Omega Pathogen: Mayhem

by Hicks Jr, J. G.

  “OK, enough for now, guys,” Jim says. “Kayra, use the potty over there,” Jim points out the empty five-gallon bucket toward the cab area of the MRAP. “Let me tie it down with the bungee cord first, sweetheart,” Jim tells his daughter.

  “I’m not pooping in front of everyone,” she says.

  “Sweetheart, no one will look. We’ll get a curtain for it later.”

  “I’ll stand in front of you so no one can see, baby,” Arzu says while reaching down to release Kayra’s four-point harness.

  “Good job, guys. I know some of the things that are going through your heads right now, and all I can say is you did what you had to do to protect yourself and your family.” Jim looks deeply into his sons’ eyes as he speaks.

  Neither Chris or Jeremy replies; they hold his gaze and both give only a nod. “It’s not an easy thing to do what you’ve done. I wish I could tell you things will be easier, but I doubt they’re going to be. I think things will only get tougher as we go. We’ll not only have to deal with infected, but also survivors who want to take what we have just because they can.”

  “You two refill your magazines. I’m going to check out these radios to see if we can use them,” Jim says and begins checking the cabinet that he hadn’t noticed, marked Comms, while he was inside the MRAP the first time. He’s pleased they may have better communications than the store-bought radios they’ve been using.

  Opening the cabinet, he’s rewarded by the sight of eight handheld radios, each with headsets equipped with right or left interchangeable earpieces and microphones attached. Turning on two of the radios and switching them both to channel one, he keys one while listening to the earpiece of the other. He’s rewarded with the sound of a squelch and that of hearing himself blowing into the other radio’s mic.

  Hearing the echo when keying and releasing the transmit button, he knows by the sound that the radios are using a repeating system located onboard the MRAP. Kayra finishes her business, and they all take seats in the rear area of the vehicle. Jim lays out his plan; he feels a high priority is to fill the MRAP with diesel, but decides, since they’re close to fuel supplies from nearby gas stations and tractor-trailers, they can spend some time trying to get more supplies.

  He knows they’ll need to get some fuel cans and to fill them up as well, so they have spare fuel on hand. A good place for that and other needed supplies will be the Costco nearby. Jim points out that they can fit two or three five gallon containers on each side of the steps on the sides of the rear doors, securing them in place by strapping them to the handrails running beside each of the doors.

  Jim had been able to get many supplies from the ambulance, and some weapons and ammunition from the police cruisers, before finding the MRAP. He had to leave those items behind in order to escape with the armored vehicle. Since they were left in the family vehicle at the nearby hospital, they’ll see if they can collect those things first and then scavenge further.

  Jim asks for questions or comments but receives only ‘Sounds good’ from Chris and Jeremy and ‘OK, honey’ from Arzu.

  “Arzu, I’ll drive us over to the hospital over there,” Jim says, pointing out the passenger side of the MRAP. “You sit up front with me so I can go over some of the handling characteristics of this beast.”

  Chris and Jeremy buckle Berk and Kayra into their seats and begin to argue about who is going to man the turret. “Neither one of you is opening the turret right now,” Jim says to end the argument.

  “Chris, you’re too damn short any way,” Jeremy throws another little verbal jab. “Height isn’t an issue, Jeremy. The platform adjusts up and down,” Jim says.

  Chris responds to Jeremy by displaying his middle finger to his younger brother.

  “Chris, you sit at the rear beside the passenger side door. If we need to get out the rear of the MRAP fast, we need someone there to open it up in a hurry.”

  "Got it, Dad," and "OK, Pops," are the boys’ responses.

  “And put on your belts,” Jim insists.

  Jim and Arzu buckle in as well and Jim begins the trek to the right, off the road, onto the shoulder and over the lawn of the hospital. Throughout the short drive over to the hospital, Jim looks for and sees infected taking notice of the deep engine noise of the diesel. Other survivors are observed, many in the process of packing vehicles to leave, while others are fortifying their homes or businesses to try and stay put. Jim doesn’t share the latter’s optimism about remaining in an area with this high of a population. The infected exit from the hospital, not like they did before, but still in large numbers.

  Jim talks to Arzu about the vehicle, informing her that it can get up to seventy miles per hour if it has enough of a straightaway. He informs her that when accelerating, the MRAP won’t respond as quickly as normal cars and trucks due to its massive weight of around seventy thousand pounds.

  He cautions also that because the vehicle is tall and top-heavy, it’s prone to turning over on its side, as well as the propensity for it to flip when not taking a hill at the proper angle, even at low speeds. Jim gives brief instructions in the operation of the vehicle, loud enough for Chris and Jeremy to hear the lecture as well, since they’ll likely need to drive it at some time.

  Chapter 17

  Present

  Arriving at the front of the hospital, Jim pulls past the Pathfinder and then backs towards the rear of the vehicle using the MRAP’s backup camera. The armored vehicle is so wide; it’s impossible to see the whole Pathfinder in the side mirrors.

  Parking the MRAP, Jim asks Arzu to take the driver’s seat. He opens the weapons locker and removes an M-32 six-shot 40mm grenade launcher. Jim locates the Oleoresin Capsicum (OC) grenade rounds and fills it with six.

  “Holy shit!” Jeremy says, eyes wide and fixed on the weapon.

  “Damn, Dad, are you gonna go Rambo on their asses?” Chris adds.

  “No, guys. This is loaded with pepper gas; you know, one of the gasses that are used for crowd control. The wind direction looks good, so I’ll pop out a couple rounds and see if it works at keeping them back.”

  Jim locates six gas masks and gives one to Chris and Jeremy, and one to Arzu. He gives a quick demonstration on how to don and test for a seal. He then places the smallest two on Berk and Kayra. Kayra thinks it’s cool, but Berk begins to cry about wearing it and keeps trying to take it off.

  Jim has Jeremy wrestle with Berk to get him to keep it on while he steps up onto the turret platform and prepares to open the hatch.

  “Everybody ready? Give me a thumbs-up,” he says, a muffled distortion to his voice.

  He receives thumbs-up from Arzu, Chris, Jeremy, and even Kayra, with what he’s sure is a smile on her face by the way her eyes are squinted.

  Jim unlocks the hatch and opens the turret. Taking another look at the direction the grass is bent and then noticing the direction of the windsock for the helicopter landing pad, he’s satisfied the wind isn’t going to blow the gas back on them.

  If the wind shifts, he knows he can just seal up the hatch; the gas can’t penetrate the MRAP as long as it’s closed up. Jim takes a best-guess aim; it’s been a while since he’s fired this type of weapon. He fires one for effect, and then adjusts the trajectory slightly to the left and a little closer for better spread of the gas.

  Seeing the spread of the gas moving to the right and away from their location, he decides to send out a couple more, adjusting aim again, trying to land the rounds more to the left and closer still to the MRAP to get better dispersion of the gas.

  After two rounds, Jim’s satisfied. He pulls in the M-32 and holds it out for Jeremy to grab. He then bends down and seals the turret hatch. “Jeremy, put that back in the locker. Everyone leave your masks on and wait here.” Jim heads to the rear of the MRAP and leans to Chris so he can better hear.

  “Chris, when I say, open the door and I’ll hop out. Close it up when I’m out. You stay here and keep a look out, when I come back, open her up, OK?”

 
“Got it, Dad,” he replies with the same distorted voice as his father. Jim adjusts his AR-15 in the low ready position, sets his feet, crouches at his knees, then points to the door with his left hand and gives a thumbs-up.

  Chris, already with his hand on the doorknob, sees his dad’s signal, turns the knob and pushes open the door. Jim jumps out and with his AR-15, following his line of sight as he turns left and right, checking the area for threats. Pleased, he sees the infected coughing, rubbing at their eyes, and clawing at their throats, none of them approaching him.

  Jim gets to the rear compartment of the Pathfinder, taking a look to make sure no squatters are inside. He flips up the hatch, grabs the closest thing within reach and runs it back to the MRAP. Chris, watching for his dad, opens the door as soon as he approaches. Jim tosses in the bag and turns back to the Nissan, looking around with his AR-15 following his eyes.

  Back at the rear compartment of the Pathfinder, Jim gathers three more duffels and heads for the MRAP again. Repeating the procedure, Chris is ready and opens the door, takes the bags from his father, and closes the door as he turns back.

  Chris keeps watch out the rear window as he moves the four duffels out of the pathway. He sees his dad returning, and as soon as he’s at the door, he’s got it opened. Jim tosses the last bag in the back, and then follows behind it.

  Chris slams the door and latches it. Jim lifts his mask and informs the rest they can do the same since no gas had blown inside. “OK, Arzu, would you mind driving us to Costco?”

  “No problem, baby. Seat belts first, everyone.”

  “I have to go pee,” Berk interjects.

  Arzu is extra careful while Berk is relieving his bladder and then picks up more speed after he’s seated and strapped in. During the short trip, Jim grabs two MOLLE (Modular Lightweight Load-carrying Equipment) tactical vests and removes the SWAT embroidered patch on the front and back of the vests.

  He then gathers Chris and Jeremy closer and they load spare magazines and fill the magazine pouches on the vests. “Why’d you take off the SWAT patches?” Chris asks his father.

  “We have no idea what kind of people we’re going to run into. Some might be the sort that will feel greatly liberated from the constraints of order that the rule of law has put on them,” Jim responds.

  “Basically, you’re saying we may run into some assholes who will take the first opportunity to shoot someone, especially law enforcement,” Chris replies, realizing the implications.

  “Yeah, there’s a bunch of scum that will take the chaotic situation to do things they’ve wanted to do, or have been already doing, and will ramp it up now in this state of mayhem we’re in.” Jim collects the M-32 grenade launcher, reloads the spent Oleoresin Capsicum cartridges and slings it onto his back.

  He then collects his gas mask, attaches it to his vest and has Chris and Jeremy do the same. Arzu pulls up to the store and stops. “No infected outside, maybe it’s the sunlight,” she observes.

  “Yeah, it looks good outside. Hopefully it’s clear inside too, but I doubt it,” Jim responds while looking out the windshield toward the front of the store. “Here’s the plan; Arzu, when we’re ready, you swing the MRAP around so the back is facing the entrance to the store. You can see behind you with the video feed here,” he points out the monitor set into the middle of the dashboard.

  “When we hop out, you’ll need to lock the door and try to keep a 360-degree watch around us, and look out for us to come hauling ass.” They don the radios and test them. They do the same with a set of night vision goggles for each of them that Jim retrieved from one of the equipment lockers.

  Jim asks Arzu to reposition the MRAP. She smoothly maneuvers the huge vehicle with the rear facing the front of the store. Jim, Chris, and Jeremy disembark the vehicle, and Arzu locks the rear doors.

  As they approach the doorway to the store, Jim feels the weight of their situation seemingly getting heavier on his shoulders with each step. He’s going into a building with two of his children to conduct a tactical building search. He knows for a fact he’s more than rusty at this. They’ve only had an extremely small fraction of time to do anything remotely close to training. They haven’t had enough time.

  “Let’s be smooth, guys. We’ll clear an area around the interior of the entrance to start with. We’ll see what we see and move further in if it looks good,” Jim says in a low voice as they stage at the right side of the entrance.

  Chapter 18

  Siberia, USSR 1974

  The thing that had been Vladimir sits on the top bunk, looking around the dimly lit guards’ quarters, with frothy saliva drooling down his chin. He has no memory of this place in which he finds himself. He doesn’t know enough to realize that he should care that he doesn’t recognize his surroundings.

  The ambient noises of the underground complex make him constantly look to each new sound he hears; the sounds of air vents in multiple directions, of ticking, and of air blowing through the vents as the heating and ventilation system attempts its battle with the chill…

  The sounds of dripping water from corroded pipes in another direction, the hum and buzz of lighting fixtures nearby, the sounds of laughter and conversation; what was Vladimir no longer knows what laughter is. He no longer knows the words he hears. But he does know it comes from something he feels is a threat. He must attack this threat.

  He jumps from the top bunk bed and lands in a semi-squatting stance. He pauses and listens again for the noises from those he feels are a threat. He lets out a low and deep growling sound, and begins to cautiously make his way to the doorway of the quarters.

  He stops at another doorway where he hears the water dripping. He can smell water. The smell causes his salivation to increase. He must drink. He carefully inches closer to the door where the smell comes from. The smell of water becomes stronger, and this causes him to disregard his safety and hastily enter the guards’ bathroom.

  The sound of the dripping is louder; he knows the splash of the drops means he can quench his thirst. What was Vladimir sees the sink and the dripping water from the faucet. He goes to the sink, bends over, and laps at the droplets.

  Frustrated by the lack of water available to him from the slow-dripping faucet, he begins to strike it in anger. Then he freezes mid-blow when he hears another sound. He doesn’t recognize it except that he hears the sound of water.

  The nearby toilet, like most all the plumbing, is faulty and the rubber seal in the tank leaks into the bowl. The thing that had been Vladimir looks at the object and sees the water in the bowl. He forgets his anger with the faucet and moves to the toilet bowl to get his fill of water.

  “What the fuck, Vladimir?” the voice startles him, and he quickly removes his head from the toilet bowl, whipping it to the side to face the sound. “If you wanted something to drink. . .” The other guard can’t finish his words before they and the grin on his face are interrupted by the swift attack by what had been Vladimir.

  Before the older guard can react, Vladimir pounces on him. His last thoughts are of the pain of teeth gnashing the flesh of his face and hands as he attempts to defend himself. And why in the hell was Vladimir drinking out of a toilet?

  Below the guards’ quarters, in the laboratory, the colonel sits and observes the two infected prisoners inside their cells. The recently attacked man lies on his bunk with a pillowcase around the left side of his head, and a bandage for his ruined face and left eye that were damaged by the infected. He tosses and turns in the bunk, periodically gently grasping at his head.

  His attacker stands at the bars of his cell, gripping them with white-knuckled force. His head and eyes constantly move throughout the cellblock area. He issues a deep and low growl at times.

  Doctor Kosktov and Doctor Levonen are immersed in their task of compiling all data related to the work conducted in the underground facility. The files and paperwork are easily packed up. However, the viral samples are a more delicate process.

  The doctors careful
ly fill a cryogenic storage container with liquid nitrogen. They then place the six samples of their altered virus, labeled as ‘SCARV’, into the cryo tank.

  “What is the temperature of the cryo tank, Doctor Levonen?” Doctor Kosktov asks as he looks over and checks off procedures as they conclude each step.

  “Maintaining minus 57° to minus 63° Celsius, sir,” Levonen replies to his mentor, with his eyes fixed on the thermometer of the cryogenic tank.

  “Nearly finished, Doctor Levonen,” notes Kosktov as he reviews the checklists for data and sample transfer from the facility.

  “When will we be leaving, Doctor Kosktov?” Levon asks, staring at his mentor with an excited tone and nearly elated expression on his face.

  “I’m not sure that any of us will be going with the colonel and his team; he’s only ordered the data and samples to be prepared for transfer. We may still be staying here to continue research on the pathogen, or something else. You know that our position doesn’t permit us to know such things,” Doctor Kosktov replies, attempting a neutral tone to his voice, its hint of melancholy not unnoticed by Levonen.

  Deciding to leave the matter, Doctor Levonen continues to assist securing samples.

  After another forty-five minutes, the reports, video, and audio recordings are properly filed and packed in a container. The container is locked and a numbered seal affixed. A packing list is placed into a separate attaché case and locked as well.

  “Let us go report our progress to our master, Comrade Colonel Azarov, shall we?” Doctor Kosktov says with a hint of sarcasm not missed by Levonen. As Doctor Levonen rises from his seat in front of the portable cryogenic storage, he replies, “Yes, sir,” and follows Kosktov out of the room. Doctors Kosktov and Levenon arrive in the holding area to find Colonel Azarov still fixated on the observation window.

  The colonel gazes intensely at the two prisoners in the holding area as he quickly scribbles notes on a pad of paper; scribbling notes, looking up at the prisoners and then scribbling more notes. As the two doctors approach, the colonel continues his pattern. Without pause, he asks, “Have you finished packing the data and samples?”