With those words he managed to calm her, at least a little. No, everything did not seem rosy and wonderful all of a sudden, and the idea of death by firing squad still filled her with dread, but in the short time she had come to know Major Gant, she had also come to respect him. Finding that the feeling was mutual gave her a sense of value greater than any diploma or paycheck could impart.
"Thanks," she replied, sheepishly. "What do you think is going on here?"
"Waters called it an experiment. I think he was telling the truth. He had questions about our response and our tactics, so we are probably dealing with a biological warfare test. The fact that they are packing up all the affected individuals suggests a cover up. They chose a private island like this in the hope that there would be little or no response from a government, but it sounds as if they did not count on the senator's presence."
"So who are they?"
"That is a good question," he admitted. "I have my suspicions."
"Oh, do tell."
"The whole thing stinks like something The Tall Company would do, particularly their Sciences Division."
"I've heard of them. They're huge. They also give out a lot of research grants. I've been on the receiving end of a few."
She could tell by the glare in his eyes that Tall held a particularly dark place in Major Gant's heart.
"Believe me, Dr. Stacy, I have had to clean up a fair number of messes caused by The Tall Company. It would not surprise me to find them connected to Tioga in some fashion."
"I thought they were just a bunch of capitalists run amok."
"They are that, and much more."
Two Jeeps and a black Hummer rolled onto the airfield from one direction. Eight men in hazmat suits exited, grabbed gear from the luggage spaces, and marched onboard one of the transports. A moment later a trio of vehicles arrived from another direction, and more men did the same.
At that point the engines on the two CN-235s spooled to life and the boarding ramps raised to the tune of straining hydraulics. She watched as the first and then the second of the two big planes taxied and turned in preparation for liftoff.
Squealing tires turned her attention from the planes to a Jeep that came to a halt in front of them. Dr. Waters — his hood completely removed — exited the car and approached.
"I'm sorry to keep you waiting, but as you can imagine, today has been a busy day for me. However, it's getting rather late and we best be going."
"Thank you for the offer," Gant played the game, "but I think we will wait here."
"Trust me, you will appreciate my offer in …" Waters glanced at his watch, "… about twenty minutes. Come along," he said and waved to the guards. "Get them onboard my jet."
With no other apparent choice, Stacy followed Gant as he stood and allowed the armed men to escort them onboard the midsized twin-engine passenger plane that was something like a corporate jet. Inside they found a luxury-appointed cabin with pairs of facing seats draped in leather.
After a few seconds, Dr. Waters joined them. As he had already done, the men in his charge removed their hazmat suits, revealing black tunics of a military nature but with no icons, no markings, no denotation of rank.
Stacy glanced around at the group and saw men primarily of Asian ethnicity, except for Waters's assistant, who was clearly Anglo-Saxon, and of course Waters himself. The more she sat across from him on the plane, the more she thought she recognized him from somewhere.
Their host glanced at his watch and spoke to one of his men: "Remind the pilot we need to get into the air right away."
"Why the hurry, Dr. Waters?" Gant asked with a grin tugging at his lips.
She wondered if perhaps Gant suspected their sudden departure had to do with the approach of reinforcements. The last she had heard, Captain Campion was to pull together resources and hurry to the island. Perhaps he was closing in fast.
Waters did not answer Gant's question. Instead he turned his attention to a clipboard full of notes, tables, and other scribbles.
The plane's engines turned on, and after a few seconds of rolling, the jet took to the air. As they climbed, Stacy stared out the side window and saw a dozen plumes of smoke rising across the resort. No doubt these were from fires set by the intruders, just as they had burned the clinic to the ground.
Stacy felt her stomach sink until the jet leveled at low altitude, allowing her equilibrium to return. The sudden thud of landing gear retracting made her jump. A second later her stomach pulled sideways as they banked hard.
She glanced at Gant, who sat across the aisle, then back at Waters, who seemed engrossed by the data on the pages he examined. Anger shoved aside her worries for a moment; anger at Waters and his nonchalant disposition as they flew away from an island turned into a graveyard by the machinations of this man.
"Is that it, then?" Her voice surprised him as well as Gant. "You've finished your little experiment and now it's time to fly away? How many people died on that island, Dr. Waters?"
He glanced at her and, once again, she noted how watery his eyes appeared. In fact, now that he had fully removed his costume she saw flaking skin around the base of his neck and on the back of his hands.
Waters answered her, "We have accounted for 130 individuals, which represents approximately 93 percent of the people believed to be on the island. That is an amazingly efficient recovery effort, don't you think? Particularly given the nature of the experiment, as well as the island's terrain. Granted, Tioga covers only about eight square miles but that is, nonetheless, an impressive accomplishment."
"Efficient? Accomplishment? You are responsible for the murder of those people. Exactly how do you expect to get away with that? Sooner or later someone is going to land on Tioga and find evidence of what you did, no matter how many bodies you cleaned up."
"Evidence?" Waters glanced at his watch. "I think collecting evidence is going to be rather difficult, what with the eruption and all."
Stacy did not know what he meant … and then a loud boom chased the plane into the sky. She immediately turned to the side window as they banked over the island.
A series of clouds rose from the side of the small volcano on the northern end. The sheer volume of explosives that had to have been used caused her to gasp — she saw a sheet of rock and mud sliding hundreds of feet into the jungle below. But her shock at the sight quickly dissipated.
"Are you kidding me?" She nearly laughed at him. "I've seen a few eruptions in my time, and no matter how many tons of TNT you just lit off, it's like a candle compared to a real volcanic eruption. That won't fool anyone."
"And who does it need to fool?" Waters volleyed with a glint in his tear-filled eye. "The USGS is rather busy with issues closer to home. The nations of the Pacific Rim do not have the resources or the interest to fully investigate Tioga Island. Whatever laymen or curious parties finally make their way to the resort will find lava flows, burning buildings, and a handful of bodies killed by the lethal gas emissions from the volcano."
"Lava flows? A few explosions won't cause lava flows."
"No, but those explosions knocked down walls, my dear, opening up the heart of the magma chamber. With all the water we've been pumping in over the past few weeks, that magma is quite irritated, and nearly boiling over, eager to flow out and into troughs that have been mined into the mountain for nearly a year and perfectly matched to the terrain of Tioga. Perhaps the island's caretakers should have paid more attention to the mining company that leased so much land and equipment on their private getaway. Alas, bribes and kickbacks go a long way toward silencing curiosity. Point is, even as we speak, the flows are escaping the mountain and engulfing the heart of Mr. Fencer's property. If we are lucky, those flows will cross the entire resort. If not, it won't matter. The evidence will point to a natural disaster, and given the remote location and the lack of jurisdiction, any investigation will be minimal. In the end, no one will care."
* * *
Jupiter Wells regained his balance after the shock wave pa
ssed. In front of him, above the trees, he saw plumes of gray and black smoke rise into the air and form mushroom caps. Not nuclear, of course, but certainly a massive explosion — possibly more than one detonation, in fact.
To his left he saw the Pacific Ocean and the now-empty docks. The mystery ship had sailed off to the west, disappearing over the horizon just a few minutes ago. The men who had hauled truckloads of dead bodies to the pier had been gone for a while, apparently discarding their earth-moving equipment in favor of faster transportation. Wells drew a connection between their spirited exit and the explosion.
He had the distinct feeling of being alone; as if everyone who knew better had evacuated the island, leaving his sorry ass behind. He figured Sal would get a kick out of that if he knew.
With no better alternative apparent, he decided to move toward ground zero, walking first through the jungle out of an abundance of caution to remain hidden. However, after a mile of slinking through the brush he came to believe that his feeling of isolation was more fact than imagination. No one moved, he saw no bodies, and even the wildlife seemed to have thinned, no doubt scared off by the massive boom.
Therefore he took to the roads and moved at a quicker clip in a northerly direction, passing a restaurant full of overturned chairs and bloody tablecloths and a small ranch where he heard horses whinnying from a barn, and reached the last flag on a nine-hole golf course.
At that point he stopped, right there on the greens, and stared across a stretch of open, well-maintained grass that dipped down and then rose up toward the cone-shaped mountain standing sentry on the north side of Tioga island.
An orange and red stream like liquid fire oozed down the mountain and crossed the course, splitting into an easterly flow and a southwesterly one. With the lava came a wave of unbearable heat, roasting his skin and giving the air a thick, molasses-like weight that bore down on his shoulders and lungs.
His mind froze as it took in the magnificent sight. The most fundamental force of the Earth, pouring out of the mountain and flowing like blood draining from a wound.
Then he turned and ran.
13
A pair of EA-18G Growlers descended from altitude with the tiny island of Tioga in their sights.
The jets had started life as Super Hornets but were then equipped with all manner of electronic warfare gear, the perfect choice for investigating an island where communications had been seemingly blocked off.
Each of the sleek aircraft wore insignia depicting a stylized Eagle's head with four red stripes, marking them as members of the "Shadowhawks" electronic attack squadron from the decks of the USS George Washington.
The planes approached Tioga at high speed, sending strands of smoke curling as they blew through a stream of dirt and smoke rising from the volcano on the north end and billowing to the east.
Leader and wingman climbed again, banked, and circled the target zone.
"Grizzly to Warfighter, we have eyes on the target zone."
A voice traveled from the carrier's bridge hundreds of miles away and answered, "Roger that, Grizzly. Let's have it."
"Warfighter, no sign of any activity in the sky or on the ground. Looks like some kind of big fire down there. Check that, ahhh, what we can see here, looks like you better get SAR inbound ASAP. The, um, land mass is about 60 percent covered in what looks like, um yeah, that looks like lava down there. I'd say you've got an eruption down there."
"Warfighter to Grizzly, roger that. What are you seeing at altitude?"
"Warfighter, um, got some smoke drifting up about ten thousand feet or so, nothing major, airspace is just about CAVU. Still, I wouldn't want to be boots on the ground down there; nowhere to go. Looks like a lot of structure fires, too. Anyone down there will need evac real fast."
The jets continued to circle above.
"Grizzly, check your gear. Any sign of interference?"
The electronic warfare officer who shared the cockpit in the lead Growler answered, "No sign of any hostile activity. We're getting a clear signal in and out. Looks good."
"Roger that, Grizzly," the carrier radioed. "Um, Grizzly, we have reports of friendlies on the ground down there. Give it a good eyeball and tell us what you see."
"Roger that. Grizzly to Little Bear, you stay up top, we'll hit the deck."
The wingman replied, "Understood. We'll keep you covered."
At that point the lead Growler banked hard and dove down from the sky like a hawk speeding for prey. But its sharp dive softened as the waters of the Pacific neared, then finally flattened to level flight as the high-tech winged warrior skimmed the water and raced for Tioga.
It passed over just above treetop level, scattering plumes of smoke, shaking what buildings still stood, and sending a rumble across the ground.
The pilot and his EW officer saw multiple streams of yellow and red rolling across the island, leaving charred black paths in their wake. Embers carried on the wind as fires consumed trees; gray and black columns rose lazily into the afternoon sky.
"Ahhh, Warfighter, this is Grizzly. I took her in real close but it's a mess down there. Lots of tree cover; lots of fires. We didn't see anything but that doesn't mean no one is home."
"Copy that, Grizzly. Anything painted on your scopes? Any contacts?"
"Negative, no joy, clear scopes."
Silence followed for nearly a full minute while the lead Growler gained altitude and partnered with his wingman again, high above Tioga Island.
"Grizzly, Warfighter here. Best guess on survivability down there."
"Coin flip, Warfighter. Still some land left but it's going to run out fast. To be honest … ahh, never mind."
"Go ahead, Grizzly, don’t leave us hanging."
The pilot considered his words and then radioed, "To be honest, it looks like Dante's Inferno down there."
* * *
Jupiter Wells first heard and then saw the jets, but unless he made it out from beneath the canopy of banyan trees he knew they would not see him. So he did what he had been doing for the last hour; he ran east, knowing that lines of burning liquid followed him across the island at a pace that suggested the devilish streams knew they did not need to hurry: he had nowhere to go.
Smoke from fires lit by both the long-gone intruders and the flow of encroaching magma crowded out much of the good oxygen. His lungs and skin both felt ready to melt from the heat, while amber embers settled on his shoulders as if taunting his fate.
He stumbled out from a path and onto what passed for a main road and glanced up, hoping to see daylight and possibly the circling planes. Instead he saw a cloud of smoke that had outraced him.
Jupiter paused for a moment and placed his hands on his knees. Despite the carnage everywhere, his stomach growled to remind him it had been a long while since his last meal. At the same time, every joint in his body throbbed.
Neither were new sensations. He had been on plenty of missions that lacked food, water, and rest. As he had done all those other times before, he took a deep breath of resolve and continued his flight, telling himself that he would have plenty of time for food and rest when the job was done.
Problem is, the job today has changed into staying alive.
Reporting in was no longer an option; he had tried to get to his satellite gear on the beach, only to find it long gone, most likely confiscated by an enemy patrol. Furthermore, a branch of the lava flow was headed in that direction and would soon cover the rocks and sand there. For all of that, any transmission might still be jammed anyway.
If he could find open — possibly even high — ground he might be able to raise someone on his tactical radio, if the interference had passed.
A whole lot of ifs, Jupiter.
He followed the road east as it passed a burning building that once might have been somebody's house. It had been ablaze for a while; only a front fascia remained, the rest consumed by golden flames that seemed poised to complete the destruction.
As he neared, two figures cam
e staggering out from a gaping hole where a wall had once stood. Flames completely covered one of the people, while the second one suffered a fire on his arm, although he seemed oblivious to that fact.
Wells stopped moving, but it was too late. The pair of reanimated corpses saw him and approached.
He raised his SCAR-H and waited, using the confrontation as another excuse to rest his legs. From behind, the sound of crackling flames and falling trees grew louder as the lava streams continued their slow but steady march.
These marked the first moving zombies he had seen since the showdown by the bungalows in the dark the night before. That left two possibilities. Either whatever agent the plane had used to immobilize the creatures had worn off, or these two had been protected inside the house, released only now that the flames had knocked over most of the walls.
Whatever the reason, they closed to attack through a light fog of ash and smoke, one wearing a suit of fire that completely hid any features, making it resemble a human torch. Just as Jupiter wondered exactly how anything living—dead? — could soldier on while covered in an inferno, the thing dropped, finally succumbing to the fire.
The other remained oblivious to the spreading flames on its arm. At one point this one had been a fat old man and, from what Wells could see, he had been struck by the undead plague while in his bathrobe. While most of his skin had already suffered second- and third-degree burns, some kind of wound was visible on his right shoulder, and the cheek above had been clawed raw. Wells could envision an attacker approaching from behind, taking the potbellied fellow by surprise.
Wells raised his battle rifle, took aim, and fired one perfectly placed round directly into the former-man's chest. A big hole blasted open there, and was followed by a geyser of gooey blackened blood.
The result? The fat guy stumbled backwards, wobbled, and then approached once again, moving slightly more slowly than the lava stream pursuing Wells through the jungle.
He paused for a second, recalling a battle a few months previous when he had thought he was under attack by oversized spiders. Those creatures had reacted in a similar fashion, absorbing the bullets but not dying.
The Cannibal Virus Page 12
