Kosoko glanced in his side mirror as he drove away from the injured doctor. Dragging himself back toward the vehicles, Kosoko was almost impressed by the doctor’s willingness to live on. His struggle, however, was short-lived, as the dongola misos caught him after a few steps. They took him down like a lion would a gazelle with hands that dug into his skin like claws. Tearing into his flesh in a wild manner, they ripped the meat from his bones with greedy hands.
Dikembe grabbed his sleeve frantically. “Colonel, Colonel, over there,” he pointed toward a hangar by the air fuel depot.
“We are in luck,” Kosoko laughed, pressing the gas pedal flat and the truck hesitated waiting to lurch forward for a moment. Knowing that people must have fallen in the back and not caring, he drove the truck right into the hanger and pulled it alongside the aircraft.
Two white men in their fifties stood near the tail of the aircraft wearing smart blazers. One held a nondescript gray case. Not very official looking: there are no biohazard symbols or special markings that I would expect on a case that held such powerful medicine.
Kosoko called out to his remaining followers, pointing at them in turn: “You, watch our backs. You, make sure the hostages don’t get away. And you two, come with me.” He jumped down, approaching the men with an urgent confidence.
Only a handful of his men remained. The escape from the embassy had been messy. Negotiation was his only option now, and Kosoko wouldn’t take no for an answer.
He glared at the two men. A stand off of wills. The taller of the two men, who must be the CIA agents he had been told to meet, broke the silence first.
“Jacobin, is it? I’m Bill, and I’m here to make a trade with you.”
“We have no time for pleasantries old man, even now, they come,” Kosoko hissed. The CIA agent didn’t appear hard pressed for time.
“Who is coming?” Bill exchanged a glance with his shorter comrade.
“The dongola misos, but it doesn’t matter,” Kosoko waved him off. “What do you have to trade?” He lifted his chin upward as if he dared them to deny him of what was his.
Bill slapped the case onto a maintenance cart and flipped the latch open. “Here you go. There’s an antidote for your son in this case. We just need you to release the hostages before we give it to you.”
Kosoko didn’t move his eyes from the two men. He weighed them. The case doesn’t look official. How can I trust the word of an American pig?
“How do I know you speak true?” he asked, not expecting a honest answer. He waved to Dikembe. “Bring me the young doctor, Joseph. Administer the antidote to my son.”
Turning back to face the two agents, Kosoko added: “If it doesn’t work,” he said as he quickly drew his sidearm, pointing it at CIA Bill. He felt like an old west gunslinger getting the jump on them. It was the O.K. Corral and he was the famous Wyatt Earp. “You will die first.”
Cold recognition slid over the tall agent’s face and he slowly put his hands up. “Now, take it easy Jacobin. The antidote is going to take some time to work. We have assurances from our top medical professionals in America that this will cure him.”
Dikembe shoved the doctor forward, cutting his zip ties with a knife. Joseph rubbed his wrists. Weakling. His men carried over Ajani, strapped to a stretcher, and laid him on the ground in between the two parties. Joseph knelt near Ajani, rummaged through the medical case, and pulled out a vial and a syringe. He gave a nervous glance back at Kosoko.
“Hurry up, Dr. Joseph. Our time is short.”
Joseph nodded in acceptance.
Ajani clapped his teeth together as Joseph neared him. I will let Ajani feed on the doctor first if the medicine doesn’t work, after I deal with the corrupt Americans.
Joseph slipped the syringe into Ajani’s arm, emptying the contents. Ajani squirmed against his restraints. His condition remained unchanged. His son continued to strain against his bondage. The doctor carefully checked Ajani’s pulse, shaking his head, and then stood up abashed.
“Ajani?” Kosoko muttered. “Is he better?” The doctor held his gaze for a moment then turned away. Fear.
Kosoko was so immersed in his son’s treatment that he didn’t hear the approaching monsters. Gunfire rocketed from behind, and Kosoko twisted as a man wearing an orange airport vest sank his teeth into Dikembe’s neck. His comrade tried to push the man away, and as he did the dongola miso brought half his neck with him. Blood spurted in rhythm with the Dikembe’s dying heartbeat. Damn it Dikembe.
The hostages screamed and cursed as the front of the diseased pack made their way toward the truck. Distracted by the death of his man, Kosoko turned back toward the agents. I have been deceived. They must die.
The agents reached under their coats drawing guns. Blackened steel barrels eyed him with malice. Time slipped into slow motion. Kosoko drove his shoulder into the ground as bullets melted through the soldiers on either side of him. Lying on his side, he leveled his aim at the shorter agent. He caught the man dead to rights, staring dumbfounded at his weapon as he pulled the trigger, nothing happening. A weapon malfunction. Perfect.
Kosoko squeezed the trigger of his six-shooter hand-cannon. The agent staggered backwards, his hands holding his chest. CIA Bill went down under AK-47 fire as one of Kosoko’s soldiers fired from the window of the truck. Gunfire spewed from the plane door, and Kosoko’s man in the truck fell silent. There must be more of them on board the aircraft, but he didn’t have time to worry about that. The cursed surrounded him.
The dongola misos wandered into the hanger haphazardly. Zeroing his sights, he shot a woman with gnawed stumps for arms, wearing a toga-style dress, through the forehead. He capped another monster realizing the futility of his struggle. I have only one shot to leave here alive and wreak havoc upon the Americans. Especially Joseph, that sniveling useless doctor.
Kosoko crawled on all fours over fallen bodies like an animal. He stopped when he came across a slain Congolese soldier bullet wounds decorating his body like bleeding nighttime stars. Glassy white eyes stared up at Kosoko. Rushing he stripped off the dead man’s jacket. It is covered in blood, but it would do. Everyone is covered in blood. Donning the folded green beret shoved in the soldier’s belt, he stood. It will be enough.
He ran to the truck holding the hostages, yanking the hatch open.
“To the plane, now.” Ushering them out, he helped them down. “You are free. I am here to help.” He kept his head low, as the Americans scrambled out the back without a second glance, bolting toward the jetway stairs. I will blend in with the Americans as they escape. Surely, a nation founded by immigrants wouldn’t reject a military refugee trying to escape his collapsing country?
A monster wearing a soccer jersey grabbed his arm, and he shoved him down onto the cement.
“Move.” The Americans continued to scurry. He aimed his pistol at the dead man, but before he could shoot a sharp pain seared through his calf muscle.
Infuriated, he gaped down, cocking his pistol. Ajani practically grinned as he chewed gluttonously, staring with dim white eyes. Having broken free of his restraints, he had crawled all the way across the hanger floor, still attached to his stretcher, to bite his father. Kosoko growled and kicked his son away with a heavy boot. Betrayed by his own flesh, he limped to the airliner.
JOSEPH
Kinshasa International Airport, DRC
Joseph covered his head as bullets whizzed back and forth between the rebels and the Americans. The living dead were overwhelming the remaining rebels. Both Americans took rounds to the chest and the dead were already making their way toward the newly fallen. A man in a soldier’s uniform unloaded the hostages. The embassy staffers clambered out of the trucks. The Congolese military finally made an appearance. Joseph stood up shakily, using a luggage cart for support. I am going to escape. Just up the steps to freedom.
Keeping his head low, he looked around for Kosoko. That man is diabolic. The other hostages sprinted by him shrieking. Kosoko must have been gunned
down in the shootout. We’re free. He joined the cluster of embassy staffers attempting to push their way onto the plane. Sheer terror drove them forward.
“Move in an orderly fashion. Remain calm,” shouted a voice from inside the aircraft.
Joseph had seen this type of situation before, especially with these people. It was every man for himself. Men cared little for women and children. They fought a bitter battle to get on board. Joseph had no problem shouldering his way onto the plane. No sir, there is no way I am going to be left behind here.
Apparently, everyone else had the same idea. As he squeezed through the doors, a steely-eyed, gray-haired man grabbed his arm.
“Are you a doctor?” he shouted as people pushed onto the plane and exhaustedly found seats.
Oh God, more people who needed medical attention. Did it ever end? “I, uh, yes,” he mumbled.
The man was stern. “Where are the CIA officers? Are they alive?” he asked.
Joseph hadn’t checked their pulses, but he was pretty sure they were dead. He was tired of everyone shoving him around, demanding answers.
“Dead. The last time I saw them they had their guts torn out,” Joseph snarled.
“We can’t just leave them,” he said in Joseph’s face.
“They are dead, and we will be too if you let those people on this plane,” Joseph shouted back.
The man didn’t react to his outburst. “Sit here,” he said, pushing Joseph into a first class window seat.
Joseph peered out the window. The dead were following them up the stairs, climbing the steps up to the open aircraft door.
“They must not be allowed onboard. They’re infected with a deadly disease,” he yelled at the man who had pushed him into his seat. The gray-haired man nodded to his partner, a very large blond man, who stepped out onto the platform.
“Get back,” he yelled, a hammer striking an anvil. He shoved a big foot into the face of the first infected person climbing the steps. The infected toppled into the others, causing a domino effect down the stairs. He quickly stepped back inside the plane and helped a flight attendant close the door.
“What’s wrong with them? They’re mad,” he said to the older man.
“I don’t know, but I’m sure he does.” He pointed at Joseph.
The giant man plopped down next to Joseph, his shoulders taking up all the available shared space.
“Don’t worry, friend, we’ll get you home safe,” he said, speaking with an accent.
Who are these guys? Some sort of Special Forces? A pounding sound on the aircraft door brought him back to reality. A mass of people stood at the door, and as the plane slowly rolled forward out of the hanger, the pounding stopped. Joseph exhaled. He hadn’t realized he was holding his breath.
The PA system crackled as the captain spoke. “Hello everyone, this is Captain Richards speaking. It appears that the airport is in the process of shutting down, but there is no way we are staying here. We have clearance from the US government to do what is necessary to leave the country. This situation is very unusual, but not unexpected given the chain of events. It’s our pleasure to be here today to give you your freedom ride. We’re going to have some bumps here as we take off, so keep those seat belts fastened. Drinks are on the house today.” A couple of cheers went up, but nobody seemed to be interested in the free cocktails.
The captain wasted no time, abruptly throwing the throttle and thundering down the runway. Gaining speed, it finally lifted off into the air.
Joseph’s ears popped and he sat staring at the television screen blankly, his eyes unfocused. His gut pain still hid in his stomach, probably an ulcer, but it seemed somewhat calmer, as though it were masked and waiting to re-emerge. With everything I’ve seen in the last few days: disease, death and destruction; humanity at its worst, will I ever be the same? Home will be a good thing. He rested his eyes, letting his head fall back on his headrest. He was only allowed a moment of respite.
When Joseph cracked open his eyes, the gray haired man who had pushed him into the seat stood expectantly in front of him. Oh, what does he want now? A glass of alcohol would have been nice.
“I am Agent Wheeler. You are a Doctor?”
“I am Dr. Jackowski.” He fumbled for his glasses resting on the center console. Agent Wheeler came into focus, a stout soldierly looking gentleman.
“My fellow agents and I were sent to make sure you make it home safe. We’ll hand you off to another security detail when we arrive at McCone Airport. I was told there was a team of doctors at the embassy. Where are the other doctors?” He looked concerned.
Joseph shook his head, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “They’re missing or dead. I’m the only one left from the embassy.”
Agent Wheeler coughed a bit. “Okay. What was wrong with those people outside?” he asked, squatting down next to Joseph.
Joseph rubbed his eyes. “I don’t know. Some sort of mutated virus. It puts people in a hyper-aggressive state, making them extremely violent and unresponsive to intervention. So violent, in fact, that they’ll attack and consume the flesh of their victims afterward. I was researching the disease in a remote village when the outbreak spiraled out of control.” He left out the part about them already being dead maybe it would be easier for the agent to swallow.
The agent gave him a blank stare.
“Have you seen ever seen a zombie film?” Joseph added. It was the only way to get his point across in layman’s terms.
Agent Wheeler smirked. “You mean like the classic, Night of the Living Dead? Been awhile since I’ve seen that one.”
“Something like that. If anyone’s bitten, restrain them immediately. The gestation period seems to be getting shorter and shorter. The first infected persons took almost a week to turn. Now, it seems that it takes only a matter of minutes, but it may vary based on a host of factors.”
Joseph watched Wheeler’s face for a reaction. His words didn’t seem to faze the man. It was as if Joseph had simply told him the sky was blue.
“We’ll make sure you get home safe so you can figure this out. We have an entire team strategically placed on board this aircraft to make sure that happens. Jarl here is very good at what he does. He is a premier protection specialist, and he’ll watch over you while you get some rest, doctor.”
Joseph glanced over at the large man over-lapping into his seat. He is quite a big fellow. Probably can hold his own. I’m not sure he could save me from a horde of the infected, but Wheeler does seem rather confident. He became downtrodden the more he thought about it. A lot of good it did Master Sergeant Snow. We are going to need more than muscle and brawn to defeat this virus.
“Thank you,” Joseph said, reclining back in his chair. Can anyone protect me from this virus? Can I protect them from the virus? Is it not my job to research and control outbreaks? As of right now, he was failing that job pretty handedly. He tried to push the thought out of his head as the after-effects of adrenaline dump knocked him unconscious.
STEELE
Somewhere over the Atlantic
The takeoff was shaky, rough air rattling the cabin. Turbulence didn’t affect Steele in the slightest. There were a lot worse things than a little turbulence out there. His fellow passengers seemed to think otherwise, the former hostages bawled as the plane rose in the air and broke through the clouds, but the pilot soon found a smooth patch of air and everything leveled out. The people around him clapped while others cried tears of relief. Even Steele felt a bit better knowing they weren’t getting shot at on the plane. He relaxed a bit. They were headed back home to the good old US of A.
The embassy staff had rushed onto the plane in such a panic. Many moving all the way to the back of the aircraft. He hadn’t received any feedback on details of this situation, but they were flying, so he assumed it was good.
Steele was proud he could offer these people a safe escort home. The flight was more full now because the passengers that had traveled over from the United State
s never departed the aircraft. Nobody came to get them. So they were obligated to stay on board. Odd. But Steele supposed that it was better to go back to the U.S. then be stuck in the DRC for an unknown length of time. Combined with the gunfire from outside the aircraft, Steele was convinced they didn’t mind staying on the plane.
Steele did notice a few locals were interspersed with the embassy staffers. Not an outright concern, however, they most likely were not supposed to be on board the aircraft. They would have to let Customs and Immigration figure that part out, and hopefully they would be allowed asylum. He wouldn’t worry about it unless things got nasty with one of them.
The number of injured hostages concerned him as well. No doctors to be found. I wonder if Wheeler has kept them up front? Luckily, an embassy nurse with short brown hair bounced from patient to patient assisting in making her colleagues more comfortable. She spent most of her time attending a heavyset female about five rows ahead of Steele. The woman’s head, wrapped in bandages, lolled around her headrest in pain, an icepack lying across her forehead. The nurse and the flight attendants strapped an oxygen tank to her, and Steele could see her shoulders heaving up and down as she struggled to breathe. She probably doesn't want to inhale the stale recycled air. I don’t blame her, last time I traveled this far, I had to put lip balm on and eye drops in every four hours to deal with the desert-like conditions of air travel.
Hours passed by and satisfied with his surroundings he glanced down at his phone for a moment. Shit, I was supposed to call Gwen. Surely, she would understand. Now he would feel guilty for the rest of the mission as she most certainly waited in anticipation for his phone call. A curse shattered his self-chastisement.
“What the hell?” the nurse screeched.
Steele sat up straight in his seat, slipping his phone back into his pocket. He peered down the aisle and saw the nurse holding her arm to her chest. She pushed the injured woman away with her other hand.
“Stay away from me. That fucking hurt.”
The End Time Saga Box Set [Books 1-3] Page 12
