The Zulu Virus Chronicles Boxset (Books 1-3)

by Steven Konkoly

  “Your leg?” said David.

  “Yeah. Scraping it across concrete isn’t going to work,” said Larsen. “The two of us walk down and search for targets. I don’t think they’ll have anyone on the third level. We know Rock is on the second. That’s the access point to the building.”

  “Or he’s patrolling,” said Howard.

  “He’ll be sitting tight by the door, which will make him an easier target,” said Larsen.

  “Unless there’s two of them,” said David.

  “That’s why I’m bringing you along,” said Larsen. “And to make you crawl down the next ramp. You’ll carry my remote camera, and I’ll scan for Rock and any other surprises. If it’s just one of them, I’ll take the shot.”

  “How about I crawl down this one, too, just in case?” said David.

  Larsen nodded and gave him the camera, telling him how to activate it. David tucked it into a zippered pouch on his vest and low-crawled to the edge of the ramp, thinking this was a great way to get shot in the head. He got a few feet down the concrete ramp and worked his way to the side, staring into the parking lot for several seconds—letting the details soak in. The access door to the building they had just left was directly ahead of him, beyond the ramp’s landing. It looked similar to the door in the alley.

  Detecting no movement or hidden gunmen, he crawled a few more feet, expanding his view until he could see the far side of the garage. Still nothing. He couldn’t visually clear the rest of the level without poking his head beyond the side edge of the ramp—presenting an easy target for anyone hiding in his blind spot.

  David dug through the pouch and removed the miniature camera, pressing the button on the bottom for three seconds until a small green LED light appeared. He inched the camera beyond the ramp’s edge, pointing the lens toward the unobservable part of the garage.

  “Perfect. Hold it right there,” said Larsen.

  He held it in place until Larsen told him the level looked clear. David turned his body until it faced the other side of the garage, shifting his rifle to do the same. Larsen and Howard joined him, crouching on the ramp.

  “I assume the ramp to the second floor is stacked above this one?” said Larsen.

  “Why don’t you stick your head over the side and look,” said David, winking.

  “I’ll take a pass on that,” said Larsen, helping him up.

  Together, in a tight formation, the three of them descended to the third level, spreading out when they reached the sparsely crowded parking area. They swung wide of the opening leading to the second level and regrouped behind an SUV three spaces away from the top of the ramp.

  “Same procedure,” said Larsen. “But you don’t go as far this time. Let the camera do the work.”

  “It’s the size of my thumb,” said David, holding out the camera. “I’m afraid I’ll drop it or get my hand shot off if I stick it too far out.”

  “You should have said something earlier,” said Larsen before removing two objects from his vest.

  He expanded a black telescoping stick and screwed a custom clamp to the end of it before taking the camera from David’s hand and attaching it to the clamp.

  “You had this all the time?” said David.

  “It’s a simple, but handy piece of gear,” said Larsen.

  “Would have been even more handy about three minutes ago,” said David.

  “I’d actually forgotten about it until I saw you sticking your hand out,” said Larsen. “Better late than never.”

  David shook his head and muttered, grabbing the camera and making sure it was secure. Satisfied that it wouldn’t drop if he bumped it against the edge of the ramp, he took a few deep breaths and nodded at Larsen.

  “Let’s do it.”

  Chapter 15

  Larsen crouched next to David, scanning the digital image displayed on his visor’s heads-up display (HUD). David was playing it safe, sticking the camera the bare minimum required to get a picture beyond the edge of the ramp. Working carefully, they’d taken close to ten minutes to clear roughly half of the garage. He hadn’t expected to find anyone hidden in the areas they’d checked, but he wasn’t taking any chances. For all he knew, Rock could be hidden in the backseat of a tinted SUV. It would probably take them three times as long to scan the rest of the garage. Maybe longer.

  He tapped David’s right calf, indicating he wanted him to move the camera a little to the right. The system they had devised for communicating silently was simple. He tapped his right thigh, asking him to raise the view just a tad. The foot would have lowered the view. Perfect. He studied the image again, zooming in and out on cars and shadows, still not spotting anything suspicious. Another tap to the right thigh got the view closer to the end of the parking lot. Nothing stood out.

  A tap to his left calf shifted the view slightly left, followed by a tap to the left thigh, bringing the far wall of the parking level into view. The door to Chang’s apartment building was barely visible in the far right edge of the image. He studied the picture for what felt like an eternity, shaking his head. Fifteen minutes later, having digitally scoured the entire parking level, he still had nothing. What was he missing? Or was Rock inside the building, with a motion sensor guarding the door? If that was the case, they had a problem.

  He tugged on David’s vest, and the police officer retracted the camera, crawling backward until he was back on the third level.

  “Nothing?” said David.

  Larsen shook his head. “Nada. Fuck.”

  “Did you record the video?” said David.

  “Thirty-three minutes,” said Larsen.

  “Let me take a look,” said David. “Can I skip to the last part?”

  He unstrapped his helmet. “Fast-forward. Rewind. Zoom in and out. Everything.”

  While David leaned against a concrete support, watching the video, Larsen kept a close eye on the bottom of the ramp. If they couldn’t locate Rock, the mission was too risky.

  “Got him.”

  Larsen backed up until he stood next to David, who had removed the helmet. Howard took his place at the top of the ramp.

  “Where?” said Larsen, taking the helmet.

  “Minivan parked facing Virginia Avenue. Second vehicle from the end,” said David. “Don’t get too excited. We still have a problem.”

  He knew what it was before examining the paused video. There was a third vehicle from the end, blocking their shot. Well, not exactly blocking it. Complicating it. He took a close look at the video, running it backward and forward a few times. David had a good eye. Larsen had missed the difference in window texture between the minivan’s front passenger window and sliding passenger-side door. The front window was lowered. Not only that, the driver’s side rear sliding door was open, the only tip-off being a slight indentation visible on the roofline of the van. He still couldn’t see Rock, but now they knew where to look.

  “Nice catch,” said Larsen. “I want you to watch the rest of the video, in case we’re dealing with two of them.”

  David took the helmet and spent the next several minutes examining the tape.

  “I think he’s alone,” said David, exchanging helmets with Larsen.

  “Then let’s watch a little longer and see if we can pinpoint Rock. If we know where to shoot, we can simultaneously target the same spot.”

  Howard turned his head and eyed him skeptically.

  “Then run like hell. You and Howard get Dr. Hale. I do whatever I can to stop them from getting to you.”

  “That’s by far the worst plan you’ve come up with yet,” said David, patting his shoulder.

  “I’ll take that as a compliment, coming from you,” said Larsen.

  “Uh-huh,” said David, refastening his helmet. “After you.”

  Larsen walked to the top of the ramp and lowered himself into a crawling position, acutely aware of the agonizing ordeal ahead. He started to slither down the rough concrete, stopping to let the sharp burning sensation in his thigh subside.
When it didn’t, he continued to pull the front of his body across the coarse surface, silently screaming the entire time. With David holding the camera in place, Larsen shifted into position just out of the minivan’s line of sight. He adjusted the camera position with a series of taps on David’s legs and magnified the image, waiting for Rock to move. Fortunately, he didn’t have to wait long. The dark outline of a head momentarily appeared through the series of vehicle windows, disappearing a few seconds later.

  “He’s in the second row, passenger side. Head leaned back,” said Larsen, raising the visor. “I can’t see the head right now.”

  “Do you want to wait until we can see it?” said David.

  “He leaned forward for a second; that’s not enough time.”

  “So how do we do this?”

  “We scoot down far enough to get both of our gun barrels lined up and I count us down. As soon as we fire, Howard yanks me up and we start down the ramp. You stay here for a few seconds in case our bullets missed the mark. Then you haul ass to catch up with Howard.”

  “This is insane,” said David.

  Larsen squirmed down the ramp until the minivan came into view, leaving a trail of smeared blood above him. The pain was excruciating, now radiating to his pelvis. He wasn’t sure how he was going to do what needed to be done over the next several minutes—but he knew he’d get it done. He always did. David nestled in right next to him and took aim at the minivan.

  “You got a shot?” said Larsen.

  “Yep.”

  “This is going to happen fast,” said Larsen. “I’m going to mark the point of aim with the laser and count down from two.”

  “Ready.”

  He centered the reticle of his rifle on the rear cargo window of the SUV and triggered the red laser, making a slight adjustment to his point of aim.

  “Two. One. Fire,” he said, the rifle bucking into his shoulder.

  The SUV’s window completely crumbled, revealing two tightly spaced holes in the passenger-side cargo compartment window. He had no way of assessing the damage beyond that. Before he could form another thought, he was yanked upward and forward by Howard, who propelled him down the ramp in a controlled enough manner to get his own two feet going. They barreled halfway down the ramp until they had enough clearance to hop over the edge and land on the second level. The landing jolted Larsen’s leg and hip, which had locked tight in anticipation of the pain. By the time he got moving, David had pushed himself to his knees.

  “Blood splatter on the wall next to the minivan,” said David as Larsen passed. “We’re clear.”

  “Get to Chang’s apartment,” said Larsen. “I’ll let you know what happens out here. Stay low. Ochoa may have a line of sight into the garage.”

  Larsen veered to the left and crouched, sliding between two sedans to reach the four-foot-tall concrete wall facing Virginia Avenue. The suppressed gunshots would undoubtedly draw Ochoa’s attention.

  Chapter 16

  Paul Ochoa straightened up on the couch. “You hear that?”

  “Sounded like a suppressed gunshot,” said Ripley, lowering the binoculars and settling in behind his rifle.

  “Sounded like two,” said Ochoa. “Close by.”

  “I don’t have any movement in the target apartment,” said Ripley.

  Something was up. They couldn’t all be imagining gunshots.

  “Rock, did you hear another gunshot?”

  He waited a few seconds before repeating his question. When Rock failed to reply the second time, he got off the couch and wandered closer to the open balcony, careful not to block Ripley’s view of Chang’s apartment.

  “Stansfield, you hear anything?”

  “I heard something, but it was pretty muffled down here. Couldn’t tell where it was coming from.”

  “Any activity on the street?” said Ochoa.

  “Nothing to the south,” said Stansfield. “You have a better view north than I do.”

  “I need you to check on Rock,” said Ochoa.

  “I was afraid you were going to say that,” said Stansfield. “On my way.”

  Ochoa approached the closed side of the balcony slider, peering north up the street through the open side. A hammer blow to his right shoulder spun him ninety degrees, followed immediately by a shock to the chest that knocked him to the hardwood floor. Unable to speak, he turned onto his bloodied right side and clawed ineffectively for the edge of the couch.

  Ripley was on the floor next to him in an instant, grabbing his tactical vest to pull him out of the line of fire. A warm splash hit Ochoa’s face, and Ripley crumpled on top of him, hands clutching his throat. He lay flat on his back as bullets snapped into the drywall directly above his head, forming perfect holes. He remained trapped under Ripley, unable to help his teammate or himself while bullet after bullet poured through the open balcony, most of them thumping into the sniper’s body.

  The maelstrom of projectiles stopped just as quickly as they started, the sound of a suppressed rifle firing on full automatic drifting through the apartment.

  “Shooter. Second level. Parking garage,” said Stansfield. “He’s still up there.”

  Ochoa managed to slide his left hand along his chest to press the transmit button.

  “I’m hit bad. Ripley is KIA,” said Ochoa. “Get to Chang’s apartment and kill everyone there.”

  “This has to be one of our teams. Why would they attack us?”

  “How the fuck should I know? Nothing about any of this makes sense,” said Ochoa. “Just do it.”

  “Maybe there’s a misunderstanding,” said Stansfield.

  “A misunderstanding? They killed Rock first. Then opened fire on me and Ripley. There’s no misunderstanding. Get it done, or we’re not getting out of this alive.”

  “Copy that,” said Stansfield, in a very noncommittal voice.

  He didn’t have time for this. If the shooter was still active, Ochoa needed to get clear of the balcony window. Easier said than done. Ripley’s two-hundred-pound corpse resting on top of him complicated the matter. His right shoulder was trashed, making it impossible to pull Ripley off. He could try to push Ripley away with his left hand, but without any leverage or the ability to roll onto his injured right side, he wasn’t likely to make much progress. His only real option was to roll to the left, away from the rest of Ripley. Of course, that would probably draw the shooter’s attention.

  For a brief moment, he considered bringing Stansfield back to his position. It might save both of them. Then again, Stansfield hadn’t sounded too enthusiastic about his last order. In fact, he’d sounded mutinous.

  No. He’d stay right here and play possum for now, letting Stansfield’s fate play out across the street. Lying there motionless, he remembered his CTAB. Maybe he could get a search and rescue mission dispatched to his location—particularly if he reported Chang in his possession.

  Chapter 17

  David raced down the main second-floor hallway for the stairwell that Chang swore was in the elevator lobby. If Chang had been mistaken about that small detail, they might not reach Dr. Hale first. Even worse, they could run into trouble in the stairwell, when they eventually found it. He didn’t want to think about that. The last place on the planet he wanted to get into a gunfight was in a stairwell.

  “Talk to me, Larsen,” he said, bursting into the elevator lobby and immediately spotting the “STAIRS” sign. “I’m about to hit the stairs.”

  “You have time,” said Larsen. “The shooter just blasted his way through the front door. You’ll be on the third floor before he gets to the stairs.”

  “I hope so. Heading up now.”

  He yanked the door open and pointed his rifle down the stairs while Howard sprinted past him, headed up the stairs. Following closely behind, he reached the third-floor landing, where he found Howard attaching a fist-sized device to the wall next to the door.

  “What are you doing?” said David.

  “Just a little surprise,” said Howard
, pressing a few buttons on the device.

  David opened the door and took a quick peek into the hallway, checking both directions. A placard across the hallway indicated that apartment 310 was located to his left.

  “We don’t have time for this,” said David, stepping out of the landing with his rifle pointed down the hallway.

  “Trust me,” said Howard, joining him. “You’ll be happy I took the time.”

  A metallic bang rattled through the stairwell, spurring them back into action. Howard pulled the door shut while David took off toward Chang’s apartment. He reached the plain black door a few seconds later and started entering the code. Howard crouched next to him, aiming his rifle back toward the stairwell just as he pressed enter. A mechanism inside the door whirred before David turned the handle and pushed inward—the door remaining in place.

  He entered the code again, with the same result.

  “Shit,” muttered David.

  “Take my place,” said Howard. “You think it’s a deadbolt?”

  “I have no idea,” said David. “What did you set in the stairwell?”

  “Motion-triggered flash-bang,” said Howard, pulling a similar-sized device from the pouch attached to his vest.

  “I don’t see how that will help us with the door,” said David, nodding at the device.

  “No. This is a breaching charge,” said Howard. “A fairly sizable one, too. Should take out the primary locking mechanism and any deadbolts.”

  “What about Dr. Hale?”

  “We just have to pray she’s not standing at the door or anywhere near it,” said Howard.

  He wedged the charge between the door and the door frame, a few inches above the door handle, before pressing a combination of buttons.

  “What if she heard me trying the code?” said David.

  “We can’t exactly warn her,” said Howard. “That would drag her over to the door for sure.”

  A muffled explosion echoed through the hallway. Howard’s flash-bang just bought them a few more seconds.