Volunteering had put them on a collision course to change their lives. How could I have prepared them for the psychological battle for their humanity? How many teenage men had suffered the trauma of killing another human being, and not the dead, but the living during wars throughout the ages? How did the men who had been through it counsel them? How did they bring them to the acceptance of what they had done? How did they help them digest what they had done in the name of the greater good? How will you digest it, Mark?
Max’s eyes stared out past Steele into nothing as he relived the incident. “He look-looked right at me as if he knew it was-was me. I-I-I’m sure of it. Like he blamed me for killing him,” Max said, the side of his mouth twitching.
Steele gripped Max by the shoulder, giving it a squeeze. “Max, those men could have lived through today, but fate was not on their side. Things went wrong, and we had to kill them so they wouldn’t harm us.” As much as I’m pissed about that entire situation.
Max nodded feverishly, seeking any sort of relief from his internal anguish. “How’d you do it? I mean. How do you make it so it’s not always on your mind?” The boy blinked rapidly.
By listing out their names in my mind and making sure their memory goes on. Jarl. He touched the chain around his neck carrying his hammer necklace. Having the lives of the fallen haunt me until I join them. Steele released Max’s shoulder. “As we continue to train, you will build a camaraderie with the other men and women within your unit. You will deal with the enemy’s death by making sure your unit lives. You will learn to do anything for your brothers and sisters in arms. It isn’t about the enemy because the enemy will always be there. It’s about the people to your left and to your right. Bring them home safe and you’ll bring yourself home safe.” Just like my team, Jarl, Andrea, Wheeler. Just like Mauser. All gone.
Steele set the padlock down. “It’s not about them. It’s about us. Remember that. Always.” Heaving, he pulled on the heavy semi-trailer door. It creaked as it swung open. Max moved to the side, still watching Steele like a puppy.
Steele glanced back at him over his shoulder. “How about you take a break? I can watch this guy for awhile.” Max looked up into his eyes, excited to be relieved of duty, distraught that he couldn’t spend more time with Steele.
“Are you sure, sir?”
Steele nodded. “I am. Get on out of here.”
Max hustled off like he had been let out for recess for the day. I have to try to keep the idea alive. Enough innocence was lost today.
Steele grabbed a handrail and hoisted himself inside the dark trailer. He could hear the other man breathing at the far end. Steele gave one glance through the opening before closing the doors with a clank.
Steele’s feet echoed between the hollow walls of the trailer. Peter’s frame appeared first, kneeling, hands chained to a hook on the floor as if he were kneeling in prayer. Steele flicked his flashlight on, shining it in Peter’s eyes. He turned his head and shied away from the light.
Bottled water sat in the corner out of Peter’s reach. Grabbing one, Steele handed it to Peter, removing the light from his eyes. Holding the water in his chained hands, Peter let his head fall back then poured the water into his mouth, never taking his shadowed eyes off of Steele.
“Where are the rest of my brothers?” Peter croaked, setting the water down.
Steele waited a moment. “There’s no way to put this delicately. They’re dead.” Steele watched the man absorb the bad news. Peter gradually shook his head, acknowledging that his friends, comrades, and men had been murdered.
“May their souls rest in peace,” Peter said aloud. He mumbled more prayers inaudibly under his breath.
“That was a mistake,” Steele said down to him. He let his flashlight drift down, pointing it at the ground.
Peter didn’t acknowledge him, his head bowed in prayer.
“We never planned to kill your men. Hell, they almost shot me.” Steele showed a quick smile, but Peter’s curly head stayed down, hands chained together, fingers locked in prayer. Steele sighed. It was a mistake. Peter’s prayers grew quieter, his lips hardly moving.
“I hope your neck isn’t hurt too bad. I had to react fast when the shooting started. Probably saved your life,” Steele let out a short laugh. “Can we talk?”
Peter’s head bowed lower. “Peter, man. Come on, let’s talk. This world is crazy. Mistakes happened. The dead have risen. I need you to talk to me.” Steele’s voice turned stern toward the end, his request becoming a command. Peter raised his chin up, meeting Steele’s eyes. His eyes lacked fear. His lids dipped low in meditation, and his mouth continued to move.
“How many people are in your camp?” Steele watched the man as he continued to pray, ignoring his request. He crouched down in front of him. “We have to talk, one way or another.” I’m glad I sent Max away. He shouldn’t have to hear this. “I want this to be easy, and it can be, but we have to have a conversation. Who’s the pastor? What does he want?”
Peter’s eyes had a sad, tired look to them as if he was generally worn out. Steele set his flashlight on the floor, letting it partially light up his captive.
“I don’t have time for this God patty-cake game. Talk to me.” Peter breathed in heavily and continued praying.
I didn’t want this. I don’t want this. But if I don’t do this, I’ll be blind in a fight that is already out of hand. Steele balled up a fist and swung hard into Peter’s cheek. The sound was like the slap of raw steak on a plate. Peter crashed onto his side, his shoulder banging into the floor.
Shaking his hand, Steele stared down at the man. Damn that hurt. “How many fighters are in your camp?”
Peter’s voice grew louder. “Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,” he said up at him.
Steele walked closer, grabbing Peter by the scruff of his shirt.
Peter stared defiantly up at him. Steele’s fist rocketed into the man’s eye and his head bounced off the metal floor. I don’t want to do this.
“How many fighters?” Peter looked up at him, seeing stars, his eyes almost crossed.
“I fear no evil for he is with me,” Peter said louder.
“Stop with that mumbo jumbo. Give me a number and I’ll get you some water.” Steele lifted Peter by his shirt off the floor, raising his fist high in the air. This hurts me too.
Peter’s eyes were those of an unrepentant man. “The Army of the Lord is guided by angels. Our numbers matter not for our cause is just in the eyes of God.”
“Peter, please. Don’t make me do this.” He meant every word. “We can still come out of this as allies.”
Peter spit blood on the ground. “Your actions are those of a true unbeliever, Mark Steele, corrupted and misguided by the devil.” Steele’s fist connected with Peter’s mouth. Pain shot through his hand and into his wrist, so he knew it must have hurt Peter. Peter lay on the ground, coughing up blood in painful hacks. He spit and two little white teeth tinkled onto the container floor.
“This is me being nice about it. You don’t want to see me get mean.” Peter kept his head low.
“While the devil roars and looks for someone to devour, you must stand to resist him in faith.”
Steele stood upright, shaking his hand. “Well, I’m tired of hurting my own hand.”
Steele turned around fetching a bucket of water and some rags. He wished it had been the first time he had utilized such advanced methods, but it wasn’t. The rags would muffle the screams, and hopefully, no one would hear. “This isn’t going to be fun.”
JOSEPH
Cheyenne Mountain Complex, CO
Joseph’s knuckles rapped on a white door that sounded like it was made of synthetic material, not wood, a more plastic substance than anything else. The inside of the Cheyenne Mountain Complex was covered in synthetic material. In particular, the BLS-4 lab was covered in clean white material almost as if they were in a spaceship rather than a mountain.
“Who is it?” responded B
yrnes from inside. Even his muffled voice sounded morose through the door.
“It’s Dr. Jackowski,” he said into the crack of the door. Stay calm. We are on the same team. But are we? His mind battered away at any confidence he had.
“You may enter.”
Joseph pressed down on the flat-handled doorknob and entered Byrnes’s office. The ceiling lights were off and soft lamplight illuminated his desk. The colonel peered over spectacles, holding papers he had been reading. He set the papers down and leaned back in his chair. He wore combat ACUs as if he were ready to go into the field at a moment’s notice. The center of his chest was decorated with an eagle with spread wings.
“To what do I owe this pleasure?” he said. His words dripped with sarcasm.
Joseph shook angry thoughts from his mind. He gestured to a metal chair. “May I take a seat?”
Byrnes waved a finger like he swiped Joseph. “Yes.”
Joseph hastily sat down. He exhaled sharply and adjusted his glasses. “I’m going to put this bluntly.”
“I appreciate you valuing our time,” Byrnes said quickly.
Joseph adjusted himself in his seat, caught off guard.
“How’s Rebecca?” Byrnes asked. His mouth settled into a frown.
Joseph eyed him, trying to see if the man had any actual concern for her.
“She’s hanging on.”
The colonel met his eyes. “She’ll be missed. Never met a smarter doctor.” He folded his hands in front of him.
Joseph rubbed his thumbnail with his other hand. The colonel unnerved him, sitting there almost smug in a depressed kind of way. The man even managed to look sullen while clearly happy with himself.
Joseph swallowed his pride. “I know we may have a difference of opinion on our methods of discovery, but we work better as a team than rivals.”
Byrnes looked away at the wall and back to Joseph. “That may be true, but I need people that are on board with our mission. Dr. Nguyen has already made some great progress. He has isolated the monkeypox gene. In time, we will be able to block it from transmission. With some slight modifications of the smallpox vaccine, we believe that we can prevent up to ninety-five percent of monkeypox infections from taking place. We’ll have a sustainable supply to be distributed.” He finished with a bit of a sulky smirk. “We never would have been able to accomplish this without massive tissue harvesting.”
“What kind of testing have you done on the satellite virus? Have you isolated it?” Joseph said. His mind quickly brushed over the thought of social amends.
Byrnes’s frown deepened. “The satellite virus needs the monkeypox virus to survive. It’s a parasite on the host virus,” he said.
“You haven’t seen it operate on its own?”
Byrnes licked his lips, uncertainty settling into his words. “Yes, only after the monkeypox virus has begun its gene transfer process.”
“Have you watched what the satellite virus does after the monkeypox virus moves on?” Joseph leaned in. He knew the bomb he was about to drop on the colonel would blow his mind. He put his hands on the desk, closing the gap between them.
“It activates, causing some severe symptoms. Not possible without monkeypox.” Byrnes sighed. “Have you come to amaze me with information we already know?”
Joseph took his tablet and handed it to the colonel. “Watch this,” Joseph said. The colonel took the tablet and tapped the screen. He watched, looking over his glasses.
The clip ran. Joseph had memorized the entire thing. “At 1:34, pay close attention. Watch the cell with the parasite virus,” Joseph instructed.
The glare from the video reflected in the colonel’s eyes. His eyes narrowed as he watched the nightmare virus at work modifying the healthy cells genetic material into its own twisted genetic concoction like dark cellular machinery. The man was silent as he watched.
“The infected cell died,” Joseph said. Byrnes’s eyes went from the video to Joseph and back again. He scrolled his finger over the play bar, rewinding the clip, his mouth settling in a frown.
“The cell can’t be dead,” Byrnes said. He rewound the clip again. “It must go into a dormant state.”
“No, see there. The cell has died, but the virus doesn’t become active until after the cell begins to deteriorate.”
“That’s not possible. Viruses require a live organism to reproduce. This is Biology 101.”
“I know, Byrnes, but look at the satellite virus. It only becomes active after death. Monkeypox was only a vector where the satellite virus could only be successful if the patients expired.”
Byrnes took his glasses off and rubbed his eyes. “This cannot be possible. I…I can’t believe this. This goes against everything we know.” Doubt etched his long face.
Joseph shook his head. “I know. I feel the same way, but we’re witnessing a new phase of evolution.”
Byrnes shook his head no and took up the video again. “Has to be an anomaly,” he said under his breath.
“Think about it, Colonel. What is the fastest way to create more dead cells?”
“Hemorrhage.”
“What is the fastest way to get someone to hemorrhage?”
Byrnes locked eyes with Joseph. “Massive trauma. Jesus Christ. The virus is programming dead cellular DNA to rip people apart and in the process spread itself. The hastening of biological death speeds up the spread of infection.” He blinked as his mind attempted to comprehend the information. “This is the first of its kind. Do you realize what this means?”
Joseph knew already. He could hardly accept it. It went against all convention, but now it was reality.
“This is the dawn of a new age in evolution. The discovery of the first dead virus. The rise of the Primus Necrovirus.”
STEELE
Little Sable Point, MI
Wiping his hands on a rag, he walked to the other end of the semi-trailer. He scrubbed blood and vomit off his hands and stuffed a silver cross into his pocket. It hadn’t taken more than an hour after he started, most of the time dedicated to preparing the individual to be psychologically broken.
He pushed the heavy metal door and it creaked open. He peered out to see if anyone had heard what had happened. The calls for help. The cries to stop. Mostly the gasps for air as Peter struggled to breathe. People in the community went about their normal business. Men stood watch atop the lighthouse. A woman stoked a fire. Water was being brought in from the lake in buckets to be purified.
No crowd had gathered to reprimand him or administer vigilante justice for his shadowy actions.
Tossing the blood-soaked rag in the back, he hopped down to the ground. He closed the doors up and latched them closed, looping the padlock back in place and cinching it together.
Gwen’s voice startled him. “What were you doing in there?”
He turned around gathering himself and rested on the trailer away from her. “I thought you were in the lighthouse?” He rubbed his scratched and swelling knuckles. Peter’s face was hard. He supposed everyone’s face was hard but never as hard as when you crushed it with your fist. His head is harder.
“I was, but I saw you go in there awhile ago.” Her eyes weighed him up and down. “How’s the captive?”
He’s lucky to still have most of his teeth. “I don’t want to talk about it.” Her face clouded at the words, and her eyes grew accusing.
“So he didn’t say anything?” she said. She would dig and dig and dig until she uncovered what she wanted.
“He talked, but I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Well, that’s nice. So, you walked in there and he told you everything he knows.” Her eyebrows stayed at the top of her head. “How’d you make him talk?” she said.
“So I guess it’s my turn for interrogation.” He furrowed his brow in defiance. “I don’t have time for this.”
“Make time for me,” she said, her eyes trying to read him. She crossed her hands over her stomach and let her cool eyes judge him. He avoided eye
contact with her, focusing on the lighthouse instead.
He put his bruised hands in his pockets. “I made him talk.”
“I asked, how?” she said, looking up at him. Her eyes glistened, afraid of his answer.
She must know deep down that this was necessary. “I used enhanced interrogation methods on him until he told me what I wanted to know.” He looked at her green eyes, watching as salty tears continued to form.
“So you tortured him?” She looked away as she said it, biting her lip as if she couldn’t stand to associate him and that word together.
“Not exactly.” They call it enhanced interrogation for a reason. It’s terrifying and in some instances works. In other instances, it produces a result. That result is more hazy.
“What exactly happened then?”
“What the hell else am I supposed to do? The die is cast. We have a fight on our hands, and it’s win or die, and that includes you and our baby,” he growled and said the last two words as a whisper. He wanted to scream. This mess they put him in. All their lives on his shoulders. “I’m going to do what it takes to win. You don’t know about these people. If half of what Peter said is true, it’s as bad as it gets.”
“It’s always been a mess since the beginning, but there’s one thing that drives you. Your duty. What happened to your duty? What happened to the promise you made yourself in the townhouse in Virginia?” A tear fell down her face as she said it, a tear for his soul that he ignored.
“This is my goddamn duty,” he growled at her. She took a step back from him as if his words had formed a hand and struck her face.
“My duty is to protect you and that baby first. Lead and protect these people, second.”
“Was what you did right?” she asked. Her eyes quizzed him.
He pointed out at the community. “Was it right that we gunned down the pastor’s men? No, but it happened, and now we have a fight on our hands. You have a choice in this Gwen. I give you that choice because I do what needs to be done.” He wouldn’t say evil. It wasn’t evil. He knew it wasn’t good, but he knew it couldn’t be evil if the good guys won.
The Rising (The End Time Saga Book 3) Page 26
