Six SAS went through the breach in the fence first, spreading out, shields before them, moving low and slow. Behind them, two sniper teams watched the grounds and the building for any threats, the drone doing constant circuits of the building.
The six men walked forwards, mindful of threats ahead of them and at their feet. “What if the grounds are mined?” Croft had asked.
“There are no anti-personnel devices. Look at the grass – it’s cut regularly, well looked after. That’s not something we have to worry about.” Croft shook his head in disgust; he should have spotted that. He’d been too long out of the field, too long chasing ghosts and filling out reports. But he still didn’t like this. He watched the six men move closer to the building.
It smelt the meat. Its sense of smell was enhanced by the virus over and above what nature had already provided for it. Food was coming. It walked over to the gate and sniffed at the ground. Even with its genetically enhanced vision, all it could see was the small patch of light far off behind the gate. That was where the smell was coming from, that was where its meal was coming from, and it growled deep within its throat. Behind it, five other growls joined in forming a low-threatening chorus. They sang together as there was a mechanical beep. The gate, the thing that had kept them here since their conception, here in the darkness and their own waste, the gate began to move. It backed up slightly, apprehensive at what this meant. But the gate continued to move, and the virus in its mind forced it forward. Its brothers followed as it stepped further past the threshold of the gate. Although the word didn’t mean anything to it, freedom was there, and it began to run. They all began to run, and the light got closer and closer as they headed out to deal with their prey, virus-riddled saliva dripping from their elongated jaws.
Of the six men, four had stopped a hundred metres from the house, whilst two had continued on. Croft watched as they reached the actual building. All of them wore standard gas masks.
“Sierra one three at destination. No hostiles,” the voice over Croft’s earpiece said.
“Roger Sierra one three. Team two, move up,” Hudson commanded. Six more men moved past where Croft crouched and made their way through the breach in the fence. They fanned out and sprinted to where their four colleagues were camped out. There was no sniper fire, no explosions. It was as if the whole building was deserted.
“This is going too easy,” Sergeant O’Sullivan said over the radio. He had gone in the first batch of men, and was presently crouched down behind his ballistic shield. As if to prove that he had spoken too soon, there was a howl from somewhere behind the building. Another howl echoed from somewhere else on the property. “Shit, me and my big mouth,” Croft heard the sergeant curse.
Jones watched his pets charge towards their prey. They were infused with a slightly more primitive version of the virus, but it still made the Dobermans faster and stronger than they had been before his needles had pierced their bound flesh. He had no illusions about them dealing with the threat his stronghold now faced – the attackers were undoubtedly too well-armed and too well-trained for that. But it would slow them down, and might even remove several of them from the equation. What he also noticed was that two of the dogs had chosen their own path, and had run off into the wooded area away from where the soldiers were. The dogs had originally been trained to guard the perimeter of the farmland, but the virus had impacted on that training. The first trials, with them released into the space between the two fences, had seen them repeatedly charge the electrified inner fence to try and get at the observers watching them. Their training obviously destroyed, and with the risk that they might find a breach in the fence and escape into the outside world, those original test subjects were put down. They seem to go after anything living, so what the hell were those two strays after? thought Jones.
The drone saw them first. “Contact, we have contact,” shouted one of Hudson’s men. He had his own tablet, and he thrust it at the captain. The drone had picked up heat signatures on the periphery of the property, outside the fence. They were moving fast, and closing in, and almost a dozen were now visible.
“Everyone, inside the fence now,” Hudson commanded. Nobody second guessed him. The fence became a natural barrier to the new threat, and only the hole that had been blown was the weak spot. Croft saw the movement first. Swift, almost silent, and with a speed he hadn’t seen before.
“Attack dogs?” Croft questioned, unconsciously manoeuvring himself in front of Savage. He raised his machine gun and let off several rounds through the fence towards the oncoming abomination. There was a squeal as one of the dogs was hit. Those around him began firing also, but only at targets they could see, their training too ingrained to waste valuable bullets on mere spooks and shadows. They backed up away from the fence, heading towards the house. There was another yelp as another dog was felled. And then those that remained were at the fence.
“Fuck me,” Hudson said to nobody in particular. The dogs were larger than normal Dobermans, and looked almost as if they had been skinned. Their bodies seemed to glisten with moisture, and drool dripped from their snarling mouths. The beasts paused for only a moment, surveying their prey. The soldiers paused their fire briefly also, stunned by what they were seeing. Then the dogs charged through the holes in the fence towards the onslaught of bullets. One dog got electrocuted as it touched the fence metal, but it recovered quickly, seemingly only stunned. Its recovery was quickly quashed when its head exploded. Croft thought it had been his shot, but he couldn’t tell for sure.
The men under Hudson’s command didn’t need telling when to open fire, and they continued to rain hollow-point rounds into the oncoming savage beasts. None of the dogs made it to their prey – most were dead in seconds, several lay mortally wounded, panting as death crept towards them.
“Remember, head shots are the only way to finish them. We can’t be sure, but they might turn,” Savage advised.
“Looks like they’ve already turned,” Hudson commented.
“Fuck me rigid, zombie pooches,” one of the SAS men said. Hudson turned to Croft.
“Do you get the feeling someone is playing with us?” Hudson asked
“Do you get the feeling someone is playing with us?” the voice over the speaker said. Jones stood, a slight grin on his face.
“Oh my friend,” he said to himself, “I haven’t even begun to play.” Jones turned to the panel. He knew that if he did this, there was no getting out of the building he stood in. And he also knew he didn’t care. He flicked the last six switches on the wall box. He had two minutes before something far worse than devil dogs was released, this time inside the house. Moving quickly, he left the room and made his way to the basement entrance. Pressing his hand against a palm reader in the door itself, a green light washed over him and an electronic voice spoke.
“Access granted.” The door opened, sliding sideways into the wall itself, and Jones stepped through, the lights beyond coming on automatically. He moved quickly down the stairs, ignoring the first and second subterranean levels. At the third level, the stairs ended, and he made his way through another security door and followed the signs that said ‘Main Laboratory’. On the two levels above him, a claxon sounded briefly and several doors opened. The occupants of those rooms, locked up since their conception, stirred.
Croft watched as the SAS sergeant, along with one of the other soldiers, fired RIP tear gas rounds through the windows of the building. From where he stood, he could see the sergeant reloading his Remington shotgun, most probably with Hatton breaching rounds. “Gaining entry,” O’Sullivan said over the radio. The sergeant stepped up to the main door after a brief check for booby traps. Raising his shotgun, he stood to the side; another SAS stood at the other side of the door. This was precision, they had done this hundreds of times before. O’Sullivan blew off the hinges and the lock of the front door, the second soldier kicking it in, only to throw something in. Both men took cover as an explosion erupted in the front lobby, smoke bil
lowing out of the now decimated entrance. Clouds of tear gas began to billow out of the doorway, and the two soldiers stormed in, followed by four more. At the back of the building, Croft could hear a similar entry being gained.
“Do you miss it, Major?” Hudson asked, referring to the adrenaline of what they were witnessing. Croft looked at him.
“Of course I fucking miss it,” Croft answered.
It took only minutes for the ground and upper floor of the seven-bedroom farmhouse to be cleared, the constant metronome of explosions going off as each room was cleared with flash bangs echoing through the afternoon air.
“Building secured. There’s a security door to the basement,” the voice said over the headsets they all wore. Hudson nodded, and Croft followed him as he entered through the devastated front door. Savage followed with two more SAS men flanking her. They had all donned standard issue gas masks, as the rooms were still infused with noxious CS gas. Savage noted that it was more comfortable than the ones they had at Porton Down. The sergeant met them and guided them to the room that Jones had used to view their arrival.
“Whoever’s left here had plenty of warning of our arrival,” he said pointing at the video feed monitors. Croft looked at the unlocked panel with the switches, not really recognising its significance.
“You said you had found a security door?” Hudson said to his sergeant.
“Yes, boss. This way.” They followed the sergeant. He led them down a hallway, through mist and debris.
“Looks secure,” said Croft.
“Not to worry, Major, I’ve got just the thing to get through that.” Croft could tell that the sergeant was smiling, and he watched as the SAS man took his backpack off.
The door blew inwards, off its tracks and bounced off the wall. As the smoke cleared, Croft was thankful that technology had advanced enough to take down the door without taking down the whole building. Before the smoke even cleared, four SAS men entered and went down the stairs. The lights didn’t come on until halfway down the stairs, most of the bulbs having been shattered by the force of the blast. The communication continued as they descended, but began to become garbled, infused with static.
“First floor, more stairs going down. One door off.” Croft listened without interfering to the communications that were being relayed to Hudson. These guys knew what they were doing. “Entering door.” Savage watched as the sergeant followed four more men down. They would take the structure floor by floor. Controlling and clearing each level before descending to the next. He would stay here with Hudson and Savage until the job was done.
“Clearing first basement level.” That was followed by a series of muffled explosions. The same tactic as before, flashbangs followed by sweeping the rooms.
“Room clear.”
“Room clear.”
“Contact.” There was a succession of gunshots. “Be advised there are infected in the building.” More gunshots, more explosions.
“Fuck, get back.” Croft watched Hudson, saw no reaction in his body posture. Having been in the field, having been in command, Croft knew what the man was going through. Every man under his command was his responsibility.
“Shoot that fucker.”
“Three infected down. Moving to the next room.” There were more explosions, louder this time. Those weren’t flashbangs. Those were grenades.
“Room clear, two infected down.”
“Bob,” Hudson said to the corporal next to him, “have the drone do a sweep of the perimeter. I don’t want any surprises.”
“Yes, boss,” the corporal responded.
“Room clear.”
“Room clear, two infected down. Christ, these things are fast.”
“First sub-level cleared, boss. Proceeding to second sub-level.”
They went on like that for a further twenty minutes. The substructure was vast compared to the surface building. Despite the presence of infected, none of the soldiers had been contaminated from what they could tell. But hey, they’d know in ten minutes or so.
“Third sub-level cleared, boss. All ready for you. Looks like we’ve found the main lab too.” Savage’s ears pricked up at that. She grabbed Hudson’s arm.
“Is it damaged? Have they found anyone?” Hudson relayed the question.
“No. We ran out of grenades on the second sub-level, so have had to do it old school,” the voice said, now heavily distorted.
“Wait for us, we are coming down,” Hudson said. Leaving the two SAS soldiers behind, Hudson, Croft, and Savage descended into the bowels of the research facility, passing soldiers on every level. On the third level, Croft noticed that the SAS present had all removed their gas masks. They hadn’t used CS gas down here, and the facility’s air filtration unit had kept the air here clean. It was good to have that thing off his face, and it felt easier to breathe. Savage was visibly relieved. O’Sullivan led them to the main laboratory, where another security door barred the way. This one, however, had a green light on the entry panel, and Croft gave it an experimental pull.
The door opened. Croft was surprised that it wasn’t locked, and he was apprehensive as to why it wasn’t. He had seen many doors like this in recent years, all designed to keep things in, but sturdy nonetheless. No doubt a breaching charge would have gained access, but there was no need. Hudson followed him through, Savage waiting for O’Sullivan.
The room Croft entered was well lit and large. Clean and white, it looked sterile, like some laboratory from a cheesy science fiction movie. Instruments and equipment littered the room, and Croft paid them little attention because he didn’t even know what most of it all did. And his attention was on something far more important. At the end of the room was an isolation chamber, and inside was the man they had come to secure, the man that had nearly destroyed a planet.
Jones stood looking out of the chamber through a large window. He saw Croft raise his pistol, but knew he wouldn’t fire. And even if he did, Jones wasn’t concerned. The window was blast resistant. The explosive force needed to shatter it would be enough to bring the whole chamber down on those planting the explosives. The only way in was the door to the right of the window, and a big red light above it indicated that this door was locked. Jones walked up to the reinforced glass and put a hand onto its cold surface. His left arm ached slightly from where he had injected himself, and he looked at his watch. In ten minutes, probably sooner, the watch would be meaningless.
Croft lowered his weapon. He knew ballistic glass when he saw it. He stepped up to it and thumped it with his fist lightly, never once breaking eye contact with the man inside. The man didn’t smile, which wasn’t much but at least it was something. Strange how those who were insane often looked completely normal. The man casually jerked his head towards something and Croft followed the motion with his eyes. Croft walked over to the intercom panel and pressed the button.
“You can’t stay in there forever,” Croft said. Behind him, O’Sullivan and Savage entered, Savage walking over to where Croft stood. O’Sullivan went over to the chamber door, inspected it, inspected the entry controls, and turned towards his captain and shook his head. ‘We aren’t getting in here anytime soon’ that head shake said, and he moved back to where Hudson stood. Jones took a step over to the intercom and pressed the button.
“I know. I know I’m not getting out of here.”
“Why did you do it?” Croft asked, genuinely curious. “Why did you kill so many people?”
“I didn’t kill anyone. I merely created the means. I wasn’t the agent of its delivery. That comes later.” Jones smiled this time, and chuckled quietly to himself. “Everyone thinks this is bad. This so-called apocalypse is nothing. That idiot thinks he can control this, but he hasn’t got a clue.”
“Who are you talking about?” Savage asked. “What did you do?”
“Not telling, that would spoil the surprise,” Jones lectured, wagging a finger at Savage. He felt a chill run down his spine and looked at his watch. “But you’ll see soon en
ough. Why not grab a chair and get ready to enjoy the show?”
“You can still make this right,” Croft said. “If you made the virus, surely you made an antidote, a vaccine.”
“Of course I made a vaccine. The great Brother Abraham demanded it. Of course, it won’t do him any good. It’s useless against the virus.” Jones twitched, and his neck spasmed briefly. That was when Savage saw the injector gun lying on the table behind Jones, and her eyes went wild with realisation. “Yes, Dr. Savage, now you know.”
“Wait, you know her?” Croft asked, pointing at his partner.
“Of course I know her. I have a whole dossier on her provided by my most generous benefactor. You though,” Jones said with feigned confusion, “you I don’t know. But I suspect you are the mystery man who flies around the country putting out fires that Abraham has been so interested in. Failed with this one, don’t you think?” Croft was about to respond, but Jones was enveloped in a sudden coughing fit that doubled him over. The man spat blood onto the floor, and everyone took a step back from the viewing window, even though it was obviously secure.
“He injected himself,” Savage said. Why would he do that, why would he expose himself to something so painful, so deadly? Jones stopped coughing, although his face was now a deep red. He looked like he was going to have a stroke.
“I did indeed inject myself. And I destroyed all my research. There’s nothing left for you here. Nothing left at all.”
“Bastard,” O’Sullivan spat. “I’ve got enough Semtex to bring this whole building down. Let’s bury the cunt and make it his tomb.” Without breaking eye contact, Croft put up a hand to silence the sergeant.
“But still, there is something you want to tell me, isn’t there, James?” Croft asked. Now the man smiled and nodded. He coughed again, but it was only to clear his throat.
“Oh yes. I’m not giving you the cure, and I’m not telling you the surprise I have in store for you, but getting here proves to me you deserve at least something.” Jones pointed to the wall by the door Croft had come through. “There’s a USB stick on the counter over there. On it, you’ll find everything I know about who funded this little charade.”
Cobra Z Page 37
