Turning to the others, he points to his eyes, holds up a clenched hand, then two fingers, finally pointing to his front.
Seven infected in front.
He motions that he and the teammate next to him will take the seven, the other four to move around them to sweep the rest of the second floor. With a deep inward sigh, he shifts his grip on the M-4 and nods.
The kneeling one turns around at the sound of the team sweeping up the steps, its lower face painted with fresh blood. Still clenching a rope of intestine in its hand, the infected begins to rise. The muted sound of suppressed rounds and small flashes of light ends its upward motion and attempt to scream its disapproval of the intrusion.
Blood blossoms from the chest of the grimy white overcoat and sprays out from another bullet striking just beside the nose. Calhoun watches as the infected is thrown backward, landing across the body it was feasting upon. Smoke drifts from the chief’s barrel as a brass cartridge bounces across the tiled floor. The remaining infected leap into motion, rising almost magically to their feet from their previous positions. Not stopping in order to make room for the rest of his team to sweep in behind him, Calhoun marches forward, his finger on the trigger.
The infected scream, their shrieks reverberating off the glass walls. They charge forward, attempting to close the distance on the new prey that has come into their midst. Calhoun’s finger repeatedly presses the trigger, sending round after round into the infected springing into action. One after another, they fall to the floor, some writhing in pain and still trying to move forward. The muted coughs of suppressed rounds continue, even after all of the infected have fallen, until there’s only the sound of the rain hitting the exterior of the glass panels.
Calhoun surveys the ruin, his carbine trained on the still bodies. None of them move or make any sound. Blood pools around the bodies and slowly trickles along the lines between the tiles. Some of the figures are dressed in dirty white overcoats one would expect of lab technicians, others in a variety of civilian clothing. Intestines snake out underneath where the first infected fell across its dinner, the purple mass looking as if an alien creature had burst forth.
“Clear,” Calhoun radios, followed by the same from the rest of the team.
Staring at the partially eaten body, its intestines still in the grip of the infected, Calhoun can only surmise that the infected are feeding on others—that they are concerned with survival. That’s much different from his briefing, which informed them that the infected just infect others and move on. The fact that they haven’t died off from starvation alludes to the fact that they’re feeding somehow, but he had just imagined that they were catching small game, eating pets or stuff left in supermarkets.
There’s also the fact that I found them sheltered from the storm. Fuck it, I’ll report what I found and let others deal with the ramifications. For me, I’ll just stick it in my bag of tricks and move on.
Gathering the teams together, Calhoun briefs, “With the windows broken, Blue Team will hold the ground level to keep our six clear. Gold Team will conduct a search of both floors in the labs.”
Using the identification card he obtained from Colonel Koenig, he swipes the reader and is rewarded with a green light and a click from the door. Holding the door slightly ajar, he takes a quick peek and puts his ear to the crack, listening for any sounds on the other side. There’s only the faint rush of air running past the opening due to the pressure differential. According to the colonel, there will be more of the same within the labs, especially the level four ones. Due to the virulent nature of the viruses contained in the facility, the pressure differential was designed to contain any accidental spill within the specific room, allowing for the air filtration system to remove it.
After a moment, Calhoun edges inside, the rest of the team flowing in behind. As the door clicks closed, he shudders slightly thinking about what may be stored inside the labs. He knows there are some nasty viral and bacterial agents, both natural and manmade, and to be within a facility housing them is unsettling. The gear they’re wearing should prevent any from reaching them, but that doesn’t alleviate the anxiety creeping up on him. The white halls bathed in florescent lighting and the pristine nature of the hallway is in direct contrast to what lies in the petri dishes and test tubes. Although he knows that such viral agents are usually securely stored, he has a picture in his mind of an accidental bump knocking over a tray of death. Plus, who knew what was being worked on when the infection spread, and the infected don’t seem too good at following complex protocols.
Directing two to cover the long corridor ahead, the other four members of Gold Team check out each room as they come to it; two to each side. As they carefully proceed, Calhoun is struck by how each room is nearly identical to the others. The facility is an open research lab, which means that the rooms could be scheduled with whatever each scientist was working on. In every one, microscopes, test tubes, and other apparatus are neatly arranged on tables and desks. There is, however, no sign of those who worked in the spaces.
They work their way from room to room, checking each one and listening for the telltale sound of approaching footsteps. With the raging storm outside, the fact that they ran into infected who had penetrated the building, and with the knowledge of what the facility is used for, the quiet is unsettling. The tension is something he’s used to, however, having infiltrated hostile territory many times. Each time, it was the silence that got to him the most, but that’s also how he likes it.
“Hold up. Chief, I have something here,” one of the team softly calls. “Five bodies in here.”
Calhoun checks the hallway before crossing over to one of the last labs. Peering inside, he sees five figures in lab coats sprawled across the floor. Strewn across the floor among the bodies are dozens of wrappers, wadded cellophane, and empty water bottles. Taking a closer look, he doesn’t see any blood or evidence of a struggle. They appear to be peacefully sleeping. The thought crosses his mind that they might have accidentally unleashed some viral agent into their midst, or that they perhaps thought to use it against the infected.
One of the men on the floor opens his eyes, looking around the room before settling on Calhoun standing outside the door’s window. The man blinks twice, and then slowly rises to one elbow, leaning forward to get a better view. He then nudges one of the bodies lying nearby, the two of them staring at the apparition standing at the door.
Calhoun waits for a moment, anticipating one or both of them to shriek. Instead, the two parties continue to stare at one another.
“Can you hear me?” Calhoun asks, barely loud enough to be heard on the other side.
The first man nods.
“Is it safe in there?”
The man shares a confused look with the other.
“What do you mean?” the man replies, his voice coarse.
“Viruses…are there any viruses in there,” Calhoun responds.
“No…no. It’s safe.”
“Is anyone in there infected or sick?”
“No, we’re…” the man clears his throat. “We’re not infected.”
Calhoun looks on askance, waiting for the man to start coughing. The fact that the man cleared his throat, whether a natural clearing or from being sick, doesn’t sit very well.
“Honestly, no one in here is sick or infected,” the man says, observing Calhoun’s hesitance.
To Calhoun, they certainly look sick—each and every one of them. Their gauntness and the man’s sunken eyes scream of an illness. However, they aren’t betraying any sign of being infected. From the briefings and footage he’s seen, the infection takes only minutes at the most. If these people were infected, they’d be clawing at the door to get to him. And he’s certainly never heard of them having the ability to communicate.
Hearing the conversation, the others within the room begin to stir. None of them move quickly; a couple gives up trying to rise and simply fall back to the floor.
“They look malnourishe
d,” one of the team observes.
“That may be it,” Calhoun responds. “But we can’t be too careful given the close quarters.”
“So, what happened?” Calhoun asks through the door.
“When it hit, those of us unaffected were in the labs. The containment security doors leading out into the foyer saved us from being overrun. And, preventing any contagion from reaching inside. After a while, we all gathered in here, only venturing out to clear out the lunch rooms and vending machines. We ran out of anything edible ten days ago. We have plenty of water, but nothing to eat. Desperation set in and several set out to forage, but they haven’t returned. By the time we gave up hope of their return, we were too weak to do anything about it. Well, and too scared,” the man answers.
“OK, fair enough. Those of you who can move, work your way away from the door. We’re coming in and we’re a little trigger happy, so kindly don’t make any sudden moves,” Calhoun states.
The ones who can move shuffle and slide back across the floor. Calhoun swipes the card, pushes the door open, and steps inside. Air sweeps through driven by the slight pressure variance. The team medic immediately begins to triage the figures who were unable to move.
“I don’t have enough D50 glucose for everyone,” the medic comments.
“Will they live?” Calhoun asks, hating the callousness of the question, but needing an answer.
“More than likely. Two are extremely weak, barely able to move, and a bit out of it, but they should recover.”
“Start with them,” Calhoun says, rifling through his pack for food.
Knowing that the building hasn’t been swept clean, he directs the four remaining in Gold Team to swap places with Blue Team, ordering them to complete the sweep. Kneeling next to the first man, he offers a cracker from an MRE.
“Easy now. Only eat in small nibbles,” Calhoun directs, handing out more to those who can eat.
“Who are you?” the man asks.
“Chief Petty Officer Calhoun, Navy SEAL,” Calhoun answers.
“SEALs? Here? Seems a little out of the way,” the man says, incredulous.
“Well, the lab here is apparently important…along with our passenger.”
“Oh, I get wanting a level four facility, kind of, but who is your passenger?”
“One Colonel Koenig,” Calhoun replies.
“Koenig? As in the head of the USAMRIID?”
Calhoun again looks at the identification card given to him by the colonel.
“This guy,” he says, holding the card so the man can see it.
“What’s he doing here?”
“He’s supposedly going to perform some superman shit and find a cure, or something along those lines,” Calhoun answers.
“Well, if anyone can, he’s the one you want.”
“That’s good news. My medic is going to see to you folks, so just sit tight,” Calhoun says.
“Wait, before you go. What’s happening in the rest of world—you know, outside?” the man queries.
Calhoun stares at the man, rises, and turns for the door.
“That bad, huh?” the man sighs.
“That bad,” Calhoun replies over his shoulder.
Thirty minutes later, the building is cleared. The attached annex, separated from the research lab by covered and walled walkways, is mostly a series of rooms with caged animals, many lying dead in their cages. Miraculously, some are still able to move, although weakly. With less trouble than he anticipated, the laboratory facilities are clear. With the exception of the front lobby, the two buildings are intact with regards to being sealed.
“OK folks, let’s get the crews and supplies inside, then seal up the aircraft,” Calhoun radios.
With Blue Team keeping an eye on the perimeter, the rest manhandle the crated supplies inside, storing them in the sealed labs.
“Are the broken windows going to interfere with the air filtration system?” Calhoun asks Koenig.
“They shouldn’t. As far as I remember, the facility has three distinct filtration systems. The outer lobby, the main labs, and the level four labs each have their own. Aside from the pressurization differentials, the systems replenish the air every five minutes,” Koenig answers.
“Are you familiar with the systems? Meaning, the actual machinery?” Calhoun queries.
“That’s not my expertise.”
“OK, I guess we’ll just wing it. Meaning, I’m not going to touch anything. What if the facility loses power?”
“The generators are supposed to immediately kick in,” Koenig replies.
“Do you have any idea how long those will last?”
Koenig shrugs his answer.
“OK, then. I guess we’re going to have to find a supply of diesel,” Calhoun states.
“That would probably be a good idea.”
“While you do what you need to do, we’ll be setting up shop in the second story labs. With the infected having penetrated the building and us opening the doors to the labs, there’s a chance that the air inside became contaminated,” Calhoun says.
“But the filtration system will have already filtered that out.”
“I’d still like that tested before we take off our MOPP gear.”
“Fair enough. Let me get situated and that will be my first task,” Koenig states.
“Oh, and we found some of the techs in one of the back rooms. They’re alive, but barely. My medic informs me that they should live, but a couple of them will take some time to recover.”
“Well, they should have a better handle on the operating systems in place,” Koenig says.
The two of them pass the infected lying in puddles of blood. Koenig eyes the one with its intestines spilling out of its abdomen.
“That’s a mess. Did you grenade them?”
“No. The last thing I’d use in a place like this is an explosive device. They were eating that one,” Calhoun states.
“Oh! They were eating their own? How interesting…” Koenig muses, thoughts about the ramifications rattling through his head.
Emily and the cadets enter through the broken window. Seeing the young girl, Calhoun has mixed emotions. Knowing that she has the virus, that her every exhalation is poisonous, scares the shit out of him. His heart also goes out to her, understanding that she may never be able to lead a normal life—she’ll need to be quarantined for the rest of her life.
Providing the doc here doesn’t find a cure.
“She goes into isolation, perhaps in one of the level four labs you keep mentioning,” Calhoun says, nodding toward Emily. “And she’s not to leave it without protective gear.”
“Understood. I’ll arrange something,” Koenig mentions. “I could use a couple of those dead infected.”
“What for?”
“Autopsies. I need to figure out exactly what the virus is doing,” Koenig answers.
“Very well, we’ll move them into another level four lab and get this cleaned up.”
* * * * * * *
Hamilton, Montana
October 30
Connecting the air hose, Koenig slips into the pressurized suit. The bulky protective gear makes it difficult to perform operations, but it’s needed within the level four lab. The over-pressurization of the suit will keep any viral components out if there’s a tear, but that’s not a given. Donning the hood, he waits in the chamber for the room pressurization to change. It’s all a matter of using air pressure to keep any escaped viruses confined to a particular area. This is just another level of protection in addition to the air filtration system.
On the other side of the door, he sees Emily’s eager face. He feels bad for having to confine her in the lab, but they can’t take the risk of having her out with them. The very air she exhales is contaminated. The level four lab is the only place she can stay without having to continually wear MOPP gear, and it’s just not feasible to keep her in it forever.
It’s just not fair, he thinks, seeing the green light illuminate over the in
ner door.
Undoing the heavy duty latches, he enters.
“Hi Emily. How are you today?”
“Bored. How much longer do I have to stay in here?” Emily asks.
“I’m sorry, but for a while longer. I can have some things brought down to you if you’d like. There’s not much, but I’ll see what I can do,” Koenig answers.
“Is there something wrong with me? Why do I have to stay here? And why do I have to wear all of that gear when I am allowed to leave the room? No one else has to.”
That’s the question Koenig was hoping he could avoid, but he doesn’t see any way around it now. Emily is a smart young girl and eventually she’ll realize that she is being treated differently. He just thought, well, hoped, that he’d be able to delay an answer. He can’t just tell her that nothing is wrong, or that they need to make sure nothing is wrong, because the lie of that will reveal itself after time.
“Sit down with me.”
Emily plops down on the bed while Koenig sits in one of the large chairs that were brought in for visitors.
“I need you to listen very carefully to me. You are a very unique girl. Do you know what that means?”
“It means I’m different,” Emily answers.
“Yes, but not necessarily in a bad way. You seem to have an immunity to the sickness, but I’m going to be honest with you. You also have the virus inside of you. Your body is able to fight it in a way that doesn’t let it affect you,” Koenig says.
“I have it in me?! I’m one of those bad people?!” Emily exclaims, turning pale.
“No, you’re not one of them. For one, you don’t go around trying to bite others, but not everyone here is as special as you, so we have to keep you apart from them so they don’t get sick. Can you understand that?”
Emily nods, tears forming in her eyes.
“Did I…did I make those other people sick?” Emily says, her voice quivering. “Oh my god! I made my aunt and uncle sick. I killed them.”
“I wasn’t there, so I can’t say for sure. More than likely, they were already sick. And there’s no way you could have made the entire world sick.”
ARES Virus (Book 3): Phoenix Rising Page 20
