Jessica took a deep breath and then checked her watch. “How did this one get infected?”
“The pilot said there were thousands of dead around Sunport International Airport. They got swarmed outside of Albuquerque when they set down to refuel. A group of walkers got the jump on them and before they could finish filling up the helicopter... half of the people that fled Arizona with him died... he said he was forced to take off and leave them on the apron surrounded by the Z’s.”
Jessica glanced at her watch once again and then interrupted the doctor. “A few more seconds.” As if on cue the centrifuge slowed down and stopped completely.
“Doctor Hanson. I want you to record the subject’s vital signs while I ready the injection,” Fuentes ordered, truly hoping they could save the man’s life.
“Yes sir... right away,” she answered.
Fuentes loaded sixty mils of the antiserum.
On the table the final ounce of fight left the man’s body. He convulsed once and went motionless.
“Doctor... he’s turning. We’ve got a limited window. Hurry... please.” Jessica knew that she shouldn't be telling Fuentes how to do his job but she still she kept talking. “He has stopped breathing Doctor... and I’m losing his pulse.”
The heart monitor emitted a high pitched squeal as Agent Stockton flat lined.
Jessica reached across and turned the volume down so that she could communicate with Fuentes.
“Doctor Hanson, stand back,” Fuentes said as he quickly crossed the room in her direction, holding the syringe, needle pointing skyward. He clamped his hand on the dying man’s cold forehead and without hesitating slid the six inch needle into the soft flesh under the agent’s right eye. Fuentes was aware that injecting the antiserum directly into the man’s thalamus was a long shot, but seeing as how the man’s heart had just ceased beating he was confident he had made the correct decision.
Chapter 21
Outbreak - Day 8
Sentinel Butte, North Dakota
Cade had a clear view of the entire convoy from where he had set up his hide. His job was to take out the Humvee gunners first and then the drivers next.
Captain Gaines would target anyone that was armed first, and then “squirters” or personnel trying to run away were his secondary targets.
Cade patiently waited, running Desantos’ instructions through his head one more time.
“We’re going to wait, conserve our ammunition, and let our adversaries handle the Z’s. When we go hot, do not hit the trailers... I do not need to tell you what could happen if you do. Lastly, don’t kill them all, let’s try to identify any leadership or ranking personnel and capture them.”
The report of the hammering .50 caliber M2, or Ma Deuce as it had been affectionately called by multiple generations of soldiers, was loud enough to wake the dead... or at least loud enough to get the attention of every single one of them for miles around. Walkers poured from the truck stop. Cade guessed they had been either employees or infected that were left behind by desperate people just trying to survive. He had been there--the will to survive saw him through--just barely. Portland to Springs had been no cake walk. He hadn’t even had the time to process that cross-country ramble through hell let alone spend a little time with his family before jumping back in the saddle again.
The .50 chewed up the dead but the gunners were leaving too many crawlers for Cade’s liking. They dropped in large numbers but didn’t die, and he could tell by the way the gunners raked the M2s back and forth haphazardly that they were not trained professionals. The shooting lasted less than a minute before the big guns went silent. Then the Humvees disgorged armed men; from their helmets to their boots they were clad all in black. The sporadic cracks from their carbines echoed off of the buildings as they walked among the fallen zombies, methodically putting down any of them that still moved.
One of the black clad storm troopers entered the UPS truck Cade had left blocking the four lane highway.
Good luck with that, Cade thought. Not only had he cut the wiring harness out from under the dash, but he had also yanked the ignition from the steering column and discarded it into the scrub brush beside the road.
The trooper emerged, shaking his head and motioning for the driver in the lead semi to join him. The driver warily climbed from his safe cocoon, negotiated the corpse-strewn road, and exchanged words with the man in black. After conferring for a moment the driver climbed up and disappeared between the cab and the trailer of the Kenworth.
They’re going to try and unhook the trailer, Cade thought. It didn’t matter, because he knew the truck was wedged so tightly that they were going to need one of the big semi wreckers to clear the road. Besides, Cade thought, they weren’t going to be alive long enough to wait for Triple A anyways. To his horror Cade realized that Duncan’s gallows humor was starting to rub off on him.
Click. Click. Click.
Cade recognized the go sign. His first shot hit the gunner in the throat. The energy the .338 Lapua delivered shredded the man’s carotid ending his life. Effective, but a little low, he thought.
“Good hit,” Maddox said calmly.
After acquiring the second gunner Cade changed his elevation and windage incrementally and readied his shot. Breathe in. Exhale. Gently squeeze. The suppressed Remington spit lethal lead down range. The second gunner didn’t know where his death came from. The bullet hit him in the nose, caving in his face; the energy spun his body around sending it corkscrewing down into the Humvee.
“Good hit,” Maddox announced.
Ronnie Gaines put his Remington MSR to good work as he systematically culled the dismounts, rapidly dropping and acquiring new targets.
The Humvees were not up-armored models; this allowed Cade to get easy clean kills on the drivers.
While Gaines finished off the remaining troopers taking cover behind the uphill Humvee, Cade took out the dismounts crouched on his side. In seconds the armed men were down and the helos were inbound. The way the security personnel froze up, virtually cowering, gave Cade pause. He made a mental note to take his observation up with Desantos.
At gunpoint, the truck drivers wisely exited their rigs with their hands held high. The driver from the lead vehicle, a reed thin man with bushy black hair exploding from under his ball cap, performed a slow motion pirouette in the center of the road, scanning the hills for the death dealers.
Desantos had been watching the fight unfolding via the monitor in the Ghost Hawk. An unarmed UAV orbited high over the ambush site, continually beaming live video to the helo. “Let’s go and get ‘em Night Stalker,” Desantos ordered his pilot.
“Copy that,” Ari answered. He instantly nosed into a steep dive, taking the helo from 1000 feet AGL to nearly nap of the earth flight in seconds.
“Not wasting any time huh Ari?” the General quipped.
“Waste not want not...”
“When can we go back and retrieve my stomach?” Desantos asked.
“Cowboys are supposed to have cast iron stomachs; therefore, yours should still be banging around here somewhere.”
“Smartass,” Desantos muttered.
The crew chief and the spook exchanged glances and for the first time in days they both found a reason to crack a smile.
***
After picking up the two sniper teams the Ghost Hawks took up positions for over watch, one on each side of the kill zone, hovering silently at three hundred feet.
The two CH-47s thundered over the hillock and flared before setting down near the gas station. Eight soldiers clad in full woodland camo MOPP chemical/biological protective gear and carrying M4 carbines stormed from the rear ramp of each dual rotor chopper. Two men from each squad fanned out, providing security while the rest of the soldiers loped towards the truck drivers. After the drivers were zip tied, sitting with their backs to the guard rail, the MOPP suited soldiers turned their attention to the three trailers.
Cade sat, eyes glued to the flat panel, and watched
the teams go to work. One soldier wielded heavy duty bolt cutters and had the locks off and the doors open in short order. The men scurried in and out of each truck sweeping high tech Geiger counters checking for dangerous rad levels.
“This is Watchdog, how copy?” The voice that everyone on the hovering Ghost Hawks was listening to over the net belonged to the leader of the cobbled together NEST (Nuclear Emergency Search Team) team.
“Archer Actual, good copy, proceed,” Desantos answered.
“All levels are acceptable. I repeat all levels are acceptable. Watchdog out.”
“Archer Actual, thank you Watchdog, we will be wheels down in two mikes.”
“Copy that,” the Sergeant in command of the NEST team replied.
“The landing zone is secure Ari,” Desantos said. Then he hefted his SCAR carbine and held it barrel down between his legs waiting for the Ghost Hawk to touch down on the highway.
The men on the ground, including the drivers, covered their faces to guard against flying debris, and two of the truck drivers sacrificed their ball caps to the rotor wash while protecting their eyesight.
As soon as Cade, Desantos, and the rest of the operators boots hit the ground, both Ghost Hawks bolted back into the cloudless blue sky to resume an orbiting over watch.
Desantos beckoned Tice over and said, “You have been endorsed by Major Nash--my words not hers. Her praise was more eloquent. You’re the expert... so I’ll stay out of your hair. Just let me know if there is anything you need.”
“I need to see what we have in those trucks first. All of the different weapons in Uncle Sam’s arsenal were kept at Minot, so there’s no telling what’s inside. Once I know a little more I’ll brief you and we can go from there... but I’m definitely going to leave the heavy lifting to the NEST guys,” the spook said before he turned and began to jog towards the first trailer.
“One more thing,” Desantos said, raising his voice, “don’t get bit on my watch.”
The lanky spook turned, gave the baby Desert Eagle strapped to his thigh an affectionate pat and said, “My days of kicking doors may be over... but I still know how to use this.”
***
“Wyatt my boy... good shooting. I must say, you still know how to reach out and touch someone. How many is that now?” Desantos regretted the words as soon as they left his lips. Hell, we’re all wearing big boy pants here, he thought.
“Counting the living dead?” Cade asked.
The General watched the NEST guys poring over the trailers and took a moment before answering. “No, the zombies don’t count. They all died the moment the fucking virus jumped out of the Petri dish. I’m afraid you’ve caught me in a “glass is half empty” kind of mood. Let me ask you something... forget about your body count. Did the sight of all of the infected coming out of Denver hit you in the gut like it did me?”
“If we’re counting only breathers--the count is more than fifty--but less than one hundred. If we are talking about how many walkers I’ve waxed... one simple answer: not enough,” Cade replied, hoping to dodge Desantos’ last, but most important question.
Desantos pressed. He needed Cade’s honest opinion. “What’s your take on Denver?”
Boom! Boom! Boom!
The unmistakable report of the CIA man’s .45 caliber pistol rolled over their heads. Tice stepped from behind the nearest trailer and mouthed the word “crawler” as he walked towards them.
Desantos gave the spook thumbs up. “Third time’s the charm.” Then he continued trying to pick the younger operator’s brain. “Before I was so rudely interrupted I was asking you your take on the dead coming out of Denver?”
“My take? I truly hope that the first option has the desired effect,” and after a long pause Cade finished his thought. “Because if we have to resort to the second option... then we might have to leave Springs anyway. Sure, the President can hole up in Cheyenne, but that doesn’t help little Mike, Sierra or Serena. And I’ve got Raven and Brook to think about...”
Mike looked out on the Laramie mountain range. The granite peaks refracted the sinking sun, glowing like the last stubborn coals in a fire pit. He meditated for a second--desperately trying to quiet the little voice telling him to just say fuck it and take his family deep into the Rocky Mountains and ride this thing out.
“I have those same feelings towards the whole thing. Once we are wheels up I’m going to have Ari call Springs for a SITREP (Situation Report).”
Tice approached and said, “I’ve got bad news Mike...”
“Let me have it.”
“It seems that at least a third of the devices are unaccounted for,” Tice said, concern creeping into his voice. “Two of the trailers are filled with W-80 variable yield nuclear warheads... the kind meant to be delivered, air to ground, usually fixed on the nose of a cruise missile. The other truck is empty save for an Air Force officer, and she is badly beaten and in need of medical attention. NEST took some readings and found that the empty trailer is still hot. It had nuclear warheads in it recently, but apparently they were off loaded somewhere or they may have been transferred to one or more vehicles and delivered to multiple different locations. Long story short General... you don’t have a single broken arrow situation on your hands... you, sir, have a whole quiver of broken arrows out there... somewhere.”
Desantos processed the information and considered the ramifications as he watched the NEST team working like a well-oiled machine, quickly loading and securing each of the three hundred pound warheads onboard the two Chinooks. “We’re just going to have to put one foot in front of the other and deal with one threat at a time. Can you work with these W-80 warheads, and most importantly, can we safely use one or more of them for Option Two?” he asked.
“No problem General, these brigands stole everything they would need from Minot... enough fuses and all of the necessary hardware, tools and diagnostic equipment to arm all of the devices and burn several cities to the ground. If your D-Boys are planning on delivering the weapons personally... then I can make them operable ahead of time and adjust the yield to your liking... but we are going to have to set the timer manually. The W-80 has two blast settings--either five kilotons, which is my recommendation, or a hundred fifty kilotons which is very effective but if you are less than twenty miles away you can kiss your ass goodbye, plus the fallout from the hundred fifty... no bueno for Springs and Schriever.”
Wanting to explore all of the possibilities Desantos probed further. “What are the other methods of delivering the warheads?”
Cade followed the conversation, hanging on to their every word, his head panning back and forth like he was watching a Chinese ping pong match.
Tice adjusted his Detroit Tigers ball cap and said, “The only other way is a hell of a long shot. They could be deployed as designed, but I would have to remount them on a cruise missile... but that begs the questions... where are we going to get an AGM-129 and where are you going to get the B-52 to deliver the cruise missile?”
“Come again.” For once in a long while Desantos was not following.
“I was being a smart ass, Mike,” Tice said grimly. “The W-80s can only be hand delivered.”
“All jokes aside... is the officer going to survive?”
“I think she will survive. She’s got some broken ribs, but her career as a model is shot. Her captors smashed in her nose and knocked out a few teeth.”
Questioning the spook, Cade asked, “Did you get any Intel out of her?”
“Affirmative,” Tice answered, nodding his head. “She was conscious but she’s suffered a helluva concussion. My team found her in the back of the sleeper cab; the fuckers had her blindfolded and gagged and trussed up with zip ties...so tight that she’s probably going to lose some fingers.”
A crackling fusillade of automatic rifle fire briefly interrupted their pow-wow.
Cade continued to mine the spook for details. “What did the officer say about the captors... did you get any of that out of her?”
“No... not before she lost consciousness,” Tice said. “But the two guys who were driving the truck, they seem to know something but won’t talk... they clammed up real tight when I tried to question them.”
“Tice... once your team is finished loading the devices, bring the two drivers to my helo. Lopez... I want you to make sure their vehicles are disabled and remove all of the weapons and ammo,” Desantos ordered.
Cade received a telling look from his good friend. He’d seen it a few times over the years, and what followed was never pretty. He knew without a doubt that one of those guys was going to talk and the one that failed to would not live long enough to regret it.
Speaking to Desantos, Lopez asked, “What should I do with the other drivers?”
“Cut them loose and leave them for the Z’s.”
Cold blooded... that’s my Cowboy, Lopez thought.
Desantos waved his arm in a circle. “Load em up... we’re Oscar Mike in five,” he yelled to be heard over the Ghost Hawk’s twin turbines.
Chapter 22
Outbreak - Day 8
Schriever AFB
Slowly and deliberately the phosphorescent green dot silently cruised across the glass screen on the monitor only to magically reappear and trace the same path relentlessly. Department of Homeland Security Agent Archie Stockton had been infected with the Omega virus hours earlier; it had been five minutes since his heart had stopped beating and Doctor Hansen had declared him clinically dead.
Fuentes stood over the prostrate body stretched out on the stainless steel table, the beefy arms and legs restrained with thick leather straps. The big man’s body was pasty to begin with, but under the white fluorescent lights bombarding the autopsy table his skin glowed like the face of the moon.
In Harm's Way Page 15
