.
All of a sudden you’re naked. In public. Everyone sees. Everyone
stares.

This is a dream about fear. The fear of
failure.

This is a dream about not being
prepared.

And I’ve been having this dream a lot lately.
It’s funny how our sub-conscious can articulate our fears so
clearly. So concisely. So accurately.

For example, when I was fifteen, I had this
part time job back in Brooklyn at a fast-food joint. You know the
one. I only worked there for a few months, and I don’t know if it
was the worst job in the world, but it sure felt like it. The store
manager was an absolute jerk.

Anyway, I gave my notice. I quit.

The manager was shocked. “Is everything all
right?” he asked. “We were just about to give you a pay rise. A
promotion. More responsibility. It would look great on your resume
for future employment prospects.”