The United Federation Marine Corps' Lysander Twins: The Complete Series: Books 1-5

by Jonathan P. Brazee

  For the people who had the virus, they went through a surface contamination, then were sent to Building A receiving, where Dr. Ericsson and her staff conducted more detailed tests.

  Esther thought it disheartening to know that the compound was designated as a “contaminated area.” They were there to fight the virus, not harbor it. But it made sense. Sick people were coming to them, and sick people brought the virus with them. That was why egress from the compound was more difficult. Every single person leaving had to enter the decon chamber, which was a 1.5-meter-wide by 2.3-meter-tall container that looked like a walk-in cooler. Once inside, the person was bombarded with irradiation, ultrasonic, and chemical washes that should kill any virus on the outside of the body. Next, they went through another scanner. Anyone still contaminated had the virus inside of them, and they were denied egress. They were to be returned to the compound, by force if necessary, by the single police officer the government had sent to stand outside the compound.

  Bing had told them that this was set in stone, and after she, Jim, and Michelle had discussed just what he meant, they didn’t quite know what they could do if the cop outside the gate couldn’t or wouldn’t stop anyone from leaving. Officially, the project was not armed, as was FAID policy, but she and Jim had packed along a single case of M99’s, something they hadn’t yet mentioned to anyone else. Esther and Jim decided that those weapons would only see the light of day if it came to protecting the camp—the director’s story about Manteo’s Grace had a significant impact on their thinking—but they would not use them to stop people from leaving. A better choice would be to simply gang-rush the person or people and hope their PPE’s maintained integrity in any scuffle.

  Jim, Michelle, and she watched the first few new patients go through the entry procedures. The three guards on duty seemed to have a handle on it.

  Esther had told Michelle to make her own hours. She and Jim would be 12 on and 12 off, not that she thought she’d be anywhere else when she was awake. She’d been somewhat surprised that the FAID team was berthed in a nearby hotel, largely abandoned as people fled the capital. She had assumed that they would stay in the compound, but when she mentioned that, Bing had said that he needed to get people out of their PPEs where they could get a good meal, clean up, and relax.

  That made sense to her. Watching person after person die had to mess up even the most hardened of them. Still, she saw the cot placed behind his work station, and she thought the project leader would probably spend most of his time there.

  Esther, on the other hand, was hardened. She’d killed before, often. She wasn’t going to be bothered by people dying.

  “Let’s check out Receiving, then the lab. If Bing doesn’t have anything for us, you go get some shut-eye,” she told Jim.

  Together, they walked up to Building A, Receiving. The prone patients were gone, and chairs had been set up for the line of people. Some looked at them with sullen eyes as the two of them walked up, probably resenting the fact that the two of them didn’t have the virus while they did, but most looked up at them with hope. They were the mighty Federation, after all, and they must have the cure.

  I hope we do, I really do.

  Esther and Jim stepped in front of the first man in line and into receiving.

  “Please wait . . . oh, it’s you two. If you want to see Dr. Ericsson, she’s in Treatment and Collecting,” Henri Monterey said from where he was interviewing a middle-aged and an obviously frightened woman.

  Esther nodded and walked around them, though the door, and to the rear 3/4s of the building. Field tables were laid out, and on almost all of them, people lay. All—except for one—were hooked up to various monitor and pumps, and two of the staff seemed to be watching over them. The one person without the monitors was towards the left rear, and two more FAID staff members were leaning over the table. Esther and Jim walked down the middle of the ward, beds on each side of them.

  Some of the patients looked normal, if a little haggard. Others looked worse off. Esther tried not to catch their eyes, which was selfish of her. A smile from her might give them a little boost, but Esther was afraid her look might not be very comforting.

  A sense of trepidation began to take over her as she approached. Something told her that all was not well. She recognized Dr. Ericsson first, then, she saw the sky-blue blouse draped over the foot of the bed.

  It’s the little girl, the one who was lying down, she told herself, almost pausing.

  Esther stepped up alongside the doctor, and she recoiled when she saw from what the doctor was collecting samples. The mass of liquefying flesh may have been the girl eight hours prior, but it wasn’t her now. The body barely looked human, but from the clenched fists in rigor, Esther knew the girl had not faded away quietly. She had died in mortal agony. Dr. Ericsson was putting the samples, which looked like bloody slugs, into the chamber that Bryce Schmitt was holding.

  “OK, that’s enough. Get these to Dr. Bao in the lab,” she said, then turning to see Esther and Jim. “Oh, can I help you, Captain Lysander?”

  Esther looked in horror at the mess on the table, then at the doctor, her bloody scalpel still raised.

  Esther had killed humans before with barely a pause. She’d seen her Marines, her friends, blown apart in the most horrendous manners possible. Always, she’d kept her cool. This was different. This wasn’t war; this was a horror flick, something that turned on a switch deep within her cortex’s limbic system that triggered some primeval fear of the unknown.

  With a sharp spasm, her stomach heaved, and she vomited. In her PPE, the gorge splashed across the inside of her hood, then started to flow down between her skin and the fabric of the suit. Almost blinded, she stumbled back, bumping up against something hard, something a small part of her mind that remained rational told her was another patient’s bed. She spun around, but the vomit on her hood visor blocked most of her vision.

  And someone grabbed her from behind, someone with a firm, steady grip.

  “Let me help you. Come with me,” Jim’s voice registered with her, breaking through her panic.

  Esther was horrified—and mortified. She was a Marine Corps captain, the deputy project manager. She was the one who was supposed to keep it together no matter what happened. But she’d been taken out of action by the simple sight of a dead patient. She had to gain control of herself. She took a deep breath, only to choke on the acrid fumes of the vomit.

  “Come on, let’s get out of here,” Jim said, pulling her along.

  Esther knew she had to center herself, but it was almost impossible. She had to get out of her PPE, she had to clean up, but most of all she had to get out of this house of horrors.

  Chapter 33

  Esther folded over the polyoptima sheet around what was left of the body, passing her edge to Penelope who brought it down, activating the seal. She ran the decon sprayer over the body, hopefully killing most of the loose viruses. Within a few short moments, what had been the 52-year-old Miller Washburn was sealed to the outside world and ready for the incinerator.

  She moved to the head, and with Penelope at the feet, she said, “One . . . two . . . three!”

  Together, they shifted him off of the bed and onto the gurney.

  “I’ll take it from here,” Esther said. “Why don’t you take a break?”

  Penelope looked around the ward, a frown on her face, but there was no one nearing the end at the moment. With four deaths so far this morning, the afternoon looked to be rough, but for the moment, it looked like there would be a break.

  She and Penelope made an odd pair for this task. Penelope was Penelope Smith. Her daughter, Krysandra, was the eight-year-old girl who had died and drawn such a reaction from Esther. After her daughter was incinerated, Penelope just hung around, and no one had the heart to tell her to leave. She started doing little odd jobs, making herself useful, and yesterday, she and Esther had taken a shift clearing the beds of the deceased, freeing the medical team to treat the sick and try t
o formulate the anti-virus.

  As for Esther, this was her penitence. No one asked her to, but she’d been so ashamed of her reaction, she had simply started helping out, sealing the bodies of the dead and taking them to the incinerator. She’d been able to overcome her instinctual fear. What was worse than the bodies was the suffering of those nearing the end. She didn’t like what she was doing, but at least she could do it.

  “OK, maybe I will. My PPE’s cooling isn’t circulating well or something.”

  Esther punched in the destination, then followed the gurney as it made its way out of Ward 2, the “Death House,” as the patients referred to it. Ward 2 was a brand-new building, erected when it became clear that they were running out of bed space. Those who were responding to treatment remained in Ward 1—those who were on a downward spiral were moved to Ward 2. It bothered Esther that the only medical people in the Ward were the samples-collecting team, but Bing had explained that their mission was to develop a vaccine and anti-virus, not treat patients. He left Veta Ericsson along with two nurses to treat those in Ward 1, and they’d been joined by a local doc who’d showed up at the gate this morning, but the rest of the team was in the lab working feverishly to find a way to beat the virus.

  “Please, can you stay with me?” an elderly woman asked, weakly reaching out a hand to try and stop her as she followed the gurney.

  Esther could see the tell-tale signs of the end game. Sores were opening up on her skin as the virus ate away at its host. She didn’t look to be in pain, which wasn’t that surprising. Each patient was hooked to a portadoc, which was pumping her body with painkillers. The first patients had died horribly until they’d been able to set up the portadocs, but now, the pain only became severe at the very end—and they could choose to forego it and slip into unconsciousness.

  “I . . . I have to take Mr.Washburn here out, ma’am.”

  “Please, can you just stay for a while,” the woman whispered, her voice plaintive.

  Esther didn’t need to stay with the gurney. It had sensed that she’d stopped, and so it stopped as well, but she could send it on its way. The incineration shed, however, was not automated, and Esther had to set it manually.

  “Mz. . . . Mz. Delbert,” she started, reading the name posted at the foot of the bed.

  “Please, call me Hannah,” the woman said.

  Hannah, like my mother.

  “OK, Hannah. Let me take care of Mr. Washburn, and I’ll come back to you.”

  “Promise?”

  “Promise.”

  “Oh, such a sweet girl. I’ll be waiting. I’m not going anywhere,” she said with a half-cough, half-laugh.

  Esther gave her hand a squeeze and started forward, the gurney immediately continuing. As they exited Ward 2, they went through an irradiation ring. Bing had assured her that the virus was passed by contact, and it would be difficult for it to live for long outside of a host, but still, they were taking no chances.

  As she stepped into the bright sunlight, she could hear a grumbling from beyond the gate. Crowds had started to gather yesterday. Some were begging for treatment, some seemed to be protesting the presence of the Federation team—which made absolutely no sense to her—and others were seemed to be onlookers, reporters, and vendors looking to make a quick credit. She could see Michelle standing easily just inside the gate, watching the crowd.

  Esther shook her head and followed the gurney to the back of the compound where the crematorium had been set up. Set up against the back fence, ten or twelve people stood just outside, watching her. She wondered if they were relatives, waiting to see their loved ones cremated. None of them asked who she was escorting, and she didn’t volunteer anything to them.

  The gurney trundled up to the door and transferred Mr. Washburn’s body onto the tray. Once loaded, the tray receded back into the retort. The actual cremation had to be initiated by a human, so once the doors closed and the ready light flashed green, Esther pushed the start button. Immediately, the inside of the retort was subjected to 2500 degree Celsius blasts. After three minutes, the cremulater ground up the cremains which were then subject to another three minutes of the intense heat.

  The flashing red light switch to green, and the door opened. Esther had been amazed that after being subject to such intense heat, the tray came out simply warm to the touch. The cremains were neatly packaged in the middle of the tray. Esther waved the scanner over the package, but as expected, there was no sign of any kind of life, viral or anything else.

  RIP, Mr. Washburn.

  As she started back to the Ward, Michelle passed, “Captain, can you come to the gate, please? Things are getting a little hotter here.”

  Compound security was Michelle’s responsibility, and Esther really wanted to get to the lounge, as they called the tiny hut where they could sit, take off the hood, and eat something real rather than the tube meals that could be consumed while in the PPE’s. Esther wasn’t that hungry, but she didn’t like to use the gel pads in the PPE’s that absorbed body waste when there was a real toilet in the lounge.

  But if Michelle wanted her, she needed to find out why. She abandoned the gurney and turned to the gate. She could hear shouting but couldn’t quite make out what was being said.

  She approached the rear of the decon station where Paul Yetter was standing nervously. Paul was Michelle’s second in command, and she relied heavily on him.

  “Where’s Jeanmard?” she asked him.

  “Out there, with Doctor Sengatjuo,” he said, pointing beyond the gate.

  Esther looked closer, and sure enough, there were three figures in the bright yellow FAID PPE’s. Dr. Sengatjuo—Josiah—had his hood back, and she could see he was in earnest conversation with a crowd that had gathered around.

  “Why did they go out there?” she asked.

  “I told her it was a bad idea, Captain,” Paul said. “I’ve been doing this for nigh on 35 years now, and you get feelings, you know?”

  “And she still went?”

  “She said she had to be there with the doc.”

  “Where’s our cop?” she asked, searching through the crowd.

  “He left as soon as it looked like trouble,” Paul said, the tone of his voice evidence enough about what he thought of that.

  She shook her head. It disgusted her as well, but there wasn’t much she could do about it at the moment.

  “Michelle, what the hell are you three doing out there?” Esther passed over the comms.

  One of the other two PPE-clad figures raised a hand to her ear, pressing in, and Michelle answered, “It was Sengatjuo. He thought he had to respond to the people. I couldn’t let him go out alone.”

  She was right, Esther knew. But it was stupid. She could tell from the mob as they crowded closer that they were angry, and an angry mob was unpredictable.

  “Why are they upset? What are they saying?”

  “They want treatment. They want a vaccine. They want, well, I don’t quite get it.”

  “OK, hold on. Let me see what I can do.”

  She switched to Jim and called him up.

  “Jim, can you get over here now?”

  She could hear the sleep in his voice as he said, “What? At the compound? Yeah, sure. What’s up?”

  “We’ve got more people outside, and they’re not happy. Look, leave the PPE. Wear your M24, and come in civvies. I want you to hang back and mingle, get a feel for them, OK?”

  The civvies weren’t unusual. Even now, under her PPE, Esther was in running tights and a sports bra herself. The PPE’s were more comfortable than, say, the Marine EVA suits, but still, the less on underneath meant fewer wrinkles that could be annoying as hell. Not wearing a PPE to and from the compound not as common. Bing didn’t wear one, telling Esther he didn’t want to excite the locals. Esther thought they were already excited, so she wore hers on the way from the hotel, but she knew that was simply a precaution. Unless they came in contact with an infected person, either by touching or by being sneeze
d upon, they should be safe, and even then, if they had on the M24 Environmental mask, a simple decon after contact should be enough to keep from getting infected. Enough of the people outside were wearing some sort of mask that Jim wouldn’t stand out.

  “Sure, I’ve got it,” he said with more assurance as he woke up fully. “I’ll be there in five.”

  It was a ten-minute walk from their hotel to the compound, so to make it in five, he’d have to run, which was a bitch to do with any type of mask on.

  She put Jim out of her mind, then called Bing.

  “We’ve got a problem here. Josiah’s out there with the protesters, and it’s getting tense.”

  “What? Josiah? I wondered where he went to,” Bing said, not sounding too concerned.

  “He needs to be called back inside before there’s trouble.”

  “Trouble? There won’t be. We’re here to help, so trouble would be counterproductive.”

  She keyed off her voice pick-up and said to Paul, “Dr. Bao says there won’t be trouble. That would be counterproductive.”

  Paul rolled his eyes, then shook his head, saying, “The lab rats don’t understand the real universe.”

  Esther had never been on this type of a mission, but she’d faced crowds before, and she knew what the veteran of these kinds of evolutions meant. Director Nunez-Akhmetov’s story about what happened on Manteo’s Grace had made an impact on her, even if it hadn’t seemed to have the same impact with Bing.

  Bing was a great guy, and evidently brilliant, but he’d been given the project due to his lab ability. He’d never been in the field in this type of situation. Josiah had, Veta had, as had two of the nurses, but most of the doctors and techs were neophytes, and Esther was beginning to wonder if that was a mistake. Yes, they needed the best and brightest to defeat the virus, but they also needed people with experience working in the field.