“HOA, Hargeisa station, Altringham. Yes. Put me through to the senior desk officer. Yes. Yes. No.”
Also, Zack hoped, in the time he spent making his report, maybe things would calm down out on the streets. Maybe what passed for order would reassert itself. Then again, it might get worse.
Meanwhile, Bob watched over the patient, while Baxter assisted by keeping an eye on the streets from their OP. And Dugan sat in the TOC with Zack, listening in, and waiting to give him a brief.
In calm and efficient tones, Zack described over the phone the situation as he’d observed it in the last hour on the ground. He finished by promising a written report within 60 minutes, and supplementals as he learned anything new.
Finally, he hung up and turned to Dugan.
“Okay,” he said, exhaling. “What went down out there?”
“Got me, brother,” Dugan said. “Damned if I can work it out. I’ll give you the facts, though.”
“Go.”
“We drove to the grid coords for the State guys in contact. Streets were already getting a bit manic on the way out.”
“Manic how? Never mind, hell, I was up on the roof looking at it. But did you see what I saw? Something like sick people in the streets?”
“Yeah, I think so. Fucked-up-looking guys tottering around here and there. Like they’d just got up and walked out of the ICU. And then everybody still healthy-looking going around strapped, blazing away. Borderline anarchy.”
“Yeah, lovely town,” Zack said. “An armed society is a polite society, right?”
“We got to the X, and there were two dudes hunkered down at the back end of an alley. All fucked up. Several bodies laid out nearby. Some kind of close action or melee had gone on. Both the State dudes are wounded. One guy’s had like chunks ripped out of him. Ragged wounds on his arm and shoulder. And he’d accidentally fragged the other dude in the fight. Popped him in the lower back when he got jumped from behind, he said.”
“Holy shit.”
“You haven’t heard the holy shit part yet. We get ’em both loaded up in the Tahoe. At this point, there’s enough random gunfire and shouting that we’re buttoning up and moving fast. Bob wanted to sit in back to work on the wounded, but I needed him up front shooting. I didn’t know how bad it was going to be coming back. As you saw, we had to jig a little to get through the town. But then we were finally turning down our street and home free…” Dugan blinked and shook his head.
“And?”
“And the first dude just went for me, in the truck, from the back. Grabbed my face from around the headrest, grip like a lumberjack. Started making this hellish noise. I couldn’t see, couldn’t shake loose – and couldn’t control the vehicle. We tip over. No idea what the fuck this was. Bob and I are okay, and we unass the truck like it’s on fire. The tore-up dude is still flailing around in the back, like the little girl in The Excorcist. The shot one’s still in the back, but looks to be unconscious at this point. So we’ve got to get them both out of the truck. And we all had to get the hell off the street.”
“Copy that.”
“This is all happening in seconds. I throw open the back door, and we’re both circling to try and restrain this guy somehow. He’s totally lost the thread. Comes piling out, snarling, and we both back away. Then some skinny we didn’t even clock, about a half a block north, pops him. Just guns him down in the street, half an AK mag to the chest and head. I go for cover, Bob pivots and drills the skinny. The guy could have nailed both of us if he’d targeted us first. I check the State guy he shot. No pulse, big chunk of his head gone. Bob slings his rifle, pulls the surviving dude out of the truck like a rag doll, and I cover him as we move to the house. You pretty much saw it from there.”
Zack just looked at Dugan for several seconds. Finally, he said: “What the hell is all this?”
Dugan shrugged. “Some kind of breakdown of public order. You know that people riot after three days without food. We’re always just nine meals away from anarchy.”
Zack squinted. “But is this one related to the outbreak?”
“Maybe. I guess.”
Zack squinted more deeply. “The guy who went for you in the truck. Was he sick?”
“He was something.”
“Okay. Listen to me. I want you to get out of those clothes. Put them in a burn bag. Then get some disinfectant, get in the shower, and scrub yourself down. You got it?”
Dugan showed a rare expression – surprise. “Aye aye,” he said, which was sailor-speak for “I understand the order and I will execute the order.” He was already up and moving out.
“And as soon as you’re finished, Bob does the same.”
* * *
Zack sat in silence for a minute, trying to keep his head and think through their situation, and what should be their next move. That would probably be to report in and request instructions. But, instead of doing that, Zack sat in his chair and pictured the swarm attack he’d seen out on the street, from up on the roof. And he recreated, in his mind’s eye, the scene inside the Tahoe just before it went over. Finally, he pictured the scene in the hospital quarantine tent.
And while he had a second here, what the hell, he turned to his station and flipped to the world’s greatest intelligence source: Wikipedia. And, just for grins, he looked up rabies.
Rabies (pronounced /'reIbi:z/. From Latin: rabies, "madness") is a viral disease that causes acute encephalitis (inflammation of the brain) in warm-blooded animals.[1] The disease is zoonotic, meaning it can be transmitted from one species to another, such as from dogs to humans, commonly by a bite from an infected animal. For a human, rabies is almost invariably fatal if post-exposure prophylaxis is not administered prior to the onset of severe symptoms. The rabies virus infects the central nervous system, ultimately causing disease in the brain and death… symptoms include slight or partial paralysis, anxiety, insomnia, confusion, agitation, abnormal behavior, paranoia, terror, and hallucinations, progressing to delirium…
But the article also said that the period between infection and first symptoms was two to twelve weeks, which didn’t fit. Nonetheless, Zack couldn’t get the image of rabid humans out of his head. Nor the thought of mutant or bioengineered viruses…
But it was neither here nor there. He’d just picked up the secure phone for a priority call to Langley when his cell went. He checked the screen. It was Abo. That was unusual. He paused, then picked up.
“Haraka Pizza,” he answered, in Swahili. He had to assume it wasn’t going to be Abo, but somebody with a gun on Abo.
“Zack. Ni mimi.”
“Okay, Abo.” He hadn’t used the duress word. “What’s up?”
“That is why I am calling. Do you know what is happening?”
“Not really. Where are you?”
“Gaalkacyo. But not for long. The brothers are putting together a big convoy. Many fighters. Tooled up with heavy weapons.”
“Where to? Where are you going?”
“To the stronghold. All the brothers in the region are meeting there. To be safe from the plague. And from the fighting.”
Zack tried to decide whether to lecture Abo on epidemiology, but realized the other knew about as much as he did, certainly about the situation on the ground. Also, from what Zack knew of it, the al-Shabaab stronghold might actually be the safest place in the country.
Zack startled and looked up as he heard shooting erupt from outside again, dopplering by as it rose and faded in volume. Someone firing from a vehicle.
“I don’t suppose they’ve told you where it is this time?”
“Of course not. And I will be in the back of one of the tr— have to go.” The last three words were hissed. The call ended.
Baxter walked in. “Zack. They’re ready.”
“The hospital? We’re going?”
Zack looked up. He could hear clomping on the stairs. Bob and Dugan appeared, carrying the wounded man down on a Talon assault stretcher, which normally lived upstairs folded up in
a big nylon pouch. An IV bag lay on the man’s chest. They put him down in the hall and stepped inside the TOC.
“Consider this your operational briefing,” Dugan said. Zack and Baxter spun up their attention and tried to get their game faces on. “Phase one is we have to recover the vehicle. We’re going to leave the casualty in the entryway while the four of us go out and secure the crash site.”
Zack or Baxter must have betrayed alarm at this.
Bob said, “It’s not total bedlam out there, though it’s not what you’d call safe either. But you’ll be okay.”
Dugan resumed. “We’re basically going to need you two to pull security, one facing each direction up the street, while Bob and I rock the truck back on its wheels.”
“Can you do that?” Baxter asked.
“Barely,” Bob said.
“And no choice,” Dugan said. “It’s too far to the hospital, and too crazy out there, to try and hoof it while carrying a litter. We’ll give you part two of the briefing in the truck.”
“They’re going to take care of us, right?” Baxter whispered to Zack as they started to file out. But Bob overheard him.
“Hey, I’m just here to drink beer and fuck fat chicks,” he said.
Everyone laughed at the look this brought to Baxter’s face.
Rock & Roll
Instead of exploding out the door in a dynamic exit, first Dugan carefully checked the front door camera. When the coast looked clear, he gently undid the locks, then eased open the door. This mirrored the evolution of SEAL tactics over the past fifteen years. Whereas they used to chuck flash-bang grenades and go in shooting… now they crept along in silence for as long as possible.
They found they lived longer that way.
Occasional single shots could still be heard in the distance, along with muted peals of AK bursts. And the smell of smoke was totally unmissable on the air, as well as in the eyes. But nothing was going on in their street. Leaving the stretcher in the entry, the four of them walked outside as the late afternoon began to bleed into early evening.
Aside from the distant gunfire, it was almost peaceful. Half an hour ago, it had seemed like the city was a cooker set on boil, and building up to an explosion. Now it had calmed again. Maybe people were hunkering down, getting off the streets. Did this mean the panic was over? Or was it just a lull before the bigger storm?
The SEALs placed the analysts where they wanted them, slung their rifles, and got on the other side of the truck, facing its roof. They began to rock it slowly, then faster, picking up momentum. Bob called it out: “Three… two… one… over!” And with that, the three-ton vehicle tipped over its center of gravity and rocked heavily onto its wheels. Dugan and Bob brought their rifles up, and resumed scanning every direction in 360.
The problem with urban combat was that it was always 360.
While the SEALs covered the group, Zack and Baxter hefted the stretcher, straining and adjusting their grips, and carried it out into the street. Moving in the open, Zack felt incredibly vulnerable. He was taking baby steps, and his grip threatened to fail at any second. The weight of an unconscious body was horrendous. Evidently, Baxter was both stronger and surer of grip.
Basically, he was younger.
But they managed to cross the distance and get the casualty into the back of the truck, and then followed it in. Dugan and Bob piled in front, started the engine without gunning it, and quietly rolled out.
On the four-minute drive to Edna Adan Hospital, they didn’t see any action. More than a couple of times, frightened people, in ones and twos, ran out across the path of the truck. Gunfire still rang in the distance, and a single stray round even pinged off the truck body. Down cross streets they could see more fires, abandoned vehicles – and, several times, what looked like hand-to-hand fighting. Once, they made out what looked like a milling crowd of dazed people. They kept their heads down and got through the drive without incident.
“Emergency room?” Dugan asked.
“Negative,” Zack said from behind. "The quarantine tent is there. Take us straight up to the front door.”
Dugan complied, rolling them down the wide dirt road that passed in front, and then through the open gate in the stone mosaic wall that surrounded it. A couple of large trees shaded the parking lot – Dugan swung wide around them, everyone in the truck eyes peeled. There were maybe a dozen other cars in the parking lot, but no people in evidence. Dugan backed it into a space near the entrance.
“Recce first?” Dugan asked of Bob, beside him.
“No. This man has little time. Let’s get him in there.”
“Hang on,” Zack said. And he passed around a cardboard box of latex gloves, and another of face shields. “Everybody glove up. Hospitals around here aren’t healthy places at the best of times.”
With prophylaxis in place, Zack and Baxter went back on security duty, keeping their guns holstered, but their hands on the guns. They held open the glass doors as the bigger, stronger SEALs carried the wounded man inside. As they did so, he woke up.
“What?” the man rasped, his mouth and throat clearly dry as paper. “Where’s Dan?” He rocked on the stretcher, threatening to roll off it.
“Easy, dude,” Bob said, as they quickly lowered the stretcher to the floor, just inside the front door. “Lay still. You’re being cared for.”
The man pinned Bob with wild eyes. He was mid-thirties, with short brown side-parted hair, handsome features, and the general cut and demeanor of a military or law enforcement type. He winced and groaned, seeming suddenly aware of his wound. He reached under him for his lower back, arched and spasmed with pain – and passed out again.
Bob checked his vitals. “Still with us. And probably better off unconscious.”
“Uh, guys?” This was Baxter, standing inside the reception area, at a wide, high desk. The others looked at him, then looked around. He didn’t have to say anything else.
There was absolutely no one in sight.
* * *
“You want me to scout ahead?” Baxter asked.
“No,” Dugan said. “We stay together. Come on.”
“Should be at least one doctor somewhere,” Bob said, hefting his half of the stretcher. “Even in a Somali hospital…”
The two stretcher-bearing shooters followed the two with handguns past the desk and into the initial wide hallway that led to the interior. Zack punched a big button on the wall, but the double-wide doors ahead of them didn’t open. Instead, he and Baxter forced them.
Inside, it was dimmer. The lobby had a lot of exterior glass, but now they realized that the power was out, and the only light was leaking in from windows in rooms off the corridor. It also suddenly struck them all that the place was nearly totally silent. This was a damned eerie state for a hospital, which was normally a bustling kind of place. There wasn’t even any background electrical hum.
Zack looked back at the SEALs. Bob shrugged. “It’s his only chance,” he said. “It’s this or we try to casevac him to Lemonnier.”
They pushed forward. At each room, Zack or Baxter stuck their heads in. At each cross hallway, they peered in both directions, into deeper darkness. Zack felt like somebody should be calling out for help, as they did have an urgent casualty. But their throats seemed stoppered.
When they were about 100 meters deep in the hospital, and had still not encountered a soul, they heard something ahead, and all stopped in their tracks. Zack looked behind him, then went forward alone to check it out. The noise was coming from behind a door to the right. Some kind of scrabbling, wet sound. Fuck it, Zack thought, and drew his handgun with his left hand, put his right on the door handle.
A centimeter at a time, he turned the handle. It moved silently, but then clicked at the end of its range of movement. The noise behind the door stopped. Zack froze dead. He looked behind him again at the others. Their eyes shone at him in the dim light. He shook his head to clear it.
I really am going to buy it in this fucking place, h
e thought. There was no escape. Well, might as well get on with it…
He pressed the door open, eying the space behind it, gun held down by thigh. When there was enough room for his head, he slid it inside, and peered around the edge of the door. And the others saw him suddenly convulse, and begin to double over. He stumbled back, pulling the door shut. His head jerked forward twice, then he clawed at his mask, turned away, and expelled the contents of his stomach with a series of coughing noises.
Baxter ran to his side and put his arm on Zack’s shoulder. Zack pointed behind him, still half bent over. “Watch the door.” Baxter moved to comply. Zack wiped his mouth on his sleeve, straightened up, and said two words to the others.
“We’re leaving.”
There was nothing but death here. He knew it.
From deeper inside the hospital came some kind of growling sound. It seemed to be human, or rather coming from at least a few humans… but totally inhuman at the same time. They turned and Zack led the retreat. But he didn’t let himself get far ahead of the others.
He was so scared, he worried he might drop his gun. The outside light through the glass front doors shone like a beacon. It seemed to recede as they fast-walked toward it.
It was the longest 100 meters of Zack’s life.
The Tipping Point
“Hey, if we lived here, we’d be home now!” Bob shouted jovially, hoisting himself out the passenger window and taking aim at two running figures carrying AKs a block and a half ahead.
Dugan was no longer driving cautiously, and the gunmen were coming up fast. They’d already taken a couple of potshots at the Tahoe, which was all Bob needed to know. He started firing – quick, evenly spaced, mechanical shots, expertly placed, and rolling with the motion of the vehicle. Both of the AK guys sprawled out in the middle of an intersection.
Arisen : Genesis Page 8
