As promised, here are the first three chapters of The Nephilim Virus. To see my thoughts, notes, and some behind-the-scenes information just mouse over the words in blue or simply tap them on a mobile device. No spoilers, I promise. Enjoy!

To jump forward to a specific chapter just click on the chapter links here: Chapter 2   Chapter 3

I woke up at exactly 4:37 p.m. from the longest nap of my life.

A half dozen people dressed in scrubs and lab coats rushed into my room to examine me. Some poked and prodded; others watched monitors or tubes. Someone stuck a needle in my arm. When I pulled away, a Velcro strap clamped my wrist to a metal bar. There was a similar strap on my other wrist and both my ankles.

They finished drawing blood and wiped a cotton ball across the punctured vein. It felt like sandpaper. I tried to focus on breathing so I wouldn’t pass out. I tried not to panic, but the walls were so close I could reach out and touch them. Could, if I weren’t strapped down.

My hands shook, and I realized they were balled tightly into fists. A worried-looking woman leaned over me. Her lips moved, but I couldn’t make out what she was saying. She stood up and pointed, yelling something. My breath was shallow. The edges of my vision turned black. The fingers of darkness reached toward the center of my sight.

People hurried out of the room. I closed my eyes and concentrated on each breath. In and out. In and out. I felt oxygen rush into the vacuum of my lungs and then back out as my body relaxed. In and out. One breath at a time.

Slowly, my senses returned. When I opened my eyes, the darkness was gone; so were the people. Only the woman who had leaned over me remained. Pretty, petite, she moved with the grace of someone comfortable in her own skin. Her blonde hair fell just over the collar of her white lab coat.

My eyes darted around the large room. Empty beds lined one wall. I did a quick count. Ten. There were monitors attached to each one. My nose itched, but when I tried to raise my arm to scratch, the strap bit into my wrist. It made me angry. I licked my lips, but my tongue felt like dry leather. My mouth tasted moldy.

I looked back at the doctor. She smiled at me. I didn’t smile back. She reached out and snagged a chair, walked it to my bedside, and sat down. She adjusted her black-rimmed glasses before she spoke. Her eyes were green.

“How do you feel?”

I wanted to scream that I was tied down, but I didn’t. I didn’t say anything.

“Can you speak?”

I nodded.

“What do you remember?”

I tried to remember something from before I fell asleep, but my brain still wasn’t functioning to full capacity. It was like a computer trying to reboot.

“Who are you?” I asked. My mouth was dry and the words came out jumbled. I tried again. “Who are you?”

She looked down at a clipboard and marked something. “Interesting that you would ask who I am first and not why you are tied to a hospital bed.”

“Do you know your own name?” She made another note.

“Yes.”

“How about we share information? I’ll tell you who I am after you tell me who you are.”

“Nick.”

“Do you have a last name, Nick?”

“Reece.”

“OK, Nick Reece. My name is Dr. Faith Richards. I’m a hematologist.” She flipped a couple pages on her clipboard.

I licked my dry lips. “How do you know that’s my real name? I could have lied.”

She smiled. “Me too.”

I smiled back. “Now, can you tell me why I’m tied to this bed?” I barely croaked out my question. She picked up a Styrofoam cup and lifted my head, and I drank the lukewarm water. It felt good dribbling down my chin.

“What do you remember?”

My brain seemed to have rebooted. “Lots of things. What do you remember?”

“I remember asking you first.”
 This girl was quick. I liked her. “I remember a crash.”

She nodded. “Good. And . . .”

“I remember asking you why I’m tied to this bed.” Two could play this game.

“How about this? You answer my questions, and I’ll tell you why you woke up strapped to a bed.”

“Why should I have to answer first?”

“Because you’re the one strapped to the bed,” she said without missing a beat.

She had a point.

“I remember being in a plane crash. I was flying to LAX.

We were about thirty minutes out, somewhere over the desert, when the plane started to shake. The pilot came on and told us we had hit some turbulence but that we’d be through it soon. I was in the bathroom, so I went back to my seat and buckled up. I remember buckling up and then . . .” I paused, trying to piece it all together in the right order. She waited patiently.

“And then I heard a loud noise. Similar to a gunshot, except louder. And the plane jerked and started to drop.” I paused again, trying to recall. “And that’s all I can remember.”

“That’s OK. How does your head feel now?”

“Fine.” It wasn’t a complete lie.

“Do you remember everything before the plane crash?”

I searched my memory. Everything seemed to check out. I nodded.

“That’s good. That’s very good,” she said. “May I take your pulse?”

She leaned across me and placed her first two fingers on my neck. They felt warm and soft. She was taking my pulse by hand even though I was hooked to a heart monitor. I could see my heart rate on the screen—sixty-two beats per minute.

She left her fingers on my neck for an eternity. Beneath the lab coat she was wearing a plaid, button-up shirt that matched her eyes. I stared at her neckline. A small, silver cross swung from her perfect skin.

She glanced down and saw me looking. Another smile. “That’s a beautiful necklace.”
She removed her fingers and made another note on the clipboard. “Thanks.” She reached up and held it between her thumb and index finger.

“So, Doc. Am I going to make it?”

She started to say something but was interrupted by a guy in scrubs opening the door. “It looks like he’s still clean.”

She nodded.

“Do you need me to stay and help?”

“No, thank you, Devin. I’ll be fine. I can handle it.”

Devin looked unsure, but closed the door as he left.

“Can I get out of this bed now?”

“Yes, but I need to tell you a few things first.”

My patience was wearing thin, and I could feel another attack of claustrophobia coming on. I took a deep breath and willed it away.

“Your memory is correct. You were in a plane crash in the desert outside of Los Angeles.” She consulted her notes. “The plane was carrying 137 passengers and six crew members. Of those, only you and three other passengers survived. The rest of the passengers and all the crew died in the crash. The surviving passengers rescued were found comatose. You were brought to Mercy General Hospital, and that’s where you are now.”

“I’ve been in a coma?”

“Yes.”

“For how long?”

“Three years.”

“I’ve been in a coma for three years?” I yelled, bucking at the restraints.

“Calm down, Nick.” She laid her hand on my arm.

I thrashed on the bed, yanking the straps. “No! Why am I tied down? Let me go.”

“I will, as soon as you calm down. I need to tell you one more thing.”

Devin appeared at the door again. “Are you OK, Dr. Richards? Do you need me to sedate him?”

Devin looked even more unsure this time, but he backed out and closed the door.

I glared at the door as he left. Breathe in and out. In and out. Dr. Richards—Faith—stroked my arm. I focused on how soft her skin felt. How warm her touch. Slowly, my breath slowed and I relaxed as much as anyone could while tied down to a hospital bed.

“There’s one more thing you need to know,” she said. “But I need you to promise me you will remain calm.”

I nodded.

“Promise?”

“Yes.”

“Good,” she said. “The world is quite a bit different than what you remember. It will be a big shock.”

“What do you mean, ‘different’? A new version of the smartphone?”

She didn’t smile. “Quite a bit different than that, I’m afraid.”

“How much could have changed in the last three years?”

“OK.”

She removed the restraints one by one. I slowly sat up and tried to massage the feeling back into my legs, but they felt foreign to me.

“Be careful,” she said. “You haven’t used your limbs for a long time. You won’t be able to walk. It could take weeks for your body to remember how to work.”

I nodded and slowly slid my legs over the edge of the bed. My feet touched the cool linoleum, but they were still wooden—limp. I tried to stand, but my legs gave out and I fell back onto the bed. Faith watched, interested. I tried again, but I still couldn’t make my legs work. I fell again. I took a moment to catch my breath before I tried again. Same result.

“Like I said, it could take weeks or even months of rehab before you can walk again. I’ll get a wheelchair.” She started to turn away.

“No!” I responded by trying to stand again. This time I used the bed to pull myself up. I was able to stay on my feet for all of five seconds before I fell back. But it was five seconds longer than I had stood in a long time. Sweat moistened my forehead. The doctor said nothing. She also made no move to get that wheelchair. Instead, she seemed extremely interested in my effort to walk. She continued to take notes on her clipboard.

For the next half hour, the doc intently watched as I relentlessly tried to stand on legs that felt like they had never been used before. Every single time I wobbled and fell back on the bed, but every time I stood back up a little faster and stayed on my feet a little longer. Slowly, I felt strength and feeling returning. Eventually, I took a timid step. My knees buckled, and I collapsed in a pile on the floor.

Dr. Richards quickly helped me back to the bed and once more offered to get a wheelchair. I refused and resumed trying to walk, this time staying beside the bed so I could use it for support. Thirty minutes later, I was able to stumble my way across the room with substantial help from the doctor.

“This is unbelievable,” she said.

I grunted and fell heavily onto the bed. “What is?”

“It doesn’t feel that amazing.”

“It is. This could be very good.” She thought for a second. “Or very bad.”

“How so?” I asked.

“That’s what I’m going to show you.”

Thirty minutes later we exited the room, but at least I wasn’t confined to a wheelchair. I still had trouble walking, but the pretty doctor kept her arm around my waist. I leaned on her for help, maybe even a little more than I had to.

We shuffled our way to the roof of the hospital. Outside my room there had been a handful of men and women dressed in hospital garb. They stopped and stared as we slowly made our way to the elevator, but a look from Dr. Richards sent them back to their tasks. Devin obviously wanted to follow us, but he stayed put. One younger girl in pink scrubs also offered me a wheelchair, but I turned her down. I needed to get my body back in working order and a wheelchair wouldn’t help. Plus leaning on the doc for balance made the effort worth it.

As we hobbled toward the edge of the roof, she cautioned me. “Be very quiet.”

Odd. But the sun on my face felt so good I stayed silent. The day was still bright and warm. Spring, maybe? The light seemed to revive me a little more. On the corner of the roof I noticed a man with what looked like a rifle, or possibly just a long telescope. He was looking out from the hospital. I followed his gaze.

The hospital sat in the middle of a large open area. All the trees and bushes had been cleared from around the building for at least two hundred yards in all directions. At the outskirts of the bare ground, a tall, chain-link fence surrounded the property. It made the place look more like a compound than a hospital. Three more black-clad men stood at each corner of the building, all peering out at the fence. I looked at Dr. Richards, raising my brows in question, but she motioned me with a finger to her lips to be quiet. She handed me a pair of binoculars she had picked up on the way out.

I put the lenses to my eyes and scanned the property again. There wasn’t a single person inside the fence around the hospital building. Not one. But it did look like there was a group of people on the outside. I readjusted the binoculars and looked again. Hundreds of people wandered around on the other side of the fence. They all moved slowly, like they were tired. But no one seemed to be trying to get inside the fence. I brought the glasses down and looked at the doctor. What was going on?

She motioned for us to go back inside and opened the heavy, metal door. When it closed behind us, she said, “There is one more thing I should show you. It will help you understand.”

We hobbled back to the elevator.

“Why are all those people out there?”

“Do you have any family, Nick Reece?” She used my full name.

“You can call me Nick.”

“Thank you, and you can feel free to call me Doctor.” She smiled.

I chuckled. It felt good. “OK, Doc.”

“I’m kidding. Call me Faith.”

“Whatever you say, Doc.” She laughed.

“Do you have any family, Nick?”

“Does that make you feel unwanted?”

She smiled as we stepped into the elevator. She scanned a security card from her pocket and pushed the button for the basement.

The elevator moved downward slowly. I took the opportunity to try again. “What’s going on? Why are all those people out there on the other side of the fence?”

“They’re . . . ” She seemed to be searching for the right word. “. . . sick.”

“Then why aren’t they in here? This is a hospital, isn’t it?”

“It used to be.”

“Used to be? What does that mean? And what do you mean by sick?”

“It will be easier if I show you.” As if on cue, the elevator stopped and the doors opened. We were in the basement.

We made our way into the room, and I only had to lean against the wall to catch my breath once. Faith led me to a glass lab that stood in the center. But when I got closer, I saw that it wasn’t a lab at all; it was more like a glass cage. Steel bars ran along all four corners to reinforce the thick glass. There was someone inside.

“What is this place? Why do you have a person locked inside a glass box?” The words come out sharper and louder than I intended.

Faith straightened and let go of me. “You don’t understand. We didn’t have a choice. So shut up until you know what you’re talking about!”

I shut up.

“Just watch.”

I did. The man inside appeared to be in his mid-twenties.

“He can’t see or hear us. The glass is one-way and it’s soundproof. The oxygen is pumped in from the outside, so he can’t smell us either.”

I wondered why she was telling me about the box instead of the human being inside.

She walked over to a microphone built into the glass. I could see a speaker built into the wall on the other side. She clicked the button. “Hello, Steven, how . . . ?” Her voice broke, and she released the button.

Inside the box, Steven came alive. It was as if he turned into another person. His eyes went from pale green and lifeless to a burning orange color. He threw himself at the speaker and clawed at it with his fingers, trying to tear it from the wall. His fingers started bleeding, but the blood didn’t slow him. He continued clawing with all his might. Scratching. Digging. Trying to bite the glass like a rabid animal.

Faith pressed another button and the space inside the box slowly filled with fog. Steven kept biting and clawing at the speaker until the haze enveloped him Still, his bloody fingers parted the fog and dug at the speaker.

Finally, he stopped.

I said nothing. I still had no idea what was going on.

She took a breath and wiped her eyes with the back of her hands. “All of those people you saw outside the fence are also sick.”

“Why aren’t they in here? With him?”

“We can’t let them inside the hospital with us. They don’t understand that we—that I—want to help them.”

“What’s wrong with them?”

“They’re infected. They’ve been exposed to a blood-borne virus.”

“No.” She sighed. “Zombies are fictional characters in horror movies. They are undead. These people are very much alive. They eat, they breathe. They’re just sick. The disease makes them even more alive. It makes them superhuman.”

“How so?”

“How much do you know about blood?”

“Not much.”

“Then I’ll keep it simple. The virus binds to their red blood cells, much like the O2 molecule does. The circulatory system goes to every part of the body; the blood feeds every organ. The virus gives them almost superhuman muscular strength and speed. The only area that seems to be adversely affected is the brain. Infected people show a severe decline in intelligence and mental acuity. We’re still not sure why that is, but we think blood flow to the brain has been stunted. It’s the only reason we have since we’ve been unable to communicate with an infected person.” She looked back at Steven. “He can’t understand that I want to help him.”

I said nothing as I tried to process the information.

“The five senses are heightened slightly, with the possible exception of taste. We still don’t know how their taste is affected.”

“What do they eat?”

“Except each other, they’ll eat anything living. Including us.”

“Us?”

“They’re especially drawn to the sound of humans, any human-like noise. And smell—they can smell uninfected blood. They are drawn to it. It drives them crazy, like sharks in the ocean.”

That explained the box. “That’s insane.”

“It’s a lot to take in all at once. Do you need to sit?”

I shook my head. “Continue.”

I was trying to follow along. “So, the virus in the infected people kills the white blood cells, and their bodies can’t fight the disease?”

“You would think so, but no. Actually, it’s the opposite. Infected people have more white blood cells. About 55 percent of their blood is made up of white blood cells.”

“Over half?”

“Yes. They have virtually no blood plasma. This would kill a normal human because the blood would be too thick for the heart to pump it through the body, but somehow the virus in the red blood cells makes the heart strong enough to handle the pressure.”

“Then how can they be killed?”

“We don’t know.”

“What do you mean you don’t know? Can they die?” I asked.

“Not that anyone has recorded.”

“No.”

I was speechless.

“They have more blood than a normal human. We think this helps account for their increased strength and speed. Like I said, the average adult has close to five liters. We think the infected have somewhere between eight and ten liters. Each red blood cell can carry up to four oxygen molecules to the muscles to help them perform and then recover. As soon as your body can’t deliver any more oxygen, you tire out. But if your body had twice as many red blood cells—”

“You’d be twice as fast and strong,” I finished for her. “And you would recover twice as fast.”

I thought about it. “Is that why you said it could be very bad that I’m up and moving so quickly after my coma? Are you worried I’m going to turn into that?” I pointed to the glass cage.

“He’s not a ‘that.’ His name is Steven!”

I had touched a nerve.

She took a breath. “Your blood shows no infection, but it is very unusual that you recovered so quickly. Most people would be in rehab for months, and some never recover the movement you have only hours after you woke up.”

I didn’t want to think about what that might mean. “Is there a cure?”

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