by JT Sawyer
McKenzie leaned back in his chair, folding his arms. “And if it’s discovered that the Agency and our government were behind the release of this pathogen—then what? The courage of this crew, of the military that’s left, hangs by a thread. What would it do to a devastated nation if they learned that their own country pulled the plug on humanity?”
“That’s not your call to make. If this is as big as you’re implying, then the truth will get out at some point—and there’s no watchdog group like the Agency or a congressional cover-up to make it all go away.”
Ivins sat down again, resting his arms on his knees. “Well, whatever it is you’re sending Reisner and his people off to do, it’s probably for the best. The less he’s around, the fewer questions will be asked about his undertakings. And if everything you’re alluding to is correct then neither you nor I would be able to protect them from a crew of this size already consumed with grief over their losses.”
McKenzie nodded in agreement as he eased back in his chair. That was one of the reasons he was so quick to let Reisner access the Agency database. Not only did he want the man to locate the computer hacker to prevent another attack on the energy grid, but he wanted Reisner off the ship. Once Pacelle had finished his work, the admiral would see that Reisner and his team were permanently reassigned elsewhere, regardless of the cost in effort. Hayes, Siegel, Runa, and Reisner were all involved in the devil’s bidding, and McKenzie wasn’t about to go down in flames with them and lose the control he had over his distinguished crew, which had served with honor.
“Do you remember when Muammar Gaddafi was killed in Libya after the collapse of his regime in 2011?”
“Only what I read in the debriefings later on. My team was deployed during chunks of that time.”
“Well, I was a part of the Joint Special Operations Command then, and we were responsible for the drone strike on his convoy in the moments just before his death. After the strike, he fled and hid with some of his loyalists in a culvert, eventually getting shot by one of his own men. There was no trial, no media images of the imprisoned dictator, and no public display of the man before a war-crimes tribunal. The disillusioned citizens of the nation hardly had a chance to revel in his downfall or to release any of their pent-up fury. In the weeks that followed, the country was further divided and continued to crumble from within.” He rubbed the bridge of his nose, his eyelids blinking hard, as if he was trying to adjust the focus on his vision. “Contrast that with the very public execution of Saddam Hussein in 2006 and the ensuing catharsis amongst the millions of citizens and you begin to understand why the judges in the Wild West had elevated platforms near the town square for hangings where the entire community could witness the event.”
Ivins shot his chin up, narrowing his eyes. “Sir, you can’t possibly compare Reisner and his team to the evil filth that you just described.”
McKenzie raised his open palm, shaking his head. “Hardly—the point is that a nation besieged by grief, confusion, and anger is less likely to implode than one which has a living symbol to outwardly focus their attention upon.”
Ivins stood up, firmly adjusting the ballcap on his head. “I’ve served side by side with Reisner—he’s a warrior, through and through. He and his team hardly seem like they should pay the price for Siegel’s perverse agenda.”
McKenzie eased himself out of his chair and made his way to the door. “Easy, Lieutenant—this is all just talk at this stage. I have a dozen scenarios running through my head about how to handle the information about the Agency’s involvement in all of this. Right now, Reisner is front and center because of his affiliation with Siegel, but that is only one facet that I’m considering.”
He opened the door and followed Ivins out. As the two men strode through the corridor, McKenzie took a deep breath, feeling the tension in his shoulders slightly ease. Maybe a martyr is the required sacrifice necessary to save this nation from further collapsing once the truth eventually gets out. He felt it was his duty and moral imperative to be the architect of that truth, to prevent further erosion of conviction in the men and women who depended on him. The fact that Reisner seemed to be a man of integrity didn’t make his line of thinking any easier, but McKenzie realized that this was ultimately about more than one man and his colleagues.
Chapter 9
PLA Shang 1 Class Nuclear Submarine
Somewhere in the Pacific Ocean
If Captain Lu Zheng closed his eyes for a minute, he was sure the soft hum of the submarine turbines would wash away the horror seared in his brain from his harrowing escape from the Philippines three days ago. His crew had barely made it back on board after their resupply trip went amok when hundreds of creatures surprised them at the desalination plant. The blood of eighteen of his men was spilled on the docks that morning, but their sacrifices saved the lives of the remaining 103 crew members and seven officers.
Zheng had seen the video footage of a viral outbreak back home in Beijing and was aware that there had been rumors of a possible pandemic, but he didn’t know there were legions of some bizarre cannibalistic creatures lying in wait for his men when they arrived. As the commander of the Shang 1 Class nuclear submarine, he had been given orders from General Lau to remain at M-Con radio silence while he trailed the USS Reagan back to its home port. With its shaftless rim-driven pumpjets, which allowed for a nearly silent electrical propulsion system, the Shang was ideally suited for this mission. It was one of two such submarines in the Chinese Navy and was capable of long-range precision attacks from outside an enemy’s defended zone. He wasn’t worried about getting on the radar of the Reagan, but he was wondering why he was being ordered to cross international waters and shadow a carrier strike group back to U.S. territory.
Zheng heard the sound of familiar footsteps and saw his XO, Tian Lee, moving down the narrow corridor towards him.
“We have just passed the eastern edge of the Marshall Island chain,” said Lee. He looked over his shoulder to see if anyone was around. “The other officers are no doubt wondering what our final heading is, as am I. Our current course puts us in line with Pearl Harbor—is that our destination? Have you received any further word from command?”
A plethora of similar questions raced across the foggy landscape of Zheng’s mind. He reached up and rested his hand on an overhead pipe, leaning closer to Lee.
“From the last transmission from Nanjing, my impression was that this is a reconnaissance mission—to follow and observe the USS Reagan Carrier Strike Group.
“What if it’s more than that?”
“If we’re the frontline on a potential tactical strike, why haven’t we been put in touch with other naval commanders in our fleet to coordinate efforts and provide mutual support?”
“Could the other commanders have died from this virus?” Lee looked around the passageway again.
“And what is General Lau doing in charge of the entire military and country now?”
“Regardless, if he is giving the orders then something has happened to the rest of the Cabinet members.”
“You haven’t interacted with Lau like I have—he is a good military advisor at best, not a supreme commander to lead our nation during a crisis. The man’s ambitions are too self-serving.”
“Lau is also a hardliner and will get the job done. I’d rather have him in charge than the premier or the general secretary, who have no battlefield experience.”
Zheng reflected on General Lau’s last video-message, his face taut while his terse comments held little reassurance about China’s fate. What’s happening in the world? He couldn’t disagree more with Lee—China would be in safer hands if anyone but General Lau was at the helm. The officer was known for his ruthlessness.
“Lau only instructed me to provide a daily SITREP on the whereabouts of the Reagan and await further orders.”
“Some of the men have been asking about news from home. Not knowing what’s happening is only going to add to the rumors.”
Zhen
g rubbed his chin. “I know, but they will be informed when I learn more myself. For now, keeping everyone busy is the best we can do.”
He gave Lee a stern look, then moved past him, retracing his steps back up the main level. Zheng had commanded submarine crews for extended deployments, but never at a time when he was burning for answers about his family as a mysterious virus swept across the nation and possibly the world. As each passing hour of silence from abroad gnawed at him and his crew, Zheng had to remind himself to focus on his duties and the morale of his men as they pushed ahead into unknown waters and an uncertain world.
Moving by two corpsmen whose expressions of nervousness probably mirrored his own, Zheng pulled his shoulders back further and gave them a confident nod, realizing it was only his unwavering commitment to the mission that would allow him to stay the course and provide the critical leadership his men would need, now more than ever.
Chapter 10
It would be another three days before the USS Reagan arrived at Pearl Harbor, so McKenzie sent Reisner and his team aboard a C-2 Greyhound transport plane, which would make a short refueling stop in Hawaii before making its way to a rural airstrip fifteen miles north of Eureka, California. Satellite imagery indicated that a small population of creatures were now centered in clusters in downtown Eureka, several miles from Pacelle’s supposed location in the foothills.
The sun was cresting the horizon as the plane approached California. Reisner heard the overhead speaker crackle with an update from the pilot, Chief Edgar Jackson, indicating that they would head north along the coast from San Francisco and be at the Eureka airstrip in just under ninety minutes.
As the plane descended slightly and veered to the left, Reisner leaned forward and studied the cityscape below. His eyes widened as he saw the remains of the Golden Gate Bridge over San Francisco Bay. Its immense steel pillars jutting up from the indifferent ocean were the only testament to where the iconic landmark had once stood. Reisner felt like there was a deep chasm in the center of his chest. God, what happened here while we were gone? Where is everyone? The virus couldn’t have wiped out a city on this scale.
“Looks like the Air Force blew all the bridges around the bay in an effort at containment,” said Nash in a monotone voice as he craned his head to the right.
“Wonder how much it helped?” whispered Connelly, who squinted into the window, staring at the ruby-stained sidewalks lining Berkeley, which were scattered with human remains being accosted by ravens.
“We were so busy in Taiwan and later with the island that I never heard about what happened in a lot of the cities back home outside of DC and Virginia,” said Reisner.
“Our own Air Force made bombing runs on U.S. soil?” muttered Porter, whose attention was glued to the barricaded perimeter around the police department in Petaluma. He could see dozens of bullet-riddled buildings fanning out in every direction around the facility, along with numerous rifles strewn about the parking lot. “Looks like that was their last stand.” He rubbed his chin and pulled away from the window. “I sure hope some of those fellas made it.”
“Seems like they only targeted the choke points like the bridges and interstates,” said Nash. “Most of the surrounding city appears intact.”
“Contacts, eleven o’clock,” Reisner said. Everyone moved over to his side and peered out the windows. A mile below was a lone RV weaving through a subdivision, fleeing from a river of creatures spilling into the streets from every direction.
“Shit, they waited too long to get out of dodge,” said Connelly.
“Or couldn’t find a way out with all the roads destroyed,” said Porter.
Reisner wanted to help but there was nothing they could do. He watched as the old Winnebago was finally cut off at an intersection. The drones surrounded the rig, several collapsing from gunshot wounds to the head as the passengers tried to hold off the swelling numbers of creatures encircling them. Within seconds, the beasts orchestrated their attack, hundreds of them prying at the thin aluminum walls until they gave way, like a foil packet. The four adults and three children inside were dragged out, kicking and thrashing. Reisner braced himself for the horror of seeing them torn apart. Instead, they were forcefully carried off, finally disappearing into a tunnel beneath a demolished overpass.
“Why didn’t they kill ’em?” whispered Nash.
“There were thousands of them—those people should have been torn apart,” said Connelly.
He watched the drones below move in formations back towards the shade of buildings and homes. “Maybe that was all one family with the same blood type—Type B, like Selene mentioned before.”
Nash narrowed his eyes at the sight below. “If that’s the case then they won’t be infected by the drones—they’ll be kept as food for the alphas.”
Reisner felt his stomach coil in knots as he balled his fists. Only the roar of the engines could be heard above the painful silence permeating the cabin of the plane. There is a fate worse than death—worse than even being infected.
Reisner wondered what he would do if they ran into groups of survivors in Eureka. Would he be forced to bypass them for the sake of the mission or would he try to get them back to the plane, even if it meant shoving aside his objective. He looked around the bare compartment, realizing they could only take so many people but knowing he could never stand idly and watch the horror he’d just witnessed unfold again—not if he had the power to change such a grisly outcome.
As the plane hugged the coastline, the abandoned cities and small towns became a blur. This is what the rest of the country—the world—must look like now. Millions of years of clawing our way to the top of the food chain and in one week we dropped down to being the prey-base for this new predator.
Reisner looked up at Nash, his face holding a scowl. He was sure he knew what was flashing through his friend’s mind.
“We need to find this fucking computer whiz and get him back to the Reagan so he can do his thing and we can get back to doing ours,” said Nash. “We sure as shit don’t need the Chinese on our backs while we’re battling those things to regain our shores.”
“The sat imagery of the location for this guy shows a heat signature, so he must be there—or someone else has taken up residence there,” said Porter.
Reisner swiveled around in his seat then leaned forward. “Just remember the briefing back on the Reagan—this guy is a former spook and a paranoid son of a bitch at that. He’s probably got perimeter alarms, motion-activated cameras, and who knows what else. Treat the approach to his residence like we’re walking into a Taliban trap, and be prepared for resistance. At least until I can talk to him.”
Reisner removed the black-and-white satellite surveillance photographs from his backpack that McKenzie’s intel staff had provided. He pulled out the image for the airstrip. “Just for review, it looks like there’s a fuel tanker near the back end of this hangar,” he said, tapping the corner of the picture. “Porter, help get the plane refueled; Connelly, you provide cover. Nash and I will head to the employee parking area and see about procuring one of the vehicles.” He slid another photo over the top, this one showing the topography of the surrounding countryside. “If all goes well, we’ll be on our way, heading east for eight clicks before veering off on this dirt road. After that, it’s three clicks north and then we’re on foot for a half-click as we buttonhook in to Andre’s cabin.” He looked up into each operator’s eyes. “Any questions or comments.”
“I’m guessing this nerd is probably a Heineken guy, so I call dibs on the beer in his cooler,” said Porter.
“One brew in you and the role of driver is out,” said Connelly.
Porter frowned, punching her lightly in the arm. “Pff—at least I’m old enough to drink.”
“Old is for sure. Sounds like a creaky door just opened when you bend your knees.”
“I can still outrun you any day.”
“Runnin’ away seems like your style.”
Reisner chuc
kled, wondering what had caused the sudden playful banter between the two when Connelly was normally so reserved. Maybe she was just opening up more after what they had been through. With Porter’s rough-and-tumble personality and his fleeting relationships with women, he hardly seemed the type to interest Connelly. Maybe she finally realized nothing was ever going to happen between us.
Nash got up and moved next to Reisner, sitting on his left, away from the others. “So, who exactly is this guy Andre again that we’re paying a visit to? I know he’s a cyber-security expert and had a connection to the Agency, but who is he really?”
Reisner gave his friend a sideways glance then leaned his head back against the seat. “He used to be on Runa’s team when I first started. He came up from the intel side and handled all of the usual shadow work behind the scenes when we were on missions—helping us to bypass security systems, breach computer firewalls, and forge digital identities for our team in addition to providing the usual background on our intended targets.”
“OK.” Nash let the word drag out. “Sounds like pretty standard stuff so far.”
“Yeah, except he was running point on intel and logistics on the mission in Belarus.” Reisner abruptly stopped and gave Nash a hard stare, knowing he had probably heard the story from Runa. Andre had failed to eliminate the border security cameras along their evasion route near Poland, which resulted in Reisner’s team getting into a firefight with the Belarus Secret Police. By the time it was over, one of Reisner’s agents, Mira Grant, was dead, along with the asset. The whole mission was for nothing. It was more than a professional catastrophe, as Grant and Reisner had been personally involved for nearly a year. Reisner was even going to see to it that she was transferred off of his team, but his request came one mission too late. He was devastated, and blamed the catastrophe on Pacelle, whose alcohol addiction he believed played a part, though he knew it was also a blend of corrupt politicians on both sides and faulty information. For Reisner, he saw Pacelle as the focal point for his anguish, and nursed a grudge which hadn’t diminished much over the years.
