ARES Virus (Book 2): White Horse

by John O'Brien

  Griffith feels the Kidd tremble and lurch as it picks up speed, the bow turning across the horizon as they make their way to a greater distance. The Chinese sub, feeling cornered, is preparing to launch something, whether that be a torpedo of its own or anti-air rockets, and Griffith plans for all of the assets under his temporary command to be out of range.

  “Notify the Commodore that we’ve launched and to be prepared for incoming. The Force TAOI can tell the Admiral,” Griffith commands.

  “Aye, aye, sir.”

  “Sir, torpedo number one has gone active and is homing. The contact is sprinting.”

  The combat information center aboard the Kidd goes silent, every eye and ear on the sailor monitoring the torpedoes.

  “Counter measures deployed.”

  “Number two is now active and homing.”

  “Number one is chasing the decoy.”

  The numbers for the first torpedo go silent.

  “Number one proximity detonated on the decoy. Contact is changing depth and sprinting. Number two is locked on and closing.”

  A few seconds later, in the distance, the surface of the sea boils, becoming turbulent before erupting in a geyser from the explosion that occurred deep below.

  “Contact released counter measures and turned hard to port. Number three active and homing.”

  “Any sign of a launch from them?” Griffith queries.

  “No sir. They may have shut their doors for speed when they heard our torps hit the water.”

  “Very well.”

  “Number two turning with the contact…closing.”

  The numbers from torpedo two vanish.

  “Proximity hit from number two. Contact slowing. Number three closing…hit. Break up sounds from the contact.”

  The room is silent. Even though this kind of combat is mostly a video game, without ever laying eyes on the enemy, the noises coming through the surviving buoys tell of a hundred lives lost. With the hull warped or penetrated, the pressure at the depth the sub was would crush it like a beer can. The pops and groans tell of steel bending and breaking. A hundred people, their last moments filled with the fear that they aren’t going to be able to evade the fish closing in…their bodies forever trapped in their steel tomb.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Kansas

  October 9

  It took most of the day for his nerves to settle fully down. The adrenaline quickly dissipated, leaving Koenig drained. Liz had to drive until they found a place for the night. Koenig replayed the event at the farmhouse in his mind over and over again, but still isn’t entirely sure what happened or how he managed to come out on the winning end. Each time he replays it, it’s as if he is watching someone else do it, like he is in the audience watching a film.

  Most of it plays in slow motion. He sees the sidearm coming into view, the slide racking back, the glimmer of a spent shell casing being ejected, the spray of gore behind the infected man’s head. He hears the screaming, maybe even his own, he’s not sure. The loud, sharp crack of gunfire. If he concentrates hard enough, he can hear the shell casing tink against the driver’s side window.

  I might be imagining that, though.

  But, the sound is there in the film nonetheless. However hard he tries to place himself into the movie in his mind, he can’t feel his finger tighten on the trigger, doesn’t feel the recoil, can’t feel the pressure on his arms as he pushes the infected to the side. There are two things that do ring loud and clear: the frozen image of the man’s face just before the bullet tore through his throat, the expression wild. The bloodshot eyes filled with an overwhelming rage, the mouth open, the face twisted so that it doesn’t really look human anymore. The other thing present is the crushing fear.

  Fear is too mild of a word. Terror is closer, but that still doesn’t seem to cover what I felt.

  He doesn’t keep replaying the scene for anything other than the disassociation he feels with it. He’s never experienced anything close to it and feels that if he replays it enough times, he will gradually impose himself into it. He pulls out of his introspection and into the current world.

  Looking out the windows, the landscape of fields is infinite. Sometime either last night or during the morning, they traversed into Kansas. If he had thought Missouri was sparsely populated, Kansas is damn near uninhabited. The plowed fields are only interrupted by farmhouses every few miles. For most of the time, the only things in sight are fences, dirt fields, and a few growing crops. It’s so flat that he knows the trail of dust they’re leaving in their wake can be seen for miles. The lack of a breeze allows the dust to hang in the air for a long while as gravity slowly pulls the fine particles back to earth.

  He didn’t realize that these dirt back roads formed grids across nearly the whole land. The only obstacles they’ve encountered on the trek have been waterways. He can’t count the number of times they’ve had to backtrack to find a different route when the crossing indicated on Liz’s map program wasn’t there—the road just ending at the stream’s edge. A couple of times, they discussed crossing the water, but ended up turning around and finding a different route.

  That was what happened a short time ago. The creek looked like it could be forded, but Koenig didn’t want to chance getting stuck. They probably could have walked to the nearest farm and grabbed one of the tractors to pull them out if that had occurred, but he wants to limit any further farmhouse visits until they need fuel. The only other option is to cross at a highway to the south. Having to enter a major road causes some anxiety, even though there aren’t any towns nearby.

  As they draw closer, Liz slows down to minimize the trailing dust cloud. By the time they are within visible range of the paved road, they’re creeping along the dirt track at a slow crawl. Liz stops the car at the edge of the intersection, barely protruding from the crops growing on both sides of them. The highway just to the front runs straight and stretches for miles.

  Koenig pulls the binoculars out and looks left. As with the landscape they’ve traveled through all morning, it’s empty, the fences and pavement narrowing to almost meet at the edge of his vision. Looking right, he sees where a small bridge spans the creek they’re trying to get over. A little ways past the crossing, a rest area branches to the side, complete with the familiar concrete walls of bathrooms and billboards hosting notices and maps. On either side of the bathrooms, a line of thin trees provide a margin of shade for several picnic tables. The parking lot is empty except for an RV and a couple of pickup trucks.

  Movement on the far side of the bathrooms is what catches his attention. He turns the focus knob in micro movements, attempting to bring the scene into a sharper image. From what he can see, an older man and woman are sitting on the grass near one of the picnic tables. There’s a group of four others around them, kicking at something on the ground. Two armed men stand near the older couple. Looking closer, he sees another woman sitting just to the side of the couple. The four men stop what they’re doing and back away, looking down at a bloodied and unmoving form.

  “What do you see, James?” Liz asks.

  “I’m not entirely sure. There are nine people at a rest stop. Ten if you count one on the ground that just got curb-stomped. It seems like they might be together and found one of the infected. But they’re not masked, so I’m not really certain,” Koenig answers, lowering the binoculars.

  Liz takes them, and, leaning forward, looks toward the rest stop. She doesn’t look long, and with a gasp, sets them on the dash.

  “James, they’re not together. Those three sitting are tied to the trees. That family is being attacked,” Liz states.

  She again raises the binoculars. “Oh shit, James, they’re going to…going to…shit, I can’t even say it. They’re going to hurt that poor girl. Hurt that entire family.”

  Koenig takes the glasses and looks. The four who were kicking the one on the ground are standing near the unmoving body, pointing toward the one woman and laughing. Looking harder, he sees weapon
s slung across their shoulders, all military-style rifles. That makes six armed men. Koenig lowers the binoculars, sickened.

  “What are we doing to do?” Liz questions.

  “Nothing. There’s nothing we can do,” Koenig replies.

  “What do you mean nothing? We have to do something.”

  “That’s six armed men against, what? Me? Us? They all have some type of carbine and we have a handgun, a shotgun, and a hunting rifle. If we get closer, they’ll see us coming the moment we enter the highway. That’s if they don’t already know that we’re here from the dust cloud. We wouldn’t stand a chance and would only find ourselves in the same boat as that unfortunate family,” Koenig says.

  “James. If we don’t do something, they’re going to rape that girl and kill the lot of them,” Liz firmly states.

  “I’m as sickened by it as you are, but there’s nothing we can possibly do to help. We have to weigh our survival against what actions we take. Believe me, if I were some Rambo type, I’d be down there. But I’m not, and neither are you. It sucks, but I don’t think there’s anything we can do to help,” Koenig responds.

  “And you can live with that?”

  “Not very well, no. I’ll live, but this will haunt me. We have to expect bullies to take as they please in a world without rules, stopping them when we can—but surviving is the thing we have to hold above everything else. If you can think of a way to help that poor family, yet keep us relatively safe at the same time, I’m all ears.”

  “You’re a pretty good shot with the .270.”

  “Not at this distance. I may as well hurl rocks from a sling.”

  “Then get closer,” Liz comments.

  “Woman, you are bound and determined to get me killed.”

  “No, James, I’m not,” Liz says, laying a hand on his arm. “I’m sorry, but what’s about to happen over there just disgusts me to my core.”

  Koenig recalls the night Liz told him about an experience she’d had in college. She said it once and never mentioned it again. With a deep sigh, seeming to let more than just air out and feeling deflated, James looks toward Liz and then the rest area. He looks at the surrounding terrain, paying close attention to the line of trees rising near the banks of the stream. He visualizes an approach that may keep him hidden while getting him closer. However, it will also put him out on a limb if things veer the wrong way. He’ll be on foot against six armed men without much firepower to counteract their numbers. He sighs again, his cheeks puffing.

  “Me too. Okay, it’s not much of one, but here’s the plan. I’m going to work my way through the field to the creek and try to get closer via the tree line. If the distance is right and I can get clear shots, then I’ll take them. If not, I’m going to come right back. We’ll try, but no promises. You stay here with the car. If anything goes wrong or they begin heading this way, inch back without raising dust and I’ll meet you where that bridge was supposed to be,” Koenig says, staring into her eyes.

  “James, I’m not going to leave with you out there.”

  “I mean it, Liz. You get the hell away from here. Promise me. That’s the only way this is going to work.”

  Liz tightens her grip on Koenig’s arm.

  “James, I really don’t want for you to go out at all. I was overreacting. I just…I just feel for those poor folks over there.”

  “I know, me too. But, you’re right; we should do something if we’re able to. Our conscience dictates that. It may be that there’s nothing we can do, but we should try. So, stay here, but I need your promise that you’ll get away if things go awry. You have to promise me.”

  “Okay, James. I promise that I’ll meet you at the creek if it starts looking bad. But, you have to promise me that you won’t take unnecessary risks.”

  Koenig wanly smiles inside. The mere act of stepping through the door is an unnecessary risk.

  He pushes the door open and stares at the stones mixed with dirt on the ground. Putting his foot onto the soil will be the first act that could very well lead to their end here on this lonely road in the middle of nowhere, just one more set of bones joining the millions of others lying on the ground. Koenig feels the heat of the day, adding to the warmth of the suit. He knows that he isn’t trained for this type of thing…that he’ll be hampered by the protection he’s wearing. The purity of thought of wanting to help others, to do the right thing, that he had moments ago fades as the reality of action sets in. Wanting to do something and actually doing it are two completely different worlds.

  Fuck it. If this is going to happen, might as well get on with it, Koenig thinks, swinging his legs out of the door.

  He pops the hatch and retrieves the shotgun, hunting rifle, and a box of ammo. Returning to the side, he lays the handgun and shotgun on the passenger seat. Locking eyes with Liz, he smiles, although the mask prevents her from actually seeing it. Her eyes portray the smile she gives in return. With a nod, he backs up and closes the door.

  Standing next to the fence brings what he’s doing into reality. The picture images he formed in the thought process of doing something represented the final actions, and not those required to get there. Just getting across a fence with his protective gear on nearly stymies him. The barbed wire is likely to snag on his suit and possibly tear a hole through it. It’s not that the airborne nature of the virus will likely infect him should that happen, but the testing wasn’t complete before the world fell. If the suit becomes breached, there’s a chance that he could become infected if the contagion were to make its way to an open sore.

  Leaning the rifle against the strands of wire next to a pole and placing the ammo next to it, he parts two strands between posts and steps through, taking care not to let the top wire snag his suit. Managing to get through, he retrieves his weapon and starts through the field. He shuffles sideways through the crop that stands taller than his head, knowing that otherwise the tops will sway and possibly give away his position. The unmoving air within the tall stalks is stifling and he feels like he’s breathing hot fumes above some forge. Sweat rolls down his body inside the suit and he’s soon drenched. Again, he thinks of the difference between an idea hatched in the relative comfort of an air-conditioned vehicle and the actuality of doing it.

  His vision is restricted to only a couple of feet. Thick stalks surround him on all sides, his only indication of direction provided by the sun high overhead. It’s far enough into the afternoon that he’s able to stay on a reliable path by keeping the sun in front of him and slightly to the left.

  With hardly any warning, he stumbles out of the field. On the other side of another barbed-wire fence, an area of scrubland abuts a thin screen of trees. Koenig eyes the thick bushes, trying to see an easy path to the creek. Realizing that he’s going to have to push through the shrubs, he glances toward the highway. Just before the road vanishes behind the trees, he sees part of the bridge spanning the stream. He’s relieved to see no one traveling down the paved surface. One of his fears was that the assailants would see the dust trail they left behind and head their way.

  Maybe they did and I missed it, he thinks, gazing back toward the car, trying to see through the thick stalks.

  He wishes he and Liz had a set of walkie talkies.

  Maybe I should head back, he thinks, contemplating just giving up and returning. No, I’m here and may as well press on. Besides, I didn’t hear any cars on the road, so she should be fine.

  Turning his attention back to the front, he tries to see the rest area through the trees, but it’s lost from sight beyond. Crossing the fence in a fashion similar to before, Koenig enters the scrubland. He pushes through intertwining branches, fighting his way through while trying to be quiet. There’s no way to effectively do both, so he raises his arms and bulls through, hoping the sound doesn’t carry all of the way to the rest area.

  The bushes end and he steps into the shade of the trees. His mouth is dry and his clothes underneath are soaked from the heat and exertion. Taking a moment t
o recuperate, he places his hands on his knees until the panting and dizziness fade. Smaller bushes grow next to the creek making its way over sandy soil, but the way through the trees remains clear and easy to traverse.

  Wanting to be on the other side, Koenig crosses, wading through the knee-deep stream. He considers discarding the suit to make it easier, tempted by the image of those at the rest area not wearing any masks and obviously not infected. He contemplates the risks. He weighs the possibility of becoming infected versus freedom of movement. Even though no one was wearing masks, that doesn’t mean that they aren’t currently getting the virus from the others. The manifestation is approximately forty-eight hours, so them not wearing a mask doesn’t mean that it’s safe.

  They could also be carriers. On the other hand, I’m not going to be close.

  He ponders the situation, considering events that could change the distance. They could chase after him. He would be easy to catch while wearing the suit.

  That’s both a plus and a minus for keeping the suit.

  His mind cycles through so many things that he stands motionless while the thoughts race through his head. He thinks of everything from having the wind suddenly kick up to getting scratches on his bare skin.

  This is stupid. Just keep the damn thing on and let’s get this over with, he thinks, stepping forward.

  He’s worn the suit for several days in a row, he and Liz taking breaks to remove them for brief periods far away from any place that might have people. Over time, he’s become somewhat accustomed to wearing it, but is also weary of it.

  I can’t wait until we can remove these things entirely.

  Koenig walks along the inside of the tree line, keeping his eyes glued toward where he thinks the rest area is. He tries to keep hidden behind the trees, but steps up to the edge at intervals to measure his progress. The creek’s path meanders. Rounding one corner, he sees another just ahead.

  Walking to the edge of the tree line again, he’s finally able to see much of the rest area across an open field. Koenig works his way from tree to tree, attempting to get the best view he can. Near a trunk where he can see the entire group through the trees shading the picnic area, he kneels and looks through his scope, turning it to the 10× setting.