“Why?”
“Well, reproducing quickly inside a single host means growing and consuming as much of our healthy cells and tissues as possible. But of course this wreaks havoc on our systems. And if they go crazy and make us too sick, then we won’t be able to get up and move around and infect others. Plus humans have an evolved aversion to obviously sick people, so we stay the hell away from them.”
Sarah’s eyes narrowed in thought. “So, in that sense, something like Ebola is a reproductive failure. It makes people bleed out from every orifice, which probably doesn’t conduce to attracting new infectees.”
“Exactly. And that’s exactly why there’s never been a really big outbreak of Ebola, or any hemorrhagic fever. But this bug, Hargeisa… what’s its solution to the problem? It’s to zombify the entire host, take control – and program it to go out and hunt down new bodies to infect.”
“Jesus. ‘Zombification’ – you say that like it happens all the time.”
“More often than you’d think. It’s hardly unknown in the natural world. There’s a fungus, for instance, that zombifies ants. It gets into an ant’s brain, makes it climb a tree and latch onto a leaf with its jaws. Then a long freaking stalk grows out of the back of the ant’s head – which drops a bunch of new fungal spores on the ant colony below. Those ants walk around picking it up, and the cycle repeats.”
Sarah wrinkled her nose. “Jesus. That might actually be worse than what our virus is doing to us.”
“Maybe. But, as far as a reproduction strategy goes, ours is the clear winner.” Park paused and looked thoughtful. “It’s the superior intelligence of evolution.”
“I wish as much could be said for its morality.”
Park looked at her, and his mouth opened – but then closed again. “Touché,” he finally said. “But the main problem all viruses face is how to hide out from the host’s immune system – which, in the case of humans, is actually an incredibly effective and efficient killer of invaders. And the most deadly weapon they have in that fight is genetic mutation – constantly evolving to find ways around our defenses, constantly shape-shifting so they’re not recognized as a threat. And it is this virus’s extremely fast rate of mutation that gives it a leg-up, helps it stay ahead. And makes it so cursedly tough to beat.”
“It sounds like a hard problem to solve.”
“It’s an incredibly hard problem – harder than more than a handful of people appreciate. Why do you think the one real success story we had with eradicating a viral pathogen was smallpox? It was because of its incredibly slow and limited mutation. Smallpox had so little potential for variation that a primitive vaccine made based on a distantly related virus – made out of cow pus – completely took it out. But I’ve got much bigger problems. And a much faster-moving target.”
Sarah nodded. “Nonetheless, Handon told me you’ve got a workable vaccine – at least for an older strain of the virus.”
“I do. It hasn’t had enough safety testing, or any kind of human trials. But I know it works. The core trouble is, it’s designed based on virus samples from the very beginning of the outbreak. And we know for a certainty that the virus has evolved – a lot. What I don’t yet know is whether the specific genes targeted by my vaccine have changed. I won’t know that until I test it against current samples of the virus. And what I really don’t know is, even if it works against current strains, whether it will keep working against future mutations. And there’s only one way I can determine that.”
“Patient Zero,” Sarah said. “Go back to the start.”
“Exactly. I need a sample from a very early-stage victim. When I look at that, and compare it to one from today, I can see which genes have remained unchanging. And then I’ll have a good sense of which are the essential ones, and are unlikely to change going forward. Those will be our target.” He paused before continuing, and his expression lightened.
“Really, anything I can learn about the origin of the disease is likely to be helpful. Where did it actually come from? Was it zoonotic – transferring over from another species? If so, was it an ape species – one genetically very similar to us – or something else? Or could it even have been man-made? You can see why I’m excited about the possibility of us going straight to Africa.”
Sarah’s response was measured. “I don’t know that there’s going to be anyone alive there to shed any light on it.”
Park shrugged. “You never know. And, anyway, the dead may be as informative as we need them to be.” He stopped and looked around.
“What is it?” Sarah asked.
“I only just realized what it is I really need right now.”
“A current virus sample?”
“Exactly.”
“Ironically, I think the crew just spent a huge amount of effort scrubbing the ship completely free of zombies and zombie gunk. You should have said something sooner.”
Park shrugged. “I think it was probably already too late by the time I came over from the sub. Mass death of the virus begins within a couple of hours of destruction of the brainstem.”
“I’m sure something can be done,” Sarah said. “It’s not like this world lacks for zombies.” She stood up straight, glanced around until she found a wall phone, pulled it free of its cradle, and started dialing.
“Who are you calling?”
“Commander Drake. Handon gave me his direct cell.”
Park nodded, impressed. It never hurts to be able to go straight to the top.
* * *
The other three in the Alpha team room had finally gotten their breath, after the conclusion of Ali’s story.
Now she felt, for some reason she couldn’t put her finger on, that she had said too much. Or, at any rate, she’d definitely said enough for now.
So, instead, she glided over to the corner of the room, pulled a couple of crates aside, and finally flipped open an oversized Tuff-Box. She then rooted around inside, bent at the waist, and half disappeared into the big expensive shipping crate. When she emerged, she had another expensive box – this time a Pelican case, a long one, rifle-sized.
She laid it down on the deck, flicked the clasps, and swung open the top. Inside was a Mk12 Special Purpose Rifle, a designated marksman weapon – and identical twin of the one she’d carried into Chicago, but had lost in the crash of the B-17. Aside from being zeroed at the range before this mission, this one had never even been fired.
She hefted it and brought it to her shoulder, her perforated and bandaged bicep only complaining a little, then popped the covers on the scope. She took a look through the optic, then replaced the weapon in the shaped cut-out foam in the case.
“Quality,” she said.
When Alpha had first boarded the Kennedy, what seemed now like a thousand years ago, they’d brought great heaping bags and boxes of gear. This had included not just everything they might need for any mission profile – but also duplicates of everything critical.
So they actually had replacements for most everything lost on the Chicago mission – with its running street battles and sinking boats and crashing planes. The major exceptions were the rare and precious assault rifles, like Juice’s SIG SG553, and Handon’s HK416 – both of which had been saved, even at the risk of their rescue flight not getting off the ground.
Good ole Chuckie, Ali thought wistfully, remembering the bomber. What a magnificent aircraft she had been – even if she tried very hard to kill me. In the end, it had gotten them all home alive – one last valiant service for the last of her kind from WWII. She was truly of the Greatest Generation. It made Ali sad to think of her ripped apart, wingless, lying at the bottom of the ocean…
But better her than me.
“Aye, weapons we’ve got,” Henno said. “Ammo’s another tale.” Ali looked up as he handed her a tablet. As she reviewed the numbers in the spreadsheet, the corners of her mouth turned down. Now she remembered they’d jettisoned pretty much everything else from that plane.
Including a
ll the ammo they had on them.
Ali shook her head. “But we brought so much… surely this can’t be it?”
“It was a hell of an intense fight,” Predator said. “A lot of brass downrange.”
“Also,” Henno added, “remember that pallet we pushed out ahead of us? Bottom of the lake now. And that other pallet? For the QRF to bring out with them? That got loaded into the bomber – then all of it shot off, or else jettisoned.” He paused to regard Ali’s look of dismay. “Not good that, is it?”
Ali said, “What about the ship’s magazine?”
Predator grunted. “Yeah. Ha. You remember that really big bang, toward the end of the battle?”
“Not really. I was down in the water.”
“Well, I doubt you could have missed it. That was Ammo City going up. And, not to be too much of a smart-ass, but the thing about Ammo City was that it had almost all the ship’s small-arms ammo in it.”
Without warning, the ship’s tannoy went, squelching and breaking into their little moment.
“All hands on deck. Committal ceremony at the end of the forenoon watch in ten minutes… All hands bury the dead.”
That last line was a bit of a conversation killer.
When they dared speak again, the four Alpha operators had a brief discussion about whether or not to attend this. Special operators in the military are a bit like expensive consultants in the business world: they didn’t have to follow all the rules, do the workaday crap, or attend mandatory meetings.
But it didn’t take them long to decide. Even with all the mission work-up they had to do, this wasn’t something they wanted to miss. And not only because it would be hard to face the sailors later if they skipped it.
They filed out, down the companionway toward a ladder, and up toward the light.
Captain America
JFK - Flag Bridge Briefing Room
“In other news: CentCom wants us back,” Drake said, after dropping his bombshell about Britain being breached. Eyebrows went up all around the table, but no one else spoke for a moment. “They think Dr. Park and his research data aren’t safe until they’re back in Fortress Britain. I might suggest he’s actually safer here, given current events. But, in any case, they’ve ordered us to steam for Liverpool.”
“Not Portsmouth?” the Air Boss asked.
“Portsmouth's about to be under siege.”
Fick grunted. “This an order you’re inclined to follow?”
Drake shrugged. “I don’t see why we should start listening to them now.” To the best of Drake’s knowledge, he didn’t owe any particular allegiance to CentCom. Still, he knew he needed to try and play nice. Humanity wasn’t going to make it out of this mess if they started infighting, and tearing one another to bits. Still, Drake could feel a showdown brewing. It didn’t seem like CentCom’s ideas about how to save humanity aligned perfectly with his.
What he didn’t yet tell the others was that even if they didn’t go to CentCom, CentCom was coming to them. But he did need to alert the scientist to this fact, and made a note to do so. To the group, he said, “Besides, we’ve got other critical shit to do right now. And we’re by far closest to what appears to be our next objective. Not to mention most capable of achieving it.” He turned to Handon. “Sergeant Major?”
Handon nodded. “Dr. Park has been very clear on this. His vaccine is workable. But to tune it, to make sure it works against a rapidly evolving virus, he needs a sample from an early-stage victim.”
“And we can find that where, exactly?” the CAG asked.
“The origin point of the disease, which was northern Somalia. Probably Hargeisa. And we’re lucky that the area has good deep-water access. From the Gulf of Aden.”
Drake tapped once at a tablet before him and a flat-screen behind him on the wall came to life. It showed a map of the world – the wide blue Atlantic, flanked by the old world and the new one to either side. With a second tap, an animated line extended from the coast of Virginia, the carrier’s starting point, and stretched southeast across the wide Atlantic.
It paused about halfway across, expanding into an avatar of the carrier – their current location. The line then carried on, dotted now, all the way to the southern tip of Africa, around the Cape of Good Hope, and then north up the coast. Finally, it looped around the outstretched Horn of Africa on the continent’s east side, then snaked into the little finger of water between Africa and the Arabian Peninsula.
The Gulf of Aden.
“That’s workable,” said Abrams, who no longer had a warship of his own to command, but whose maritime and surface warfare credentials were unquestioned. “It’s a well-mapped sea route. And a hell of a lot fewer Somali pirates these days.”
Several people grinned around the table.
The CAG chimed in. “And if we anchor there in the Gulf, our air group can definitely provide ISR, mission support, CAS, or CSAR if necessary. All no problem.”
“And we can use the time at anchor,” said Captain Martin, “to try to tackle some of the bigger repairs.”
“Yes, yes,” Drake said, nodding. “And the operators can insert for their mission from there as well. There’s just one small fucking problem.”
He nodded at Gunny Fick to take up the baton.
“No ammo,” said Fick. But instead of elaborating, he nodded at his subordinate, Sergeant Coulson, to explain.
Coulson’s handsome and whimsical face was serious, for once. “We are now, ship-wide and unit-wide, red on ammo – that’s critically low. Obviously, we put several shit-tons of rounds downrange fighting off the storm – including from the ship’s heavy weapons systems. But even small arms for the ground units are nearly black. I’m talking 5.62 for the assault rifles, linked 7.62 for machine guns, 30-mil, 20-mil for the CWIS. Grenades, both propelled and hand-deployed. Man-portable rockets.”
Coulson nodded back up the table toward Handon. “This is in no small part because Captain America here blew up most of what we had left, when he turned Ammo City into history’s largest claymore.”
Handon just sighed. Everyone knew, and he knew they knew, that blowing up Ammo City, and taking a couple of acres of Zulus with it, had been a critical part of the last-ditch defense of the flight deck. And, moreover, that it had worked.
The Air Boss added, “That’s not all. We’re also dangerously low on aviation fuel – both JP8 for the jets and avgas for the helos and prop planes."
Abrams exhaled audibly. “And according to the manifests I’ve been tasked with updating, we’re not drowning in food, either. This boat lost a lot of mouths to feed in the battle – but also gained quite a few from my ship. And some crops that should have come up in the Hangar Deck have failed to do so – due to the outbreak, the mutiny, and then later the battle. We’ve also lost some farming expertise along the way.”
Food, fuel, and ammo, thought Handon thought. All the combat essentials. Well, those, along with radio batteries and water. Power they had, and plenty of it, now that one of the nuclear reactors was back up. And the ship’s huge desalination plant was also still churning out hundreds of thousands of gallons of fresh water a day, thank God. Without that, their lifespan would be measured in hours.
“Okay,” Drake said. “So we all know the clock is ticking – for us, and for humanity. But we’re in no position to launch major ground ops without a significant top-up of supplies.”
“So it’s a scavenging mission,” said the CAG. “Where to?”
Drake pointed at LT Campbell, who jumped in. “The West African coast is annoyingly free of military bases. But, as we’re headed for the Cape of Good Hope, my team thinks South Africa is our best bet. They definitely had the most advanced military of any African country, and used a lot of NATO-standard weapons and ammo. Now, most of their military facilities were clustered in or around Cape Town.” She paused for effect. “The problem with that is Cape Town – and its four million inhabitants, all now deceased. So we think our best bet is SAS Saldanha – a South Af
rican Navy training base and depot, about a hundred and forty kilometers north of there, in Saldanha Bay.”
She looked over to Drake, who jabbed at his tablet again, causing Saldanha Bay to light up on the map. It was way down on Africa’s west coast, almost but not quite as far south as Cape Town. From the map, it also obviously had the virtue of not being far out of their path of travel.
“There is a town attached to the naval base, but it’s a small one – and the base itself is out on the end of the peninsula, with the town inland. With a little luck, we can pillage the former without disturbing the latter. More importantly, in later years, SAS Saldanha also served as a naval depot for their maritime units in the south Atlantic.”
“So,” said the CAG. “Who goes in, then?”
Handon and Fick looked at each other balefully across the table. They knew there were pretty much only two people there with tickets for this particular lottery.
And they were them.
* * *
Sarah’s brow furrowed as her call went to Drake’s voicemail. She left a message, while Park looked on.
She regarded the young-ish scientist across from her – half horrified, and half impressed, by his deep knowledge of pathogens and microbiology. Finally, she spoke, carefully. “Well, it seems to me that we, or rather Alpha team, at least pulled the exact right man out of the ruins of North America.”
Park shrugged. “I’m not really a virologist. It’s more of an interest.”
Sarah paused. “Nonetheless. It’s got to be you. You’re the one who is going to get this thing.”
Park paused. “That’s almost exactly what Juice told me, on the flight back here.” He looked back up and met her eyes. “It’s kind of a lot of pressure. And if I’m going to pull it off… I don’t know, I feel like I’m going to have to dig down. And find my faith.”
“Faith?”
“Yeah. That humanity can still make it.”
“You feel your faith flagging?”
Park paused again. “It’s not so much what I feel, it’s what I know. Maybe I know too much. Or, then again, maybe it is what I feel. I always knew these facts about the world. But I never felt it, not really, not before all this. But now it’s been hammered home. It’s so obvious.”
Arisen, Book Six - The Horizon Page 10
