All The Beautiful People (A Dread Novel Book 1) by Jonathan Yanez

the eyes of a researcher. She might as well have been looking at a mathematical equation. She didn’t see open wounds or the madness in the eyes staring back at her. She was gazing at a problem, searching for an answer. She looked for anything that might be able to give her a clue as to the progression of the disease or virus or the manic origination point.
    The video was of James Jones in a clean, bleached room with wrists and ankles secured to a metal chair, gnashing broken teeth. Guttural noises broke free from his throat. The sounds he made each began like a grunt or groan but ended one syllable short of a full word.
    It became apparent to Taylor that James Jones was regressing. The complete end game of Vanidrum had not yet manifested; he apparently had farther to fall. She struggled to conceive how much more degeneration James Jones could encounter. Wasn’t this it? How much further could he fade into the darkness? All signs of humanity were gone. Nothing was left of the once happy and successful man. This was a monster.
    Wade remained silent as the video continued. Mr. Jones was arching his back, struggling against the bonds restraining him to the chair. His face was a mess of brown and bright red blood. Gashes crisscrossed his flaking skin in a way that made it impossible to tell where one wound stopped and another began. His white hair was missing from his scalp in large clumps. Beyond disturbing, the sight was a state of physical decay Taylor didn’t know existed. It was madness at its apex.
    After a few moments, Wade paused the video. The screens stopped at a moment where what was left of James Jones was gnashing his remaining teeth at the camera in a kind of sadistic grin.
    “Since James Jones’ event last night, hundreds of reports have been called in across the globe. It seems as though Vanidrum has infected its hosts in a way that is baffling our scientists. None of this was even a remote possibility during clinical trials. Our job is to find out how to stop this. To do that, we have to understand how this started. As we speak, those already infected are spreading this unknown agent to new hosts of every age and race. If we can stop this now, we may have a chance at stopping a global epidemic. Which brings us to the reason we are all here. I’d like to introduce to you the leading mind in apocalyptic strategy and homo sapiens survival, Frank Caster.”
    Wade looked at Taylor and motioned with his hand. Taylor gave him a confused look then realized he was motioning to the kid sitting beside her. The boy who couldn’t even be enrolled in college stood with a loud pop of pink bubblegum.
    The youth walked down the set of stairs toward the podium leaving confusion in his wake. Taylor leaned into Jason. “Care to tell me what’s going on here? Another one of your buddies?”
    Jason looked as shocked as Taylor felt. “You got me,” he whispered back. “I’ve never seen him. I thought he was a lost intern.”
    When Frank reached the podium, he nodded to Wade and addressed the room.
    “So let’s get this out of the way,” he said, brushing unkempt hair from his eyes. “I know I’m super young to all of you but that shouldn’t matter. I know what I’m doing and I’m a lot smarter than anyone here. My IQ is probably higher than everyone in this room combined, so listen when I’m talking to you.”
    Taylor almost cracked a smile. Frank was trying to make up for his age by bullying the crowed but the inflexion of his tone was of a boy, not a man. The fact that he was wearing a t-shirt sporting a smiling cartoon character and jeans that looked like they had seen better years didn’t help.
    “I’ve run countless scenarios on how this event could end using the most state of the art programming and it’s not good. We have, oh, about a four-hour window to maintain a fifty-fifty chance of stopping this plague before it kicks our collective booties. And by ‘kick our collective booties,’ I mean