ARES Virus (Book 3): Phoenix Rising

by O'Brien, John

  The lieutenant arrives in a rush, his weapon at the ready upon hearing Parker’s burst of fire. It takes only one look at the body and the broken windows to tell the story. A shrill scream jerks every head upward. Standing at the edge of the broken window, another figure looks down at the gathered Marines. It shrieks again and turns, quickly disappearing from view.

  “I suppose this means that we’ll be facing infected inside, sir,” Parker says.

  “I guess so. Stay here while the company reforms,” the lieutenant orders.

  Turning to look down the company line, she sees Marines facing outward with their M-4s raised, the barrels poking out from the line of bodies like a weird porcupine. The rearmost squad faces the rear of the company. The perimeter is everywhere they’re not currently standing.

  The overall plan is to have a squad clear each floor of the two facilities, leaving three squads outside to provide external security. Even though they have gunships covering the base, with more on call, the commander still feels more secure having an external presence that can be called upon as a reactionary force if needed. If one squad runs into more than they can handle, the reactionary force can secure a corridor through which they can retreat.

  Given the nature of their operations and the shoot-first orders, the company commander stresses that each squad keep to their assigned floors.

  “No one is to leave their assigned floor. However, if it becomes necessary to do so, make sure everyone knows where you are and where you’re going. I want to make it abundantly clear that I don’t want any—any—friendly fire casualties,” he had briefed.

  Parker’s squad has drawn the first floor of the large building, the level housing the control rooms they’ll need to access. The technicians and specialists will remain in their helicopters until the building has been thoroughly cleared. Their expertise can’t be lost—they can’t be replaced.

  With the squads organized, Parker gathers her team and steps onto the wide walkway leading to the entrance. One of the double set of aluminum doors is twisted off one of its hinges, leaning drunkenly to the side. She turns to the lieutenant still beside her.

  “Perhaps we should just form up here and call them outside, sir,” Parker suggests.

  “How would you go about that, Parker?”

  “I don’t know…whistle…call nicely…ring a bell,” Parker answers.

  The lieutenant chuckles. “That would be nice if we could do that, but the gunships have been here for a while. If any infected could get out that door, they probably would have done so already, instead of finding alternatives,” he says, nodding toward the shattered window.

  Parker glances at the ruined body only a few feet away, shuddering at the mangled corpse. She doesn’t know how the creature managed to get to its feet after sustaining the amount of damage it did, but if this is what they’re facing, they’re in for a tough road. Remembering the one in the bathroom on the island, she knows that she certainly doesn’t want to meet a horde of them inside such cramped confines as this building.

  A muted shriek comes from inside. Rustling and metallic noises sound from her squad as they spread out along the walkway and drop to their knees, every weapon trained on the entrance. The lieutenant directs a second squad behind Parker’s to cover their flank.

  A figure, partially hidden in the gloom of the interior, moves in front the door and stops. It turns its head sharply toward the waiting Marines. Seeing prey, the infected shrieks and darts out of the door only to be met with a hail of bullets. The bursts from her squad are deafening and short, empty brass casings pinging metallically as they bounce across the concrete. The infected, hit by so many rounds at once, does a convoluted dance like a marionette. As light gray smoke drifts above the squad, the figure falls backward to the ground.

  In the aftermath, more faint screams are heard coming out of the doorway. Without a word, Parker’s squad readjusts, barrels aimed at the opening, and waits. Around her, she hears the sound of boots on pavement as the rest of the company deploys around her position. She doesn’t turn to look, only trains her focus on the dimness just beyond the entrance, watching for any sign of movement.

  When it comes, it’s not the subtle shifting of shadows that makes one wonder if there’s something there. It’s a flash, then bodies running out of the doorway, each jostling against the other as they try to all emerge at once. Screams fill the air in front of the building, bouncing off the walls of the structures behind. Volumes of gunfire and shouts are added to the din, creating a confused pocket of noise.

  Red tracers streak across the short space, the bullets drumming into the mass of bodies that is pouring out of the building. Parker notes tracers coming in from the sides, angling into the horde trying to escape the killing field. Some don’t find meaty flesh, but instead strike the sides of the building, ricocheting away with fading whines.

  “Sir,” Parker yells, getting the lieutenant’s attention. “Tell those idiots on the sides to stop firing. Those ricochets are going to find someone to hit. We have this!”

  “Already on it,” he returns, then talks into his radio.

  Parker hears a hard slap next to her, almost feels the pressure. A surprised yell follows. Turning, she sees one of her squad tumble backward, grabbing his upper arm.

  Goddammit! she thinks, yelling for a medic.

  One responds, quickly grabbing her squad mate and pulling him out of the line of fire. The tracers from the side cease, leaving her squad the only one to fire into the infected still trying to get out of the doors. Several squeeze out to the side, managing to avoid the heavy volume of fire, trying to run along the building to come at the soldiers positioned there. Their flight and subsequent attempts to attack are brought short as they fall on the grass, their bodies riddled.

  Bodies stack up outside the doorway, creating yet another hurdle the infected have to pass through. As most of the figures attempting to pour out are uniformed, Parker feels a little bad about the devastating effects of their concentrated fire.

  They should go out with a little more dignity, she thinks, exchanging an empty mag for a fresh one.

  She doesn’t know how something like that would be possible given the circumstances, but that doesn’t stop her thoughts. There isn’t really time for an emotional reaction while trying to keep the infected at bay. Hitting the release, she chambers a round and begins firing burst after burst into the infected still trying to exit.

  The firing along the line slows. They actually have to wait for seconds at a time for the remaining infected to clamber over the wall of bodies at the front door. Bodies shift and slide as the ones that are still alive step on bloodied heads, torsos, and appendages in order to climb the tall hill of corpses. Blood pools and runs in streams from the mound, running across the concrete walkway. Parker is sickened by the absolute carnage in front of her.

  A pause. The volume of gunfire slackens. She can’t see very well over the tall mound of remains, but she notices a small dark object arcing through the air toward the doorway.

  “Fire in the hole!” a voice cries out.

  Parker instinctively ducks, holding onto her helmet. Seconds later, a thunderous blast exits the entrance. Bodies are tossed into the air and blown outward, hitting the concrete just in front of her with meaty smacks. The broken door is tossed along with the bodies, clanging against the ground near the front line of Marines. Looking toward the entrance, Parker sees dark smoke roiling out of the opening, the bodies on top of the pile peeled off as if sliced through by a giant machete. Bodies and parts of them are strewn across the walkway and surrounding lawn.

  “Knock that shit off!” Parker yells, surprised that the lot of them weren’t cut down by the flying shrapnel. “No fucking grenades, you idiot!”

  She makes a mental note to find out who threw it, all the while thankful that the piled bodies of infected stopped most of the shrapnel. In the ensuing silence, her ears ringing from the nearby gunfire, she nevertheless hears a few moans emanating fro
m the remaining pile, which constantly shifts from those injured and still trying to move. A few desultory shots ring out from along the line, hitting any injured infected that can be directly observed.

  Leaving the wounded to the rest of her squad, she works her way over to where her injured squad mate is being worked on. The medic assures her that he’ll recover, but will have to be evacuated to one of the quarantine facilities because his protective gear was penetrated. Parker feels bad that the Marine’s next weeks will be spent in isolation, but is thankful that it wasn’t worse. She then corners the one who threw the grenade and gives him a reaming that a plumber would be proud of.

  “I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking. I just thought it would clear out the ones behind,” the Marine says in his defense.

  “That one action could have destroyed everything we did up to that point. We could have had the entire squad injured and put into quarantine,” Parker says, furious.

  “I’m sorry, Sergeant. Like I said, I just didn’t think. It won’t happen again.”

  “See that it doesn’t!”

  The bodies are carefully cleared, the injured infected taken care of. As the bodies are removed to the sides, Parker eyes each one, their blood-stained uniforms indicative of the former lives each left behind. Young and old, enlisted and officer, all taken down by the virus that spread across the world, sweeping away any semblance of the lives they once led. It takes a considerable period of time—there’s still the risk of an injured infected biting one of the Marines—but soon the bodies are cleared off to the side and the operation continues forward.

  Parker stands just inside the entrance, the tiled floor ruined by the grenade. Broken furniture is strewn across the lobby, shattered and propelled by the explosion. Several infected lie twisted in grotesque forms a few feet away, their bodies bloodied and peppered with shrapnel wounds. Limbs severed from bodies lie with small pools of red gathered at the ends, the clothing tattered, the shredded cloth soaking up some of the blood. The immediate walls are coated with splashes of blood with thin streams which slowly trickle down; bits of flesh are stuck to the walls. Around the blast area, the floor is slick with blood and gore. For once, Parker is thankful for her gear as the mask blocks the smell that she imagines must be atrocious.

  The rest of her squad gathers in a semi-circle, covering all avenues for any remaining infected. As she glances around the foyer, Parker wonders why the infected didn’t come out at the sound of the helicopters as they’d done in the past. There isn’t really an answer she can readily think of, but she tucks that little tidbit into the back of her mind. She’ll bring it up at the debriefing, but it doesn’t seem overly important at this very moment.

  It is what it is, she thinks, continuing to search the room.

  For her, the important aspect to take away is that the infected can be anywhere. Regardless of whether the area was cleared out by the roving gunships, they can show up at any time. That means that they might still be in the building, even if they aren’t trapped behind locked doors.

  She ponders whether the building is so insulated that the sound of the helicopters didn’t penetrate the thick walls, although she finds that difficult to believe. Considering the numbers of infected they took down at the entrance, there can’t be too many remaining within the interior.

  But, it only takes one, she thinks, remembering the motto.

  With the lieutenant indicating that the rest of the squads are ready, Parker signals her squad forward, spreading them across the room, oriented toward a security door that leads into the larger of the two buildings. A touchpad security card swipe is attached to the wall next to the steel door, the screen blinking red due to the door standing open.

  There’s a story there, Parker thinks, wondering exactly how the infected were able to keep the security door open.

  However, she’s thankful that they were, or her squad might have encountered the screaming horde within the narrow confines of the corridors. Her team might have been able to keep the infected at bay, but the halls would have limited how many Marines could have delivered fire at once. It’s entirely possible they wouldn’t have been able to muster enough firepower to keep them from being overrun. It’s a chilling thought as she peeks through the door into the hall leading away.

  The wide hall, with its gleaming linoleum floor scuffed in places by the shoes of the infected, is brightly lit by overhead lighting. Along the length, doors, both open and closed, lead into rooms with other intersecting hallways. With a squad mate by her side, she steps through the doorway, the steady glow of the overhead lights and emptiness of the hall giving her a surreal sensation. People should be walking the hallway, hurriedly stepping with folders in hand or chatting with friends as they make their way to offices, the click of their heels echoing off the walls. Parker can almost hear the echoes of the past as she cautiously makes her way further down the hall, her shoulders tight.

  The only sound is the shuffling of feet and the tiny clicks of metal as selector switches are toyed with. Parker feels an underlying hum of machinery, as if the very building is alive. The entire squad halts as they approach each door; the rooms that are open are quickly cleared. With Marines poised and weapons ready, the closed doors are quickly swung open amid the strong anticipation of infected suddenly streaming out. Inside the first open rooms, there are only offices with papers strewn about and furniture overturned. The closed rooms are in direct contrast, the offices relatively tidy with folders stacked on desktops.

  With her fingers stroking the trigger guard, Parker arranges her squad partway down each corridor at the first intersection. A short distance behind, stairs lead to the upper floors. The way is secured for the remaining squads to enter and proceed to their assigned levels. Once the other squads have cleared the upper floors, Parker will continue with the first floor.

  The building is large, corridors branching this way and that. When they progress further, she’ll have to drain more of her manpower with each intersection they encounter. While that will leave those behind at risk, it’s necessary to create a safe corridor or run the risk of being cut off. Over the radio, she hears that some of the squads on the upper floors have come into contact with infected, some grouped together and others coming at the forces individually. In some of the secure spaces, infected were found who had succumbed to a lack of water.

  Given the number of contacts, the captain calls a stop to any excursions further than they already are, telling them to halt in place. Parker kneels near a wall, her carbine pointed down the length of a corridor. Very weakly, almost too faint to be noticed, Parker hears a burst of gunfire coming from the floor above. She imagines the horde that came through the entrance door racing down the hallways, the Marines scrambling back as they deliver as much fire as they can. Sending a small prayer, she hopes that isn’t the case.

  The echoing sound of footfalls catches her ear, making her heart jump and bringing her attention back to her floor. Two intersections ahead, a figure runs across the hall. Just as it’s nearly across, its tries to stop its forward momentum, the man’s feet sliding on the slick floor. With a scream, it reverses direction and runs toward Parker and her squad. Shrieks reverberate down the hall from its open mouth. The upper part of the flight suit the infected is wearing is deeply stained with white circles of dried sweat under the arms. Flight boots thump rhythmically on the hard floor, adding a drumbeat to its shrill screams. A burst of fire from Parker’s carbine adds a staccato effect to the concert, the flight suit puffing from the bullet strikes. The infected drops backward, its feet skidding along the tile. It hits the floor with a thud, its scream ended.

  Others burst to life, seeming to come from every direction as their noise reverberates throughout the many hallways. Parker looks back at her squad, seeing their eyes wide behind the masks. Making sure that they’re in positions to repel an attack from any direction, she refocuses to her front. From around the same corner as the previous infected, several others race out into the main hal
lway. Unable to keep its feet on the polished floor, one loses its footing and slides to the ground. More follow the first group, a couple tripping over the fallen infected as it struggles to get to its feet.

  Parker unleashes short bursts into the infected now crowding the hall. The Marines next to her follow suit; soon the corridor is thick with rounds streaking to meet the oncoming infected. The front row stops as if they ran into an invisible wall, falling to the floor or bouncing off the walls before they tumble to the ground. The infected behind trip over the falling bodies, bullets slamming into their flesh before they also fall. Sprays of blood splatter against the walls, adding to the streaks of red from the already injured and dead.

  Smoke from the ends of barrels slowly drifts above the heads of the kneeling Marines, the barrels continuously sending rounds downrange. Above the noise of the carbines firing next to her, Parker hears M-4s opening up from the side halls. Her squad is being attacked from three directions.

  “Reloading,” Parker cries, dropping the empty mag and slamming a fresh one home.

  The infected continue to stumble, from both the downed bodies and from being struck by 5.56mm rounds. The attacking mass can’t draw closer, yet they aren’t pushed back either. It’s a stalemate in the halls, the infected trying to use their numbers to find an unplanned pause that will allow them to surge into the ranks of the Marines. Parker knows that the situation can change in an instant; her mind ticks through options and considers whether they should draw back.

  That might allow the pause they need, she thinks, her aim centering on another infected.

  More infected fall to the ground, the bodies piling on top of one another. She frantically shifts her reticle, looking down the hall from side to side, seeking her next target. She sees none, which worries her further. Amid her adrenaline-fueled thoughts, one whispers that all of the infected on her side have been taken down. Still she searches, but there are only the blood-streaked walls and piled bodies.