by JT Sawyer
Dorr’s firm voice interrupted him. “That’s a negative; we’ve got two of our teams under attack along the Georgia border near Augusta. They also have a large cluster of alphas moving in on them, so all of our resources are deployed there now. That’s an area where Whitmore had a facility, so it’s possible he is on site. Retrieve whatever intel you still need from the facility and get out of there. I can’t provide any further assets for your team if things turn south and those alphas decide to double back your way.”
“Sir, we found a dead woman back at the arboretum who could have been the one experimented on at Roland’s place in Georgia. My instincts are telling me…”
Dorr cut into his earpiece. “Right now, I need solid intel, and I’ve got more of that in Augusta than from what you are able to provide. I can’t risk losing two of our teams by diverting a UAV to your location because of what your gut is telling you. Do you copy, Agent Reisner?”
“Yes, sir.”
In the time it took to converse with Dorr, the creatures had slipped out of sight. He stood in silence, staring at the river for a second before responding, then clicked his radio back to the frequency of his team, indicating that they were on their way back.
I hope I’m wrong.
Reisner took a step back, thinking about what Porter mentioned regarding the enemy’s superior numbers. “They could have slaughtered us—yet they only sacrificed three alphas to stop us.”
Porter kicked a crushed pine-cone into the river. “They were buying time for the rest of the group to get away—three to save thirty. They must have known that once they were across the river, we’d be prevented from following them.”
“Odd how just as we got on their trail, the teams in Augusta came under attack. That just seems like too much of a coincidence.”
“I suspect the category of ‘coincidence’ will get slotted into the same file as relying on your instincts.”
Reisner cleared his throat then spit into the river. “That last alpha who veered off to wait for us along the trail—that was a classic buttonhook maneuver that we used to teach rebel soldiers for ambushing. These creatures are getting as sophisticated as we are.”
Porter leaned forward and removed a small leech moving up Reisner’s collar behind his ear. “That shit in the swamp back there is gonna give me nightmares—hidin’ in the water like that. Does that mean they have fuckin’ gills now?”
He glanced down the river at the empty beach. “I guess we know they can swim—or at least get across bodies of water.”
Porter let out a hoarse chuckle. “They sure don’t have to worry about ever dyin’ of drowning, since they don’t have lungs.”
***
Dorr pulled away from Pacelle’s computer console and returned his headset. He knew that trusting your instincts was a huge part of being an operator, especially for someone as skilled as Reisner. Such things had saved Dorr’s life many times downrange when he was with JSOC. In another reality, he would have done a surgical missile strike on the alphas near Reisner’s location then sent in several units to finish up the job of tracking down any stragglers. Now, he had to ration the use of his UAV drones and limited missiles after the crippling loss they suffered from the battle of MacDill. They would all feel the effects of that conflict for years to come. He shrugged his shoulders, silently chiding himself for thinking so far into the future. If we don’t destroy these creatures soon, humanity’s time on this planet might be limited to mere months—the extinction of our race is still at hand despite our recent accomplishments and breakthroughs.
He let out a deep exhale, pulling his shoulders back. His body was as drained from the effects of long-term physical stress as his mind was from the constant barrage of life-and-death decisions that he made on an hourly basis. Stay the course and get mean as hell and you will make it through this firestorm and emerge victorious. He repeated the words of an old sergeant major he once served with until he began to believe the mantra again.
Dorr walked back to his perch above his intelligence officer and scanned the UAV images of the battle unfolding on the streets of Augusta. Thousands of drones lay dead already from the effects of the bioagent canisters, but more kept flooding in from the alleys. They were swarming in on Raptor and Zulu teams, who had been on a recon mission at a defense contracting company previously owned by Whitmore Industries. It seemed like there had been numerous attacks skirting the regions north of Florida and up into the southern edge of the Smoky Mountains, but this particular one had a direct connection to Roland. It also corresponded with an escape trajectory that Dorr’s intel staff had determined could have been used by the super-alpha after he fled from Savannah.
Let’s hope this is where he’s at. We get our guys out of there and then level that town. He shook his head at the notion that he was now reduced to “hoping” for a good outcome. God, how did it come to this?
Chapter 7
Twenty-four hours later, the mission to retrieve the laboratory equipment from the University of Mississippi in Biloxi went without incident, which was a relief for Ivins and the rest of his six-man team. A rare op when you don’t have to drop in a fresh mag and spray another drone’s head against the walls, as Murph had said on their exfil from the science building.
As the Blackhawk flew south of the city, the pilot headed along the coast briefly so they could take a look at the downtown area for any signs of survivors. As Ivins looked out at the sandy beach below, he thought of his wife and daughter. His gut told him that they were still alive, but where? And how would he even get to their location now, being so far east? Still, if I could only talk to them—for now that would be enough.
Ivins scanned the empty streets of the resort town below, taking in the shattered lights of the casino signs along Main Street and the tangle of wrecked cars choking the avenues in every direction. Things must have unfolded quickly here during those early days, just like in every other city around the world. He thought it might have played out differently, imagining that there had to be some place that had escaped the carnage, if even for a short time.
Murph tapped him on the shoulder then pointed to the opposite window. The blond-haired operator was motioning to an intersection where there was movement. Ivins blinked hard then refocused on the two figures in the street, wondering if he was hallucinating. Three more crawled out from a jagged hole in the lobby of a hotel and began frantically waving their arms along with the others.
“Looks like we got survivors after all,” said Murph.
“Not just survivors but kids. A bunch of ’em.” Ivins waited for the sight of an adult, but none appeared. How did they all make it on their own?
“Set it down on that field to the northeast, chief,” said Ivins to the pilot as he pointed to a green swath of overgrown grass in a small park. Ivins looked around at the Blackhawk, knowing that the supplies from the pharmaceutical company occupied much of the limited space. “We’ll check things out and see how many are down there.” Ivins glanced around at the assortment of medical equipment they had obtained from the university, knowing that it was critical to the production of the bioweapon. “If things even look the slightest bit sketchy, head to a safer location and await further orders.”
The pilot circled then landed near a small concession stand that was clumped with matted trash and debris. Ivins hopped out first, followed by Murph and the four other operators, who fanned out as they walked across the littered field. A cool ocean breeze was providing respite from the glaring midday sun on Ivins’ face, and he kept looking around at the vacant storefronts in the distance for any signs of the paras. He had chosen the early afternoon for arrival, knowing the creatures usually holed up away from the intense sunlight. Maybe this region never had that many paras to begin with, given how smoothly our trip to the university went.
Walking by a tourist shop at the first crosswalk, he peered inside. The racks were still neatly lined with t-shirts, sunglasses, and beachwear, as if the owner had just stepped out for lu
nch. He glanced at the checkout counter and noticed that the bins of candy bars were empty; the cardboard boxes had been flung on the floor in a pile, surrounded by large footprints. He motioned to Lemley, the tall operator to his right. “What do you make of that—those tracks? They’re all bare, muddy feet.” He pointed with his thumb over his shoulder. “The open areas around here are all white sand.”
“From the survivors, maybe? They might be hiding out in the sewers.” Lemley dragged out the last word while giving Ivins a sideways glance. “Then again, the paras are no strangers to subterranean movement—but why the hell would they have come in here to empty the candy bins? This has to be from other people.”
They continued down the street, seeing the same thing in most of the other intact stores—the candy, snacks, and soda were all missing amidst a plethora of muddy bare footprints. A few minutes later, they arrived at the intersection where the children had first been spotted.
“We’ve got movement,” snapped Murph as he raised up his AR. A second later, he returned it to a low-ready position at the sight of a small child running down the sidewalk towards them.
Ivins narrowed his gaze at the diminutive figure trotting their way. The soiled face and tattered clothes made him look like a ragdoll. Ivins noticed he was wearing tennis shoes and appeared to be well-fed, unlike the gaunt faces of other rescued children he had seen in past weeks.
Murph knelt down and put his hand up. “Whoa, little fella—take it easy. You’re gonna be OK.” The boy appeared to be no more than eight years of age, with sandy brown hair and almond-colored eyes that were ringed by traces of dirt. The boy came to a halt, resting his tiny hands on his knees while gasping for air. “You gotta come quick—it’s Jenny; something’s wrong with her.” He began thrusting his right hand back at the Hard Rock Hotel, where Ivins had seen them from the helicopter. “She’s sick—please help her, mister,” said the boy as he moved closer to Murph, collapsing in his lap.
“It’s OK, kid,” he said, wrapping his arm around the child before standing up. “What’s your name? Mine’s Murph.”
“Chance.” He buried his head in the burly operator’s shoulder.
Ivins moved up closer to them. “Chance, are there any creatures around here?”
The child sniffled, scrunching his head down further. “They only come out in the mornings—but only a few.”
“How many of you were hiding out in the hotel?” said Murph.
“Only six of us left.”
“There were more… Is your mom or dad in there? Or any adults?” said Ivins.
The boy only sobbed while shaking his head.
Ivins motioned to Lemley to take up an overwatch position on top of the hotel’s billboard platform twenty yards away. As the rest of the group moved towards the lobby of the hotel, Ivins kept scanning the nearby roofs and alleys.
Something’s not right. Are the other kids infected or just scared? And why send this little one out here to meet us? He tapped on his ear-mic, speaking to the pilot. “This is Echo One—we are at the intersection of Lameuse and Beach Boulevard at the Hard Rock Hotel. We may need an exfil shortly from the roof of the hotel. Will keep you informed.”
Once he got confirmation from the pilot, Ivins motioned for the others to flank him on either side as he moved towards the lobby doors. The ground was littered with glass and spent shotgun shells. Dried streaks of blood were slathered on the sidewalk and bushes near the entrance, like a mop covered with red paint had been dragged across the property. Someone had screwed in sheets of plywood over the damaged sections of the lobby doors and also blocked off the remaining windows in a similar fashion. There was a jagged semi-circular hole in the lower corner of the plywood on the right door that looked like it had been hacked out from the inside. Ivins knelt down and shined his rifle-mounted flashlight inside. He could see several sets of eyes reflecting back at him from the sides of the counter amidst a mountain of discarded food wrappers and empty water bottles.
“My name’s Tom Ivins, and my friends and I are here to help you.” He saw two more tiny heads appear from the fringe of the counter, followed by the faint coughing of a girl.
God—no kids should have to live like this. Ivins looked back up at the rest of his team. “I’ll head in first. Kendrick, you’re next. The rest of you stay out here.”
He lowered down further, then extended the barrel of his rifle out in front, shoving it through the door before slithering through the hole. The stench of sweat, moldy food, and human waste pierced his nostrils, causing him to gag for a moment. Standing up, he removed two orange chem-sticks from his vest and cracked them open, flinging them on the tiled floor. The main check-in counter was in the center of the lobby, with a hallway to the right whose steel shutters were locked down, sealing off that passage. To the right was a small coffee shop and gift store whose contents were strewn on the ground. At the rear of the counter was a short corridor that led to the elevators of the twelve-story hotel. Ivins craned his head up at the gaping expanse that opened up to the three floors of offices and suites above the lobby.
As Ivins took a step forward, the kids scurried behind the counter, whimpering. Kendrick came up next to him, both men kicking aside crumpled fruit cups and empty soup cans as they made their way to the kids.
Rounding the bend of the oak counter, Ivins saw three boys and a girl pressed under the bottom shelves, trying to make themselves invisible. They were neatly arranged and so tightly packed that Ivins wondered how many times a day they had done this to survive the creatures moving around outside. Curled up on a mattress next to them was a young girl who looked around nine years of age, with shoulder-length brown hair tussled about her pale face.
Kendrick moved to her side, squatting down and removing the medic kit from his pack. Ivins spoke to the others, lowering his voice and offering out his hand to the nearest boy, whose blue eyes accentuated his pasty appearance.
“My friends and I have a helicopter not far from here, and we’re gonna take you out of this city to somewhere safe.”
The boy extended his fingers out, touching Ivins’ glove, then yanked his hand back towards his small chest. He whispered, his voice barely audible as his eyes darted around the shadowy room, “But they’ll come for us—and you too. No one gets away.”
***
Outside the hotel, Murph had taken Chance over to the shade of a nearby citrus tree and was giving him some water.
As he kept his MK-12 fixed on the surrounding street to his right, Murph kept glancing down at the tiny figure. “You’re a brave one, Chance. Running out of the safety of this hotel to come find us like you did.”
The boy didn’t speak, only continued to gulp down his water.
“Were you and the other kids staying in this hotel with your folks when the virus—the sickness—came?”
Chance shook his head, raising his arm and pointing to the west. “We were at my grandma’s house in Gulfport.”
Murph’s eyes flitted along the ground, recalling the distance between the cities from their earlier briefing on the Lachesis. “That’s over fifteen miles away—how did you end up here?”
The boy’s face seemed to grow paler. “They brought me here.”
“Your family did?”
The water bottle fell from Chance’s hand, and he drove his body into the concrete wall, pulling his knees up into his chest as he whispered, “The creatures.”
Chapter 8
Ivins helped each one out from under the counter, assuring them in a gentle voice that they would soon be away from this city. Liam was the first child, followed by Tessa and Mike.
As he held the hand of the last boy, helping him crawl out, he paused his headlamp on some marks on the underside of the shelf. Leaning down further, he could see the wood had been torn away as if shredded, the claw-like markings running perpendicular to the edge. He swung his headlamp out towards the rear of the lobby, noticing that there were twenty mattresses spread around the floor. Moving up to Tessa,
who was sitting wedged between the boys, he held her hand. “Sweetie, how many of you were in here before we came?”
She looked up from under the brim of her soiled U of M baseball cap. She began silently counting on her fingertips with her index finger while tears streamed down her cheeks. “There were eleven of us here last night.”
Ivins glanced back at the counter. Jesus, they must have seen their friends ripped out from under the counter. But why would the creatures leave these six kids behind? He looked around at the discarded clothing, noting an absence of any adult garments. His eyes paused upon a stack of water and candy bars in the corner amidst a jumble of muddy tracks that he had missed in the low light.
“Did the grown-ups bring you here?”
The girl and the others just shook their heads. “There were just kids like us here,” said Mike.
“But what about the supplies?” Ivins said.
“They brought it to us—those things.”
Ivins’ stomach was roiling, and he could feel adrenaline beginning to surge through his veins as he realized they had just walked into a lair rather than a refuge. He heard Kendrick clear his throat and knew it was a signal to move closer. The medic hunched over the sick girl, lowering his headlamp towards her blanket, which he slowly peeled back to reveal a depleted IV bag filled with milky liquid. Kendrick had already removed the catheter that was stuck in her forearm. “This looks like the same fluid found in the creatures. This must be why she’s sick as hell. Her pulse is dropping rapidly, and there’s nothing I can do to stabilize her.”
Ivins squinted his eyes, examining the IV bag. “She’s infected then?”
Kendrick shook his head while chewing on his lower lip. “Not like what we’ve witnessed before with someone getting bitten by a drone. I’m not seeing any of the usual signs of sub-dermal parasites. She seems more like someone receiving a transfusion, and her body is deciding whether to reject it or not.” Kendrick brushed his gloved hand against her clammy forehead. “And right now, I’d say she’s losing that battle.”
