A Boston mall is under siege by six terrorists. Only one man can stop them: Jack Hunter, an agent of the Anti-Terrorism Unit (ATU). But his mission is not over yet. After the shootings, a deadly virus is spreading in Boston—and only Jack Hunter can stop it. He discovers that someone is behind this outbreak, and they have a sinister plan to destroy the city.
Meanwhile, Sybil Crewes, a former ATU agent, is in a mental hospital for PTSD after surviving the Nightbird attack, a bioweapon that stripped the skin off its victims during the COVID-19 pandemic. When someone tries to kill her, she realizes she knows something that could stop the Tranq virus, a drug that zombifies its victims. She teams up with Jack to find the cure and save the world.
As they race against time to find the cure, they discover a shocking truth that changes everything.
Pandemic: Survival is a fast-paced modern suspense thriller novel.
Boston sure was heating up in June when Phil McGee was on the lookout. The street was crowded, and even though it was mid-afternoon, he hadn’t had breakfast yet. Last night, he lost all his money gambling.
Phil was in his late twenties, but looked older because of all he’d been through. The contrast between his thin and wiry build and his short, brown hair and scruffy beard was quite apparent. His eyes were a striking blue color, but they were constantly in motion, moving around rapidly and nervously.
The faded denim jacket he wore was layered over a stained hoodie, which he paired with torn jeans with knee holes. He had a pair of shoes that were worn out he had taken from a dumpster, and he carried a backpack with his minimal belongings, including a knife, a flashlight, and some snacks.
Phil was completely alone, and his face was a mask of suspicion and distrust. Over the years, he had been arrested multiple times for petty crimes.
The collar of his leather jacket scratched his chin as he slouched down the busy street. His eyes darted from side to side, scanning for an easy mark. Phil felt his pulse quicken when he spotted a white-haired man in a black suit jacket fumbling with his keys at the back door of a shiny, red Mercedes. He shifted his focus to the young couple next to the car, who were smiling and cooing at their three small children. The kids ran around in circles, squealing with delight. They were dressed in bright colors and expensive-looking clothes. A perfect score, Phil thought.
The woman’s brown shoulder bag was an easy target, swinging carelessly from her shoulder. The wallet, phone, and jewelry danced in his imagination. He clenched his fists and made his move.
Dodging and weaving through the masses, he steadily approached them. He kept his head down and his shoulders relaxed, hoping to look harmless and inconspicuous. His hand reached out, ready to snatch the bag and bolt. But just as he touched the leather strap, the woman spun around and passed it to the man, who tossed it in the car’s trunk.
Phil’s heart ached and he felt as if the woman had slapped him in the face. He had blown his chance and he watched them get into the car, the kids giggling and chattering in the back seat, the woman kissing the man on the cheek in the front. She giggled and climbed into the back seat next to her children. The white-haired man slammed the door and strode around to the driver’s seat.
Phil felt a wave of rage and desperation wash over him. His broke state made him desperate. He scanned for another victim, but all he heard was the car engine roaring and all he saw was it speeding away.
Swearing under his breath, he sprinted away, feeling like he was under constant scrutiny. After running for what seemed like an eternity he stopped, panting and wheezing. With his hands on his knees, he looked around and spotted a woman in a red suit jacket clutching a purse.
Phil gulped some air and wiped the sweat from his forehead. His stomach gnawed. He wet his lips, and the salty taste of sweat was on his tongue as he looked at the woman.
With a camera around her neck and a map in her other hand, the woman looked like a tourist; the sun bouncing off her lenses and the map crinkling in her grip. This woman was an easy mark, presenting little resistance. Newly arrived in the city, taking in the sights, and apparently following the red brick Freedom Trail, which was a red line in the sidewalk so a tourist would not have to constantly consult a map.
His eyes locked on her purse as he followed her, keeping a few steps behind. At the crosswalk, she stood still and checked the traffic light. He closed in on her, pretending to scroll through his phone, and then lunged for her pooch purse.
A surge of agony ripped through his arm. He glanced down. A dog had sunk its teeth into his flesh. The black-and-white fur of the Jack Russell terrier contrasted with his blood, making it look even more savage despite its small size. To make matters worse, this snarling, snapping, gnashing fiend, which Phil couldn’t help but think of as a ravenous piranha, had a collar that read Spot. Phil screamed as he flailed his arm, trying to shake off the relentless chomper, but the dog held on tight. The woman in the red suit jacket whirled around, her jacket flapping in the stillness. She gasped and ran to him, her heels clacking on the pavement.
“Spot! Stop it! Bad dog!” she yelled as she grabbed the dog by the collar and pulled him away while apologizing to Phil, who was bleeding from his arm. “I’m so sorry! He’s usually so friendly. I don’t know what got into him. Are you OK?”
Phil was so taken aback, he could not find the words to reply. When he looked at her face, he felt a warmth in his chest that had been missing for a long time. Her beauty was mesmerizing; her long, brown hair was like a gentle river, and her eyes were the color of grass. She had a kind smile and spoke in a voice so soft and calming that he could feel her genuine concern for him.
For a moment, he heard a voice inside his head telling him to confess that he was a thief trying to take her purse. He wanted her to know that he was not content with his life and he needed to make some changes. To let her know he was into her and wanted to get to know her better. But he couldn’t. In his mind he felt the cold metal of the handcuffs, knowing it would end with him locked up. Rather than verbally responding, he nodded and uttered something suggesting he was fine.
“Let me buy you lunch.” She spoke with a kind voice, her expression full of understanding. “I don’t mean to be insensitive, but you look awfully hungry,” she added.
“No thanks,” he said.
“If you change your mind, I’m Natalie,” she said, her lips curving into a smile as she opened her purse and handed him a glossy business card. Natalie Principal, Medical Examiner.
“I can take you to a clinic not too far away,” she offered, her voice soft and soothing.
Phil shook his head and muttered, “No thanks, I have to go,” before turning and walking away, his chest tight and heavy. He walked on until he reached his usual spot under the bridge, where the sound of running water drowned out his thoughts. He lowered himself onto the ground, feeling the cool, damp grass stick to his pants as he thoroughly examined his injured arm. Blood oozed from the bite marks, but not too much.
With a pained expression, he opened his bag and tightly bound a stained cloth around his arm, hoping to ease the discomfort, before hurling Natalie’s business card into the flowing water. With a deep breath, he pushed her and her dog, Spot, out of his mind. With a sigh he got up and walked out from under the bridge, breathing in the musty river smell. The sun glared off the cars as they zoomed past him, the pavement burning his shoes as he crossed the street, back in action. It was a great day to go for a hunt—but steer clear of women with dogs.
After walking for over an hour, hungry, desperate, and with that throbbing pain in his arm, he reached Copley Square. Someone dropped half a sandwich. He waited until the woman was out of sight, picked it up, chased a bird away, and blew some sand off it before eating it. He felt lucky. From across the street, a few dazzling lights from the mall drew him in.
He sensed an opportunity to find an easy target among the shoppers. Stepping inside, he was met with a blast of cold air that made him shiver. His eyes flicked to the mall security guard stationed near the entrance. Phil breezed past the young guard engrossed in her cell phone as he scanned his surroundings.
People swarmed everywhere. The air was a mix of popcorn, perfume, and pizza smells that tickled his nose. Music, laughter, and chatter filled his ears. A rainbow of colors in clothing, signs, and decorations dazzled his eyes.
Phil slipped through the crowd like a shadow, avoiding eye contact. Despite the pain in his arm, he maintained a poker face. He promised himself some painkillers and a decent meal once he scored some cash. After a deep breath, he glimpsed an elderly man stumbling through the shoppers, his walker squeaking in the busy mall. The old man had a fat wallet in his back pocket. Phil trailed the old man with Red Sox cap and a summer outfit that showed off his fish-belly-white skin. His spindly legs stuck out like toothpicks, his knobby knees bulging below his shorts.
Phil kept a safe distance, ready to pounce at any moment. The old man stopped before a store window, clearly straining his ears to hear the muffled announcements about a lost boy. This was it. Phil scanned the area. He crept closer to the old man, his heart beating faster with each step, until he was right behind him and no one seemed to care. In one swift motion, he snatched the wallet from his pocket and sprinted away. While making his escape, he collided with a plump woman with curly hair, wearing dark sunglasses and a colorful summer dress. The old man shrieked, his voice bouncing off the walls that someone had robbed him. He gripped the walker with a steady hand. With his other hand he pointed at Phil, who looked up to see himself hemmed in by four men, all dressed in jeans and matching red shirts with Red Sox baseball caps.
What to do? How do I escape safely? His eyes darted around. Two mall security guards, both in their blue uniforms, entered the area.
“Hang on,” one of them said. “We’ll take it from here.” As he looked into Phil’s eyes, the bearded guard shook his head. “The police will know what to do with you.”
As Phil was about to be dragged away by the guards, gunshots exploded from above. Guns roared from the balcony, where six masked gunmen in green parkas sprayed bullets at random. Screams and shouts filled the air. People dove for cover as glass shattered around them. Bullets whizzed past them. A couple fell to the ground as they clawed their way to the exit, blood gushing from their backs. Panic and terror gripped the crowd as they saw flashes of gunfire and smoke. One of the masked terrorists flicked his cigarette and aimed his gun as he rode down the escalator, firing at anyone in sight. He stopped when he reached Phil, who was curled up on the floor, tears rolling down his face, mirroring the sobs of the two guards beside him, and pressed the gun to his temple.
“Get up, you fool,” he barked.
Phil obeyed him.
“So, you stole a wallet, huh?” he sneered, jabbing the gun under Phil’s chin. “You know. In some countries, they ask you which hand you used to steal it. And then…” the terrorist laughed. “They chop it off, nice and easy. Here in the West, we do things differently. Civilized as we are, we put you on trial.”
Phil was speechless and terrified.
“Now return the wallet to your victim,” the terrorist commanded.
Phil nodded. Sweat dripped from his forehead as he searched for the old man, his heart pounding in his chest. He saw the walker—tipped over—and then spotted its owner on the floor. He was still and silent, eyes wide open, staring blankly at nothing, a pool of red growing on the surrounding floor.
“But he’s—” Phil stammered. He felt the gun dig into his back.
“Do it!”
Phil felt a lump in his throat as he gently laid the wallet on the old man.
“Do you believe in God?” the terrorist asked.
Phil shook his head, frozen in fear, kneeling over the old man’s body.
“Well, that’s too bad,” the terrorist said. “Because I’m going to send him a message.” He pulled the trigger. A bullet pierced Phil’s back. He felt a sharp, powerful force overwhelm him, as if lightning had struck him. A violent wave of pain surged through his body. Then another shot rang out, this time through his head.