by Mike Kraus
“Jason!” Sarah ran from the front porch of Dianne’s house, shouting at the sight of her husband being pulled from the truck. Somehow Dianne had managed to get them back to the house in just under thirty minutes despite both the rough terrain and having to drive in the dark. She had radioed Sarah on the way back in the hopes of preparing her for what was coming but the line had been spotty as they drove through thick trees and behind hills and she hadn’t been able to get a clear message back. Tina had managed to slow Jason’s bleeding during the drive but he was still doing poorly and as Sarah ran to Jason and tried to grab him Dianne had to hold up a hand to stop her.
“Sarah! Help us get him inside, quick!” Dianne’s stern voice broke through to Sarah and she nodded numbly and took Tina’s place on the other side from Dianne.
“Mom?” Mark stepped off the porch, his rifle in his hands. “What happened?” He smiled and waved as he saw Tina hurrying toward the house. “Mrs. Carson! You’re okay!”
Tina, still wearing her dirty bathrobe and slippers, nodded at him and smiled grimly. “Good to see you, Mark. Jason got hurt pretty badly. Can you round up any hand sanitizer you’ve got and clear off your dining room table? I also need lights. As many as you’ve got. I’ll need to clean out his wound and stitch it.”
“Yeah, I think we’ve—”
“Don’t tell me, just get everything together, okay? We have to hurry if we’re going to save him.” The combination of Tina’s serious tone and her disheveled appearance made Mark realize just how serious the situation was. He nodded and ran back into the house to start getting things ready while Tina followed behind.
“Do you all have running water?” Tina asked Mark. He flipped on a light switch to the hall and Tina squinted at the sudden brightness.
“Water and lights, yeah. We’re running off solar.”
“Fantastic. I’ll wash up at the sink. Can you get me a big plastic trash bag or something? I just need something to wear over this stupid robe while I’m working on him.”
“Yep, got it.” Mark pulled out a black plastic trash bag from beneath the sink.
“Perfect. Cut a hole in the top and sides for my arms. Make sure you clean the table off with hand sanitizer. I want it to be as sterile as possible.” Tina stood in front of the faucet and began scrubbing her hands under hot water, washing off layers of dirt and grime. After Mark finished with the trash bag he hurried into the dining room and cleared off the table before spreading out a plastic tablecloth across the top. Tina pulled her makeshift covering on and started washing her hands again as Mark quickly wiped down the tablecloth with alcohol-based hand sanitizer.
By the time Tina was finishing up with her final round of hand washing Dianne and Sarah had brought Jason into the house. Tina directed them to get him up on the table as she rummaged through a bag of medical supplies given to her by Mark. She pulled out a pair of scissors and quickly cut Jason’s shirt off, having already taken off his jacket when they were in the truck. With the dining room lights and a couple of tall lamps brought in by Mark she could finally get a good look at what was going on.
“Christ. Looks like they nicked his liver. No wonder he’s been bleeding like a stuck pig.” She looked at Sarah. “Do you know his blood type?”
“B positive, I think.” Sarah stood on the other side of Jason, clutching his pale, cold hand.
“Anybody here B positive?”
“I’m O negative.” Dianne stepped closer to Tina. “It’s the universal donor, right? That’s what they tell me when they call me twice a month to pester me about giving even more blood than I already do.”
Tina threw a bony thumb over her shoulder in the direction of the kitchen. “Get in there and get cleaned up. I want both of your arms washed and ready to go. Mark, dig around in that kit some more; I’m pretty sure I saw a line and a couple of needles in a packet in there.”
Dianne pulled off her jacket and rolled up both sleeves as she went into the kitchen to wash her arms. Tina focused back on Jason’s wound, cleaning it out with a sealed bottle of water she had found sitting on the floor in the kitchen.
“Shouldn’t you use something else to clean that out?” Sarah spoke up from across the table as she stood on her toes to watch Tina work.
“Nope. Alcohol or hydrogen peroxide can do more harm than good. Just need to wash it out thoroughly, seal it up and get him started on some antibiotics. Hey, Dianne?” Tina shouted into the next room.
“Yes?” Dianne called back as she walked back in, drying water from her hands but leaving her arms wet to air dry until Tina told her what to do next.
“You have general antibiotics around, right?”
Dianne nodded. “Some old stuff, yeah. We don’t have a lot, though.”
“Can Mark go look for them?”
Dianne looked at her son. “In the big box we put away, remember? The pill bottles. Grab all—well, no. Just bring the whole box in. Set it on the table in the kitchen and we’ll go through it in a bit.”
Mark nodded and ran off to find the box of supplies. Dianne walked over near Tina and looked at Jason’s side before wincing and turning away. “That looks bad. How’s he looking?”
“The wound’s not terrible. He’s not doing well, though. He needs blood right now.” She looked at Dianne. “You ready?”
Dianne nodded. “How are we doing this?”
Mark, having already retrieved the box of medicine, was standing quietly in the corner holding a pair of sealed plastic tubes, IV needles and small bags used for saline or medicine. Tina motioned at Mark. “Give those to your mom. Dianne, open both bags, take the needle out of the end of one of the lines and jam it into the other line. We need a line with a needle at both ends. This’ll be a direct blood transfusion.”
“Are you sure it’ll work?” Dianne spoke as she worked, manipulating the plastic tubing and the sealed needles as requested.
“Gravity works in mysterious ways.” Tina looked over the line that Dianne had put together and nodded. “Okay. I need to wash up real quick then we’ll do this. Sarah, come around the side here and hold this compress in place. I’ll tape it up once we finish the transfusion. We should have done this right away but it would have been difficult to do in the truck.” Tina hurried to the kitchen to dispose of her gloves and wash the blood from her arms. She returned and rummaged through the medicine box until she found a couple packs of alcohol wipes and pointed at where she wanted Dianne to stand before putting on a fresh set of gloves.
“Stand there, on the left side. Sarah and Mark, you two need to stand next to her. You’re going to feel woozy once we get into this but I need you to be elevated so we make sure the blood flows through, okay?”
Dianne nodded and stepped over next to Jason. She put her hand on his bare shoulder, shuddering at how cold he felt. She wanted to ask Tina for the details on how Jason was doing and what she thought his chances at survival were but with Sarah in the room—and very close to breaking down over the condition of her husband—she held her tongue. Tina inserted the tip of the needle into Dianne’s arm smoothly and swiftly, working off of years of experience of performing dozens of similar operations nearly every day.
Blood filled the line, quickly running down to the opposite end where it began to dribble out. Tina used a piece of scotch tape to hold the line and needle down on Dianne’s arm and began tapping the tube and the needle at the other end gently to ensure there weren’t any large air bubbles in the line. Once she was satisfied, she inserted the other needle into Jason’s arm and taped it down before turning to Dianne. “This is crude as hell but it’ll do.”
“How long will it take?”
“Should be about half a liter every fifteen minutes or so. I’d like to give him two liters, if you’re up for it.”
“That sounds like a lot.”
“Yep.” Tina nodded. “He lost a lot, though.”
Dianne sighed and nodded. “Whatever it takes. I’ll stay up for as long as I can but I don’t mind telling y
ou I’m already starting to feel a little bit dizzy.”
“Hang in there. You’ve got this.”
Chapter 7
Somewhere in Russia
“Sir?” The man steps into the wood-paneled room with trepidation. Tchaikovsky pours from speakers built into the walls, turned to a high enough volume that the man cannot be heard. He clears his throat and speaks again, trying to attract the attention of the man in the leather chair near the side of the room.
“Sir? I have news.” The man in the leather chair takes in a mouthful of smoke, letting it swirl against his cheeks and tongue before expelling it in a gentle plume.
“What is it?” The man in the leather chair doesn’t bother turning or looking up as he asks the question. His attention is divided equally between his cigar and the projected image of a roaring fire on a television screen in front of him. The screen is a poor substitute for the real thing but so far beneath the earth there is little chance of seeing a proper fire in a fireplace.
“The technicians found something in the code of the virus, sir. A communications protocol. They say that the virus can receive commands, potentially even a shutdown command.”
The Russian president has his cigar halfway back to his mouth when his body freezes in place. A slight trail of smoke rises from the end of the cigar, tracing a lazy path to the ceiling where a smoke detector has been conveniently disconnected. “Communications protocol? How did they discover this?”
“They outfitted a device to log what happened to it as the virus took control, then they infected the device. Near the end, when the infection process was completing, there was a block of data that quite clearly checked for a remote command input.”
“Did they try giving it a command?”
“It’s… it’s encrypted, sir. Impossible to crack. Even if we still had access to the Galileo project we still wouldn’t be able to do it.”
While most would be deterred by the disappointing news, the Russian president sees the new information as an opportunity in spite of the obstacles still in the way. He rolls his cigar between his thumb and forefinger, pondering the discovery in silence for a few moments before responding. “Do they still believe the software to originate from the NSA?”
“That is who developed this iteration of it, yes. It shares traits from numerous other projects but the fingerprints of that agency are all over it.”
“Then it stands to reason that the NSA would have the means to interface with the virus. They would have the key required, yes?”
“Undoubtedly. Which begs the question of why they wouldn’t shut it down themselves.”
“They are a bureaucracy a kilometer thick. I can think of a dozen reasons why they would have neglected to shut down the virus after it escaped into the wild. All of them are equally plausible.” The president sighs and looks at his cigar. The embers in the end have gone out, leaving the stick of tobacco to grow cold. He places it down on a table next to his chair and stands up. “Follow me.” The younger officer dutifully follows the president, scribbling everything his commander asks and tells him into a small notebook.
“How many aircraft are operational that can reach the eastern coast of the United States?”
“One… no, two, perhaps. One undoubtedly. I am not sure about the second.”
“One is all we’ll need. Which is it?”
“The Tupolev. Stationed two hundred miles away from us. With external tanks it can make the journey, but it will not be able to return.”
“It won’t have to. Which special forces teams do we have close to the air base where it’s stationed?”
“That I do not know, sir.”
“Find out. I want a team—a small team, two at most who will protect two technicians—on the aircraft within the next forty-eight hours. They will insert into American airspace above Washington, DC and parachute in. Once there they will proceed to the NSA headquarters and extract the necessary information required to communicate with the virus. They are authorized to use any means necessary to secure and extract the information—I want this point made clear to the guards especially.
“Once the information is secure, they will transmit it to us via satellite and then prepare for a long-term stay in hostile territory.” The president glances at the young man, watching the officer’s face to see just how shaken he has become.
To his credit the officer holds himself together, though he is having difficulties processing what he is hearing. “Sir… forgive me, but… you intend to send a four-man team to infiltrate the headquarters of one of the premiere intelligence agencies in the United States? And not even four men if two of them are technicians.” The officer shakes his head in confusion. “I don’t see how this could possibly succeed.”
“Did you know that the Americans have all but abandoned their capitol? There are some forces still in place, but they are guarding the symbolic locations. The other locations, including the NSA, have been left unguarded. We assume they purged the data from those locations but they will not have purged it all. There will be information left about this virus. The team will find that information and deliver it back to us.” The president’s lips draw tight into a thin, cold smile. “And once we are free of this weapon we will be happy to help others regain their freedom as well. For a price, of course.”
Chapter 8
Kansas City, Missouri
When Rick first heard the ominous sounds of glass breaking and metal falling he half-expected the building to cave in on top of them. The gunfire coming from the front of the store, the panicked screams from Jane as she ran for cover and the shouting from Dr. Evans as he tried to get everyone back together were not at all what he had anticipated hearing and experiencing. Bullets whizzed past, snapping as they hit metal shelving and ricocheted off of the polished concrete floor. Whoever was firing on them had a miserable aim and Rick wondered how they could miss every single shot on three targets in the relative open in broad daylight.
“Back here, hurry!” Dr. Evans waved at Jane and Rick from an aisle in front of the store’s empty pharmacy department. They ran to him, finding him holding open a door into the employees-only area as he tried to maneuver their cart full of consolidated supplies through the narrow opening.
Rick pushed Jane ahead while he hung back, drawing his pistol and racking the slide in one smooth motion. He listened as the sounds of gunfire stopped and were replaced by the shouts of a group of people at least five strong. Looking around at the layout of the back of the pharmacy, Frank decided that retreat wasn’t their best option.
“Hey! Hold up back there.” Rick whispered to Jane and Dr. Evans as the two tried to push the cart past piles of boxes in the hall.
“What? We have to get out of here!” Dr. Evans exclaimed.
“Nope. We’re staying and fighting this one.” Rick shook his head defiantly.
“Are you insane?!” Jane looked at him, her eyes wide and her face covered in fear.
“They’re terrible shots. And listen—they’re running straight down here at us. We have to get out through the main entrance if we want a clear shot back at our car. Our best bet is to challenge them, kill as many as we can and push them back. Once we do that we’ll take the cart and run straight out the front of the building.”
“What if there are more out there?”
“There won’t be.”
“How can you possibly know that?” Dr. Evans huffed as he watched out into the store, nervously awaiting the imminent arrival of the hostile group.
“Because people who attack willy-nilly like this don’t think strategically.”
“Are you willing to bet our lives on it?” Jane asked quietly.
“One hundred percent.” Rick nodded, confident not so much in his assessment of the situation but in the knowledge that if they didn’t put up a strong defense against their attackers then they’d be at a serious disadvantage trying to retreat farther into the store.
“Okay, what do we do?”
“Dr. Eva
ns, you stay here. Keep the door closed and locked. If you see anyone coming close, shoot through the glass. Aim for the chest and prepare yourself for the recoil of the gun. I need you waiting there with the supplies ready to move out on my signal. Jane, you come with me.” Rick pushed open the door into the area of the pharmacy where the pharmacists and assistants spent their time, stepping over empty shelves and pill bottles that had long since been ransacked. “Stay here, under the counter. Keep your gun ready but don’t shoot unless I tell you. We need to conserve ammo for that thing.”
Jane nodded, squatting down so that she could just barely see over the pickup counter. Rick scurried down and around to the drop-off counter and knelt down. He took two of the spare magazines for the pistol from his pocket and dumped a few dozen rounds of ammunition onto the ground from one of the boxes he had grabbed from the shopping cart. He quickly loaded one of the magazines and put it back into his pocket. He was halfway through loading the second when he heard the sound of nearby footsteps and paused, placing the half-filled magazine on the ground and gripping his weapon firmly with both hands.
The first figure to pop out was a young woman, her face covered with dirt and her clothes both torn and a size or two too large for her frame. She ran along, holding a rifle in her hands as she looked to the left and right, searching for Rick, Jane and Dr. Evans. Rick popped up from behind the counter and squeezed the trigger, emptying his magazine in the woman’s direction. At least three of the rounds connected with the torso and legs and she screamed in pain as she fell, her body making a sound like a sack of mashed potatoes hitting the ground.
Rick dropped back behind the counter and ejected the magazine before popping a fresh one in and popping the slide forward. He glanced over at Jane who had her hands over her ears as she watched him. “Come here!” He waved at her as he whispered and she crawled to him. “See this?” He held up the partially filled magazine and pointed at the bullets on the floor. “Push them in from the top and line them up with the others like this. Once you do this one, fill this empty one, too. Make sure you put them in correctly, though!”
