Chapter 1
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.”
“OK,” I said. “Why am I tied to this bed? And who are you?”
“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?”
“No, Devin. Thank you. We’re fine. Thanks for checking.”
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?”
“Too much.” Her hand moved toward the strap around my wrist. “I’m going to show you, but remember your promise to remain calm.”
“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?”
“That you can move at all. After three years you should have severe muscular atrophy. Most people can’t even hold a spoon for weeks, but you walked across the room. It’s amazing.”
“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.
I hope you enjoyed the first chapter of The Nephilim Virus.
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Chapter 1
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.”
“OK,” I said. “Why am I tied to this bed? And who are you?”
“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?”
“No, Devin. Thank you. We’re fine. Thanks for checking.”
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?”
“Too much.” Her hand moved toward the strap around my wrist. “I’m going to show you, but remember your promise to remain calm.”
“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?”
“That you can move at all. After three years you should have severe muscular atrophy. Most people can’t even hold a spoon for weeks, but you walked across the room. It’s amazing.”
“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.
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