Desantos had to see it with his own eyes. He didn’t believe anything could defeat the virus. It even looked like God had thrown in the towel and said, “No mas mankind, you’re on your own.”
DHS Agent Archie Stockton was hooked to a heart monitor. His heartbeat depicted by moving green pixels steadily and silently blipped along. Desantos marveled at the man’s skin tone--it was about the same color as Mike Junior’s. This man, he thought, looked healthier than most. Desantos wavered, wondering whether he should try to talk to the big man. Fuck it. “Agent Stockton, can you hear me? My name is Mike... I heard you had a hell of a flight from New Mexico. Hanson told me you had some friends and fellow agents that you were concerned about.”
Standing on her tip toes, Hanson whispered a quick reminder in the General’s ear, “Gill and Jessie are the names of his fellow agents.”
Desantos leaned close to the agent and said, “Archie, I understand Gill and Jessie were on another helo.”
The mere mention of the fellow agents caused the man to stir. He slowly opened his eyes a crack. “Can you kill the lights?” he said, his voice raspy and hoarse.
“Hanson, extinguish these,” Desantos said, pointing at the bank of klieg lights hanging over his head. “How are you feeling Agent Stockton?”
After taking an inventory of his body, the agent said, “My whole body feels like I’m being jabbed with pins and needles... like when your foot falls asleep and then wakes up, only much worse and all over.”
Fuentes moved to the foot of the bed and took over the questioning. “Do you remember being bitten?”
The agent shook his head vehemently, denying the doctor’s allegation. “No. Not a chance. One got ahold of my shoe while another... a kid. A fuckin’ dead kid tried to climb me like a ladder. I remember it clawing my leg and then falling away from the Black Hawk.”
Desantos stood silently, hands on hips.
“What else?” Fuentes asked. He noticed the man’s heart rate spike.
“Just waking up to the pretty lady’s face... that’s it.”
Fuentes eyed the monitor and said, “Get some rest. I’m going to see that we have some food here for you in case you get hungry.”
Holding his hand up, “Can you free me?” the agent asked.
Fuentes remained silent and let the General field the question.
“Unfortunately... not just yet, it’s for your safety Agent Stockton. But soon...” Desantos said nodding his head. He hated playing the bad guy when he didn’t want to.
“Fuentes, a moment in private please,” Desantos said. Then he followed the wiry doctor into the autopsy room.
The rancid-smelling Alpha perked up; its cold emotionless eyes tracked the meat across the room.
Fuentes was growing tired of the operator’s brash personality and in-your-face attitude. He stood his ground, looking up at the tall warrior. “Yes General?”
“Good work Doctor, but keep this under wraps until that man moonwalks from one end of this tent to the other. I want you to make the call. Anything you need to make more of the antidote or... ”
“Antiserum,” Fuentes said correcting the General.
“Anything at all... get a hold of me personally or Freda Nash if I’m not available. Please keep an eye on Hanson from here on out. No more solo safaris for her.”
Desantos’ sudden display of respect surprised Fuentes. He shook the General’s hand and said, “We will get to work on the next batch right away and I’ll be sure to keep Hanson in check. Also I wanted to thank you and your men for rescuing us from the CDC. I wasn’t so gung ho about leaving at the time... but it was the right move.”
“My pleasure Doctor,” Desantos said as he parted the air lock.
“Hanson!” Fuentes yelled.
The Alpha cracked every vertebra in its neck whipping its head around to see where the noise originated from.
“Stand down Archie,” Fuentes said with a small chuckle.
Hanson poked her head through the slats. “Is he gone?” she asked.
“Forget about the General. What you did was incomprehensible. If what the General told me is true... the whole base is riding high on a pink cloud.”
With a pained look on her face Hanson silently held her arms to the front, palms up. It was an apologetic show of submission that she used when the words wouldn’t come.
Fuentes knew that Hanson’s transgression wasn’t deliberate and it pained him to discipline her. He had always considered her the daughter he never had. Furthermore she was the hardest working and most detail oriented co-worker he had ever had the pleasure of working with in a lab setting. “Do not let it happen again,” he whispered. “Let’s get to work. We need to brainstorm and find a way to mass produce enough antiserum to keep the soldiers going so they can clean up the United States. If we are successful then mankind just might survive this little Omega beastie.”
Chapter 30
Outbreak - Day 9
Mess Hall, Schriever AFB
It was well after midnight and without a doubt Brook, Raven and whoever else was bunking in the Grayson hut at the moment were fast asleep.
Cade firmly believed the mission wasn’t over until his weapons were put to bed wet. He broke down the Remington, swabbed the barrel and cleaned and oiled all of the moving parts with his old friend Hoppe’s No. 9. He took his time and meticulously reassembled the sniper rifle, double checking the bolt and the trigger pull. Lastly he inserted a magazine and cycled a few rounds through the high powered beast. His trusty Glock 17 received the same breakdown, cleaning, and scrutiny and then went back into the holster on his thigh. The SCAR didn’t require his attention because the only action it saw was the butt stock-to-teeth variety.
Earlier Desantos indicated that he had something to take up with Fuentes and he had set off alone to the research tent. Lopez and Maddox stayed behind with Ari, Durant and Hicks helping them prep the helo for the next day’s mission.
Cade decided to go get a bite or at the least some of Schriever’s famous paint-removing coffee. Sleep when you die, that should be the motto of the Tier-One operator, Cade mused.
***
Cade passed on the eggs. He noticed they were runnier than usual. Must be getting low on powder. A handful of health missiles and a big cup of caffeine would have to pass for a meal. The little sausages (that were not on Brook’s short list of approved foods) were the closest thing to real protein he had eaten in a couple of days. Even doused with a gallon of Tabasco, the bland packaged MREs that had sustained him for days just didn’t taste like food.
Good thing Brook wasn’t around to cluck her tongue and remind him what ingredients went into a sausage. Being married to a nurse sure had its advantages, and unfortunately its drawbacks. He was thankful the advantages far outweighed the latter. Cade smiled inwardly. He wished it wasn’t so late. He badly wanted to see Brook and Raven before he was pulled away on the next op. Lord knows he could definitely use a little company to help take his mind off of the men he had just sent to hell.
The tired operator stopped in his tracks and panned his head, scanning the rows of tables and benches. He was amazed; there were more people in the mess than he had seen at one time since arriving at Schriever.
He resumed pacing through the maze of celery-green tables and chairs hoping to find a familiar face.
Cade noticed electricity in the air and the background noise seemed to have taken on a life of its own--rising and falling in crescendo--punctuated with bursts of laughter and guffaws. Gone was the usual demeanor-killing shroud brought on by mission creep. During the previous week the inhabitants of Schriever were stretched thinner than the only piece of Silly Putty in the twenty-kids-and-counting Duggar household. Everyone was running on fumes and so were the aircraft and vehicles.
Cade caught snippets of the different spirited conversations as he wound through the revelry trying to find a place to settle and decompress. It was obvious to him that the word was out, and the possibility that Doctor Fuent
es had found a cure was on everyone’s mind. To Cade it seemed like a switch had been thrown and everyone in the room had instantly cast off the day-to-day fear of dying and had fully embraced the idea of living--and not just surviving.
Although Cade had been listening in on the comms in the Ghost Hawk he didn’t insert himself into the mix. If Mike wanted his opinion he would have asked. Up until now Cade had successfully survived the tightrope walk of dealing with higher ups unscathed and he could see no good reason to jump off of the cable now.
Cade was just happy to see that the people he was fighting shoulder to shoulder with had been inoculated with a shot of hope, because in desperate times like these, with a few hundred thousand dead heading for Schriever, a little bit could go a long way.
“Soldier... Grayson. Over here, grab yourself a piece of pine.” Dan waved a Schriever coffee mug to and fro trying to get the operator’s attention.
The voice, rising above the others, snapped Cade from his moment of thought. He changed course and headed for the bearded Vietnam vet.
Dan pushed a chair in Cade’s direction. It came at him with a nerve jangling squeal. Cade slapped his plate down, putting the sausages in danger of rolling off, and sat down heavily. “Thanks... I needed that.”
“Good to see you my boy. Saw you swivel headin’ around on auto pilot and thought I could use some company.”
Cade tried to laugh but only found the energy for a grunt and said, “That makes two of us.”
“Want some more coffee?” Dan reached out; his knuckles looked like they belonged on a street fighter’s hand. Had it not been for the grease and grime Cade would have said something smartass and asked about the other guy’s face.
“Sure.” Cade downed the tepid liquid and handed over the empty mug. “Have them add the caffeine this time please.”
“I think they’re running low on beans and just burning the water,” Dan added, cracking a half smile.
When Dan returned the first thing out of his mouth, even before he sat down, concerned the rumors of a cure. He looked over both shoulders before he said, “So I saw you carrying the top secret folder yesterday... what do you know about this purported cure? I know that you probably can’t say anything because I’m not need to know, but theoretically if there were an antidote or something... that would be the best news ever. ”
“Take a breath,” Cade interrupted. “If I knew anything that was one hundred percent iron clad the honest-to-God truth... I would not hesitate to include you. But I do not.”
“What do you know?” Dan asked.
“I know I’m beat, bone tired and I can’t go and sleep next to my wife because I’ll wake up the whole family. I didn’t have any contact with them for a week after Omega started burning and at times I feared the worst. What a fucking rollercoaster of emotions I stuffed while I was on the outside. And now... here I go leaving them on a daily basis with no guarantee I will return. How can I say that I am a good dad and husband when I’m subjecting my family to those same emotions? How can I expect to ever be forgiven for reupping?” Cade put his forehead in his hands for a few seconds and then fixed his eyes on Dan’s. “Part of me wants to stay here... and then go to the briefing without seeing them. To be honest it will hurt me to see them... because I have to turn around and leave on another op in a few hours.”
“You have to go and see them. If they can’t go back to sleep... it’s a few more precious minutes spent. Just chalk it up to what was supposed to be. You know you reupped for them. Whether you want to admit or not... everything you do... every decision you make is for them. Don’t forget it. Every second we are on the right side of the dirt oughta be spent living.”
Cade squeezed the grizzled vet’s shoulder. “Thanks for letting me bend your ear,” he said, stealing one of Dan’s sayings. “Now I’m going to sneak in and get a couple of hours of rack time.”
Chapter 31
Outbreak - Day 9
The House
Jackson Hole, Wyoming
The aroma of maple syrup and bacon filled the cavernous dining room; grand splays of wildflowers were scattered amongst the heaping plates of breakfast meats, scrambled eggs and waffles.
Robert Christian sat at the head of the wide mahogany table seemingly in a trance, staring out the picture window at his granite mountains, and with a grand sweep of his arm said, “Gentlemen, look out the window. That is the Grand Teton. John D. Rockefeller Jr., Teddy Roosevelt and Grover Cleveland were all great conservationists in their time; they had a vision for this beautiful place. They wanted to keep it pristine and wild. If they knew how many coffee shops were in this valley and that a million overweight and over-consuming tourists rubbed elbows in Yellowstone every year they would be spinning in their graves.”
“What are we going to do to stop it from happening again?” Griffin Blackburn asked. He was the fifty-five-year-old heir to the Blackburn fortune, who until now had remained silent, finishing his brunch, wondering why only he, Cranston, Ross, and Buchannon had been asked to stay behind, while the other Guild members boarded their private planes in the early morning and presumably were safely home by now.
“I want us to be better stewards and further their work across New America; every city that we clean out will be preserved as a warning against unbridled procreation and the subsequent wants and needs associated with an out-of-control population. No more grid lock. No more pollution. If any of you doubt my resolve--have Tran take you on a drive down the Teton Pass Highway. There are about a hundred reasons for the population of Jackson to stay in line and give back for the cause. Soon the people will want to stay here... many more will want to come here. They will flock here... in moderation. Gentlemen, Mother Nature just gave mankind a piece of her mind and it was a long time coming. I will make sure that we never forget how bad we let things get here on Mother Earth.”
Texas oilman Hank Ross drained his Bloody Mary and said in his thick syrupy drawl, “R.C. I gotta hand it to you... this place you picked for the Capital is magnificent. It’s like Mother Nature made you a castle with granite ramparts all around. The entrances to the valley are easily defensible. And I see that the air defenses were delivered overnight.”
“You don’t miss much Hank. Have you seen the airport since you arrived?” Christian asked.
Dabbing at the corners of his mouth, Hank cleaned his white mustache and placed the napkin onto the half-finished plate of food. Tran instantly materialized from behind a hewn oak pillar and silently spirited it away. “Why... did some U.S. military hardware fall off of the truck?” Hank inquired.
“Bishop’s boys are paying off in spades. They have liberated a number of fighter jets as well as a dozen attack helicopters,” Christian said proudly. “But that’s only a start... Bishop cleared the elk refuge of living dead and his men are quickly filling it up with National Guard armor and Humvees. We are very close to fielding a capable army of our very own,” Christian said with a flourish.
You are covering your ass nicely, how do we cover ours? Mark Buchannon thought. “So when do we get our bombs?” the Dot Com billionaire from California asked. He was the youngest of the group and the most outspoken--always ready with a question even if he thought he knew the answer.
Christian had been waiting patiently for one of the men to bring this up. “That, young man, is a point of contention with me. Somebody bugged this very room... actually my personal assistant Jarvis found that the whole mansion was full of listening devices and I know for a fact that they weren’t here before the outbreak. Besides, who would want to spy on a blowhard, narcissist actor anyway?” Christian’s cobalt eyes lingered on each man for a moment before he continued. “Until I know you can be trusted... the bombs will be tucked away for a rainy day--the gold, however, will be distributed as soon as it arrives.” Carrot and the stick, Christian thought to himself.
Buchannon shook his head. He hadn’t expected the offhanded accusation and furthermore it really pissed him off. “With all due respect Mr
. Christian... how do we protect our sovereignty as part of New America if we don’t have the capability to counter anything Valerie Clay can throw at us? I see how well you are protected here: anti-missile batteries, the Spartan army, jets, and helicopters not to mention Jackson’s strategic location. I will be in Napa tomorrow nervously awaiting the black helicopters or better yet a hundred and fifty kiloton warhead to turn my valley to glass. What am I supposed to do, throw gold bars at them?”
“You must exercise patience, Mr. Buchannon,” Christian countered.
The heavy chair screeched backwards as the brash young man rocketed from his seat and threw his hands in the air. “How would you feel if you were in my shoes?” he asked, his voice a mix of desperation and exasperation.
“Insubordinate!” Christian hissed, the veins in his neck bulging.
Strategically changing the subject, former President John Cranston said, “Fine way to send us off Robert, last night’s entertainment was fabulous.” With a mischievous grin, he hoisted his mimosa in the air and bowed his head. “I especially liked Heidi... blonde hair, splendid... ”
“Enough,” Christian barked. “For my dystopian vision of New America to come to fruition we all must have patience. The people of Colorado Springs are about to receive a warning that they will not soon forget.”
Chapter 32
Outbreak - Day 9
Driggs, Idaho
The fire glowed, a winking orange ribbon over the ridge line separating the gray horizon from the crackling treetops. Colorful exploding embers, like a fourth of July fireworks display, rocketed into the sky.
In Harm's Way: Surviving the Zombie Apocalypse Page 20
