Synbat v5
Page 11
“Yes, sir. That’s what will most likely happen. But apparently they were further ahead here than we realized. There is a very slight possibility that the backpacks may work outside of the lab.”
There was silence on the other end. The low hiss of static echoed lightly in the office.
The general’s voice came back, the argumentative tone gone. “The backpacks barely worked before under lab conditions. What makes you think they’ll work now, Ward?”
Ward cleared his throat. “I don’t think they will.”
Lewis cut back in to clarify. “It’s Doctor Merrit who thinks they may, sir.”
The general switched tactics, his voice reaching out to the other scientist in the room. “What about you, Doctor Merrit? What do you think is the chance of the backpacks working?”
Merrit was gratified to be called on. Obviously the general had lost some of his faith in Ward. “To be honest I couldn’t say. But I think it’s foolish to say that the odds are low. We designed them to work under these types of conditions, and we trained the Synbats to carry them and guard them. Even if it’s a one percent chance that they’ll work, we can’t afford to take it. It would start something that could easily get out of control if we look at a geometric progression.”
“Is this true, Ward?”
Ward was glaring at Merrit. “Well, sir, like Doctor Merrit said, it’s only a very slight possibility. We made some improvements on the series seven pods and we were going to run an operational phase four test on them in about three weeks. I really think the chances of them working outside the lab are very, very low.”
“How long do we have if they do work?”
Merrit handled that one. “They were designed to complete initiation in seventy-two hours. Considering that they started out frozen and not at ambient temperature, I’d say we have to add a couple of hours. We’re looking at Thursday morning.”
There was another long silence on the other end. Finally, General Trollers’s voice came back. “All right. I need to know the odds. Ward, I want a number. What are the chances of the pods working?”
Ward ignored Merrit. “I’d say no more than five percent of success.”
“What about you, Merrit?”
She didn’t hesitate. “I’d say twenty-five to fifty percent of at least a few successful initiations.”
“No way!” Ward was standing. “They weren’t designed with — “ General Trollers’s voice silenced him. “Thank you, Doctors. That will be all for now. Colonel, you keep looking. You’ve got twenty-four hours before I have to run this up the flagpole. If that happens you can kiss Biotech and your careers good-bye. I hope you can give me good news before then. Out here.”
The radio went dead. Merrit looked accusingly at Lewis. “You didn’t tell him about the videotape when they weren’t drugged.”
Lewis rubbed his forehead. “Listen, Doctor, I’ve got enough shit on my hands. I don’t need to be giving the general some half-assed theory of yours.” He pointed at Ward. “Your boss doesn’t even buy into it. It really doesn’t matter anyway because we’re going to get these things either tonight or tomorrow, so we won’t have to worry about the backpacks or the drugs wearing off or your theory.”
Chapter Seven
LAND BETWEEN THE LAKES
9:03 P.M.
Hapscomb cracked his eyelids and watched as he lay on the ground pretending to be asleep. Mrs. Werner was getting out of the tent. In the dim starlight, his eyes followed her as she made her way toward the wood line. Hapscomb smiled to himself. A call of nature most likely, but he felt his own call of nature. He rolled off his sleeping pad and lightly stepped across the clearing toward the trees where the woman had disappeared.
She hadn’t gone too far into the woods. Hapscomb gave her some time to finish her business and then stepped up as she was still buttoning her tight-fitting jeans.
Mrs. Werner looked up, startled at the noise. “What are you doing here?” she whispered.
Hapscomb let loose his winning smile, apparently unaware that it was wasted in the dark woods. “I just wanted to see if those looks you gave me all day were just a tease or whether you were willing to follow through.”
The lack of an immediate negative response prompted Hapscomb to pull her over next to him. She looked up at him with large dark eyes as he reached out for her.
9:05 P.M.
“I’ve got two heat sources. Two legs, two arms on each. Due west.”
All right! Riley thought on hearing Seay’s report. This was their second rotation back up the search area. “Guide us in, Doc. I’m going to put the goggles on to see what we have.”
As Doc Seay directed the pilots in a banking left-hand turn, Riley carefully stowed the thermal sight in its tied-down case and pulled out a set of PVS-5 night vision goggles. He slipped the bulky goggles over his head and turned them on.
The ambient light was immediately computer enhanced and he saw as if it were daylight. The only drawbacks were that everything was represented in varying shades of green, and there was a certain lack of depth perception. As Riley slid over to the left side of the helicopter next to Seay, he wondered how the pilots could fly using the things; even though their PVS-6s were an upgraded model, it was still very difficult to operate with them on. Riley had a hard time walking while wearing them. On the other hand he supposed it beat flying without any sort of night vision device.
“Where’s the target?” Captain Barret asked.
“See that clearing about four hundred meters to our left front on the hilltop?” Doc Seay directed.
“Roger that.”
“It’s off to the north of that clearing about ten meters inside the tree line. I’m also getting a heat source from the clearing. Real hot. Looks like a campfire.”
“Damn,” Riley cursed. “I see a tent in that clearing. If your heat source is our monkeys, they’re close to that tent. I can’t spot the other heat source you see in the thermals. The trees are too thick.”
The pilot pointed the nose of the aircraft straight for the clearing. “I’m going to put us in the center of the clearing and let you guys off.”
Riley grabbed his Ml6. The pilot flared the helicopter and Riley hopped out as soon as the skids touched the ground. He could see someone crawling out of the large dome tent, hunched against the blast of wind from the blades.
“U.S. Army. Stay in place, please.” Riley ran past a confused man who was yelling, “What’s going on?”
Riley ran into the tree line where Seay had indicated. Immediately he spotted a white shape to his left front. Riley drew down on the target, his finger easing over the trigger.
Whoa! Riley said to himself, forcing his arm to relax.
“What’s the meaning of this?” the woman demanded, squinting into the dark as she struggled to button her blouse. The man was trying to buckle his belt.
The older man who had crawled out of the tent showed up, shining a huge flashlight. Riley shut off his goggles to prevent them from overloading. He slid them off his head, allowing them to dangle on their dummy cord around his neck.
“Marjorie, what were you doing?” the man demanded.
Riley watched as the woman squirmed under the glare of the flashlight. Whatever he had interrupted, it looked as though he wasn’t the only one who was going to catch some shit. Riley decided to do some quick explaining and get the hell out. Doc Seay had run up and was taking in the spot-lit scene.
“I’m sorry, ma’am . . . sir,” Riley said, indicating all three people. Out of the corner of his eye he could see a young girl of nine or ten standing next to the tent, staring at the still running helicopter in the middle of the clearing. “I’m Chief Riley from Fort Campbell. We’re out here investigating reports of some rabid animals and we spotted your campsite through our thermal sights and landed to investigate. I apologize if we caused you any inconvenience. We’ll be taking off now and won’t bother you again.”
Riley headed for the chopper. The man from the tent was
obviously torn between jumping on Riley for landing on top of them and confronting the woman, who apparently was his wife, about her little liaison in the woods.
“What did you say your name was again?” the balding little man asked as Riley brushed by him.
“Uh, that’s Chief Ryan. R-Y-A-N, sir. I’m with the 101st Airborne Division at Fort Campbell.”
Riley rapidly left the little man behind and jogged toward the bird, followed by Seay. They hopped on board and Riley grabbed his headset. “Let’s get the hell out of Dodge, Captain.”
“Roger that.” Barret applied cyclic, pulled in collective, and the aircraft was airborne.
Riley was treated to the sound of Doc Seay laughing as the other man put on his headset. “Chief Ryan, huh? 101st, eh? You silver-tongued bastard. What was going on down there anyway?”
Riley allowed himself a laugh, too, now that they were out of there. “Looks like we caught a lady with someone who wasn’t her husband, doing something she should have been doing only with her husband. I don’t think they’re going to be happy campers tonight.”
It took them a minute or two to regain their composure, by which time the helicopter was about four kilometers away from the Werners’ campsite.
“All right. Let’s resume the pattern. Back to the thermals,” Riley ordered.
9:15 P.M.
Hapscomb could hear the angry hiss of the Werners arguing inside their tent. He felt a bit sorry for the little girl having to witness all that. He felt nothing but contempt for Mister Werner. The little worm hadn’t even had the balls to confront him. After the helicopter lifted, Werner had simply grabbed his wife by the arm and dragged her over to their tent, completely ignoring Hapscomb.
What a wimp, Hapscomb thought. And what was going on with the army landing like that? The fellow wearing the funny-looking goggles had scared the living shit out of Hapscomb, especially when he pointed that M16 at them. The man looked like he was ready to blow them both away in a heartbeat.
Rabid animals, the soldier had said. That was a bunch of bullshit, too. They wouldn’t call in the army for that. Sons of bitches had ruined a good piece of ass for him. Hapscomb pulled out his bota and took another drag. A great night ruined ‘cause of some fucking army cowboys. He’d be damned lucky if Werner didn’t complain to McClanahan and get his ass fired. Son of a bitch sure wouldn’t —
Hapscomb’s thoughts froze in place as he heard the horses whinny. His eyes narrowed as he looked over to the tree line where he had picketed them. In the dim starlight he could make out all four horses pulling tight against the picket line, straining to get away from the line of black that indicated the edge of the clearing.
What had spooked them? Hapscomb rolled off his sleeping pad and threw on a shirt. One of the horses starting bucking. Hapscomb broke into a jog to reach them.
He ran a hand along a quivering flank. “Whoa, girl, easy. Easy.” He looked at the darkened forest that seemed to be the source of the horses’ terror. What was out there? Hapscomb had heard old stories of an occasional bear in the area, but there hadn’t been any spotted for the last ten years or so.
“What’s the matter with them?” Mister Werner demanded as he strode angrily across the clearing, waving the flashlight.
“I don’t know. Something’s spooked them.”
“Well, you’d better calm them down and let my wife and daughter get some sleep. You’ve caused enough trouble as it is.”
Hapscomb wanted to laugh at the sight of the little bald man standing there, looking so righteous in his pajamas. At that moment, however, the horses swung around, catching Hapscomb off guard. They jumped to the left, pushing him out of the way.
Hapscomb looked to the right. Whatever was spooking the horses was moving around the outside of the clearing toward the tent. For the first time, Hapscomb felt a small knot of uneasiness begin to bind his guts. Something was wrong. He’d seen spooked horses before, but not like this. Whatever it was had to be damn close if it was moving that quickly around the camp.
Hapscomb forgot about his problems with Werner. He spoke tersely. “Mister Werner, I think it might be a good idea to get your wife and daughter out of the tent. We’ll build up the fire a bit. I don’t know what’s got the horses all riled up, but I don’t like it.”
Werner, however, wasn’t so quick to forget recent events. “You’re just trying to make it seem like you know what you’re doing — like you’re protecting us to save your job. Don’t think I’m not going to report what you did. Don’t try to make a little scene here to — “
Hapscomb caught a brief glimpse of something — damned if he knew what it was — moving in the tree line, about fifty feet from the tent.
He ran past the flabbergasted Werner, yelling, “Mrs. Werner! Christie! Get out of the tent!”
As if his yelling was the cue, all hell broke loose. In the space of less than a second, several different facts registered on Hapscomb’s various senses.
Two figures broke from the trees, making a beeline for the tent. They were about five and a half feet tall and ran with an unusually swift loping stride. Hapscomb caught a shadowy glimpse of them in the starlight and his heart froze. They had to be demons from hell.
Mrs. Werner stuck her head out of the tent and asked puzzledly, “What?” Mister Werner had started after Hapscomb, yelling, “You son of a bitch, what do you think — “
Hapscomb felt that time had slowed down. His brain was screaming at him to get to the tent, but it seemed as though he was running in slow motion. Mrs. Werner still hadn’t spotted the two figures heading for her when, to Hapscomb’s consternation, the figures turned and headed toward him. He screeched to a halt in the knee-high grass and switched direction. An old joke he’d once heard ran insanely through his mind as he reversed course: Two friends are camping and one comes racing back to camp yelling that he’s being chased by a bear. As the man goes by, the friend asks: “Do you think you can outrun a bear?” The first man answers, “No, but I can outrun you.”
Hapscomb glanced over his shoulder. Dear God, they were moving fast. They were only ten feet behind him when he passed Mister Werner.
Poor Werner never knew what hit him. One of the demons went high and the other low. Werner let out a surprised grunt from the impact of almost three hundred pounds of flesh. The grunt was replaced by the most terrifying scream Hapscomb had ever heard. He stopped and looked back. Werner’s body made a few spastic jerks and then was still, one of the figures straddling the body, the other off to the side, all in the course of less than five seconds.
In the sudden quiet, Hapscomb’s breathing sounded loud in his own ears. That sound was split by the scream of Mrs. Werner. At the noise, the two intruders swung their gaze over to the tent, where Mrs. Werner stood, her daughter beside her.
Oh sweet Lord! Hapscomb thought. Please help us. He wanted to yell at Mrs. Werner to shut up, but he was too scared. Any noise and they might head his way, and God knows he didn’t want that.
As if on cue, the two figures swung away from Werner’s body and casually loped toward Mrs. Werner and her daughter. They seemed to know that this new prey wasn’t overly dangerous and they could take their time.
Distract them! One part of Hapscomb’s mind screamed at him. Get the fuck out of here! the stronger, self-preservation side ordered. As quickly as he could, without attracting attention, Hapscomb sidled back toward the quivering horses. He kept his eyes on the scene being played out before him. It was like some bad horror movie, except that it was happening for real and he knew he was letting it happen.
The two creatures moved smoothly. One circled right and the other left. Mrs. Werner was frozen, her arms clasping her daughter. In tandem the two beasts accelerated their lope into the terrifying charge that had killed her husband.
Mrs. Werner finally reacted, stepping in front of her daughter in a last gesture of maternal instinct. They took her down quickly; she didn’t even have a chance to scream as her throat was torn out.
Come on, Christie, Hapscomb prayed silently. The two demons still had their snouts stuck in Mrs. Werner. Bastards must like fresh meat, Hapscomb thought wildly. He watched the girl pick up speed as she got farther away from them.
She was halfway across the clearing, yet Hapscomb didn’t act on his earlier silent promise. His conscience railed at him, but his ego told him that those things were too damned fast. They’d get both the girl and him if he moved now. Another ten feet and then he’d —
One of the creatures lifted its head and swung a dripping snout in the direction of Christie and, just beyond, Hapscomb. He felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. Christ, no, he thought. I don’t want to die like that. He dug his heels into the horse and turned for the trail off to his right rear. At that, the two leapt off the body of Mrs. Werner.
Hapscomb hit the trail at a full gallop. No way could they outrun Angel — she was damned fast. Hapscomb wasn’t going to stop until he hit the goddamn Golden Pond Visitor Center, where he knew that there was a twenty-four-hour attendant. Lock the fucking doors and call the goddamn cops. Call the fucking army —
Hapscomb’s entire body went rigid as Christie’s scream pierced the night. She wailed again and again. Finish her! you demons, Hapscomb prayed as he rode away. Why were they taking so long? After ten long seconds Christie’s cries abruptly ceased.
Hapscomb shut Christie out of his mind. The fucking army, he realized. Those things are why that helicopter landed tonight. Rabid animals, my ass. Whatever those things are, they have never been in this area, rabid or not. They aren’t anything he’d ever seen before.