The body spread across the middle seat had its arms flung wide, its head hanging loose as if it had been thrown back at the moment of death. Chico crept close enough to reach out and touch the man’s chest. He was shaking.
Overhead a seagull gave a sudden raucous screech. Chico flinched with fright. He snatched his hand away and then smiled with rueful guilt and nervousness. He reached out a second time and pressed his palm on the figure’s chest to feel for a heartbeat.
Chico shook his head. Luis let out a ragged gasp of held breath.
The final corpse was crumpled in the bow, its face in shadow, legs twisted at impossible angles. There was an open wound on one ankle, swollen and crusted with puss, and a group of lacerations on an arm that looked like claw marks. Chico crept forward, sloshing barefoot in the filthy bilge water. The body was dressed in a tattered T-shirt and torn cut-off jeans. He was a big man with a broad, muscled chest.
“Chico!” Luis’ eyes were huge as saucers. “I’m scared.”
“Don’t be,” his big brother tried to make himself sound manly and reassuring. “I think he’s dead too.”
To be certain, Chico reached out for the body’s shoulder, coming up on his haunches and balancing against the bucking kick of the surf beneath the boat.
Luis let out a sudden piercing scream of raw fright. “His hand! I saw his hand move!”
Chico snatched back his fingers. “Are you sure?”
“Yes… I think…”
Chico cursed. He could hear his own heart pounding against the cage of his chest. He swallowed down a lump of panic in his throat and reached for the figure, trembling with the iciness of his own fear.
The undead ghoul lunged upright, a ghastly, howling shriek in its throat. The sudden movement tipped Chico off balance; he staggered and fell over the side of the boat. Luis cringed in white-faced shock and fear. He saw his big brother splash into the ocean and then saw the ghoul’s gnarled black hand reach towards him.
Luis tried to cringe away but the ghoul moved with the slashing ferocity of a coiled snake. Its clawed fingers seized the child’s skinny shoulder and ripped open the flesh from Luis’ shoulder to his elbow. The child cried out in agony and shock, spun away by the impact. He tottered in a circle, blood gushing from his wound, and then fell, stiff with seizures, into the bottom of the little rowboat.
Chico’s head broke the surface of the water, gasping for breath. He called out with alarm for his brother and heard soft whimpers of pain.
“Luis!” Chico splashed to the side of his boat and heaved himself up over the gunwale. The child lay curled up on the thwart seat. “Are you okay?”
Luis’ face was very pale; his lips seemed frosted purple. Chico shot a fearful glance over his shoulder. The body in the bow of the other boat was sagged over one of the seats, arms flailing mindlessly. Chico untied the rope and the incoming surf quickly broke the boats apart.
“Lay still!” Chico spoke urgently to his little brother. “You will be alright. I’m going to take you to papa. He will know what to do.”
Already the young child’s blood seemed to paint the inside boards of the boat. Chico fumbled the oars into their rowlocks and heaved with all his might.
It was a hundred yards to the tree lined beach and the strip of golden sand. Chico pulled at the oars until he felt his back might break.
“Help!” he cried out with every stroke. “Papa! Help!”
The men of the Coelho family were all fishermen. Chico’s uncle saw the little boat and recognized the desperate cries. He came running down onto the beach and splashed out into the surf.
“Luis has been hurt!” Chico rasped when he saw the big sun browned leathery face of his uncle. “We found a stranded boat on the reef. There were bodies aboard. One of them woke up and hurt Luis.”
“Jesus, Mary and all the saints!” the boy’s uncle gasped the oath. He scooped Luis up in his huge arms and waded with the boy back to the beach. Blood dripped down the man’s chest and onto the sand. Chico collapsed, exhausted at the oars, his head down, his lungs burning for air. He didn’t see young Luis suddenly squirm in his uncle’s arms, and nor did he see his little brother suddenly rear back his head, then sink his teeth into his uncle’s neck. He only heard the scream of pain and shock.
It was a peculiar sound.
It signalled the beginning of the end for Latin America.
Chapter 22:
BLACK SITE ECHO-59
GUAM
“Mr. President?”
“Nathan,” Patrick Austin’s voice through the secure phone connection from Washington sounded haggard and fatigued. “I hope you have some good news for me.”
“I think I do, sir,” Power said cautiously. “I believe it is possible to create an antidote for the NK Plague.”
“You’re sure of this?” Power heard the sharp optimistic lift in the President’s voice.
“Sir, nothing is certain… but I’ve completed my interviews with the captured scientists from the North Korean biological weapons project and I’ve studied the documentation. I believe an antidote to the pathogen is possible, given the necessary time, and access to BSL-4 facilities.”
“Outstanding,” the relief in the President’s voice was palpable. “I have some people here in the Oval Office with me. Stay on the line…”
Power kept the phone pressed to his ear and turned to watch as a black SUV with heavily tinted windows pulled up outside the office. The Angel of Death emerged from the shadows of another building, carrying a heavy Army-issued duffle bag over her shoulder. She strode towards the waiting vehicle. Black and White followed her.
“Nathan?” the President’s voice brought Power’s attention snapping back to the phone call.
“Yes, sir. I’m still here.”
“I’ve spoken to my people here. We’re organizing a plane to bring you back to Washington immediately, and I’ve notified Colonel Fletcher at USAMRIID. His staff and all facilities will be placed at your disposal.”
“Yes, sir. What about the three North Korean scientists? They’re knowledge might be critical during the research and development process ahead of us.”
“They will be brought back to the mainland on a warship and held in custody until your work is completed. I’ve been told there is an Arleigh Burke destroyer in the Marianas as part of the Naval blockade. I’ll instruct the Navy to notify the USS Haley’s Commander of the ship’s new orders.”
“Very well, sir,” Nathan Power said.
*
Nathan Power strode out into the hot afternoon sun and went towards the black SUV. Angie heard the crunch of his boots in the gravel and turned. She looked across the space between them and their eyes met. The smile on her lips froze and her gaze became enigmatic. She was wearing skin-tight denim jeans and a loose-fitting tank-top. Her body was tanned the color of honey, her weight balanced on one leg so that her hips were thrust provocatively forward. She arched her eyebrows. The expression could have been a challenge, or maybe an invitation. It could have been a taunt.
“I was wondering if you were going to say goodbye,” Angie’s voice was husky with shyness. Black and White strode past her and climbed into the SUV. Angie dropped her duffle bag into the dust and stood very still.
“I didn’t know you were going,” Power said.
She shrugged her shoulders and dabbed her lips wet with the pink tip of her tongue. “Our work here is done. We’re on our way again.”
“Where to?”
She smiled coyly. It was all the answer he would ever get.
They stood, awkward and silent for a long moment. In the background a military transport drifted over Anderson AFB on its approach to the airbase.
Power kicked his boots in the dirt, then looked up suddenly, his face fixed and frowning.
“I heard about your interrogation methods from the North Korean prisoners,” he said. “And I did some research on you. I can’t – for the life of me – understand how someone like you can be so brutal and m
erciless. Your methods… they border on the inhumane.” It was not an accusation. His tone was inflected with the curious fascination of a scientist.
Angie’s eyes danced with amusement. “Would it be easier to rationalize if I was a three hundred pound overweight brute with a scars and a face like a bulldog?”
“Yes,” Power said frankly.
“So your issue is not my methods, but my appearance?”
“I just have difficulty rationalizing,” Power persisted. “You have a sweet, sexy appearance. You look like the girl next door. You act like a typical, normal person. But from what I’ve heard, when you interrogate prisoners, you turn into a cruel monster.”
Angie shrugged, then stepped so close to Power that he could smell her musky perfume. She lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. Her breath was warm and tantalizing against his ear. “Is it so hard to believe that when I’m in a cell trying to get information from a prisoner, I am simply acting in a manner I deem the most effective to elicit the information? Is it possible that I’m just very, very good at my job, but that the person in the cell is not the real me? Is that possible?”
Power sensed she was teasing him. “Yes,” he nodded his head with a curt jerk. “I guess that is possible.”
“So you believe that what you see now is the real me, and what the prisoners see behind a cell door is an act – a ruthless, merciless character who is simply very, very good at her job?”
“Is that what you’re telling me?”
“Is that what you believe?”
“I don’t know what to believe. That’s why I asked.”
She smiled again, and this time it was a look of radiant beatific splendor that dazzled him. She looked like a glittering princess from a Disney movie. “I’ve told you everything I’m willing to share,” she said sweetly. “It’s up to you to decide whether this is the real me and the torturous monster is the act… or if I’m acting right now, and deep down I really am a cruel sadist. If you ever figure out the truth – call me.”
She turned to stride towards the waiting SUV, then stopped suddenly and came back to where Power stood, moving lightly on dancing steps.
She kissed him impulsively, crushing her breasts against his chest and grinding her pelvis against his hips. Her lips were soft and wet and hungry.
When she broke the kiss, her eyes were hectic and her voice breathless. “Here’s a final clue,” she murmured, then leaned in to kiss him again.
Suddenly Power felt a sharp intense stab of pain and a rush of warm blood filled his mouth. She had bitten him – hard. Angie stepped back. Her face was flushed. She licked the taste of Power’s blood off her lips and then sauntered slowly, swaying her hips, towards the waiting vehicle.
SAN YSIDRO PORT OF ENTRY
SAN DIEGO
“This is the situation,” the General commanding the contentious sector of the southern border spoke gravely to the men assembled inside the tent. “Up to one hundred thousand Mexicans and other foreign nationals are just hours away from reaching the Port of Entry and the nearby sections of border fence. Gentlemen, this is just the beginning. In the days ahead the numbers of foreigners along the border is expected to reach a million or more. All units are officially now on high alert. The use of lethal force has been authorized by our Commander in Chief and Posse Comitatus has been suspended. Take this seriously,” the General warned. His eyes searched the room. Company commanders from every unit under his control were assembled, many of them young captains.
Simmering silently in the corner stood several ICE and Border Patrol officers. They had been brought to the briefing to share their unique and expert knowledge of the region but had never been called upon. For years the Border officers had worked tirelessly in the region to keep peace, maintain order and build up a network of contacts. Now the Army was running roughshod over all their hard work.
Outside the walls of the tent the entire makeshift military base was a frenzy of urgent activity. There was tension in the air and a sense of rising crisis.
“These people are desperate,” the General went on. “Some have walked for days. Some have stolen cars to get here. They want to get into the United States. We’ve already had incidents along the wall. Those clashes are going to intensify over the coming days. It is our responsibility to deny these people entry. Whether you like the policy or not is irrelevant. Your men are soldiers. They signed up to do their duty – it’s up to each of you to make sure they do. Desperate people take desperate measures. If you feel the integrity of the wall is threatened, or you feel the men under your command are in genuine danger, you are authorized to open fire on the crowds to drive them back as a last measure. Is that understood?”
“Yes, sir.” A dozen voices replied in a single chorus of voice, like raw recruits on a parade ground.
“We have four ADS units on standby. They are your first line of defense. If you need them, call for them. We’ll also have drones and helicopters in the sky monitoring the approach of the caravans. Stay close to your comms for updates.”
The Active Denial System was a large radar-like antenna mounted atop an Army Humvee. The vehicle looked deceptively innocent, but the ADS had been created to deter attackers by firing a non-lethal millimeter-wave of electromagnetic energy that caused an intense burning sensation. The wave penetrated a person’s skin causing a sensation that had been likened to being lit on fire. Just a two-second burst of energy was enough to heat a victim’s skin to one hundred and thirty degrees. To target the beam, the operator used a low-light video camera and thermal imager in conjunction with a joystick. The non-lethal weapon had been manufactured for crowd control and had been deployed to Afghanistan several years earlier… although it was never deployed operationally.
The Colonel scanned the room one last time, measuring the resolve of the men he was addressing. Satisfied, he grunted. “Very well.” He began issuing assignments. Ben Ortiz waited anxiously. He was relieved to be called into action at last. The dreary assignments and long boring days his unit had endured were suddenly forgotten.
His name was called. His head jerked up. “Ortiz, Delta Company, 1st Battalion of the 160th?”
Ortiz leaped to his feet. “Sir.”
“You and your men will take up position three kilometers to the west. You will defend the section of border wall around the Otay Pacific Business Park. That puts you opposite Tijuana Airport. Understand?”
“Yes, sir,” Ortiz said.
“That stretch of wall is a shit-show, so stay alert. New concrete slabs have replaced some of the wall, but some of it is still old steel fence in poor condition. You will have Marines units posted on both your flanks. If you need support, don’t be afraid to call for it. Am I clear?”
“As a bell, Colonel,” Captain Ortiz said.
The men began to file from the tent. The Colonel barked a final warning. “The media is out in force. Be aware of that fact. If you have to open fire on the crowd, make damned sure you’ve got good cause and a genuine threat to your own safety. No matter how this goes down, the headlines are going to be brutal. Don’t make them any worse than they’re already going to be by doing something the US Army will later regret.”
*
“It’s inhumane,” Tianna Candice declared to the reporter from one of the local San Diego TV stations. “Our government is failing its basic obligation to people’s rights.”
News crews were frantically criss-crossing the city filing fresh reports to feed networks nation-wide that were running wall-to-wall coverage of the border crisis. The journalist nudged his cameraman – the signal to start filming.
“Why?” the reporter encouraged. He was just a kid himself and new to the work. He thrust the microphone in front of the young woman.
Tianna Caprice was dressed in all black, as were the hundred or so other university students of the ‘LifeRightsNow’ movement. Emblazoned across the front of her t-shirt was the legend, ‘I’d die for fairness’.
The group had gathered
in a run-down warehouse. In the background people were frantically painting placards. They were all young; the majority of them were women.
Tianna pushed per glasses back up to the bridge of her nose with the tip of her finger before she answered the question.
“The Mexicans massing at our border didn’t ask to be born in Mexico. It’s not their fault,” she said, anguished. “What right do we have in America to deny them entry into our country? Why is our government building walls at a time when the world is in crisis? We should tear down the borders that divide us, and let the people from all Latin American countries through.”
“But what about the fear of the NK Plague being brought into America?” the journalist asked provocatively. “Doesn’t that worry you?”
“No,” Tianna pouted. She seemed offended by the question as though it was a challenge to her own moral integrity. “President Austin has a vaccination for the Plague. There is an antidote. What’s happening now is a conspiracy. The government is withholding that cure from everyone who doesn’t live in the USA. I believe the vaccination is already being distributed through our water supply. We’re all protected. But the government won’t share the formula with any other nation.”
The reporter put the microphone down and smiled at the young protest leader. “Thanks. That was great. I appreciate your time.”
Tianna smiled wanly. Getting the group’s message out to the world was important, but not as important as saving the lives of innocent people. “Is that all you wanted?” she seemed perplexed. “A quick interview?”
“Um…” the journalist hesitated. “Is there more?”
“Well we’re just about to march to the border wall and shout our protest to the US soldiers who are the puppets of this evil regime. I thought you were going to follow us.” She glanced over her shoulder. A hundred people wasn’t a lot, but the university campuses had become ghost towns since the news of the NK Plague’s spread around the world. And with social media and the internet collapsing, the group’s normal lines of communication had been irrevocably disrupted.
Dead Storm: The Global Zombie Apocalypse Page 69
