Cherry’s head snapped up as Mosley’s deep voice broke him from his reverie. There, to the left of the road, was a red light. It blinked, went out, and blinked again. Mosley moved closer to Cherry saying, “What do you think that is?”
Cherry’s response was to raise his weapon and fire off two quick rounds into Moseley’s head. His weapon chuffed, barely louder than a man’s cough. Moseley went down quietly, falling on top of his own rifle, the sound muffled by the midsummer growth of ferns and dandelions.
On the other side of the road, Hobbs called out in a quiet voice, “What was that?”
Taking a deep breath to remain calm, Cherry called out, “I think Mosley tripped.”
Hobbs laughed a deep low chuckle. “Just like that cracker to trip over his own damn feet!”
Cherry looked back toward the red light. From where he stood, the light was invisible to Hobbs, but Cherry had to answer soon, to let the approaching team know that all was clear. He didn’t want their takeover to be any more hostile than planned. He certainly didn’t want to end up a casualty. A dead man could spend no money. Turning to where he thought Hobbs stood, he called out, “Hey, I think Mosley’s hurt! He’s not moving!”
Hobbs made almost no noise as he closed the distance between himself and Cherry. Cherry pointed to the ground where Mosley lay. Hobbs shook his head, a flash of white teeth showing and, slinging his weapon, knelt by his downed comrade. Reaching for Mosley, he turned him over, saying, “What’s wrong with you, man?”
As he felt the blood, hot and thick that was running out of Mosley’s shattered head, he started to turn when Cherry fired. The last thing Hobbs ever saw was the flash of Cherry’s weapon.
Former companions dealt with, Hobbs took out his own flashlight and clicked it toward the dark woods. Cautiously, TriPharm’s team left the woods and approached the facility’s entrance.
Inside, Howard was glad the plan called for taking the facility at night. Since work on the virus was complete, the plan was to shut the facility down and eradicate it, leaving no evidence it had ever existed. Only a small staff, led by Doctor Mahan, remained. Most of the support staff had been transferred to other facilities. Since the main area was off limits to them, the work compartmentalized, few of them really knew what they had worked on, just happy to bank their huge salaries. The remaining few usually stayed in their quarters at night. At three in the morning, the only active internal security officer was monitoring the chamber.
Walking through the main laboratory, Howard stopped and looked in at the creatures. The subjects stood there, unmoving. Other than their constant odd stare, some of them still looked human. Others, bodies bearing horrible wounds, showed the ravages of their deaths. Graham was no longer in there, long since removed for autopsy. What was left of him existed only in specimens on slides.
Making a show of checking the log, Howard said hello to the watch stander, a man named Ryder and moved on toward his office. Once in there he activated his terminal and began deactivating all the locks and cameras.
Outside the facility, ten armed men, dressed in military surplus digital camouflage, waited with Cherry. The leader, a hard faced man named Raymond, spread his people out. After hours the gate could not be opened from outside without an alarm being sounded, so they had to wait for Howard to deactivate it.
Then the taking of Keystone could commence.
Keystone Research Facility
Near the Subject Holding Area
14 July 2031
Sitting at his computer terminal, Howard attached a small device that looked like a flash drive to it. Once attached, it self-activated. Containing a worm program, the device corrupted the entire security system. Now consoles throughout the complex would show the alarm system, now deactivated, as active and the various cameras would replay the same scene of empty corridors. This would quiet any suspicions by curious workers. By the time any of them were alert, TriPharm’s Mercs would be in charge of the facility, Howard and Cherry would have disappeared. Task completed, Howard removed the device and crushed it under a heel. Even if any of the on-site computer techs were warned, there was nothing they could do, at least not quick enough to repair the damage. Now the team outside could get in and the vault containing the virus would be wide open.
This task complete, Howard removed the motherboard, cracked it in two and slipped it back into place. Removing his pistol from its holster, Howard carefully screwed a silencer onto the end of it as he set off to complete his final task.
Security Officer Louis was startled when Howard clapped him on the shoulder. Smiling, he was about to say “Hey, don’t scare me like that,” when Howard fired his pistol into the back of his head, blowing the man’s face all over a wall. Silently he fell, the drumming of his feet his final sound. Looking around, Howard raised a hand to lighted keypad and quickly tapped in the combination to the armory. Grasping the oversized handles, he pulled the door open, secured it, and turned to his former subordinate. Taking the corpse by its feet, he dragged it into the armory. Dropping the body, he closed the door and raising his pistol, used the butt to smash the keypad. With a shower of sparks, the small panel erupted, sealing the room.
Aaron Ryder sat at the monitoring board watching the zombies stumble back and forth. Oddly, they were restless tonight. Usually when they hadn’t been fed, they were quiet. He was starting to reach for his coffee when he lurched forward, bounced off the console to land back in his seat. Ryder looked stupidly at his chest where a red blossom was growing. Right hand shaking, Ryder put a hand to the wound, brought his bloody hand up before his face and fell sideways out of his chair.
Howard came out of the shadows. Smoke rising from his pistol he put a second round in Ryder’s head. Ignoring the blood spattered on the security desk, Howard opened a panel, yanked out the circuit boards, and crushed them under foot.
Creeping over to the chamber, Howard peeked in. He recognized a fellow security man, Gus Parson, even though the man’s face was mostly rotted off. He thought that Gus had been used for one of Mahan’s experiments already. Howard, shivering at the sight of his former subordinate, grimaced as he thought of the removal detail. Five men in heavy canvas suits, gas masks, and gloves would battle their way in, grab the selected zombie, and drag it out. That was how Parson became a subject. He’d let his attention lapse, just for a moment, allowing one of them to tear off his mask and with it, his comm unit. In a panic he fought, backing away as the other officers, not noticing his predicament, struggled with the creature to be disposed of. Parson was nearly out when one got close enough to claw his face. It was then the disposal detail noticed. Shoving the wounded Parsons into the creatures, they dragged the test subject to the exit, leaving their former co-worker to his fate. They all knew the rules – any attempt to save a wounded officer would result in the entire team being locked in the chamber. Mahan was taking no chances of an accidental outbreak of the virus. Parsons had signed the same documents about safety they all did, it was his tough luck he’d screwed up.
Parson, screaming in pain, staggered for the door, which closed just as his fingers brushed it. Parson stood there, screaming, the wound on his face already oozing puss, as the creatures grabbed him and dragged him down. When informed of the incident, Mahan shrugged it off. Parson paid the price for his carelessness. Howard shook his head, starting to turn away when a hand came up and hit the porthole. Howard jumped. It was one of the new subjects, a nude woman. Once she might have been pretty, now she was an eviscerated thing, a bare shadow of humanity.
Howard froze for a moment, a cold feeling creeping over him. Should he make sure the creatures were destroyed? Howard stared a moment more, watching them crowd by the window, staring at him, unending hunger written on their hideous faces. Shaking his head, he walked away. In a few minutes, Keystone and its secrets would no longer be any concern of his.
Peering about the main room, Howard made sure he was alone. It was time to open the gate. Going to the inner wall, he slid his card thr
ough the access slot, giving the command for the gates, inner and outer to open. With the alarms disconnected, none of the amber security lights flashed. The inner and outer gates slid open silently, cool night air flowing in as they retracted. Once they were open, Howard opened the access panel and tore the wires out, freezing the gates until repairs could be made.
Standing in the opening, Howard removed the silencer and holstered his pistol, waiting for his fellow conspirators.
Cherry watched as the doors began to open, the red lights around the entrance remaining dark. Raising a hand, he motioned to the others. Silently, weapons ready, they entered the facility.
Howard, for all his careful, treacherous planning, made one mistake. While he was in charge of Keystone’s security, Forester was still in charge over all and trusted no one. A secret protocol existed within the computer system. When Howard shut the security system down, alarms, all highlighting Howard’s code, went off on Forester’s tablet. Alert to the problem, Forester, with twenty armed security men was on his way to Keystone. Forester had an ace, Mahan’s security console, on a separate circuit, was still intact, and he was in contact with the now very angry head of security.
Sitting in the rear of one of Benton’s S-90’s, Forester was pulling on a bulletproof vest while Mahan, sounding hysterical, watching the invasion live, told him what was going on. “All the alarms are shut off. I tried the restart sequence, but he must have done something to it.”
Forester cursed under his breath. “How many men are in the facility, Doctor?”
Mahan glared at the flat screen, which showed camouflaged men spreading out, obviously following orders from Howard, who was pointing and saying something to one of the invaders. Mahan jumped in fear as one of the techs showed up and a mercenary fired his weapon silently, blasting the man to the ground.
“My god! They just shot Garrett!”
“What?” Forester shouted into the microphone. “What did you say, Mahan?”
Mahan, who had sent people into the holding chamber to observe the results when a subject was attacked by his creatures, who thought nothing of perfecting this terrible virus, was shocked by the violence he witnessed. Jumping to his feet, he sealed himself within his quarters. Listening to the bolts slam home, he opened a panel on the wall and deactivated it. Now, nothing short of explosives could get him out. Mahan had insisted that his personal quarters be secure as possible, that way in case of a breakout, he could survive until rescued.
“Doctor, hold on, all right? We’re only twenty minutes out. Hold on!”
There was no answer.
As the chopper sped through the night, Forester was glad Mahan had never received the nuclear detonation codes. In the state the man was in, it was likely that Keystone would be a smoking hole in the earth. Rubbing his chin as he looked out at the dark night, Forester wondered if that might not be for the best.
What no one knew was that Mahan had been going slowly insane. His finger was on a button more deadly than the fabled ones in Washington, Moscow, or Peking. Worse still, he was ready to use it. Recent events in the world convinced him the end was near. The Thai-Viet Nam war, Syria’s invasion of Jordan, the mysterious flu-like illness that was ravaging Saudi Arabia and the civil war in Mexico convinced him that the end was near. It seemed only the U.S. was untouched by these increasingly troublesome events.
Perhaps it was time to release the virus. Use it to rid the world of riff-raff and begin anew. Mahan opened a bottle of bourbon and poured himself a shot. Sitting at his console, he ignored Forester’s impassioned pleas to speak to him and poured another drink. At Mahan’s console, protected by a Plexiglas shield was a red button. Mahan ran his fingers through his hair. Did Howard know about the fail-safe? Did the traitor know that he could release the creatures any time he wanted? Sadly, the technician who did this work for Mahan soon found himself in the chamber – the better to keep the scientist’s secret.
Reaching over, Mahan pressed his right thumb to a plate and the Plexiglas lid popped off.
Howard shook hands with the leader of the Mercenaries. He was pointing out where the cultures of the virus were secured when Garrett came staggering in, sleepy-eyed, clipboard held to his chest. Before Howard could say anything, one of the Mercs fired his MP5K, blasting the poor technician down. Garrett died without knowing why. Howard stared at the man’s body, blood flowing from it; then shrugged. Howard was fairly sure that Cherry and he were the only people TriPharm had working on the inside, the rest of the facility’s people, Mahan possibly the lone exception, were expendable. After all, once TriPharm had the virus, any future experimentation and development was in their hands.
Raymond, leader of TriPharm’s mercenaries, motioned to one of his men. Garret’s body was quickly hauled out of the way. The Mercs left it by the holding chamber. None of the Mercs removed their masks, which was getting Howard worried. Now that the team was in, a bullet in his brain would be cheaper than the money TriPharm was paying him. Howard turned slowly, thinking about his pistol. As if reading his mind, Raymond said, “Don’t worry Howard. You’re safe. As soon as we take the virus, you can go your way. Money’s already in your account.”
“So T… your employers are going to keep their end of the deal?
Raymond nodded. “Now how about we conclude our business and get the hell out of here?”
Mahan was transfixed by the images on his screen. He spent ten minutes in a futile attempt to restart the alarms, and keep the virus vault sealed. But it was in vain. Did Howard know about the counter-virus? That was in a vault only Mahan knew about, one not wired into the main computer system. Another gift from the dead technician. The counter-virus was going to be his bargaining chip if Benton tried anything. Mahan trusted no one, the Billionaire least of all. Mahan watched for a moment as the mercenaries disappeared from his screen. Tapping a button, he switched the image to the culture lab. Two of the mercenaries were carrying out a biohazard marked stainless steel canister with the virus within. It was then Mahan made the decision that would be part of the fall of civilization. Forcefully, an angry look crossing his face, he mashed the button that released the doors on the holding cell.
None of the mercenaries in the main area or Howard heard the quiet pop as the bolts keeping the holding chamber doors released. The doors, inner and outer, swung open, the smell of Ryder and Garrett’s blood wafting into the chamber.
In the chamber, the zombies, who had the barest rudiment (if any) of memory, moved into the vestibule as soon as the inner door hissed open. Like Pavlov’s dogs, they learned that when that door opened, food would be on the other side. Ravenous grimaces twisting their hideous faces, they all began to crowd toward the door. Pushing and shoving each other, they made their way toward the final obstacle, beyond which lay food.
One of the mercenaries was the first to fall. Standing with his back to the holding chamber, the first he knew of danger was when the cold, clammy hands of the subjects grabbed him. He barely had time to scream when the creatures dug their nails into his flesh, tearing chunks of it away, stuffing it into their greedy mouths.
Howard turned when he heard the groans. Armed only with a pistol, he took one look as twenty then thirty of the creatures followed by more, poured through the open doors. Howard was far from a coward, but he knew that there were over three hundred of the creatures within the chamber. Without yelling a warning, he turned and fled down the corridor toward the open gate. He had his money the world could take care of itself.
The two Benton helicopters spun about and began to descend toward the facility. Side by side, they started to land, the doors opening, heavily armed security men waiting to disembark.
They were ten minutes too late. Howard had already commandeered a Humvee and was miles away, uncaring of the apocalypse he helped unleash. Cherry, forgotten by all, called out as Howard ran by, then, wondering what was going on, made the final mistake of his life, and entered the facility. He barely cleared the inner gates when several of the c
reatures pulled him down.
Inside was chaos as the creatures were free. When Howard released the inner locks, it included the personal quarters of the Staff. This gave free access to the subjects, who entered every room they found, tearing into the remaining technicians and scientists who died without knowing they might be the lucky ones.
Raymond and his remaining three Mercs fled down the tunnel, still carrying the sample cases, they ran past the creatures dining on Cherry, intent on escaping from the oncoming zombies. They could still hear firing and screams of pain as the last of their fellows went down before the ravenous horde. Pausing to look back, Raymond could hear the growls of the pursuing creatures. Cursing at the doors, frozen open for an easier escape, Raymond pulled a grenade from his vest and threw it behind him. Turning to run, the blast of the grenade funneled in both directions by the tunnel’s walls, nearly knocked him down. The weapon did the job, knocking the zombies off their feet, buying Raymond and his surviving mercs, a little more time to escape.
Mahan sat before his screen, watching as the zombies spread out into the complex. Touching a control on the wall panel, he shut off the room’s air conditioner. As the units hum died out, he opened his desk and removed a bottle of sleeping pills. Mahan was not a stupid man. He knew that without weapons and someone to watch his back he would never escape Keystone alive. He did not want to become one of his subjects. Reaching into his desk, he removed a bottle of cognac. Popping a pill into his mouth he took a long slug from the bottle, coughed, then took another. Lying back on his small bed, he continued with his final prescription, bringing on the sleep of oblivion.
When Raymond and his men finally exited Keystone, the sun was rising, promising a beautiful day. Panting with fear and exertion, carrying the canister of virus, the last thing they expected to encounter was a force of Benton Security. When Raymond saw them, he cursed but did not reach for his weapon. One of his other men, helping carry the canister, was not so lucky. Holding his side of the container with one hand, he groped for his submachine gun with the other. As the weapon came up, two of Benton’s men fired, blowing the man back into the tunnel entrance and piercing the container. A cloud of vapor escaped infecting all the men in the immediate area. Forester raised his hand and shouted, “Stop firing! Stop it!”
Enclave: A Novel of the Zombie Apocalypse Page 5
