ARES Virus (Book 2): White Horse

by John O'Brien

  A carton of milk lies beside the three-wheeled bike, the plastic jug stretched tight from the heat. Several apples have rolled against the tires of a nearby car, the remains of a paper grocery sack wrapped around the bumper. Other items lie in the street or against the curb. Laying her bike on the ground, Emily uprights the tricycle. The crossbar is low and it has one basket hanging off the handlebars and another larger one between the rear wheels. She tries sitting on it, her feet barely able to reach the bottom of the pedals. Hopping off, she sees how to lower the seat and adds a set of pliers to her mental list.

  She transfers the blanket to the basket of her newfound mode of transportation and sets out in search of stores. Several bad people are at the next intersection with the main road, standing and looking around as if trying to determine which way to go. Emily stops, her heart clenching with fear. Several in the group look in her direction, their eyes making contact. She lets out a squeak, her hand going to her mouth, trying to pull back the noise and to prevent any further ones. The eye contact is only momentary, the gazes of the others brushing past her. Without notice, the bad people begin trotting away from her down the main road.

  Although still anxious, Emily begins to relax a little more. The actions of the first ones she saw confused her, but it’s apparent that she’s being left alone in this town as well. She still doesn’t like being close to the bad people, but it’s almost like she doesn’t exist in their world. While she knows that’s not totally true, because they’ve definitely seen her, her presence seems to be ignored for some reason.

  With the shadows of the buildings reaching long across the street, Emily parks her trike outside of an outdoors store. Glass crunches under her heels as she walks through one of the broken glass doors. The overhead lights show aisles of camping gear and clothing. Because her new trike has baskets, she feels rich and starts foraging down the aisles. She grabs a sleeping bag, a couple of lanterns, sunscreen, and every battery she can get her hands on.

  She begins moving items out of the store and stuffing them in her baskets, taking notice that her worry about stealing has vanished. Packaged meals, a water filter, a collection of wrenches, a set of metal camping silverware, and dishes all make their way into the rapidly filling baskets. She thought she had all of the room in the world, but the reality is that she can’t take much. At the clothing section, she finds a pair of pants that fit and, without shame, changes into them right there and then. She grabs a couple more, along with a few shirts and a jacket that will fit, adding them to the baskets. She exchanges her pair of sneakers for a pair of hiking boots, having to go into a back room to find them.

  A glass-enclosed counter in the back holds an array of knives and handguns. Emily pauses, wondering if she should take a gun. She’s never used one before, and other than pulling the trigger, she hasn’t the faintest idea how to use it.

  Everybody had one for safety, but if you don’t know how to use it, how would that make it safer? I suppose I could just point it at someone and that would scare them, she thinks, looking over the sinister-looking weapons of silver and black.

  The case is locked, but she smashes it with a hammer hatchet she collected, the sound of the shattering glass filling the store. Emily shrinks back from the loud noise, her feet itching to run. Several screams filter into the store from the streets outside. With her breath caught in her throat, she turns sharply toward the front door.

  The light filtering in from the outside dims even more. Peeking around one of the shelves, Emily sees several silhouettes blocking the door. She want to run, but is unable to move. Her legs feel weak, her knees rubbery. Tears trickle down her cheeks. She looks from the dark forms entering the building to the guns in the case next to her.

  Can I just take one and fire? Are they even loaded?

  Three, then four bad people move inside, the crunch of glass announcing their arrival. Once inside, the interior lights show their faces. Filth tattoos their cheeks, the skin around their mouths deeply stained. Red-rimmed eyes search all corners of the store. Emily hears the harsh labored breaths, sees the grime covering all manner of clothing. She feels the hot tears as they run down her face and drip off her chin. Squeezing her eyelids tightly closed, she presses out the tears blurring her vision.

  Sheer terror fills her small body, fear far beyond the normal fight or flight response, rooting her to the spot. Emily wants to grab one of the guns so badly, but the bad people aren’t paying attention to her and she doesn’t want to draw their notice by moving. The four move deeper into the store, emitting low growls as they search every aisle. Slowly, they all move toward the back of the store…toward her.

  This time, she feels the warm trickle down her leg. She doesn’t care. All of the bad people emerge into the small open space near the counter, surrounding Emily. Tears continue unabated down her face, her heart feeling like it’s being squeezed. The smell of unwashed bodies, stale urine, and feces fills her nostrils, gagging her. She wants to look away from the three men and one woman who entered, but she can’t. She can’t move.

  The four look at her, their eyes brushing over her tiny form. Their mouths open, stained teeth with shreds of food plastered on and in between them, and scream. The piercing sound threatens Emily’s very sanity. She involuntarily shrieks back, her body feeling like liquid. Her heart stops and she feels dizzy, overwhelming terror taking grip.

  More screams erupt from outside. The four turn their heads to the front of the store and, as one, run toward the door. With the stink of their presence still lingering in the air, Emily sinks to the floor, sobbing with her head buried in her hands. The bad people once again left her alone, but the sheer terror of the experience fills her. She leans to the side and vomits, adding to the smell. Finally rising, she quickly grabs a few of the knives on display and runs out of the store, wanting nothing more than to leave the town.

  Tossing the items into the basket, she plops down on the high seat and begins pedaling. The sun setting below the horizon casts the town into dusk, turning everything into a light shade of blue. A group of bad people have gathered around something in one of the side streets. A couple stagger away, their faces stained with fresh blood. In an opening, Emily sees the blood-stained furry body of an animal being torn apart, entrails snaking out onto the pavement.

  A couple of bad people race into the street, knocking one of the others to the side. Unable to catch himself, the one knocked to the side slams headfirst into the side of a car. The solid thunk of the impact rises above the snarls of those feasting. The man slumps to the ground, unmoving. Several bad people look up at the sound of the impact, momentarily eyeing the body. With a shriek, they scoot over to it and descend upon it with growls. Witnessed through gaps between the bad people, Emily watches in horror as dark liquid begins pooling around the body amid the sounds of flesh being torn open.

  She pedals as quickly as she can past the intersection. A few raise their heads at her passage, but none make an attempt to chase her. Her last glimpse is of a horde of bad people crouching and kneeling around the other one, and of the tattered and bloody remains of whatever they had been eating. Frightened beyond belief, with darkness settling across the land, she races out of town as fast as she can.

  Full dark came a while ago, but Emily doesn’t want to be anywhere near the town filled with bad people. Every time she thinks of stopping for the night, an image emerges of them chasing after her and eating her while she sleeps, driving her to keep on pedaling. The moon rides on the nighttime sky, casting enough light for her to see. The highway, a gray line during the day, is now a silver line that runs through shades of light and dark. The whir of her wheels on the pavement doesn’t seem as loud, as if the night is muffling any sound.

  Her fear of what happened fades, but not of what she saw. That will stay with her forever. As long as she doesn’t injure herself, the bad people will leave her alone. Even though she was in stark terror inside of the store, she comes to the conclusion that she’ll remain safe as
long as she remains healthy. That doesn’t mean that she wants to be in the same place as them, but that if she does find herself among them, she might not be as scared. Of course, that doesn’t mean that she’s going to stop pedaling anytime soon.

  She looks across the silvery shadowed landscape, somehow feeling protected. She’s not exactly sure of what has happened inside of her to change her fear of the night, but it’s definitely diminished. Perhaps it’s that there are real things to fear rather than imaginary ones. The depression she felt has lifted for the time being, and for a moment, she feels like she’s on an adventure. She has supplies, but the thought of finding some kind of help weighs upon her when she thinks about it. For now, though, she feels a certain freedom. Going down a small hill, she throws her arms out to the side, cool air brushing past her cheeks.

  Before too long, clouds begin racing across the moon, their edges lit in silver light. Thicker ones completely block out the moonlight, only a faint glow emanating from behind them. More and more arrive, the moonbeams becoming rarer. And then, they vanish completely, the landscape turning an inky black. A faint howl carries from a distance.

  It seems like I’m not the only one who doesn’t want the moon to leave, Emily thinks, only slightly aware that she is no longer afraid of the coyote.

  Pulling out one of her flashlights, she points it on the road and rides until she comes to another overpass. Parking her bike, she takes out a lantern and sets up a small camp on a flat section of ground near the bottom of the bridge. Changing out of her urine-smelling pants into a fresh pair, she crawls into her sleeping bag. She turns down the lantern until there’s barely any light and listens to the wind as it sweeps under the bridge.

  The night…it’s not so bad, she thinks, feeling at peace for the first time in a long while.

  Chapter Thirteen

  South China Sea

  October 8

  “Sir, ASW reports a contact. Range seventy-two miles, bearing three one two degrees,” the Force TAO reports.

  “Is there any indication of type?” Admiral Sulley queries.

  “Sir, the signature indicates a Chinese type 093; a Shang-class nuclear attack sub,” the Lieutenant Commander replies.

  “Very well. Have the Commodore form a special action unit and dispatch the Kidd and Dewey to deal with it. They’re our two best ASW Skippers. Box it out and go active on the buoys if necessary. Let them know their presence isn’t wanted. I want that sub outside of the exclusion zone. Have the task force alter its course to zero five zero degrees,” Sulley orders.

  As the orders are relayed, Sulley stares at the operational map. He’s always disliked operating within the confines of the South China Sea. The sea is cramped for the nearly seventy ship fleet, although that number has shrunk significantly since the virus swept across the globe. With only two real entrances and with the constant harassment from Chinese and Russian forces, it makes for some interesting times.

  I can’t wait until we hit the open waters of the Pacific and join up with the Nimitz, Sulley thinks, watching the blips of USS Kidd and USS Dewey pull out of position and head toward the contact.

  If anything, the waters have become much more dangerous, along with the rest of the world. The virus has toppled most governments, thus effectively removing the social constraints they provided. Anyone left alive can do as they want without fear of reprisal. That also means that they will be able to conduct operations without worrying about the court of world opinion. Still, they have to keep in mind that any survivors will have some similarly very itchy trigger fingers. They’ll have to tread very carefully in order not to escalate things, which could happen quickly if they’re provoked—as evidenced by the trawler lying dead in the water miles astern and by the nervous tension created by the sub hovering near the outer limits. Sulley hopes the sub will take the message and creep away.

  Aboard the USS Kidd, Commander Griffith watches the operational screen. Dots appear as a new line of sonobuoys are deployed. They’ve had several HOT passive buoys. To all appearances, the Chinese Type 093 sub—designated as contact Alpha-One—is trying to makes its way through the outer screen of ASW vessels. Each time, the USS Dewey maneuvers into a new position directly ahead of the plotted course. Any sub commander worth their salt will know that they are being tracked. And, with their position known, the correct decision would be to withdraw, especially given the current situation.

  The Kidd’s job is to run quietly, shadow, and listen. The Chinese sub will be concentrating on the Dewey. They’ll work on being subtle at first. Griffith’s line of reasoning is that it’s better to know where an attack sub is and to be able to monitor it than to have to search miles of ocean for the quiet vessels. However, the admiral made it clear that they want it out of the exclusion zone. The best solution is to have the sub commander realize that it’s fruitless and withdraw on his own. They have to know that any fleet will operate on a one hundred percent alert, if not an outright wartime footing. He hopes the commander will feel his vulnerability and retire. Griffith also knows that he doesn’t have a lot of time to convey the message peacefully.

  “Sir. Lima-Five is HOT. Range two thousand yards, bearing three zero five. It’s the Chinese boat attempting to squirt behind the Dewey,” reports the sailor monitoring the helicopter-dropped buoys.

  “Enough of this. Go active on Lima-Five. Let’s give them a very clear message that we know they’re there and that their invitation is revoked,” Griffith commands.

  “Aye, aye, sir.”

  Griffith watches the board, noting the pulsing buoy of the last contact and the plotted course of the Chinese sub. The line zigs back and forth as it attempts to find a hole through the outer screen. The fleet cannot allow that to happen. The thought of having an attack sub loose between the inner and outer screens is not a pleasant one.

  “Positive contact on Alpha-One. Range nineteen hundred yards, still bearing three zero five degrees, depth three hundred meters,” the sailor reports.

  “Active screw sounds. They’ve increased speed and are turning away,” the sailor adds a few seconds later.

  “Have the Dewey dash ahead and tell the ASW crews to lay a passive line along Alpha-One’s new projected course, with a second one between us and the Dewey,” Griffith orders. “And try to keep tabs on Alpha-One.”

  “Aye, aye, sir.

  Thirty minutes pass without any sign from the Chinese sub. ASW (Anti-submarine warfare) helicopters are rotated in and out. Griffith has played this game many times and knows that, in past times, the sub would attempt to penetrate the perimeter from a different angle. The usual game will either play out that way, or the sub will feel vulnerable and retire.

  “Buoys are HOT. Contact range two thousand yards, bearing two two five,” the report comes in. “Verified as Chinese Shang-class submarine.”

  Trying to come in behind, Griffith thinks. “Label it as Alpha-Two.”

  “Sir, Admiral Sulley is on the line,” a sailor states.

  “Patch it through,” Griffith says.

  “Commander, what’s the situation out there?” the admiral queries.

  “We have a Chinese Shang-class nuke boat trying to penetrate for a second time. We’ve gone active on the buoy to send a loud and clear message,” Griffith answers.

  “Range from the Reagan?”

  “Seventy four miles, sir,” Griffith answers.

  “GODDAMMIT Commander. I want that sub out of here. I don’t care how you do it. Chase it away, sink it, do whatever you have to. They already know the message. I don’t give a damn that the commander may have mommy issues and needs to prove himself. Just get it out of my hair,” Admiral Sulley commands.

  “Aye, aye, sir.”

  “Get the Sea Hawks dipping out there to prosecute the contact,” Griffith orders, getting off the line with the admiral. “Bring the Dewey back on station.”

  “Sir, they’re turning away again,” a sailor reports seconds later.

  Laying line after line of buoy
s, another hour passes without any indication that the sub is returning. On the other side of the task force, the same vigilance is being held in case the sub tries to go the long way around. Ahead of the force’s course, a thick line of buoys are in place. The next course for the sub would be to dash ahead of the fleet and quietly lie in wait for the forward screen to pass overhead. The force’s course is altered drastically over time, but it wouldn’t be difficult to guess that the ships are attempting to exit the South China Sea and to plot their overall course.

  “Sir. Buoy Tango-Six is HOT. Range two thousand two hundred yards, bearing three four zero.”

  “This guy is like a fucking mosquito in a tent at night,” Griffith mutters. “Okay. They’ve been given their chance. Get those choppers on top of him and prosecute. Pinpoint this prick and drop him,” Griffith orders.

  Sixteen minutes later, Griffith parks the USS Kidd away from the contact. The sub is attempting to maneuver away and transiting above and below the thermocline layer in order to escape the sonar. The SH-60 Seahawk crews have been using their dipping sonars both above and below the layer in order to keep track of the Chinese sub. While transiting, Griffith has his crew ready the ships defenses, as does the crew of the Dewey.

  “Sir, sounds of outer doors opening on Alpha contact.”

  Griffith gives the order for the Sea Hawks to release their torpedoes. The first Mark 46 torpedo is dropped, sea water splashing up and out as it enters and dives deep. As it dives, the torpedo goes into a snake search pattern, turning left and right to give its search sonar a wider pattern to locate its target and home in. Behind it, two others splash into the South China Sea.