Two Humvees drive onto the ramp and park near the aircraft. Dressed in full protective gear, four people exit. The colonel is easily recognized by the uniform, and the young girl he’s to take along by her size, leaving the remaining two to be the cadets he was briefed on. Seeing the young girl, a chill runs up his spine. During the briefing, he was told that the child is an asymptomatic carrier. That means she carries the virus and can spread it to others, but presents nothing like the other infected. If one didn’t know better, they’d think she was just a normal little girl who managed to survive the sickness. His orders were to see that she is never without her protective mask.
The four gather their rucks and stroll over to the ramp. He’s played babysitter to some odd packages before, but this one has to rank near the top. And with the state of the world, this holds the promise of becoming very fucked up. Calhoun knows he has charge of anything related to security, which means just about everything other than the ships. However, the colonel is in charge of research-related concerns. Those boundaries are sure to cross, but he’s going to do everything he can to keep the teams safe, even if it means locking the little girl up in an animal pen.
Those thoughts last all of about thirty seconds. As the little girl walks past, she looks up and gives him a big grin. That smile speaks volumes: trust, sincerity, the happiness only a child can possess. His heart goes out to the girl who, through no fault of her own, won’t ever be able to live the life she should. She’ll be forever trapped behind a mask, if not isolated in some room. For this little girl’s sake, he hopes the mad scientist with them can find the cure to the virus. He’s seen a hundred children, their families torn apart, scared of an uncertain future. The fear and hopelessness on their faces is enough to tear through the toughest fabric. However, that smile penetrates deeper than he’s ever felt before and seals his heart to make sure this mission succeeds.
* * * * * * *
Emily can’t help but smile at the stern-faced soldier. The man reminds her of the other soldier who helped her escape the city. Even though she has been kept in a room to herself, she felt safe and cared for. This was the help she had been seeking ever since she left her aunt’s house. She didn’t have to sleep outside with monsters prowling, didn’t have to worry about finding food, and didn’t have to race through towns filled with bad people.
At first, she was worried that the soldiers who found her would get sick like the others. But none of them have shown any signs, allowing her to relax as the days went by. They told her to always keep her mask on for protection; told her never to take it off. The helicopter rides back were exciting at first, but then she grew a little bored. Now, she gets to ride in a better one, although she’s not sure it’s really a helicopter. The engines are out on the wing, making it look like some alien ship. The explanation for the trip was over her head, but as long as she has the soldiers around her for protection, she doesn’t really care what they’re doing.
* * * * * * *
Koenig thumps the heavy bag to the ground and takes a seat. Expecting the standard nylon seating, the cushioned seats are a welcome surprise. He knows the admiral doesn’t approve of him and what he did, but at least they didn’t blame him for what happened. As the overall creator of the virus, he still feels responsible for bringing about the downfall. His wife, Liz, says differently, but he can’t bring himself around to fully forgive himself. The only way to “fix” the way he feels is to find either a vaccine or a cure. Seeing the devastation the virus has wrought throughout the world, he’s not sure even doing that will alleviate the guilt he feels.
The hydraulic actuators of the ramp whine as it closes. The engines spool up, the vibration felt under his boots. The chief and SEAL team leader stroll up the aisle and take a seat across from him. Koenig can’t help but feel that the twelve pairs of eyes from the teams are staring at him judgmentally. He comes to the conclusion that his feelings derive from being back in the military. Not only did he create the virus, but left his post at the outset, although the men seated with him aren’t aware of any of this. He pushes those feelings away and concentrates on his job. His very soul demands it.
The aircraft taxis out to the runway. It has the capability to lift off vertically, but only on certified landing zones. The heat from the engines blasting straight down will melt normal pavement, so they opt to use the very short takeoff and landing capabilities when and where they can. Rain streaks by the windows as the aircraft turns onto the runway. The engines, tilted forty-five degrees upward, rev up. With the brakes held, the nose strut compresses. The exhaust blows the water on the runway to the rear, the tips of the rotors creating mini vortexes in the humidity. The aircraft lurches forward and they’re quickly airborne.
Koenig looks through the window across the rain swept island, everything below gray and dreary. Wisps of clouds pass by and they’re suddenly engulfed in gray mist. He watches as the nacelles slowly begin rotating forward, turning from a helicopter to a turbo-prop aircraft. A minute later, the first shakes make their appearance, becoming more turbulent the higher they climb. He’s flown many times, but can never get over turbulence. Tension sinks down, settling in his stomach.
“Fear of flying, sir?” the chief next to him says.
“No. I’m just not a fan of turbulence,” Koenig replies.
“If it means anything, I’m not either. But, you get used to it after a while. We haven’t met yet, sir. Chief Calhoun.”
“Colonel Koenig. You’re the team leader?”
“Aye, sir. It looks like we’ll be working together.”
“Well, considering that I know next to nothing about soldiering, I consider you the one in charge. I may need things from time to time, but what do you say we forget rank until we return?” Koenig states.
“That’s fine with me, sir. What kinds of things will you be needing?”
“Well, for starters, if there aren’t lab rats available, we’ll have to find some. I know there’s a place nearby that breeds lab rats. And, the occasional infected,” Koenig answers.
“You mean, like live infected?” Calhoun asks.
“That would be preferred.”
“I was afraid you’d say that. We’ll see what the conditions are when we get there,” Calhoun says.
“Fair enough.”
“Have you ever been to the facility…in person?” Calhoun asks.
“A couple of times.”
The chief pulls out a map, holding it between them.
“OK, so just to make sure. I’m under the impression that we aren’t trying to secure the entire compound. So, which buildings are we trying to secure?” Calhoun queries.
Koenig looks at the map, sorting through his memories. He looked at the satellite photos before leaving, reasonably sure where they needed to go.
“These two,” Koenig answers, pointing at one building with a black roof and another with a purple one. “The black one is the research lab and the other houses research animals.”
“And inside? What are we looking at?”
“Well, the northern side of the building, the one with the windowed exterior, is two levels of mostly open space. The lower level is one big lobby, with the upper story housing several conference rooms. The southern part of the building, the one without any windows, houses numerous research labs. They’re basically each set up the same, laboratories opening off a central hallway. Deeper in the central area are the level four labs. I wouldn’t recommend going into those without a positive pressure suit. And I would certainly take care knocking things around in the other labs. The protective gear we have will filter out most of what’s in there, but we wouldn’t want anything spilling in there. As long as the labs aren’t breached, the air filtration system will allow us to go about without masks,” Koenig briefs.
“Except for the little girl.”
“Except for Emily, yes.”
“I’d recommend that we remain at a MOPP 4 level throughout,” Calhoun states.
“We may be the
re for months, if not longer. I’m pretty sure we won’t be able to keep the gear on continuously for that period of time,” Koenig says.
“Months, eh? They kind of forgot to mention that in the briefing. OK, let’s just get there and we’ll see. I need to see how easy it will be for the infected to breach. I take it that security doors are in place between the communal parts of the building and the actual labs?”
“If I remember correctly, there are card access doors.”
“And, how can we get in? This operation was put together rather too quickly for my liking.”
“This should work wherever you want to go, Chief,” Koenig says, handing over his USAMRIID identification.
Calhoun looks over the card, whistling at the credentials.
“They said you were a doc, but damn, sir.”
The shaking continues on their climb, the drone of the engines penetrating the cabin. The turbulence and sideways flight causes Koenig’s stomach to churn, a cold sweat breaking out on his forehead. The chief sitting next to him reaches into a thigh pocket on his fatigues and hands over a tablet.
“Here, sir. These help. I took a couple before we left. Crush it up in a little water and suck it up through your drinking tube.”
A few moments after taking the pills, his nausea subsides. Outside, the gray becomes lighter. Suddenly, they break out of the weather like a sub rising from the ocean depths. Sunlight bathes the tops of the clouds, which look like landforms cast in brilliant white peaks and dull gray valleys as they spread in every direction. In less than two hours, they’ll descend again, the mission taking on a more serious note.
* * * * * * *
The descent is more violent than the departure, the mountain waves tossing the aircraft like a kayak trying to navigate whitewater rapids. The Osprey lifts upward, bringing a flutter to Koenig’s stomach. Then, it seems to fall as if it isn’t flying at all, only to come to a halt with a hard bounce. There are several times when Koenig thinks they’ve hit the top of a mountain. Looking out of the window, the complete gray is disorienting, making it impossible to tell if they’re flying upright or tilted ninety degrees to the side. The wall of clouds turns a deeper gray.
“Fifteen minutes out,” Calhoun stutters through the turbulence. “You and yours remain inside while we clear the buildings.”
“I get to stay in this paint shaker…Oh goody,” Koenig replies, thankful for the pills he took earlier.
“It shouldn’t be quite the same ride. The pilots are going to withdraw and hover as a diversion. Once the buildings are clear, you and the one carrying our supplies will land. We’ll have to move fast to unload the other one and get into the building,” Calhoun states.
“What’s the weather on the ground?”
“Wet and cold.”
“More good news."
White flakes stream by the window, the speed of the aircraft making the outside look like a full on blizzard.
“Five minutes. We’re entering the valley. It may get a little bumpy,” Calhoun says, making Koenig wonder how he’s getting his information until he notices the comm cord.
“You mean more than it already is?” Koenig responds.
As if in answer, the aircraft begins to violently shake. Koenig feels likes he’s inside a snow globe in the hands of an eight-year-old. And that eight-year-old inside another snow globe being shaken by a ten-year-old. There are no smooth transitions from up and down, just a continual series of hard bumps. Koenig isn’t sure how the wings are staying on, but is glad for the magic that is keeping the aircraft together.
All at once, the turbulence stops, making Koenig think the aircraft has failed altogether. The snow outside turns to droplets streaming past the angled nacelles. He can see the ground start to peek through the clouds. Abruptly, they drop below the cloud cover and a parking lot comes into view. The nacelles turn vertical and the aircraft descends, water blowing outward from the exhaust and rotor wash.
The SEAL teams rise and gather toward the back, their weapons at the ready. The ramp lowers, hitting the ground with a metallic clang. Simultaneously, the SEALs race out, fanning out to all sides.
* * * * * * *
Hamilton, Montana
October 28
Calhoun races down the ramp, the cold air outside in stark contrast to the warmth inside the cargo compartment. A strong wind seems to drive the rain mixed with snow sideways, limiting the distance he can see. The sound of the wind nearly overrides the roar coming from the engines. Streetlights on lampposts surrounding the parking lot are on, but barely visible through the wind-whipped slushy downpour.
The teams form a perimeter, searching through the driving rain for any sign of infected. The parking lot is populated by shapeless lumps, the outlines barely seen. However, nothing is moving. Although the wind drowns out any sound the infected might make, it also helps conceal the idling aircraft. And with the limited sight distance, the teams won’t be observed by anything farther than fifty yards.
The Osprey landed with its tail end pointed toward the research building, giving the teams direct access to the building without having to skirt the idling aircraft.
“With this storm, I don’t think we’ll need any diversionary tactics. Bring in the other aircraft and shut off the lights. I think we’ll be fine, but lock it up just in case. If any infected materialize, take off. I’ll contact you to arrange a pick up if we have to escape and evade,” Calhoun radios. “We’re heading in.”
Signaling the rest of the team, Calhoun rises and begins fast walking across the parking lot through the swirling wintery mix. He passes several parked vehicles with water running down the windshields diffusing the light reaching into the interiors. A quick glance shows all they pass to be empty. There are other parking lots serving the facility, but these indicate that there may be people inside, and very likely infected.
As they close in on the building, lights shining from the completely glassed front seem like an invitation. They convey a sense of warmth and comfort—a haven from the storm. On the curb next to the lot, Calhoun looks through the glass panes, searching for movement. The rain-streaked windows make it difficult to see anything clearly, but there aren’t any sudden darting shadows.
“All right, we’re going in the front door. The bottom floor is an open lobby for the length of the building. Second floor comprises open conference rooms. Both are free fire zones. Keep in mind that noise levels will increase dramatically once we’re inside. Blue Team will lead and secure the first level. I’ll take Gold Team and head to the second floor. Let’s do what we do, quiet, smart, quick,” Calhoun briefs on the radio.
With weapons raised and barrels sweeping from side to side as they follow lines of sight, the teams move forward. Calhoun keeps his eyes on the rooms behind the glass. The rain streaking down the panes blurs everything beyond. As he looks, something seems out of place and it takes him a moment to figure it out.
“Hold up,” he radios.
Looking closer, he notices that the large plate of glass next to the entrance isn’t blurred like the others. Although the swirling rain and snow interferes with his vision, it is unmistakable. The window has been shattered, indicating that infected either broke out or in.
“The window next to the front doors is broken. We’ll enter through there.”
Blue team moves in advance, the interior lighting reflecting off their wet protective gear. At the broken window, they flow quietly inside like a dark mist, each member going to the left or right. Barrels waver as they search out each nook and cranny of the near and far corners, their boots stepping carefully across the hard-tiled floor, constantly moving toward their assigned positions.
“Clear.”
“Clear.”
The remaining team members radio the same.
“First floor clear,” the Blue Team leader calls.
At the window, Calhoun steps inside, careful not to step on or disturb the large shards lying on the floor. The roar of the storm outside diminishes, the
wind whirring in through the window. Rain is being driven into the large expanse, the tile surrounding the break slippery. Without hesitation, Calhoun steps across the flooring, his concentration focused on the wide set of steps leading upward.
Rather than mimic the flow of Blue Team through the window, Calhoun and another member quietly climb the wooden steps one at a time. His boots on the stairs will make noise if he scales them too quickly. He wants to get the drop on any infected that may be upstairs. Once he’s assured that the area surrounding the top of the stairs is clear, they’ll flow into the second story.
With his carbine trained up the steps, he inches upward while the rain patters heavily on the glass enclosing the atrium. The shards having fallen on the inside, he knows that whoever broke the window did so from the outside. Whether they’re still inside, well, that’s what he and the two teams are there to find out.
As he nears the top, he crouches lower, staying below the level of the landing. Somewhere above, he hears a wet squelching sound, but it’s dim and he isn’t able to make out what it is. He thinks that another broken window could be allowing rain to slosh across the floor, but feels that the sound isn’t exactly right.
Motioning for the others on the stairs behind him to remain still, Calhoun slowly rises, and the upper story around the stairwell gradually comes into view. At the far end of an inner hallway running past glass-enclosed conference rooms, he sees a mound of bodies. Several are leaning back against the inside wall, others huddled on the floor. One has its back to him, kneeling over a corpse lying on the floor.
Quietly, Calhoun watches as it leans over the body, the wet sound he heard before intensifying. He listens for other sounds emanating from beyond the low wall surrounding the staircase, but there’s nothing except the rain hitting the glass and the wet slippery sound coming from the people in front.
ARES Virus (Book 3): Phoenix Rising Page 19
