Deadly Strain (Biological Response Team)

by Julie Rowe

  Something nudged her foot. She glanced down at Sharp, who tapped his headset. She checked hers and realized she’d shut it off.

  “What?” she asked after she turned it back on.

  “How long will it take for you to fix me up?”

  Geez, he sounded like it was as easy as fixing a car. A few stitches here, a unit of blood there and he’d be as good as new.

  “You need at least one unit of blood, probably two. Your bullet wounds, large and small, need to be cleaned out and sewn up. You’ll need a complete set of X-rays to make sure you don’t have any broken bones, and you need at least eight hours of uninterrupted sleep. You tell me, how long will it take?”

  “Too fucking long.”

  She shrugged. “That sounds about right.”

  His narrow gaze told her he suspected something. “What are you going to do when we land?”

  “I need to go back and get fresh samples.”

  “You’re not going back to that village alone.” He said it like he was the major and she was the sergeant.

  “Of course I won’t. I’m sure Marshall will assign several soldiers to accompany me.”

  Sharp lifted his lips in a silent snarl, showing her just how much he didn’t like that idea. She didn’t like it much either, but her list of choices in regard to how she completed her mission was getting shorter and shorter. She gave him a long, direct look that said protest all you want, buddy, it’s going to happen.

  “Make contact with Cutter as soon as we’re on the ground,” Sharp said. “He’ll support you in whatever you have to do.”

  “Are you sure about that? Rasker and Williams are dead.” Grace fought tears. Again.

  “Not your fault.”

  She shook her head. She was the reason they’d gone.

  “Hey.” Sharp rapped his knuckles against her leg. “Not your fault.”

  “Then whose fault is it?”

  “The son of a bitch who’s playing around with a bacteria that could easily kill a whole lot of people.” He wrapped his hand around her ankle. “Don’t lose focus. Stay on task. Complete the mission.”

  “I wish it was that easy.”

  “It isn’t easy.”

  She sighed. “Let me guess, it’s what puts the special in Special Forces?”

  The medic on the other side of Sharp’s gurney stifled a laugh.

  “Now, now,” Sharp said with a grin in his voice. “No giving away trade secrets.”

  “Ha, as if. What I know about how you guys get to be what you are would fit in a shot glass.”

  The pilot broke in to their conversation. “Two minutes to touchdown. Medical standing by.”

  Everyone onboard shifted in anticipation of landing.

  “Remember what I said,” Sharp ordered, his hand on her ankle again. “Make contact with Commander Cutter.”

  “I won’t forget. I want to tell him personally how sorry I am for the loss of Rasker and Williams.”

  “Tell him I want beans for breakfast, okay?”

  “Beans?”

  “Don’t knock ‘em. They’re good for when you’ve got a long haul ahead of you or when you need to heal.”

  At that moment the helicopter landed and two medics were unstrapping Sharp’s gurney and rushing him out as fast as they could.

  Grace released her jump harness and followed them into the base hospital. She quickly related the history of Sharp’s injuries to the on-duty doctor, who insisted on taking care of Sharp himself, while she got checked out by another physician.

  She ended up needing a few stitches on her left leg and arm. The doctor had finished sewing her up and was talking to her about giving her antibiotics despite the fact that no visual infection seemed present, when Colonel Marshall strode into the curtained cubicle treatment room she was in.

  Colonel Marshall was an old-school officer. Big on discipline, short on excuses and zero on failure. She anticipated anger, frustration and dislike.

  He looked like he wanted to kill someone—her. She held herself very, very still.

  “Is she medically fit?” he asked the attending doctor without looking away from her.

  “Yes, sir,” the doctor replied. He’d also frozen into immobility, his back against the wall.

  “Dismissed.”

  The doctor glanced at Grace, then left without saying anything else.

  Coward.

  Marshall waited a couple of seconds, then snarled, “My patrol is dead. Every last man.”

  “I’m sorry, sir.”

  “I don’t want your goddamn apology,” he spat at her. “I want a fucking explanation for why you chose to leave the majority of your team, and my men, to die.”

  “They’re all dead?” No one had mentioned anything to her. No one had even brought up the village and what was happening there.

  “My entire original patrol is dead, thanks to you. The rest of the A-Team that went with you are fine, for now, but they won’t stay that way for long. Insurgents have taken up positions around the village and are trying to pick them off.”

  “Did you send in some support?”

  “Don’t tell me how to do my job,” he yelled, not an inch from her face. She jerked back as his spittle landed on her eyes, nose and mouth. “I sent support, but guess what, their helicopter came under heavy fire short of the village and barely made it back here intact.”

  He walked around her, shoving her away from the exam table she was standing in front of, until he could circle her. “I was told you left in a bird with three of my men and two from the A-Team. Where are they?”

  Was this some kind of trick question? “We were shot down, sir.”

  He walked around her one full circuit before saying, “And you survived with a couple of scratches. How convenient.”

  Ooh, that was the wrong word to use. “Convenient would have been arriving at my destination with my samples and my escort intact,” she said in as even a tone as she could manage. “Convenient would have been identifying the pathogen that killed everyone in that village and your men, and determining the correct procedure to contain and eradicate the pathogen.”

  “What a load of sanctimonious bullshit,” he sneered at her.

  “It wasn’t bullshit to regain consciousness after the crash to realize that most of the people with me were dead. Insurgents reached our crash site in minutes. Minutes, Colonel, and when they got there they proceeded to shoot everyone they found, alive or dead, in the head.”

  “Explain to me how you and your boyfriend got away with so few injuries.”

  She narrowed her gaze. “I’d found someone alive, one of your men. I was trying to find the emergency medical supplies when two Afghan insurgents arrived and began shooting everyone. I was hidden behind a piece of bulkhead, and though I hadn’t found the medical supplies, I’d found the backup weapons’ locker. I loaded a Beretta and shot them both.”

  “You shot them?”

  “Yes.”

  “And your boyfriend?”

  “Who are you referring to? I don’t have a boyfriend.”

  “That sniper pal of yours, the one who never leaves you alone.”

  “He’d been thrown clear of the aircraft. The two insurgents had spotted him and were moving in to kill him. I shot them first.”

  “Well, isn’t that a nice, neat little story.” His sneer twisted even further. “I don’t buy any of it.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You’re lying.”

  His accusation made no sense whatsoever. “Why would I lie?”

  “To cover up your earlier mistakes at the village that allowed my men to die of whatever bug killed them.”

  “I made no mistakes.”

  “I’ve got eight bodies that say otherwise.”
He stepped back and signaled to two armed soldiers standing a few feet away. “Lock her up.”

  They approached her, one with handcuffs out. “What? Why?”

  “I’m charging you with dereliction of duty, abandoning your post and reckless disregard for human life,” Marshall said as his goons cuffed her and then started to march her out of the medical building.

  “None of that is true!”

  No one paid her any attention. Not even Marshall spared her another glance once his men had her under control.

  She twisted her body and head around as far as she could in order to yell, “Wait! We have to go back to the village and get new samples. The ones I took are probably contaminated.”

  No response.

  A few members of the medical staff flicked glances at her and she could tell they were worried, but with Marshall in no mood to listen to anyone, no one said anything.

  “Colonel, please,” she begged. “Send another team.”

  Her two jailers marched her faster.

  The last thing she heard was Marshall ordering Sharp locked up with her under the same charges.

  Holy shit. Marshall had just made a horrible situation a thousand times worse.

  There was nothing she could do to stop him.

  * * *

  Sharp lay on the gurney, playing possum for all he was worth. The last thing he wanted anyone to know was that he was conscious. Grace had talked to the doc who was still sewing him up. This was the third wound he’d put stitches in and there might still be a fourth. They’d also stuck an IV in his arm and were giving him a unit of blood. He felt better already.

  He’d pretended to pass out during his first stitching up, mumbling something about being afraid of needles.

  His gurney was on the other side of the cloth wall from where Grace got checked out and stitched up, so he’d heard every word Marshall said to her.

  The guy was a paranoid buck-passer, but the charges he’d leveled against Grace were no joke. Things were FUBAR and Marshall had decided to make her the scapegoat. Along with Sharp’s A-Team.

  Not a smart move.

  Sharp continued his lights-out routine as the doctor finished up, then played dead when Marshall came and breathed right on his face.

  Someone needed a mint.

  “Why isn’t he awake?” Marshall demanded. “I was told he was talking to the bitch on the bird.”

  “Maybe he was, but from all the bruising and swelling he’s had his bell rung at least twice. He lost consciousness while I was sewing him up.”

  Marshall stepped away and grunted. “Move him to the brig.”

  “I’m afraid I can’t allow that, Colonel,” the doctor said. “Sergeant Foster needs to remain immobile until after I’ve done a scan of his head. If he’s got the concussion I think he has, I might even need to perform emergency surgery.”

  No one said anything for a moment, then Marshall grunted again. “He’s under arrest for the same charges as Samuels. When he wakes up, contact me.”

  “Yes, sir,” the doctor said.

  Heavy footsteps walked away, followed by a couple of others.

  Other people started talking, mostly medical-speak.

  One of those voices belonged to his doctor, who ordered the cleanup of the exam room he was in and the one where Grace had been. After a few minutes, things seemed to calm right down.

  A soft sound told him someone was standing close by.

  The doctor whispered in his ear, “You can stop faking now.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Sharp opened his eyes to meet the gaze of the doctor who’d sewn him up. “Concussion, huh?” he asked quietly.

  “A CT scan might take a few hours.” The doctor glanced around, then continued, “Marshall fully intends to prosecute Dr. Samuels for insubordination and all those other charges. I’ve tried to tell him she was correct in her assessment of the situation at the village, but when she went over his head, he took it personally. Then his men in the original patrol died and that cemented his opinion she’s at fault.”

  “She thinks it’s some sort of super-anthrax,” Sharp told the doctor. “Fast-acting, and she thinks it might be in the air and water supply, but she isn’t sure.”

  The doctor paled. “That’s not good.”

  “No shit. Has Marshall done anything right since we left?”

  “No. Some of your A-Team are still there. Cutter wanted to take the rest of the team out there, but Marshall ordered them to stand down.”

  “Have you heard what the status is at the village?”

  “Not in the last couple of hours.”

  “Shit.” Sharp glanced at the bag of blood hanging over his head. It looked empty. “I may not make that CT scan.”

  “You’re in no condition to go anywhere,” the doctor said as Sharp sat up.

  He reached for the IV line, intending to yank it out. “Doesn’t matter, I’ve got a job to do.”

  The doctor moved surprisingly fast. “I’ll do it. I don’t want you spilling all the blood we just poured into you.” He took out the IV line and put a bandage over the hole in the back of Sharp’s hand. The doctor ducked down and pulled something out of a box stored underneath the exam table and handed Sharp a bottle of electrolyte water. “Drink all of this before you leave the base, and eat something substantial or you’re going to fall over in a few hours.”

  “Thanks, Dad,” Sharp said with a grin. He cracked open the bottle and drank several swallows. “So where’s the rest of my team?”

  “After your aircraft disappeared, they moved their gear to a shack next to the helicopter landing area. I think in anticipation of going to that village, but Marshall told them to stay put, and confiscated their SINGCAR radios when they tried to contact Colonel Maximillian.”

  “They’re under arrest?” Sidelining an A-Team wasn’t what Sharp would call a smart move. They had their own orders to follow, and their own chain of command to keep in contact with.

  “No, I would say they’re grounded to the base. No one is stopping them from going to the mess, chapel or medical. They just can’t leave or call out.”

  Sharp finished the bottle of water and stood. No dizziness, good. “Marshall is digging himself a deep hole.”

  The doctor nodded. “Do yourself a favor and don’t jump in it with him.”

  “I’ll try, Doc, but I’ve always been a curious fellow.” Sharp glanced down at himself. The medical people had cut his clothes to get at his wounds. “Got anything I could wear over this?”

  The doctor handed him a lab coat, which Sharp put on and buttoned up. “Good luck,” he said to Sharp. “I’d rather not have to sew you up again.”

  “Me too. Thanks.” They shook hands, then Sharp left the medical center and headed toward the landing field like he had an errand to run for someone important.

  No one looked twice at him.

  Bonus.

  He entered the shack and found his team, their gear stowed near the door, ready to go, talking quietly as a group. “You lazy bums on a coffee break or something?”

  Most people would have jumped to their feet, called out greetings and patted him on the back. These guys were too smart to do that. They all got to their feet with shit-eating grins on their faces, but not one voice rose in volume.

  “About time you got here,” Cutter said, waving Sharp over. “Where the hell have you been?”

  “I was on an all-expenses paid trip to the beach, but the food sucked, so I came home to this fabulous address.” His shoulders slumped. “I’m sorry, boss. We got shot down. Rasker and Williams didn’t make it.”

  “What about the doc?” Cutter asked.

  Sharp frowned. “You don’t know?”

  “We’re out of the loop. Marshall won’t tell us jack-s
hit. His ass is going to be grass when the brass finds what a clusterfuck he’s whipped up here.”

  “She survived the crash, too. We hauled ass to get back here as fast as we could, but it was close a couple of times. Marshall arrested her on a bunch of charges and has her in some brig somewhere on the base. She tried to tell him she has to get her samples to her lab, but Marshall isn’t having any of it. This shit is serious. If we don’t get it figured out soon, like twenty-four hours soon, a lot of people are going to die.”

  “What do you mean?” Cutter asked.

  “I mean, someone created the bug that killed everyone at the village. It kills fast and hard and everyone who’s been exposed to it has died. It’s one hell of a weapon.”

  “Fuck me,” Runnel said.

  “No thanks, you’re not my type,” Sharp said and the moment of humor served to center everyone’s attention. “We have to bust Grace out of jail and get her wherever she needs to go.”

  “Grace, huh?” Cutter said, crossing his arms over his chest.

  “Hey, you bleed all over someone, you end up on a first-name basis.”

  Cutter’s eyebrows rose. “Really?”

  “Really. I’d have her at my back any day.”

  “You and her, huh, Sharp?” Runnel asked with a suggestive smile.

  “Nah, facing death and dismemberment isn’t the time to make a move.” The fact that he had was beside the point. Grace was too good for all of them, including himself. “So, you guys want to bust her out, or what?”

  Runnel grinned. “I vote yes. Can you imagine the look on Marshall’s face?”

  Everyone else nodded their agreement, and Cutter turned to Sharp. “We’re go. Why don’t you put on some real clothes? We’ll find you a weapon and some essentials.”

  “Sounds good to me, boss.” He put actions to the words and was re-equipped and ready to go in a few minutes.

  Runnel handed him a rifle case.

  “What’s this?” Sharp asked. His rifle was in pieces on the desert floor and Runnel’s was strapped to his back.

  “It’s my backup rifle.”

  “Wow, and all I brought was a backup Beretta.”

  “Well, she’s not as shiny as the A-1 you were shooting, but she’s a good weapon. Accurate.”