HAYWIRE: A Pandemic Thriller (The F.A.S.T. Series Book 2)

by Shane M Brown

  Coleman discreetly raised an eyebrow at Forest and glanced at King.

  Forest shrugged.

  Neither Coleman nor Forest understood what was happening in King’s mind since Marlin’s death.

  ‘Okay,’ began Coleman. ‘Sweep clockwise. Recon only. Don’t bring an army of crazies down on our heads.’

  ‘Understood,’ chorused Forest and King together.

  Erin hung up a different telephone receiver, failing to reach the bridge again.

  Coleman pointed after Neve and the others. ‘Will the pathology lab have everything we need?’

  Erin looked confident. ‘Infectious diseases are our biggest problem here. It comes from having so many people living shoulder to shoulder. Our hospital will have everything Neve needs.’

  Coleman nodded and studied the hospital floor plan mounted on the wall.

  He didn’t like what he saw.

  The hospital was designed to admit people from any part of the ship very quickly. It was designed for ease of access and rapid unimpeded movement.

  To Coleman, this made it a nightmare to defend.

  The complicated network of offices and laboratories could be breached from any direction. If a wave of crazies came surging through the corridors, confusion could cost them dearly.

  He quickly committed the floor plan to memory and then waved Erin toward the pathology laboratory.

  ‘Let’s just hope we don’t have any interruptions.’

  Christov studied the Marines on the surveillance monitors.

  They’re in the hospital. Two of them are sweeping the perimeter. The rest are inside.

  The hospital was perfect.

  Christov couldn’t have chosen a better location to slaughter the Marines.

  And they had just the right tools to get the job done. His security staff had just finished unpacking their special weapons.

  Flamethrowers.

  Every second man now carried a long flamethrower in addition to his submachine gun.

  Christov had learned by hard experience that all animals feared fire. Only fire repelled the infected.

  And they worked equally well on Marines.

  Christov needed to move fast, so Bolton had designed him a pistol-style flamethrower. The weapon’s fuel reserve was limited, but more than enough to hold back a horde of infected. In the close quarters of the hospital, the flamethrowers would be devastating.

  Bolton never carried a gun. He considered firearms crude. Instead, Bolton had designed his own weapon.

  He called it a tool.

  Bolton’s ‘tool’ consisted of two gas tanks strapped to his back. Hoses channeled the gas to a device resembling a sword handle.

  The gas tanks slowed him down, but it didn’t matter, because once he was moving, nothing could stop him.

  Bolton’s tool was the most devastating close quarters weapon Christov had ever witnessed.

  ‘We’re ready,’ announced Bolton, flipping up the face panel of his welding mask.

  Christov pointed to the cameras around the hospital.

  ‘Those Marines have no idea we’re here. We’re going to keep it that way. No gunfire. From here to the hospital use only flamethrowers to repel the hostiles.’

  Christov pointed at the map.

  ‘Bolton. Your demolition team is waiting on the helipad. Get them working right now. You go with them.’

  Bolton pointed to the surveillance monitors. ‘What about the Marines? If my team attacks from the rear, we can crush them between us.’

  Christov shook his head. ‘There are only five Marines. They’re dragging a kid and two women. One’s in a wheelchair. I can deal with them. I’ll send a team to flank them. They won’t leave the hospital alive. And then I want the hospital torched. I want every medical record and blood sample burned. We’re going to incinerate everything linking this mess back to us.’

  ‘What about Elizabeth Green?’ asked Bolton.

  ‘We’ll burn her corpse to ashes.’

  ‘What if she’s not dead?’ asked Bolton.

  ‘Then I’ll burn her alive like the witch she is.’

  Bolton nodded and opened the bridge’s heavy steel door. ‘I’ll start turning this ship into a submarine then.’

  Christov smiled. He liked Bolton’s dark sense of humor.

  Christov’s men were eager to leave the confined bridge and start the operation in earnest.

  I have one thing left to do.

  Only one bridge officer remained alive.

  Christov walked over to Bryant, stepping over where Bryant’s dead wife sprawled on the deck.

  He grabbed Bryant’s hair and jerked his face up. The man’s eyes looked dull, almost lifeless.

  He’s a broken man.

  Christov looked to where Bryant’s wife lay in a bloody mess of blood-soaked uniform and compound fractures.

  She really hit the deck hard, thought Christov.

  ‘You married the wrong man,’ Christov said to her corpse. ‘You married a man who couldn’t even protect his wife, let alone this ship.’

  Christov plucked Bryant’s security ID card off his pocket.

  He waved his men toward the door. ‘Let’s go. I want to get back what’s mine before Bolton cuts this ship in half.’

  Christov stopped two gunmen. ‘You two stay here and watch these cameras. If the Marines leave the hospital, radio me.’

  Christov glanced up toward the helicopter. ‘Keep this hatch open and kill anyone who gets close. I want a clear extraction path back to the helicopter. We’ll be leaving in a hurry. Understood?’

  Both men nodded.

  As Christov stepped through the hatch, he heard Bryant speak.

  ‘You’re all dead men,’ said Bryant. ‘Every one of you. Those guns won’t save you. They’re going to tear you apart. This disease will kill you all.’

  Christov almost laughed out loud. He truly has no idea what Elizabeth brought here.

  ‘It’s not a disease,’ said Christov, pausing in the hatchway. ‘It’s a miracle.’

  Neve rolled into the pathology laboratory.

  It smelled like every pathology lab she’d ever worked in, an unpleasant combination of soap, sterilization agents and floor cleaner.

  She hadn’t, however, always worked in pathology labs so well-equipped.

  Where do I start? First, make sure no one gets hurt.

  A pathology lab was a dangerous place. She pointed to three refrigerators with glass doors lining the back wall. ‘Stay away from those. They’re full of dangerous chemicals.’

  Neve looked at Justin to make sure he understood.

  He nodded.

  Even Neve wouldn’t need to open them. She was looking for test results. For data. She scanned the lab and spotted a group of tables pushed together.

  I bet that’s where they were collating the test results.

  She rolled to the tables.

  She was right.

  The tables were covered in patient files and charts. She recognized her own handwriting. It was the list of medical tests she’d prioritized.

  Under her list rested a stack of printed results. The staff had been so busy rushing through all the tests that they hadn’t even collated the results yet.

  Neve spread the results out all over the table. The piles of paperwork completely covered the four large tables.

  But it wasn’t everything she’d asked for.

  They haven’t finished the tests, Neve realized. They didn’t have time before they were evacuated.

  Also, several of the tests had been repeated.

  I should have been down here, Neve told herself. They didn’t have enough staff to deal with everything that was happening, and I left them short-handed to be with Justin.

  Neve shook her head. She’d done the right thing. When she’d brought Justin into this world, she knew that protecting him must always be her first priority.

  She looked over at Justin. He now had two bodyguards. Two people who were far better equipped to protect
him at the moment than herself. She’d secured that protection by agreeing to analyze this data.

  Well, I’m here now. It’s time to live up to my end of the deal.

  Neve set aside all other thoughts and began studying the test results. In seconds she was absorbed. Her world seemed to shrink down to just the four tables in front of her. Four tables that were covered in the most unbelievable information she’d ever seen.

  This is incredible.

  Truly incredible.

  She knew now why some of the tests had been repeated. The results seemed impossible. Nevertheless, the same results had emerged every time.

  Neve looked up.

  Someone had spoken to her.

  ‘Sorry, what?’ she asked.

  ‘What have you found?’ repeated Coleman. ‘Anything useful?’

  Neve felt like she was emerging from a daze. It was almost too much to take in.

  ‘Yes...I...I think I have. But it’s incredible. It’s hard to believe. I’m holding the proof and it’s still hard for me to believe it.’

  ‘Proof of what?’ prompted Coleman.

  ‘It’s not a disease.’

  Erin broke the stunned silence. ‘Of course it is. The survivor brought it on board. It spread faster than influenza on steroids.’

  Neve waved at the data. ‘There’s no unusual virus or bacteria in any of the patients’ bloodwork. Just extremely high levels of an unidentified drug.’

  ‘A drug?’ asked Coleman.

  Neve nodded. ‘A molecule designed to perform a specific task in the body. A drug.’

  ‘Wait a minute,’ said Erin. ‘I know what a viral outbreak looks like. I know how they spread. I watched this one sweep through my ship. I saw it infect people.’

  ‘The pathogen is not viral or bacterial in nature,’ Neve assured them. ‘Look. The tests were repeated again and again.’

  ‘Then how is it spreading?’ demanded Erin.

  Neve took a deep breath.

  ‘I believe this is the world’s first communicable drug.’

  Coleman frowned over the results. ‘You mean a drug that is contagious? A drug that spreads from person to person?’

  ‘Yes. A drug just like aspirin, or warfarin, or heroin. The same drug appears in every infected patient’s blood work.’

  ‘Wait,’ said Coleman. ‘You mean that a drug, a non-living, non-reproducing chemical is spreading from person to person around this ship and sending them berserk?’

  ‘Exactly, nodded Neve.

  Erin looked at Neve skeptically. ‘That’s not possible, Neve. Chemicals don’t reproduce and spread. You must be missing something.’

  ‘You said you had proof,’ said Coleman, pointing at the files. ‘Show us.’

  Justin hated hospitals.

  They made him feel vulnerable.

  And he didn’t like standing still, out in the open. So far, only running and hiding had kept them alive.

  Maybe we should take the medical results somewhere more secure.

  Justin kept looking over his shoulder, scanning the corridors, waiting for the first crashing sounds as a mob of insane lunatics charged through the hospital.

  This place is a maze.

  If a pack of crazies burst through the hospital doors, Justin couldn’t see the best way to escape.

  It would be chaos.

  Even with the Marines’ help, Justin knew they needed a path of flight if things turned bad. His mother was the most vulnerable. She needed to keep ahead of the crazies in a wheelchair.

  Justin made up his mind.

  I’m finding the fastest way out of here.

  Elbow-deep in medical reports, his mother didn’t need him right now. Justin looked for the Marines. Craigson and Myers weren’t hovering over him now. They had taken up defensive positions around the lab.

  What’s that?

  Through a doorway he glimpsed something bright yellow.

  Is that the life raft? It must be.

  He went for a closer look. The half-deflated raft looked barely capable of floating, let alone saving someone’s life.

  Justin flicked aside a piece of yellow plastic with his wrench, checking inside.

  It’s empty.

  But the room wasn’t.

  Holy shit!

  He raised his wrench instinctively, but didn’t need to strike.

  The woman lay on a hospital bed.

  Justin lowered his wrench. He’d become so attuned to anything human-shaped being hostile that simply the sight of an unexpected person sent him into fight-or-flight mode.

  This situation called for neither.

  The woman looked asleep. Maybe unconscious. Maybe even dead.

  She wore a hospital gown.

  This must be the woman they rescued.

  Justen reached out and touched her ankle. She felt cold.

  She’s dead too.

  Beside her rested a tray filled with clothes and personal belongings.

  This stuff will be important.

  Justin lifted her phone. A sealed transparent bag protected the phone.

  She put her phone in this bag to keep it dry on the life raft.

  Justin unsealed the bag. The phone still felt dry. It wasn’t a smart phone, but it had a small camera.

  How do I turn this on?

  He found the button, then searched for the charger when the phone didn’t start.

  It’s out of power. The charger isn’t here.

  He opened the case back and removed the sim card and micro memory card. The phone wasn’t important. Justin knew his mother needed the data inside the phone. The sim card and memory chip would work with almost any phone. He sealed them back in the waterproof bag and checked Elizabeth’s tray of belongings again.

  A dive watch. Some keys. A digital timer. What’s this?

  A photo ID?

  The wet ID had stuck to the bottom of the tray. Justin tipped out the tray. The digital timer and keys fell off the bench, but Justin only wanted the photo ID.

  He wiped it on his shirt. This is important.

  He knew that treating a disease often involved pinpointing its source. That meant identifying its earliest carrier.

  He studied the plastic card.

  Her name was Elizabeth Green. Dr. Elizabeth Green.

  In the photo she had a healthy tan, straight blond hair and a pretty face. She was smiling.

  Where did you come from? Justin wondered. Why were you alone in the middle of the ocean?

  He dropped the card into the plastic bag with the phone’s memory chip.

  ‘What did you find?’ asked Craigson from the doorway. The two Marines entered. Myers stopped to examine the yellow life raft.

  Justin handed Craigson the plastic bag. ‘Mom will need this.’

  Craigson nodded and took the bag.

  ‘Come on,’ said Myers. ‘Help me cover her up.’

  Justin nodded. It didn’t feel right to leave her exposed like that. He helped Myers cover Elizabeth with the sheet.

  As Justin turned, he nearly tripped.

  He’d stood on the digital timer. He picked it up, surprised by the weight. It was the size and shape of a D-cell battery, but didn’t have any buttons. Its only feature was a small green LCD screen with a digital countdown. The screen read:

  Remaining Time: 02h:32m:12s

  ‘What’s that?’ asked Myers.

  ‘Some kind of digital timer. It has two hours and thirty two minutes left to go.’

  ‘Until what?’ asked Myers.

  Justin shrugged and pocketed the metal timer. His mother might know.

  Christov swiped open the door to the Captain’s suite with Bryant’s ID card.

  ‘Four of you, with me. You others guard the door.’

  Christov thrust open the door and strode inside.

  Although the Captain’s suite looked like a million dollar mansion had been squeezed into the ship, its finer points were wasted on Christov. He was here for just one thing.

  He didn’t have to wai
t long.

  A woman came sprinting toward him from across the suite, leaping over a plush leather couch in a single bound.

  She was barefoot and naked. No, not naked. She wore a tiny beige bikini that couldn’t contain the assets of a well-endowed woman at full sprint.

  She ran at Christov like some enraged Amazonian warrior he had disturbed bathing.

  Christov unslung his weapon.

  No shooting, he reminded himself.

  A moment before she reached him, he ducked aside and swung his rifle at her legs. He felt the steel rifle shatter her shin. More importantly, however, he knocked her flat to the floor among his four waiting gunmen.

  His men pounded her senseless with their weapons.

  Christov waited.

  No one else rushed to attack him.

  If that was the Captain’s girlfriend, then where is the Captain?

  ‘Find him,’ Christov ordered.

  Within seconds Christov heard a struggle. His four men appeared from the main bedroom carrying the thrashing Captain between them. Each man held a limb.

  Christov drew his trench knife.

  He rarely had a chance to use the beautiful weapon these days. He waved his men to a huge mahogany desk overlooking the ocean.

  ‘Pin him down.’

  The Captain put up a fight, but Christov jerked his arm across the desk. He placed his knife blade carefully on the Captain’s thumb.

  ‘Hold him still. He’s moving too much.’

  His men threw all their weight down on the Captain.

  In one smooth motion, Christov lifted a marble paperweight off the desk and…

  Whack!

  He pounded the heavy paperweight down on the back of his trench knife.

  The razor sharp blade sliced right through flesh and bone before embedding itself in the desk.

  Christov picked up the thumb and studied it.

  Thumbs look smaller when they’re not connected to a hand.

  ‘Hold him down,’ ordered Christov as he carried the severed thumb to the safe. ‘If this thumb doesn’t work we’ll need his other one.’

  Just like Bryant said, the safe wasn’t hidden. In the walk-in wardrobe, Christov pushed the Captain’s thumb against the biometric sensor.

  Click.

  He heard the safe unlock.