by Derek Slaton
“Yes Sir, whatever you need,” Sparks nodded.
“Good enough for me,” he replied, and three clicks sounded in his earpiece. “Okay, that’s the signal from Jackson. We’re a go.”
He led his team across the open ground, encountering no resistance. They moved quickly and silently, and reached the door, pressed against the wall on either side. Harris gave a silent countdown before turning and flinging open the door.
He swallowed the thick mucous in his throat and ignored his gag reflex entirely, work mode taking over and bringing him to attention. He led them into a mid-sized storage area, with floor to ceiling shelving and wooden boxes strewn about. They moved forward slowly, about four feet apart at most, training their attention on the hidden areas of the shelves to make sure nobody was hiding.
The group froze at the sound of automatic gunfire muffled through the building.
“Contact! Contact!” Jackson cried through the earpiece, and Harris immediately motioned to Harper. Before they could move, the crackle of nearer gunfire echoed in the space and Taylor’s head tore in half.
Harris grabbed Harper’s arm, pulling him behind a crate as a bullet caught the strike member’s shoulder. Sparks dove behind a stack of boxes across the room, peeking back out to make sure that Taylor was well and fully dead and didn’t need assistance.
She spotted the gunman on the far end, continuing to unload a flurry of bullets through the air to keep the group pinned down. She ducked back behind the crates, looking to her superior who was doubled over in a violent coughing fit. Harper was trying desperately to stop the bleeding in his shoulder, but it didn’t look good.
Harris finally took in a breath and caught Sparks’ eye. She motioned for him to lay down covering fire and he nodded, fighting the wheezing in his chest as he thrust his arm over the top of the crate to shoot.
She immediately darted out from behind the crate, sliding underneath one of the bottom shelves. As she came out the other side she fired, catching the terrorist in the kneecap, forcing him to the ground. Before he could get back up she sprung to her feet and launched a flying knee strike to his face, rendering him unconscious.
She stood over him for a second to make sure he was fully out, and kicked his gun away. “Clear!” She called, and strode back over to her superior as Jackson gave the all clear over the earpiece.
“10-4, Jackson, we’re clear too,” Harris touched the earpiece and then switched frequencies. “Locals, we have the building secure. I need a couple medics at the north breach point and some uniforms to detain a suspect.”
“You doing okay, Sir?” Sparks asked as she approached, brow furrowed in concern. **
“Doing just fine, thanks to you,” Harris replied with a coughing groan. “That was one hell of an effort, Sparks. Once we get everything under control I’m going to have a nice long chat with the SWAT leader about the fact you haven’t had a chance with him.”
“Thank you, sir,” she replied with a firm nod.
“Agent Harris, do you copy?” Jackson’s voice came in through the earpiece.
“Harris here,” the Agent slowly got to his feet. “What do you have, Jackson? Do you need a medic or backup?”
“We’re fine, but we have something you need to see,” Jackson replied, and Harris and Sparks shared a look of concern as officers entered the space, descending on Harper’s bleeding form.
“Come on, let’s go see what he wants,” Harris motioned for the redhead to follow him, putting his fist to his lips to stifle another coughing fit. She held her gun at the ready as she tailed him, exiting the warehouse into an office area that had been devastated by a torrent of gunfire.
Harris wheezed a growl at the sight of lifeless bodies strewn in an ocean of blood splatter.
Jackson approached him. “Sir, you need to-”
“What the fuck happened in here, Jackson?!” Harris cut him off. “You had orders to use non-lethal force!”
“Well Sir, it’s simple.” The tall strike leader shrugged. “They had guns, we felt threatened, we removed the threat.”
“Guess what?” Harris stepped forward, nose a hair’s breadth from Jackson’s. His hoarse voice didn’t waver an inch. “Taylor got his fucking head blown off, and Harper caught a round to the shoulder, yet that girl right over there was able to follow orders and secure a live suspect. Are you telling me you can’t do the job of a local fucking Officer?”
“Sir, you can reprimand me later,” Jackson replied, pursing his lips and glaring at Sparks, who didn’t give him the satisfaction of a reaction. “Right now you need to see this.”
“Fine,” Harris stepped down and cleared his throat. “What do you have?”
Jackson turned on his heel with a huff and led them down a row of desks into a large office. Along the far wall was series of maps, and a lone desk with a laptop. Next to it there was a plexiglass cell with a single person huddled in the corner.
Harris’ breath caught in his throat, and he narrowed his eyes. Who was this prisoner? He reached out and tapped the glass, and the man sprung up and dove for him, smashing his face into it. Harris took a step back in shock at the sight of bloodshot unblinking eyes as the man creature gnawed at the glass as if trying to take a bite out of it.
“Oh my god, it’s Sokolov,” he said, noting the burns down the side of the creature’s face. “What in god’s name is wrong with him?”
“I have no idea Sir, but it gets worse,” Jackson replied, and motioned to the desk. One of the maps on the wall was of the UT campus, with arrows charting a path through it and around the stadium. The open laptop had some medical jargon on the screen.
“Holy fuck, the attack may have already happened,” Harris coughed, “we… we need to get this analyzed.”
“I can take it over to our contact at UT,” Jackson offered.
“That’s no good.” Harris shook his head. “SWAT has deployed there this morning for an undisclosed incident. Between that, the zombie doctor over there and this info we have to assume the bio attack has already been launched.”
“So where do we take it, then?” Jackson asked.
“I have an idea,” Sparks piped up, and both men turned to her.
“Okay Sparks,” Harris said with a wave of his hand, “let’s hear it.”
“Texas State University in San Marcos,” she replied. “It’s about a forty five minute drive due south from here, about halfway to San Antonio. There is a lab run by Doctor Alvison. He’s not going to be winning any major awards, but he’s a solid researcher who has been at the school for the past couple of decades. At the very least he should be able to make sense of what’s here so we know what we are up against.”
“How in the hell do you know that?” Jackson narrowed his eyes.
“I went to undergrad there before joining the academy,” Sparks replied, eyes much harder when she looked at him than at Harris. “I was an English major, but my final two years there I was one of the ambassadors for the school that would show potential freshmen what the school had to offer.”
“Good enough for me,” Harris wheezed. “We have to assume Austin has been hit and proceed from there. Jackson, take Sparks, Ross and Michaels. Get this info down to her contact. I’m going to stay here and interrogate the lone survivor.”
Jackson pursed his lips as he stared down his nose at the redhead. “Yes, Sir,” he said reluctantly. “Come on, Sparks, get the stuff and let’s go.”
“One more thing.” Harris put up a hand. “I’m activating the hostile zone protocol, and will let D.C. know where you are going to be. Based on what Sokolov turned into I don’t want to take any chances.”
CHAPTER FOUR
Tuesday, 12:16 P.M.
The SUV tore down the I-35, lights flashing as Jackson wove in and out of traffic.
“Before we left, Agent Harris said he was activating the hostile zone protocol,” Sparks broke the subdued silence by leaning forward in the backseat. “What is that?”
“Look sweetheart,”
Jackson replied, voice dripping with disdain, “the only reason you are here is to give me directions to this lab. You aren’t here to ask questions.”
“Whether you like it or not, I’m on this mission,” she snapped. “So you can drop the attitude and give me some basic goddamn information.”
“It’s used as a failsafe,” Agent Ross cut in, turning in his seat beside her to try to diffuse the situation. He was a dark haired man with kind eyes, and she relaxed a bit at his far more respectful tone. “When we have to go into hostile territory or an unknown situation, we activate this protocol. Once this happens there are several computer geeks back in D.C. that monitor all locally generated non-traditional communication from the area.”
“Why, though?” Sparks raised an eyebrow. “What would that accomplish?”
“Traditional communications might be jammed or taken out entirely, so you may have to get creative to get a message out,” Ross explained. “You might only have access to a ham radio for example, so if you put out a distress call the boys in D.C. will hear it.”
“Gotcha.” She nodded. “Good to know.”
“Where the hell am I going, Sparks?” Jackson barked.
“Take exit 205, drive about half a mile and turn right,” she instructed. “School will be straight ahead.”
A tense silence fell over the vehicle as they drove the last leg of the trip. Jackson drove into the quad and parked beside the student union, eyes sweeping the area for any sign of people. There weren’t even any other cars. It was a virtual ghost town.
“Where the hell is everyone?” Agent Michaels asked absently.
Sparks opened her door. “There was a massive bed bug outbreak at the school last week, so they cancelled classes and sent the resident students away so they could fumigate the dorms,” she explained.
“That would have been fan-fucking-tastic information to have an hour ago,” Jackson snapped, turning around in his seat to glare at her as she hopped down to the asphalt. “If the school is closed, then how do you know this doctor is even going to be here?”
“He’s a hermit who lives for his work,” she said. “Even without students he’s going to be hunkered down in his lab doing research.” She slammed the door and the strike leader growled, exiting the vehicle with the other agents.
“You’d just better hope he’s here,” he warned as he fell into step with her. “So where are we going?”
“Through the Student Union, third floor walkway and we’re in the science building,” Sparks instructed as she walked, short legs managing to keep a brisk pace.
They reached the front doors, but when Michaels reached out to pull it open they were locked. Jackson pushed him out of the way and rattled the handles in frustration.
“So now what?” His voice raised an octave and Sparks fought the urge to roll her eyes.
“Looks like we’re going on a hike,” she replied. “Just follow the sidewalk around and it’s the building directly behind this one.”
The tall agent shook his head in disgust. “Okay, let’s go.”
Tuesday, 12:38 P.M.
The foursome exited a dimly lit stairwell into a long hallway, the only illuminated lab at the very end. There was no movement but at least the lights were on.
“You’d better hope he’s here,” Jackson sneered. “If not, we’re all kinds of fucked if an attack has happened.”
Sparks ignored him and led them down the hallway, stopping to knock politely on the doorframe to the lab. There were two young college kids standing with their backs to the door, and they jumped at the sound, whipping around.
“You aren’t supposed to be in here!” The slight and taller one with glasses said, though his high pitch didn’t really give off an air of authority.
“We’re here to see Dr. Alvison,” Sparks replied gently.
“Yeah?” The other kid, a short and stout fun house mirror reflection of the first one, crossed his arms. “And who are you exactly?”
Jackson growled and pushed his way through the door. “We’re from the motherfucking U S of A government and we don’t have time for your bullshit,” he fumed. “Now is Dr. Alvison here or not?”
The kids blinked at him in fear and shock, but before anyone moved an older man appeared from the back room. He was wearing a white lab coat and silver rimmed glasses and he snorted, wiping his nose clean before straightening to look at the agent, seemingly unimpressed.
“I’m Dr. Alvison,” he said. “What can I do for you?”
“Doctor, we have a situation and need your help,” Sparks spoke up, and walked over to him, taking his arm to help him sit in his desk chair.
“Very well,” the old man replied. “What is it?”
Ross approached and set the laptop and documents on his desk, leaning over to motion to one of the folders. “We believe that there has been a bio-terrorist attack in Austin, and we need to know what we are dealing with,” he explained.
Dr. Alvison took a moment to look over the first folder and then pursed his lips. “Okay, I’m going to need some time.”
Jackson slammed his hand down on the counter behind them, startling the whole room. “We don’t have time!” he snapped.
“Well,” Dr. Alvison coughed. “Ugh, excuse me. Been under the weather for a couple of days now. Ted over there brought me this little gift on Sunday, didn’t you Ted?”
“Hey, focus.” Jackson snapped his fingers. “Can you decipher this or not?”
“Yes, I can,” Dr. Alvison replied in a steely tone, staring the agent down with no sign of being intimidated. “But as I stated before, it’s going to take some time. This isn’t a football box score, this is complicated material. Could take me hours to figure out what this is.”
“Fucking hell,” Jackson grunted. “Ross, get on the line back to Agent Harris and give him an update.”
Ross nodded and left the room to make his call, while Dr. Alvison swiveled in his chair to fully face Jackson.
“If you can run an errand for me, the process might be sped up considerably,” the old man said.
“Great, what do you need?” Jackson rolled his eyes.
“Two of my research assistants, Ben and Ashley, went to Mike’s Diner on the quad about half an hour ago for a late lunch,” the Doctor replied. “If you can get them back here they can help me figure this out faster.”
“Now we’re talking,” Jackson huffed, and turned to the redhead. “Sparks, go collect the young people so we can get this ball rolling.”
“Why me?” she asked without thinking.
“Because I gave you a fucking order, that’s why,” Jackson hissed, stepping right up into her face. “You wanted to be a member of the team, well here you are, on the bottom rung of the ladder. So go get this done.”
She bit her tongue, and as much as she wanted to comment about the way his breath on her made her skin crawl, she managed to hold back. “Yes, Sir.”
“Jackson, I got nothing,” Ross rushed back into the room.
“What the fuck do you mean, you got nothing?” Jackson snapped.
“Can’t reach Harris.” Ross shook his head. “I tried the police station dispatch and the Captain’s direct line. Nothing all the way around.”
Jackson’s gaze turned from fuming to concerned. “Sparks, hurry,” he urged. “This could be a real shit show in the making. And for the love of god, don’t tell anyone what’s going on. Last thing we need is a panic on our hands.”
She nodded and practically flew down the hallway.
CHAPTER FIVE
Tuesday, 12:59 P.M.
Sparks jogged across the quad to Mike’s Diner, red hair fluttering behind her in the afternoon breeze. She’d frequented the place a lot when she was an undergrad, being a staple of the campus.
She opened the door and almost clocked Mike Venture in the face who was standing right behind it.
“I’m sorry ma’am, but we’re closing up for the day,” he said in a tired voice. “My staff called in sick so it’s ju
st been me today. And frankly it’s not worth staying open past lunch since nobody is on campus.”
“Don’t worry Mike,” she said and flashed her badge. “I’m just here to collect a couple of people and we’ll be on our way.”
“Who are you arresting?” His eyes grew wide. “What did they do?”
“No, no, nothing like that.” She put a hand up. “I’m looking for Ben and Ashley. Doctor Alvison sent me down here to collect them.”
“Oh, okay, I gotcha,” Mike replied with a sigh of relief. “They are the couple in the center booth there.” He motioned and she nodded.
“Thanks, Mike,” she said, and made her way towards them as he locked the door. The sight of the Mike’s military themed decor to honor his Vietnam war days brought back a wave of nostalgia but she focused on casing the joint. There was a large bald man that looked to be in his late 30s wearing a black leather jacket at a table to the left, and two other inconspicuous looking men sitting by themselves along the far wall.
She stopped in front of the center table with a fit black man sporting a tight afro and a blonde girl that looked like she just walked out of a fashion magazine. They couldn’t have been much older than 20.
“Are you Ben and Ashley?” she asked.
“Who wants to know?” Ben narrowed his eyes in suspicion.
“My name is Lacy Sparks and I’m with the Austin police department,” the redhead explained and flashed her badge again. “Doctor Alvison sent me down here to retrieve you for a time sensitive project.”
“Why in the world would he send a cop down here to get us?” Ben asked. “An Austin cop at that?”
