Very excited! My new novel, Thawing A.C. Nielsen, is now up and available for "pre-sale" (just $2.99 for Kindle or other ebook format, then price goes up before the holidays) on Kindle here:
http://amzn.to/2bULRD1
Selling like crazy- please go to that link and consider ordering the ebook or at least sharing the info with other book enthusiasts! It's already hitting top 100 various genre lists on Amazon!
Newly posted there-- a 5-star review from one of the top reviewing companies! Until it goes "live for sale" there won't be any customer reviews or samples-- that happens Oct. 18th. There will also be a paperback version up soon. Check it out and please spread the word. I need all the publicity help I can get since I am not giving away my book to a mainstream publishing house!
I am wondering if any of you would consider reviewing the book. It will be released on Amazon/Kindle on October 18th. I need reviews from regular folks posted to amazon on the release day, if possible. You get a FREE pdf, word.doc or .mobi (Kindle ebook file) copy and plenty of time between now and mid-October to read it. Let me know, friends!
Chapter 27 is full of plot advancement-- and crazy talk about multiple conspiracy theories, House, M.D. and The Walking Dead!! And our new. blossoming semi-main character finally reveals who the heck they really are!
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
January
2014
“Okay, everyone, break time is over. Let’s get
back to business.”
Norm groaned. “Geez,
Amman, you’re such a taskmaster.”
“True. You can hate me
if you want,” Amman answered. “Okay, it’s been three weeks now since Mr. T
passed away. A week since Laverne, the other guinea pig we revived, died from
the prion disease as well. I know this has been painful to watch, but we’ve
collected a ton of data. So let’s review. Where are we now? Let’s slap it all
up on this whiteboard, okay?”
“We’ve got the EEG
readings, the gradual decline in behavior,” Kate said.
“The brain autopsies you
did, Amman,” Chrissy added.
“Right,” Amman answered.
“We’ve established the prion disease in Mr. T. and Laverne. But where did it
come from? What have we got on that? And don’t forget, on the positive side,
all the tumors these animals had somehow disappeared miraculously. As strange
as that seems, it’s true.” The door opened and Mike and Miles entered quietly.
“Edouard is out of town
for a week, but we’ve been talking via e-mail about the cancer,” Kate said.
“He’s a bit stumped. He doesn’t think the prion disease has any relationship to
the disappearance of the tumors. He’ll be back here in a couple days.”
“All right, so there’s
some input from our oncologist—that’s good.” Amman scribbled all the
observations on the whiteboard. “So, the prion origin—we think it’s not lab
contamination, right?”
“Correct,” said Ritika,
who had returned from Boston to help out. “When we revived Laverne we got the
same results. She had the prion disease and died, too, but she came from a
different source. The odds are that lab contamination here is not the issue.”
“All right, people, look
at the board,” Amman challenged. “What connects? Where is the prion disease
coming from? Two animals in a row have sporadic prion disease? I find that an
unlikely coincidence.”
“I dig the whiteboard
approach, just like on House, huh,
Amman?” Miles ventured. “House was a
good show. But I wish season six hadn’t been such a downer.”
Kate couldn’t help but
roll her eyes. “Well hello, Mr. Miles, hello, Mr. Burgess,” she said. “Miles,
we’re already aware of your fondness for television and House, M.D. in particular. Right now, we’re trying to figure out
where the prion disease is originating.”
“Well, I’ve been doing
some research,” Miles announced “And, by the way, props to whoever named all
those lab animals back in the 1980s—Mr. T, Laverne & Shirley, Urkel the white
rat—pretty funny.”
“That would be Keith,
our chief security guard. He made those all up. We have his cat in cryo, too,”
Chrissy said.
“Okay, Miles. We’re
trying to work here,” Kate said impatiently.
“Let him talk, Kate—seriously,”
Mike said.
“So, research, Miles?”
Amman interrupted. “What do you have for us?”
“I may have changed my
mind from back when I said the prion disease we found was the sporadic form.
Who here has seen The Walking Dead?”
A few hands went up. Kate’s blood was boiling—all this Miles TV show nonsense.
“Well, here’s the deal,”
Miles explained. “We’re all Walkers.”
Silence. Dead silence.
Finally, Chrissy squinted her face and asked, “What the hell do you mean?”
“If one of you
volunteered here right now and let me crack open your head, I’ll find prions.
You’re a Walker-in-waiting.”
“C’mon, man, you’re
nuts,” Norm said, derisively.
“No, I’m ninety-nine
percent certain,” Miles insisted. “It’s there. Remember when Shane died in
season two of Walking Dead? He hadn’t
been attacked by a Walker, but he reanimated when he died. Then they start
figuring it out. The Walker pathogen was in everybody. Pretty spooky, huh?”
“So you’re saying we all
have prion disease?” Amman asked.
“Yes, in varying
degrees. And this theory easily explains why you had two guinea pigs in a row
with prion disease, understand? In modern times it’s no longer an anomaly, an
outlier.”
“Okay, Miles, I think
you’re crazy, but hell, I’ll go down the rabbit hole with you,” Amman said.
“Norm, roll that other whiteboard over here. Let’s give this one a clean
slate.”
“Dang, this isn’t an
episode of House—it’s a fucking full
season,” Chrissy whispered to Ritika.
“Okay,” Miles explained,
“here’s what I’ve got. I’ve dug around and found out that we’ve got an
explosion of incidences of CJD—that’s the form people get, remember? It’s being
hushed up, by the way. And we’re now easily detecting the presence of more and
more prions in our soil, especially in the Midwest corporate farming zone, like
Illinois, Indiana, Wisconsin, Iowa, Nebraska, et cetera. Also, the numbers are
highest where the heaviest pesticide usage is. Prions love pesticides. Over the
last three decades they’ve become more and more present in the produce food
chain—tomatoes, carrots, watermelon—and really big-time in corn. And that’s a
big uh-oh, I am sure you can imagine why. From the ground, through the corn
plants, then into all the thousands of crappy corn-based foods and beverages
being produced—it’s all contaminated. All the people eating the shit that the
mega food companies churn out are in danger. And I haven’t even started talking
about what corn-shit we’re feeding our cattle and other livestock.”
“Quite a conspiracy
theory, Miles,” Norm said. “And your sources for this—more TV shows?”
“No. Emphatically no.
University research, independent labs, private foundations that actually care
about our health. All the folks that the FDA doesn’t want to listen to since
everybody there is controlled by the corporate farming PACs. There’s so much
dirty money going on. Hell, I think they all know what’s happening, but the
greed still stops them from admitting we have a catastrophe lurking here.”
“So we’re all going to
die from this? A big epidemic? Like Walking
Dead?” Ritika asked. “It sounds pretty far-fetched.”
“Anything’s possible,” Miles
said. “It could go really bad, hard to say. Things could go better if people
actually wanted to stop being so damn lazy—if the whole country decided to stop
stuffing their faces with corn chips and stop drinking high fructose soda. Say
no to crap food and get off their fat asses and exercise.”
“And what else?” Kate
asked.
“Like start eating true
organic food. No pesticides. Maybe your apple isn’t so pretty, but it won’t
kill you. Stop eating corn products completely. Some trace metals, like
manganese, make the prion condition worse. Some others may actually help fight
the effects. Pot makes it better—cannabinoids, especially the Cannabichromene
form—CBC. There’s also a cure in development.”
“Wait, Miles—you said a
cure? For animals? For humans? Who’s developing it?” Ritika asked.
“A research agency in
Iceland of all places. They’re even willing to ship dosages for use in
experimentation. They have partners signing up in a bunch of countries. Right
now it’s being tested in Malaysia on animals with mild symptoms. Nothing as
extreme as what Mr. T had when we brought him back. US big pharma doesn’t care
about this—at least not yet. Not enough money in it for them, obviously. But if
this thing goes Walking Dead wacko,
we’re going to need serious kick-ass drugs to fight it. Then the big Fortune
500 pharma boys will be all over this like a hobo on a ham sandwich.”
“Hobo on a ham sandwich,
Miles? I haven’t heard that one in years,” Mike chuckled. “So there you have
it, folks, some of Miles’ ideas. I thought they would interest you.”
“And tell me again where
you got all this information, including the stuff about some Iceland research
place.” Kate was still not convinced Miles wasn’t totally cuckoo.
“Here and there, but the
really meaty stuff came from Bonesaw.”
“And that’s another TV
show, right?” Kate asked. “Yup, that’s what I expected.”
“No, Kate, I know what Bonesaw
is,” Ritika volunteered. “Some young Russian-American doctors based in LA. It’s
a weird history. A tight-knit bunch of Russian Mafia dads grouped together and
put all their kids through US law school or med school, making the next
generation legit. The medical kids have created this amazing medical info
subscription service. You pay them to research things for you—global reach. It
can even be the most obscure item you’re curious about, but they’ll find it.
They’ll also personally translate anything you want into English or whatever
language you want. And it’s not like wonky BabelFish translations. They each speak
like ten languages. There are five or six guys and three or four women, I think.
It’s a big deal. I’ll show you their website. Oh yeah, they’ve also gone on
record publicly condemning all the illegal stuff their dads do.”
“Yeah, Kate, Ritika’s
got it pegged,” Miles said. “I’ve got a subscription and I’ll bet Edouard
Radelet has one, too. I’d be surprised if he didn’t. These guys’ custom-built search
engine makes Google look like an ugly baby with a fully loaded diaper.”
“All right, I have some
good news to share,” Mike said. “I’ve located a brilliant MD, a gifted surgeon
who thinks outside the box when necessary. He’s available immediately and that
could really help, since Radelet can’t do everything. We could add this doctor
to our team. What do you think?”
“I’m for it.” Amman
nodded. “A surgeon plus Edouard Radelet? Sounds great. And let’s not forget—you
want to bring back people. I’m a vet. I’m not going to be participating in
that.”
“Everyone agree with
Amman?” Mike asked. They all nodded. “Kate, Amman, Miles, can I see you in the
hallway for a moment?”
“What is it, Mike?” Kate asked. “Why are we out here in
the hall?”
“Out of respect to you. I
wouldn’t do anything to upset you in front of your team.”
“What would upset me?”
“Kate, I want to bring
this doctor in. He’s a bit unorthodox, but I think he’ll grow on you. He’s not
only a gifted diagnostician but he’s also a cardiologist. He could be the one
to reboot all these people, understand? Add this fellow’s skill set to Edouard
Radelet’s oncology and cryogenics background and we’ve got one heck of a medical
team.”
“Okay, I’m game, Mike.
When can I meet him?”
“Kate Pearson,” Mike
said, then nodded toward Miles, “I’d like to introduce you to Dr. Milstein
Coleman the Third. Dr. Coleman, Miss Pearson.” Miles tentatively extended his
hand toward Kate, smiling sheepishly. Kate hesitated out of shock, then slowly
reached out and shook Miles’ hand. Amman likewise shook his hand, then grabbed
him and gave him a giant bear hug.
“You’re a doctor?” Kate
gasped. “What? Really? I don’t get it. Mike?”
“Yes, he’s a doctor. A
fine doctor, even if he might be a little rusty. But his license to practice is
current. Got any warts you want removed?”
Miles grinned,
speechless.
“Wait, are you Milstein
or Miles?” Amman asked. “Which is it?”
“I prefer Miles for now.
But it isn’t my real name. I’m supposed to be Dr. Milstein Coleman the Third
but that didn’t work out too well for me. My grandfather was a GP. A nice man.
My father is way higher in the food chain. He’s a well-known plastic surgeon in
San Diego. Pretty damn rich. He’s also known for being a complete asshole.”
“But why do you spend
your time at the Nielsen apartment,” Kate implored. “A.C. doesn’t currently
need a doctor, right?”
“Well, long story short,
I kind of got hit by a double or triple whammy about eighteen months ago. First
off, I never had a choice of careers. My father told me I would be a doctor
when I was six. That was his expectation and I didn’t dare say no to him, ever.
And all along I had what’s called Imposter syndrome. You’ve heard of it,
perhaps?”
“Sure,” Kate said, “I
have problems with that myself from time to time. It’s damned annoying.”
“So you’re getting a
feeling for what my life was like. As a kid I hung out with the goths, the
skaters, the potheads, any group that I thought might get my dad’s disapproval.
And I was into television, movies, gaming, useless trivia, all the stuff he
hated about pop culture and all the stuff you know me for, right? I was trying
to get my dad’s attention, let him know that maybe I didn’t want to grow up to
be him. But that didn’t really change anything. I still wound up at med school.
It sort of worked out. I was a very good doctor and I was still young and doing
well. Many people envied my success, I’m sure of that. But one day I made a
terrible mistake. We had some blood pressure problems with a surgical patient,
but I kept going.” Miles fought to make the words come out. His voice grew
quieter, now just a harsh, desperate whisper. “I ignored the anesthetist,
ignored the nurses, ignored the machines beeping angrily at me. I wanted to
have my way, like my dad drilled into me, and kept going when I should have
stopped, sewn the patient back up, try the procedure sometime later. But no,
hotshot Dr. Milstein Coleman the Third kept going… and I lost the patient. I
killed her. It was all my fault. If I hadn’t grown to be a conceited jerk
carbon copy of my father, she would have lived. I couldn’t believe what had
happened. There in front of me was this young woman, flatlined, dead on the
table. I was stunned, speechless. The nurses had to help me walk out of the
operating room. I had been sitting there forever in disbelief.” Miles looked
off into space. He couldn’t bear to look Kate or Amman in the eye.
“I’m so sorry, Miles.
That’s tough,” Amman said softly. “But we all lose patients. It’s part of the
bigger picture. They’re supposed to tell you in med school that sometimes
patients die, right?”
“Tell that to my father,
Amman. He was so ashamed of me, told me I was a pathetic failure. Called me
garbage. Here I was thirty-two and killed someone in an OR and he told me it
had never happened to him in his entire career. So I believed him—believed that
I was garbage. I quit, just quit cold turkey. People tried to get me back, but
I refused. Everyone thought I was crazy. They probably started thinking that I
really was a loser, a crazy loser.” Miles perked back up a little, he had told
them the worst of it. “Eventually everyone gave up on me—all except Mike here
and his nephew Franklin. I had met Franklin at a hospital fundraiser in San
Diego. When word got around and Franklin heard what had happened, he and Mike
asked if I’d like to come to Chicago and take some time off from the pressure,
all the expectations from my father. So I agreed. And I’ve been getting my act
together, little by little.”
Mike, the Finder and
Fixer, nodded, smiling proudly at Miles.
“So now,” Miles
continued, “here’s the thing. I’ve been watching all of you. Kate, your
dedication, your drive—you just won’t quit. There’s not a thing that can stand
in your way. I’ve really admired that. Amman, you are one smooth operator. Amazing.
So I’ve been seeing all this and that’s why I told Mike I was ready to come
back. I’m ready to be a doctor again. I want to help if you think I can be of
some value at all.”
“Well hell yeah, Miles,”
Amman said as he slapped him on the back. “You seem to have a photographic
memory of anything you hear or see. Your IQ must be sky-high. You could
probably diagnose what’s wrong with a rock or a sea urchin, I bet. Why wouldn’t
ExitStrategy want you?”
“It all makes sense now,
Miles,” Kate said, smiling. “That day you rattled off all that medical
knowledge about prions and the Creutzfeldt-Jakob’s and the other stuff—I thought
somehow you were like Dustin Hoffman in Rainman. Now I get it, and I’m sorry for
treating you like crap now and then.”
“Ditto. Kate, not Kat.”
“And,” Amman added,
chuckling, “you should tell your father to go to hell, I think.”
“Ha, yes. I should get
to that—soon!”
“So one big happy ExitStrategy family now, eh?” Cold Smokey said,
wrapping his big meaty arms around both Kate and Miles. “Let’s go back in the
room and make the official announcement!”
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