by Greig Beck
TWENTY-TWO
Alex and Captain Garmadia returned from their check of the perimeter just as Aimee and Franks were coming down the steps of the makeshift laboratory. Both men watched the women, and Garmadia turned to study Alex’s face for a moment.
‘She is your friend. The reason why you came personally, I think.’
Alex continued to look at Aimee as he spoke. ‘She’s not the reason I came.’ It wasn’t strictly true, but he wanted to remind the Paraguayan captain of the legitimacy of their mission. ‘A team of our Green Berets Special Forces personnel sent down to provide perimeter security for the mining camp disappeared without trace. We believe an unknown assailant, or assailants, attacked them. We also believe this camp is still very much under threat, and not just by bandits or the disease outbreak. We’re here to determine that threat, whatever it is, and counterbalance it, so the people working here can get on with their jobs.’
‘I’m sure my own men could have dealt with the problem, Captain Hunter. It may have saved you a trip down here. I think you’ll find that we are not all cane cutters and coffee growers waiting for the norteamericanos to come and save us.’
Captain Garmadia pushed through the last stand of ferns, leaving Alex by himself behind the dark green curtain of the jungle.
Alex needed Garmadia; the last thing he wanted was to get offside with the man who had all the contacts on the ground. Plus, if he wanted to, he could make life hell for the hundreds of American men and women at the base in Mariscal Estigarribia. Ahh, politics, he thought as he walked from the jungle, intent on catching up with Garmadia.
His foot alighted next to a patch of black in the mud that sparkled faintly, as though oil and powdered glass had been mixed together, spread on the ground and allowed to bake into the red surface. He was about to take another step when his senses screamed at him; he halted with his foot suspended over the mass. He kneeled and examined the dark shimmering matter, then used a twig to scrape at it. The black substance was a fingernail’s depth on the surface of the dried mud. He brought the twig to his nose and sniffed; it was slightly organic, a bit like gasoline and bad fish. It looked harmless, but his senses tingled as if in the presence of danger. He stood slowly and flicked the twig away into the undergrowth.
Alex could see Tomás and his men had nearly covered the entire campsite with broad leaves and branches. He had originally requested the work primarily to keep the men busy, although it would be useful not to have to wade through mud whenever it rained, but now he had another reason to be glad he had made the call. Something about the black matter was unsettling.
He was about to continue on after Garmadia when he saw Sam and Mak waving to him from the other end of the camp. He changed course towards his two HAWCs, and saw Chaco and Saqueo fall in behind him, the younger boy keeping a safe distance.
‘What’ve you got, Sam?’
‘We’ve managed to get the generator working at about twenty-five per cent capacity. Means we’ll have some perimeter lights for restricted times; also, water purification and refrigeration units are online. But the communication uplinks are dead — we need new parts. We’re pretty happy considering the extent of the damage and what we had to work with.’
Sam stopped speaking but Alex could tell he hadn’t finished with his briefing. He and Sam had been on some hair-raising missions before, but he hadn’t seen his large friend looked this concerned for a while.
‘What did they use — axes?’ Alex asked.
Mak jumped in before Sam could respond. ‘I don’t think these guys, whoever they were, used axes, or even needed them.’
Alex frowned. ‘Tell me.’
‘Picture’s worth a thousand words,’ Sam said. ‘Best if you take a look — it’s a little weird.’
The three men walked quickly towards the electronics and generator shed. Alex noticed that Mak continued to look left and right at the surrounding jungle, and Sam rested his hand close to his firearm. Sam held the door and Alex entered the room. A couple of fluorescent bulbs shone with a cool hospital whiteness that was incongruous in the sticky heat of the jungle. He could see the damage immediately: heavy generator units had been upturned and the metal casing peeled back. There were dents in everything. The floor was littered with hundreds of feet of cable of varying lengths. In the midst of it, he could see his men’s work — some of the generator units had been rewired, and pieces that obviously weren’t part of the original design had been jerry-rigged to complete circuits or connections that had been torn free in the attack. Not a bad job given the maelstrom that had obviously been unleashed in the small space.
He looked from Sam to Mak and raised his eyebrows. Well?
Sam nodded to Mak, who bent down and retrieved a large sheet of heavy-gauge steel that had obviously been part of the main generator’s external shielding. He grunted with the effort of holding up the heavy plate and turned it around for Alex to examine. At first all Alex noticed were several large, deep dents in the quarter-inch thick steel. Then Mak turned it slightly and Alex realised what had unnerved Sam and the large Iraqi: the central dent, penetrating to a depth of about half an inch, was unmistakable. Alex raised his hand and curled his fingers into a fist — it fitted perfectly into the imprint. Someone had punched the steel with more force than a pile-driver. Alex knew that, other than himself, no human could have made that indentation. They might have tried if they were totally hyped on speed or ice, but they’d be left with a hand that was little more than a bag of shattered bones and still wouldn’t have achieved that depth.
He looked around the room again and, with fresh insight, saw the damage to the equipment in another light. Now he could see the fist strikes, the finger-grip marks, and imagined the steel being torn apart like cardboard by something, or someone, with enormous strength.
Alex looked at Sam; his face was etched with concern. Sam had also heard the recording of the attack on the Green Berets and Alex figured his cool-acting second-in-command was thinking the same thing he was: was this what had taken out Captain Michaels and his Special Forces fireteam? He needed to speak to Aimee about the GBs; they were the prime place to start an investigation.
‘Things just got real interesting,’ Alex said, looking at his watch. ‘We’ve got another few hours before sundown. I’m going to talk to Aimee, find out a little more about what’s been going on, and then we’ll meet at 1600 for a briefing on our nighttime defences. Tell Franks, and stay alert. And good work on the generator.’
Sam and Mak nodded, and Alex pushed open the door and left the building.
* * *
When Alex knocked on Aimee’s door, Casey Franks pulled it open.
‘Boss.’ She nodded but didn’t salute her superior officer — in the field, rank was never visibly acknowledged.
‘Go and get something to eat,’ Alex told her. ‘Sam will update you on some new information and then we’ll be having a full briefing at 1600 hours.’
‘You got it.’ Casey looked back at Aimee and nodded goodbye.
Alex watched her go, keeping his back to the room for a few seconds to allow himself thinking time on how he was going to start the conversation with Aimee. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a pillow land on top of a pile of dirty underwear in the corner of the room; he tried hard to suppress a smile.
He didn’t have to start; Aimee spoke first. ‘I’m glad you came.’
He turned. ‘They couldn’t have kept me away when I found out you were down here.’ He pulled up one of the two chairs in the room and sat down, straddling it. ‘You certainly know how to pick your holiday spots.’
She laughed wearily. ‘Holiday? Now that would be nice. But I’ll settle for just getting out of this green hell. I’m tired, I feel dirty and I want to be home.’
He sat forward and took her hands in his, looking into her eyes. ‘Tell me what’s been happening down here.’
Aimee expelled a long breath, pulling free of Alex’s hands as she sat back. She screwed her eyes shut and A
lex could tell she was picking a place to start, organising her thoughts. It looked like it hurt.
‘They’ve all been leaving and not coming back. First the Green Berets; then Francisco and Alfraedo went looking for the men that wrecked the equipment; and then a group of the remaining men followed the priest out. You know we found the Green Berets …? It was horrible. If you hadn’t come when you did, maybe I’d have walked out into that deep green madness and disappeared as well.’ Aimee looked towards the ceiling, her eyes welling up.
Found the Green Berets? Alex wanted to ask more, but Aimee started talking again.
‘And the rest of the poor saps still stuck here? They’d probably be better off out in the jungle as well, ‘cause I dug up some bad shit that’s turning them all to a black mess — they’re leaking away like ice left in the sun. Do you know what they’re calling it? The Melting Death — yep, one horrifying way to die brought to you by Uncle Sam care of Dr Aimee Weir. Hey, maybe they’ll name it after me … Weir’s Weirdness … how’s that?’ She exhaled through compressed lips, then began to laugh and cry at the same time.
Instinctively, Alex reached out and embraced her. He felt her relax. After a while, she pushed against him and sat back, sniffing on her tears. He kept his hands on her upper arms and looked into her face, focusing her attention.
‘Aimee, tell me about the Green Berets. We’ve had no contact. Do you know what happened to them?’
She sat back and stared. ‘You didn’t know? Oh, God.’ She shook her head and shuddered. ‘Alex, it was horrible — they were ripped to shreds. We think it was all of them, but we couldn’t really tell — there was nothing left, nothing to bring back, or even bury. The men think it was a jaguar. I doubt it. But I also can’t see bandits, or any human beings, being so savage.’
Alex felt like he’d been struck a physical blow. He had worked with many Green Berets in the past — they were good people, good soldiers and ultimate professionals. He dropped his hands from her shoulders and sat back to think.
Aimee reached down and picked up a soiled T-shirt and wiped her face with it, then blew her nose. She threw the T-shirt into the corner and folded her arms. ‘So, how have you been? Read any good books lately?’ She began to laugh again.
Alex recognised the symptoms of stress. She was wound wire-tight, and starting to internalise the problem as being all her own.
He gave her a half-smile. ‘Hey, same old, same old — we’re just a couple of bores, I guess.’ He sat forward until he was very close to her face. ‘Aimee, the disease was always here — you were just the unlucky one to find it. Everyone thought the biggest problem you had was the attacks on the rig by cross-border rebels. That’s why the Green Berets were sent down, as your shield. No one expected the contamination or the resulting quarantine order. And no one could have expected the GBs would be neutralised. We also strongly doubt any local bandits or rebels could have taken them out. We think there’s something else down here, Aimee. Something strange that no one was prepared for.’
‘Something strange? Yes, I think I’ve known that for days. Did you know all the animals have disappeared? And then there’s the priest — Father González. Apparently he has a church close by and has been ministering to the locals for some time. He walked into our camp one evening and just bewitched the men. They followed him and never came back.’ She took a sip of water and turned her mouth down. ‘Or maybe the men were just bored and depressed from not being able to work and decided to keep on going after the mass. Perhaps Father González turned up at the time when they were looking for some sort of spiritual guidance, or … I don’t know … some kind of intervention maybe.’
‘Hmm. I’d like to speak to him, ask him what he knows about the missing men — yours and ours. He has a church close by, you say?’ Alex asked.
‘Yes. Come dusk he’ll more than likely turn up here again, persuading more of the men to follow him.’ Aimee sipped more water then pointed with the bottle at the slim gauntlet attached to Alex’s arm. ‘Should I ask?’
Alex lifted his arm, hand out flat, then made a fist. A stream of clear spikes created a furrow through the mound of dirty clothing and punctured the cabin’s floor and wall. After a second, the spikes melted and disappeared.
Aimee smiled and shook her head. ‘Must be a big seller at Christmas. I’ll send you the bill for the clothing.’
Alex smiled and placed his hand over hers again. ‘The guys have managed to get the water purification back online, also lights and some of the running water systems. There’s no hot water, but I reckon an air-temperature shower around here isn’t exactly going to be cold, is it? You’ll feel better afterwards, then we can talk some more.’
She smiled. ‘Okay, okay, a girl can take a hint. I know I stink.’ She leaned forward and kissed his cheek.
A hundred memories flooded Alex’s mind and his senses, and, without thinking, he turned his face towards her. She kissed him again, this time for longer, parting her lips slightly. Alex reached up and held the back of her head, pulling her to him and feeling the warm softness of her tongue in his mouth.
Part of him knew this wasn’t the right time or place. But still his hand slid from her head and neck and travelled down her back. He felt the slick warmth of her skin beneath her shirt and her racing heartbeat. He grabbed her shirt and lifted it over her head. His own shirt quickly followed, and then he allowed himself to explore the body he could never forget — the small breasts, nipples hard under his fingers, the flat belly that fluttered when he touched it.
Aimee lay back on the small bunk and his heart ached at her beauty, and vulnerability. He saw that her blue eyes were dark, but this time it was not from anger. His searching found she was ready for him. She pulled him down on top of her and the cot squealed in protest at their combined weight.
‘I’ve missed you,’ she said.
‘I never left you.’ His mouth found hers again.
TWENTY-THREE
Inside the CDC lab, Maria’s computer screen was completely dark now, no human blood cells discernible among the black sea of bacteria.
‘Remove the slide,’ she told her son. ‘We’ll use those live samples as our test bed.’
Michael nodded and slipped his hands into the gauntlets either side of the isolation cube. As the gloves gripped the glass slide, Maria saw the image alter.
‘Hold it.’ She leaned in close to the screen, her brow furrowed. ‘Remove your fingers from the slide.’
‘What’s up? What is it?’ Michael’s voice was worried.
Maria ignored him. ‘Place your fingers near the slide again … slowly. That’s it …’ She fiddled with the magnification on the screen and took still images of the movement progression.
‘Amazing. I’ve never seen anything like it.’
The dark sea on the screen had parted into two groups either side of the slide — right where Michael’s fingers gripped its edges.
‘Michael, this is simply astounding — I’ve seen micro-organisms exhibiting chemotaxis before, but nothing like this. We know that bacteria with motility structures can direct their movements according to certain chemicals in their environment — so, find food by swimming towards the highest concentration of attractive molecules, or flee from toxins. But these things aren’t using a random walk or corkscrew motion; they’re actually lining up like army ants.’
Maria replayed the images. At first, the Hades Bug was just a mass of micro-scale bodies; then Michael grasped the sample slide. The cells immediately formed into two clumps, each swarming towards his fingers. When Michael removed his hands, as Maria had asked, the bacteria floated back to a central clump. His hands appeared again, and they instantly coalesced into two halves and swarmed towards his fingers.
Michael looked pale behind his protective lenses. ‘What does this mean? How could they even detect me through the gauntlets? How could a microorganism be that socially responsive and organised?’
Maria replayed the images again. ‘Traces of bo
dy heat, the pulse of your blood through your fingertips, sensitivity to movement; or maybe something we’re not even aware of. What concerns me is the way they suddenly acted cooperatively. In my time, I’ve see all manner of clumping, fusion and bacterial agglutination, but never have I witnessed this much coordination in a bacterial population.’
Maria sat back and stared at the screen, not conscious of Michael’s voice until he touched her shoulder.
‘You think the cells may be sentient? Or at least be able to communicate?’ He sat down beside her.
‘No, impossible. They don’t think. More likely it’s some form of chemical signalling, quorum sensing, or some other pathway … I just don’t know yet. Dr Weir brought this strain of bacteria up from over a mile below the Earth’s surface. It’s likely it’s travelled through a billion billion generations without ever encountering animate life. It could have evolved all sorts of abilities for detecting carbon food sources, its own genotype, and maybe even for defence.’
Maria got to her feet, walked to the cabin door and pushed it open a crack. New humid air flowed in to replace the stale humid air. She mentally added in the new pieces of this microbiological jigsaw puzzle: one hundred per cent lethality, high communicability, rapid transmission to a terminal stage, no known vaccine or treatment. And at this point she wasn’t even sure if they had it contained within the quarantine zone or whether it was already spreading out into the jungle through the local fauna.
She turned back to her son. ‘We’ve got forty-eight hours — by then we need to have developed a vaccine.’
* * *
While Michael worked on the vaccine, there were a few other precautions to put in place around the camp. Maria searched through the bags they’d brought with them, found what she was looking for, and went outside. She saw Alex Hunter coming out of Aimee Weir’s cabin and waved him over.
