by JT Sawyer
“Prayed it would hold,” whispered the younger man, who was wearing a greasy jumpsuit.
“Exfil route is clear,” said Ivins into Reisner’s earpiece. “The drones are occupied over at our end courtesy of a nice bonfire full of Ford pickups. Everyone good in there?”
Reisner took a step back from the freezer again, his nostrils flaring as he coughed slightly. “We will be as soon as we get out of this building with our two new friends.”
“Whew—how the hell did you put up with the stench of the rotting meat inside the freezer for so long?” said Nash, who had covered his mouth with his gloved hand while wearing a puzzled look as he stared at the bare shelves inside.
The two men sheepishly looked at each other then cast their gazes down. “Sorry, that’s not the meat,” said the older man, waving his hand back towards two dozen cans of empty pinto beans. “That was all we had to eat for the past day.”
Porter stepped forward, slapping the younger man on the back. “Well, shit, it’s a good thing you boys didn’t have to discharge your weapons or Key West woulda been wiped off the map.”
The two sailors chuckled, causing Reisner to emit a grin then crack a smile, which soon caused everyone in the group to channel their nervous energy into muffled laughter. He almost felt it turning into a full belly-laugh but restrained himself, enjoying the rare instance of amusement amongst his friends. Once he had collected himself, he radioed Ivins that they were returning to the beach.
Fifteen minutes later, they were back at their boats, both teams heading towards the Coast Guard vessel, which loomed larger in the distance than Reisner remembered it being. He glanced over at Ivins, both of them silently acknowledging their relief at completing the operation. A perfect op—no casualties, no losses, and plenty of the enemy stacked up. He slid his hands inside his vest, leaning back into the sides of the raft while the tension in his shoulders drained away. I could get used to this. He fought the urge to think about the overwhelming odds that humanity was facing and to just focus on this fleeting moment. Yeah, I could definitely get used to this.
Chapter 3
CIA Vessel Lachesis
Thirteen Nautical Miles West of Tampa, Florida
Two days later, Reisner and Ivins’ teams were settling into their seats in the briefing room to learn how the macabre findings from the estate in Savannah, Georgia played a role in the battle of MacDill.
Now, as he sat next to Selene at the start of the briefing, he wondered if he was going to leave feeling more enlightened or more despondent about the enemy they were facing. Even Selene and Victor Tso were baffled by the medical equipment and depleted IVs discovered in the lower level of the estate, and Reisner had an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach that the paras were about to embark on something beyond any of the horrors they had witnessed up until now.
General Dorr’s head of intel was standing beside a PowerPoint screen, her shoulder-length black hair constrained in a tight ponytail that seemed to make her face tauter than it normally appeared. Captain Lynn Jarvis had previously worked at MacDill as a junior officer, but with the recent loss of personnel in the battle, she had been promoted to her current position. Jarvis and her small team had scanned through the documents, laptops, and other intel acquired from the raid on the estate and would now hopefully be able to shed some light on Roland Whitmore’s role.
Seated to Reisner’s right along the oval table were Porter, Nash, Connelly, Runa, and Pacelle, while Ivins and his five-man team were across from him. Reisner could recall a time when Ivins’ team was double its current size, but that seemed like a lifetime ago, when hope of stopping the virus was in abundance. Reisner still felt a torch of anguish burning in his soul from losing several of his own trusted colleagues, and he felt like each day was a battle to maintain troop morale and drive past his own doubts about winning this war.
“We’ve examined all of the data you and your team retrieved from the estate and collated the material with everything we have on the owner of that property,” said Jarvis as she glanced at Reisner. She clicked to the next image, which showed a frail man who appeared to be in his seventies, his ashen skin nearly blending into the white edges of the PowerPoint screen.
“This is Roland Whitmore, whose family owned the estate and surrounding lands since at least the late 1880s, maybe earlier, which would probably explain the weathered catacombs and cellars you found on the lower levels.”
She walked to the other side of the screen, pointing to the next image, which revealed Whitmore in the White House, shaking hands with a former U.S. President.
Jarvis cleared her throat. “As the CEO of Whitmore Defense Industries, Roland provided significant material support to the war on terror after 9/11, with the DOD awarding him a number of substantial contracts to provide body armor, Kydex, footwear, and Molle Systems.”
The next slide showed Roland in a photo on the lawn at his estate, surrounded by what appeared to be around fifteen people of all ages. Two heads were circled with red. “This photo shows Roland and his twin sister Katherine. It was taken at a fundraiser for a pharmaceutical company that Roland was helping to raise money for to research cancer.”
The resemblance was obvious to Reisner as he studied their high cheekbones and tapered jaws. Katherine appeared radiant in her blue dress while Roland seemed gaunt and was leaning his pale hand upon his sister for support.
“Those two look more like father and daughter than siblings,” said Ivins.
“I found it odd myself, but I examined dozens of media profiles on both of them, and Roland’s health appears to have begun declining about fifteen years ago.”
“From what?” said Selene, who was leaning forward to scrutinize the photograph.
“The online medical reports we obtained—gathered—” She paused, glancing at Andre Pacelle, who Reisner was sure had shown her how to hack into numerous databases. “—We discovered that both Roland and his sister suffered from a rare medical disease. It most likely manifested itself to a much greater degree in Roland, given the sheer number of medical visits and procedures that were performed on him over the years.” Jarvis bit her lower lip as she moved onto the next image, showing a close-up of a recent medical chart signed by Roland’s personal physician.
“Christ—it can’t be,” whispered Selene as one eye twitched. “Polycythemia Vera—both of them had it? That’s what they were raising money for!”
Reisner felt like the air in the room had just turned arctic, given everyone’s expression. Selene stood up and made her way to the screen, nearly pressing her face into the image as she read through the report. “This date is from just over eight weeks ago, and the entry indicates that his condition was rapidly deteriorating despite the increase in dialysis treatments. The last entry was just after the start of the pandemic, and the physician estimated his patient’s time was limited to days.”
Selene turned around, glancing down at the floor in dismay then over to Reisner. “You said you found a journal of Whitmore’s along with a map on his office wall at the estate that corresponded to the attacks that occurred at MacDill and our other installations.”
Reisner nodded. He had been over this with her already after returning, in excruciating detail. —She was clearly trying to thread together recent scientific findings with this new information from Jarvis.
“What are you getting at, Doctor?” said General Dorr, who was running his massive hand across the back of his head.
Selene didn’t respond, her gaze focused intently on the medical report again. “The other alphas seem pretty homogeneous in their capabilities—strong beyond belief, incredibly cunning, and with some capability of forethought. All of this made possible because they suffered from the same blood cancer flowing through Roland and his sister’s veins. However, as far as my research indicates, those other alphas were infected during the early days of the pandemic, died, and then were reborn into their current state. Their rare disorder determined their fate, separating the
m out from the mindless drones.” She paced beside the table, her arms folded. “But what if Roland became infected just before he was about to perish from the cancer ravaging his body?”
Aside from Selene’s voice, the room was in absolute silence. “From all indications, Whitmore never lost his cognitive abilities. The virus overtook him, yes, but he most likely never suffered brain death as the other alphas did.” Selene’s shoulders seemed to sag as she spoke. “An individual like that—with his intellect and now with the information he has at his disposal from all of the other alphas in the world—confirms what I suspected about a super-alpha.”
“His arrival on the scene corresponds with an increase in the sophistication of the creatures’ attacks—the relocation of the alphas to the nuclear reactors and the exodus of large concentrations of drones from the cities,” said Nash.
“Not to mention the cunning attack by the group of alphas that breached MacDill,” said Murph.
Runa had been sitting with his usual stone-faced expression as he processed all the data. Now, he leaned forward, making a fist and tapping it on the table. “The evidence looks pretty concrete: that he was the leader who orchestrated the attack and is responsible for the increase in sophisticated tactics we’re seeing play out around the country. But my question is: Where the hell did he go? How did all of those creatures just disappear from that region of Savannah?”
“We’ve been relying on our ability to locate the alphas using their heat signatures,” said Dorr. “Now, it appears they have developed a countermeasure to that by somehow masking their temperature.” He swung his chair around to face the entire group. “The after-action report my staff did on the battle at MacDill—specifically how that small group of alphas managed to infiltrate our base from the northeast and evade our heat signature detection—that would confirm that the alphas can alter their baseline temperature at will. The drones are still fairly easy to detect unless they are hidden deep underground, but it’s the head of the serpent we must focus on.”
Reisner found it an effort to sit upright, his back growing fatigued, like he had strapped on a pack full of rocks. As if the alphas themselves weren’t a fucking challenge to defeat—now they have a general leading them. This was beginning to remind him of the early days of the war on terror, when the CIA didn’t have drone technology yet or sufficient numbers of local assets in Afghanistan to provide intel on enemy movement. It was agents like him and Runa who would have to be the boots on the ground to scout the landscape and identify enemy strongholds that could be targeted. Now, it looks like we’re going to have to stick with relying on guerilla warfare tactics rather than putting all of our faith in the bioweapon like we’d all hoped a few weeks ago. He arched his back, straightening his posture.
He cleared his throat before speaking. “Small teams dispersed on the ground throughout Georgia and the outlying areas, supported by our UAV drones along with support from the Coast Guard cutters—this is going to be our best bet for picking up the trail of this guy.” He dragged out the last word, unsure what to call Roland but nearly certain now that he wasn’t a brutish creature like the other alphas he’d encountered at close range.
Dorr stood up, leaning towards the laptop and scrolling back to the first image of Roland at the White House. “I concur with Agent Reisner and will adjust all of our personnel and limited resources to this task.” He zoomed in on the former businessman’s face. “This is now our primary target. All of our teams will commence with ground operations in Georgia, South Carolina, and Alabama. Commander Ivins’ team will be heading to Biloxi, Mississippi to procure the pharmaceutical supplies that Doctor Munroe and her staff need to continue production of the bioagent, and they will rejoin the manhunt after that.”
Reisner interlaced his fingers, glancing up at Selene, whose concerned expression he knew probably mirrored his own.
“The only question we need to address is: Do we kill this thing or capture him—it?” said Selene, shifting her gaze from Reisner to Dorr then the others in the room. “I mean, if we kill this creature then that puts us back to where we were during the first week or so of the pandemic—with less organized alphas and their drones to contend with, which may not be a bad thing. If we capture this Roland-creature and keep him in isolation offshore, then we may learn a thing or two about how he communicates and strategizes.”
People’s eyes were darting around at each other then back up at Selene. Reisner could tell her head was still swirling with all of the disturbing new intel, and now everyone was expecting her to have the answers. She cleared her throat and stepped forward, brushing her blonde hair off her shoulder.
“We’re all assuming that he’s the only one of his kind—what if that’s not the case?” said Selene. “What if there are a few more around the world we don’t know about yet. Having him in our possession offshore somewhere could yield valuable information on the alphas themselves.” She looked at Dorr. “You said yourself, General, that recent attacks like those in Eastern Europe and parts of Latin America, while on a smaller scale, were almost identical to what we witnessed at MacDill.”
“In terms of strategy and implementation, that appears to be the case,” said Dorr.
Jarvis took a half-step forward. “I can concur, but there were fewer alphas in those regions, and once they were removed from the equation, the drones became fragmented, making their elimination considerably easier for the ground forces there.”
“Exactly,” said Selene. “So was that because one of those alphas there was like this Roland creature, or were those attacks solely directed and controlled by him from afar?” She peered around the room, taking a step back from the table. “If we capture him, he could be the key to unraveling so many things we don’t yet understand about how they organize, how they learn, and how they transmit information.”
“Tactically speaking, I think we can assume that this creature is going to be surrounded by layers of protection in the form of dozens upon dozens of alphas,” said Ivins.
“And in a region with chokepoints and geographic containment so they can control the battle—this has become a sophisticated enemy,” said Nash.
Reisner could see Selene was getting flustered. He agreed with some of her points, but he knew all too well that what gets extrapolated in the sterile setting of a briefing room is a far cry from the ugly reality on the ground.
Selene bit her lower lip. “Roland could be a valuable tool in our battle, especially if I can study his EEG waves and learn more about his telepathic abilities.”
Dorr crossed his arms and slowly shook his head. “I’m just not willing to risk any more lives, especially those of our spec-ops guys on the ground. This is a zero-sum battle, Doctor—our group’s survival is dependent on the demise of our enemies, and we can’t accomplish that if we keep losing personnel.”
“We know that the alphas are never too far away from their clusters of drones, so we will continue using that as a means for drawing out the alphas in the remaining areas in the Southeast and hopefully getting this creature Roland to show his hand.” He motioned with his chin to the map on the wall. “Once we get confirmation of where this super-alpha is located, I’m calling down the rain on his ass and every other alpha within reach—a few Hellfire missiles will vaporize the threat.” He clicked off the PowerPoint monitor then turned to squarely face the group.
“All teams prepare to depart at 0600 tomorrow. And the next time I speak to any of you, I want to hear the sound of airstrike coordinates coming over the comms.”
When the room had cleared, Reisner got up and walked over to Selene, who was staring out the porthole window, her arms folded.
“This is more than scientific curiosity, Will. I know it’s different for you guys in the field, but understanding a creature like this could mean saving more lives in the long run and possibly ending this war sooner.”
“I don’t disagree, but until we get more operators trained and increase our ground teams, we just don’t have the
numbers on our side.”
She sighed, pulling her shoulders back. “I get it—I do. It just seems like it’s always a precarious balance between developing new strategies on the battlefield and strategies in the lab.”
He put his hand on her waist as she turned into him. Selene pulled him closer, wrapping her arms around him as he hugged her. He just wanted to forget the coming mission—another in an endless blur.
Reisner pulled back, kissing her softly on the lips then tapping his watch. “I’m a free man until tomorrow morning.”
“Hmm, I better make sure to keep you close then so you don’t get into trouble with your friends.” She kissed him back, smiling. “Dinner at my place at 1830?”
He nodded. “I’ll bring the canned tuna and red wine that I snuck back from the last mission.”
She looked out the porthole at the whitecaps in the distance while making a dour expression. “Seafood—how exciting. I can’t wait.”
Chapter 4
Two Months before the Pandemic
Somewhere in the Woods near Jamestown, South Carolina
Nick held his breath, praying as he did every morning that the repetitive sound of the dull thuds outside the cabin would disappear. First, it was a singular sound soon followed by a drum-like staccato as the noise grew in intensity. Nick felt goosebumps riddling his pale skin as the sound rang through the narrow hallway of the log cabin. His arms were already trembling from keeping his hands pressed against his ears as he tried to convert the thump-thump-thump into the sound of rain falling on the tin roof. But he knew that would only work until his father yelled out his name, calling for him to come down to the training area.
Nick slipped out of his cot and shimmied on his jeans and muddy boots then grabbed a crumpled camouflage shirt from the pile of worn clothes in the corner before making his way to his bedroom door. Cracking it open, he peered down the dimly lit hall towards the living room. The diminutive steel door that led to the front porch was closed, so there was hope that Nick could sneak out through the back entrance and make his way out to the woods and the creek a half-mile away, where he could go fishing.
