The Zulu Virus Chronicles Boxset (Books 1-3)

by Steven Konkoly

  “A Pyrrhic victory would be losing two of us to bring back the doctor,” said Larsen. “I’m pulling the plug if it starts to look like one of us might not make it back.”

  “I hate to bring this to your attention,” said David. “But I think we’re starting out at that point.”

  “True enough,” said Larsen, waiting a few moments before smirking. “Seriously. If this goes sideways en route, I’m bringing us back.”

  “No arguments here,” said Howard.

  “Or here,” said David. “I’ll let you know if my definition of things going sideways conflicts with yours.”

  “I expect nothing short of brutal honesty out there—from both of you.”

  “You don’t have to worry about that with me,” said Howard. “The only question I won’t answer honestly is ‘does this outfit make me look fat?’”

  “Smart man,” said Larsen.

  “Maybe that’s why I’m no longer married,” said David, and they all quietly laughed.

  David’s earpiece crackled a few moments later.

  “Dan, this is Mitch. I’m ready to drive through the delivery gates.”

  Howard pressed his transmitter. “Copy that, Mitch. Proceed with your mission.”

  “Opening the gate,” said Mitch.

  “Sean? How are we looking?”

  “Ready to make it happen,” replied Sean Fitzgerald, the security officer stationed on a roof overlooking the parking lot.

  “You and Roscoe are our eyes and ears up there,” said Howard. “We move when you give the word.”

  “We’re on it,” said Sean. “Roscoe is dialed in. Never fired that thing before, but it doesn’t look complicated.”

  “It isn’t,” said Howard. “May take a few tries, but he’ll get the hang of it.”

  “I hear the tactical vehicle,” said Sean, pausing for a few moments. “And so do the crazies. I have movement on the western edge of the parking lot.”

  “Keep a close eye on Mitch’s situation,” said Howard. “They can’t get at Mitch from the outside without concentrating gunfire in one spot. You start to see something like that, you thin the herd around his vehicle. If they try to flip it, same thing.”

  “Nobody’s flipping this mother,” said Mitch.

  “Don’t count on that,” said Howard. “Alright. I’m turning this over to you, Sean. You’re calling the shots until we get back. Be ready for any of the contingency plans we discussed.”

  “Understood.”

  Howard took a deep breath, releasing it before continuing. “All stations, this is Howard. I have transferred tactical command of NevoTech security to Sean Fitzgerald.”

  After all of the security officers acknowledged the change of command, Howard edged toward the emergency exit.

  “Now we wait for them to take the bait,” said Howard.

  David formed a snarky comment in his head, but kept it to himself. There was no point. The plan sucked. Even Larsen knew it. Any of a hundred things could derail it and get them killed. A part of him questioned why he had volunteered for this borderline suicide mission. Most of him still knew the answer. To serve and protect. Some things never changed, and that was a good thing—as long as it didn’t get him killed.

  “Mitch is in position,” said Sean. “And they’re already coming out of the trees.”

  “Copy,” said Howard, turning to David and Larsen. “Won’t be too long.”

  A car alarm sounded outside the window next to David, drawing his attention to the thick bushes on the outside of the campus fence. A few previously undetected figures stirred in the greenery, rising to investigate the growing ruckus on the other side of the parking lot. They took off as soon as they were upright, moving at a disturbingly fast pace.

  “I hate that they can move fast,” muttered David.

  “Yeah. It ain’t a Walking Dead scenario,” said Howard. “Not a lot of time to react once they get excited.”

  “Which means we need to be proactive out there,” said Larsen, putting a hand on David’s shoulder. “You shoot as soon as you have a target. Doesn’t matter if it’s sitting pretty at a picnic table.”

  “What do you want me to do?” said Howard. “Aside from nothing.”

  “We only have two suppressed rifles,” said Larsen. “You only fire in extreme self-defense—or in the unlikely event that we get mobbed.”

  The spotting team on the roof radioed in.

  “Looks like we’ve got their attention,” said Sean. “I have a few dozen crossing East Street directly from the area you’re headed. We have them streaming in from every other direction as well. I think we’ll let this develop for another minute or two.”

  “They’re rocking this Suburban pretty fierce,” said Mitch. “Man, this fucking sucks.”

  “Keep him safe, Sean,” said Howard.

  “He’s fine. The truck is barely moving,” said Sean.

  A gunshot erupted outside.

  “And now they’re shooting,” said Mitch, followed by a rapid string of gunshots. “A lot!”

  “Jesus. They’re shooting each other to get to the Suburban,” said Sean.

  Howard moved to the emergency exit. “I think it’s time. I don’t want Mitch stuck out there any longer than necessary.”

  “Let’s go,” said Larsen, pushing the door open. “Safeties off. Howard in the middle.”

  David followed the security officer through the door, shifting his rifle to cover their right flank as they walked briskly toward the pedestrian gate at the northeast corner of the campus. He detected movement beyond the bushes along the eastern fence line. Two or three figures scrambled up East Street, their features concealed by the overlapping greenery. Larsen slowed, tracking the rapidly moving shapes with his rifle.

  He found himself silently wishing that one of them would spot his group and put an end to this insane mission before it started. No such luck. They ran past the gate and turned left at the corner of the fence, headed straight for the commotion in the parking lot. By the time David’s group reached the gate, four more gaggles of crazies had materialized on East Street, sprinting toward the mayhem unfolding around Mitch’s SUV.

  A sudden, extended volley of nearby gunshots dropped them to the stone path. David lifted his head a few seconds later, confident that the gunfire hadn’t been directed at him. He hadn’t heard any of the telltale snaps and hisses signaling a near miss. He was about to rise into a low crouch when another group of crazies spilled by the gate, causing him to freeze in place.

  One of them, a bloodied woman in a pink and gray yoga outfit, momentarily paused on the other side of the gate to fiddle with a hunting rifle. David tilted his rifle into an upright position on the ground, easing his face toward the holographic sight. She vanished before he could center the reticle on her chest. He let out his breath, relieved she had moved on. They couldn’t reliably fire at her through the gate, due to the tightly spaced steel turnstile bars. If the woman had looked up from the rifle for any reason, they’d more than likely be headed back into the building.

  Larsen led them to the right of the stone path, where a passerby on the other side of the gate couldn’t so easily spot them. They stacked up next to the gate, pointing their weapons toward the street. This close to the fence, an astute observer on East Street should be able to pick them out from the foliage—though he strongly suspected that the infected didn’t have that kind of focus. From what he’d seen so far, they appeared to be driven by base instincts. Reacting to stimuli rather than proactively seeking it. Still, they weren’t taking any chances. A crazy with a pistol could barrel headlong through the bushes and put one or more of them in the medical bay—without an ER doctor to dig the bullet out.

  “We ready?” said Howard.

  “I think this is as good as it will get,” said Larsen.

  “I don’t know. They keep coming out of the woodwork,” said David.

  “We can handle small groups,” said Larsen.

  “I hope so,” said David bef
ore nodding at Howard. “I guess we’re ready.”

  Howard transmitted to the rooftop over-watch team. “Sean, we’re in position at the gate. Ready to make the run.”

  “Copy. Give us about thirty seconds to get the screen up,” said Sean.

  “Let us know when we can cross,” said Howard.

  “Roger that. Smoke grenade out.”

  A familiar, hollow thump sounded in the distance, the first of several smoke grenades sailing in an arc toward the center of the parking lot. Howard stepped forward and pressed his ID badge against the card reader, simultaneously typing a short code into the digital pad next to it.

  “No need to individually swipe badges,” said Howard. “I enabled the group passage function used for evacuations.”

  “That’s one way, right?” said Larsen.

  “Correct. I used the outbound code,” said Howard. “If we’re not being chased on the way back, I can expedite our return with the inbound code. Just hang on to your temporary IDs in case something happens to me. We all have a spare for Dr. Hale.”

  “Let’s do this,” said Larsen.

  The former Navy SEAL cycled through a few deep breaths and exhales before pushing the turnstile, which moved freely. He slid to the other side and crouched on the sidewalk next to East Street.

  “Shit. Contact right,” said Larsen, spinning to face the unseen threat.

  David shoved Howard out of the way and spun through the metal barrier, nearly colliding with Larsen, who had already started firing. He immediately regained his balance, nestling into a tight crouch next to Larsen.

  “Jesus,” he muttered, centering the holographic reticle on a hammer-wielding man less than twenty feet away—and pressing the trigger.

  He had no time to think, only react, as he worked methodically with Larsen to clear the small mob of blood-soaked, raging lunatics headed full speed in their direction. Several seconds later, at least ten people lay contorted on the street and the sidewalk in front of him, a few still twitching. One of them started to lift its head, and Larsen fired a single suppressed bullet through the bottom of a man’s chin, snapping the head against the pavement with a thud.

  “Check the parking lot,” said Larsen, turning to Howard, who was still on the other side of the gate. “We could use your help.”

  “Sorry,” said Howard. “I wasn’t expecting that.”

  “None of us were,” said Larsen. “It’s going to be a lot of fun out here.”

  Larsen jogged to the corner of the fence, turning briefly to watch Howard slide through the turnstile. Just beyond Howard, David kneeled before carefully peering around a bush at the parking lot. A thick cloud of white smoke obscured the far end of the parking lot, where Mitch’s SUV was under attack. A few stragglers remained visible on the eastern side of the parking lot, but they were headed away from the gate, focused on whatever was happening on the other side of the chemical cloud. David triggered his communications link.

  “We’re good. The rooftop team put down a nice smoke screen,” said David.

  “Let’s get moving,” said Larsen. “I don’t want to get hit by another group like that.”

  “You’re not the only one,” said David, turning to join Larsen and Howard, who had already started across East Street.

  Chapter 10

  Larsen pressed against the cinder-block wall and checked his surroundings. So far so good. The smoke screen held in place thanks to a breezeless, humid morning, allowing them to shift the bulk of their attention to a one-hundred-and-eighty-degree arc facing the city. He listened for a few seconds before moving through a wide gap in the wall leading to a rough gravel driveway.

  “Clear,” he said, pushing deeper.

  A two-story red brick house stood in the middle of the well-manicured lot, the green grass, lush vegetable garden and bright flower beds a stark contrast to its drab urban surroundings. Larsen kept a close eye on the home’s window as he made his way up the driveway and took a knee behind a parked SUV. Howard’s voice filled his earpiece.

  “Fitzgerald, this is Howard. Get Mitch out of there. We’re off the street.”

  “Copy that. Good luck.”

  They were going to need a lot more than good luck. More like divine intervention. He glanced over his shoulder, relieved to find that David and Howard had taken positions inside the wall, on opposite sides of the driveway. Right where he wanted them. David peeked around the wall, looking in both directions on East Street.

  “The street is clear,” said David.

  “Maintain position until we’re sure we haven’t attracted a following,” said Larsen.

  “Staying put,” said David.

  He felt safe with the police officer watching his back. David had more than proven himself over the past six hours, saving Larsen’s life more than once. He couldn’t say the same about Howard, but the fact that the security officer had volunteered for this mission, on behalf of the NevoTech refugees under his protection, spoke volumes about his commitment. Larsen could count on these two. He just hoped the mission didn’t get one or both of them killed. He’d have a hard time living with that. Then again, if things got that bad out here, he was more than likely to end up dead with them.

  Tires screeched in the distance, followed by a cascade of gunshots. They might need to sit still for a while. The ruckus was bound to alert the team watching Chang’s apartment. He assumed it was one team at this point. Maybe that wasn’t a good assumption. Probably not. If Larsen detected the presence of more than one team, they’d have to abort the mission. He could deal with four operatives spread out around the apartment, but not a concentrated and likely coordinated mass of gunfighters. That was the true definition of a suicide mission.

  “Howard, it’s Fitzgerald. Mitch made a clean escape,” said Fitzgerald.

  “Good to hear. Sounded like hell out there.”

  “The bad news is the SUV took a beating. They flattened at least one of the tires,” said Fitzgerald. “The run-flat system didn’t perform as advertised.”

  “Damn. I need you to assess the damage to the SUV and report back,” said Howard. “Keep Roscoe on the roof with the grenade launcher and sniper system—in case we need some long-distance help.”

  “Copy that. Heading down right now. Out,” said Fitzgerald.

  Howard shook his head. “We can’t count on the SUV right now.”

  “I wasn’t counting on it, anyway,” said Larsen, eyeballing the side door to the house. “I’m going to give the side door to the house a try. We can use it as a safe house if things get dicey. Wouldn’t mind finding the keys to this 4Runner, either. A ride is a ride.”

  “Hold on. I’ll move up and cover you,” said Howard.

  When the security officer reached the back of the SUV, Larsen moved between the vehicle and the house, arriving at the door. He let the rifle dangle on its sling and drew the suppressed pistol strapped to his thigh in case someone was waiting for him on the other side of the door. The pistol would be easier to maneuver and use in tight quarters. He reached out with his unoccupied hand and tried to open the screen door, finding it locked. His knife was out in a flash, opening a fist-sized slash in the screen near the handle. He released the latch inside the screen and swung the door out of the way, propping it open with his shoulder.

  He wasn’t hopeful about getting into the house without making a lot of noise. The windowless metal door inside the frame looked formidable, and the doorknob didn’t budge. In fact, it didn’t even rattle, almost like it had been welded in place. He glanced over his shoulder and shook his head before signaling for them to follow.

  The backyard contained a spacious stone patio featuring a long wooden table and rough-hewn tree stumps for seating. Strings of lights crisscrossed the patio, supported by thick wooden poles sunk into the ground at each corner. A large vegetable garden occupied most of the remaining square footage, leaving just enough room for a potter’s shed in the far corner of the yard. He didn’t see a gate or any way into the lot behin
d the property, which was a little concerning. The thought of climbing over and exposing himself to easy observation didn’t sit well. Never did.

  “David, keep a close eye on the house. Could be someone holed up inside. The door looked reinforced,” said Larsen.

  Larsen led them through the extensive garden, which he guessed had been picked clean very recently. Lettuce and kale bunches, which he recognized from his garden back home, had been completely cut to the new growth. Most of the carrots were gone, too, along with all of the season’s other produce. He stopped to check the end of a long row of carrot plants, pulling a pinkie-sized carrot from the dirt. The row must have been planted late. Everything else was in the growing phase. Pole beans. Bush beans. Tomatoes. Cucumbers. Peppers. Cabbage. Everything. He looked back at the house, certain someone was inside—watching them very carefully.

  He gathered them against the cinder-block wall next to the locked shed, taking a momentary break to reevaluate their situation.

  “Dan, give me a quick lift,” said Larsen. “I want to see what’s on the other side of this wall.”

  “Should be a gravel lot,” said Howard. “Wide open to the parking garage. Probably not our best approach.”

  “Let’s see,” said Larsen.

  Howard kneeled next to the wall and interlocked his fingers, nodding at Larsen, who gently placed a foot in his gloved hands.

  “Ready?” said Larsen, and Howard nodded.

  Larsen pushed up on his foot, grasping the top edge of the wall with both hands. Howard moved into a standing position, giving Larsen just enough height to see over the barrier. He cocked his head and inched upward until he could see the top of the apartment building and the parking garage attached to it. Shit. Wide open on the other side of the wall. He took a few moments to analyze other possible approaches before telling Howard to lower him.

  “What’s your read?” said David, not taking his eyes or rifle off the house.

  “Wide open like Dan said,” said Larsen. “We need to push north across Warsaw Street and approach obliquely.”